by Erik Rimkus

One of Japan’s biggest challenges today is demographic change. This includes, first and foremost, the rapid aging of the population, with nearly one-third of the population (29%) aged 65 and older (Statistics Bureau of Japan 2022). But Japanese demographics also pose a second, rapidly growing problem: hyper-urbanization. Nowhere is this more visible than in Tokyo. To this day Japan’s capital has been continuously growing, even beyond its own prefectural borders. The greater Tokyo area or “National Capital Region“ (jap.: Shutoken), consisting of the Kanto region and the neighboring Yamanashi Prefecture, is considered to be the most populous metropolitan area in the world, with a total population of 44.37 million people as of 2021 (Japanese Ministry of Land, Infrastructure and Tourism 2022: 42). Even though Tokyo’s population influx died down a little during the pandemic (The Japan Times 2022), due to a strong continuous flow of (esp. young) people moving to the capital, Tokyo is expected to grow even more. Now over one-third of Japan’s population (apx. 35%) is living in this metropolis (Japanese Ministry of Land, Infrastructure and Tourism 2022: 42).

Tokyo, Ueno
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2023

On the other hand, this naturally leads to most other parts of Japan becoming increasingly underpopulated and over-aged, causing a variety of problems. These problems range from a shortage of skilled workers to the disappearance of entire towns and villages, with “869 municipalities – nearly half of Japan’s total population – […] at risk of disappearing [by 2040]” (Richarz 2019). However, although seemingly all of Japan is migrating to Tokyo, a counter-movement of people fleeing the megacity is slowly taking hold. Whether people frustrated by their hectic lives are being pushed away from living in this hyper-urban area or are being drawn to the countryside by the promise of affordable housing, closer contact with nature, or a more thoughtful and slower-paced lifestyle, these intra-national migrants, often referred to as ijūsha, are exactly what many rural areas are counting on.

Shirakawa, Gifu
Copyright © unsplash.com 2020

To inform and support potential newcomers, many prefectures and municipalities promote their areas in newsletters and magazines. One example is the magazine “Turns“. This magazine often reports about people who moved to the countryside and their stories of success. The magazine’s official subtitle is: “Connecting with rural areas in the Future “ [Kore kara no chiiki to no tsunagarikata]. But, despite what it sounds like, Turns is not only about successfully growing strawberries in small rural towns Miyagi. One article for example describes the relocation of two young people from the greater Tokyo area (Tokyo and Yokohama) to Nagasaki, the capital city of the prefecture of the same name (Fukami 2021: 100-101). This is not the only case of major cities being described and categorized as chiiki or “rural areas“. In fact in the discourse surrounding “rural revitalization“, many places presented as “rural areas “ are in fact large cities like Nagasaki with a population of close to 400.000 people (Nagasaki City 2023). This perception of almost every place outside of Tokyo as rural seems to have become a common view in Japan. I have also made this experience while in Japan.  A good friend of mine, who grew up in Gifu-City and moved to Tokyo to study, once told me how people react when they find out, where she is from. Questions like: „Did you even have Starbucks or MC Donalds there?“ illustrate very vividly how people from Tokyo view places outside their megacity.

Nagasaki, Japan
Copyright © unsplash.com 2022

Tokyo’s hyper urbanization has far-reaching implications for Japan. For one thing, it may change the way people see and experience “big” and “small rural areas.” There is simply no other place in Japan that compares to the “megacity” of Tokyo. I believe that demographic changes in Japan and the hyper-urbanization of the capital are leading to a new dominant view of Tokyo and non-Tokyo, as opposed to the previous distinction between “rural areas” and urban areas. However, these small and large rural areas do not necessarily share the same problems, and little or no differentiation could fuel rivalries in attracting new residents, for example. If Japan does not want to lose more and more communities in the coming years and decades, it must successfully promote rural areas and revitalize its rural areas. But to do so effectively, it may need to acknowledge the differences between towns and cities of different sizes and the changing perceptions of rural areas.

References:
Fukami, Hiroshi (2021) „Nagasaki-shi de mitsuketa watashitachi no ‘saikō no kurashi’“ [„The best way of life“ can be found in Nagasaki], in: Turns, 43 (10), p. 100-101.
Japanese Ministry of Land, Infrastructure and Tourism (2022), „Reiwa sannendo shutoken Seibi ni kansuru nenji Hōkoku“ [2021 Annual Report on the Metropolitan Area Development], https://www.mlit.go.jp/toshi/daisei/toshi_daisei_fr_000063.html (Accessed on July 06, 2023).
Nagasaki-shi (2023), „Kongatsu no ugoki (Suikei jinkō nado saishin no shuyō tōkei)“ [Movement of the Month (Latest Major Statistics such as Estimated Population)], https://www.city.nagasaki.lg.jp/syokai/750000/751000/p007001.html (Accessed on July 09, 2023).
Richarz, Allan (2019), „In Japan’s vanishing rural towns newcomers are wanted“, in: Bloomberg, https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2019-11-15/in-japan-s-vanishing-rural-towns-newcomers-wanted (Accessed on June 26. 2023).
Statistics Bureau of Japan (2022), „Current population estimation as of October 1, 2022“, https://www.stat.go.jp/english/data/jinsui/2022np/ (Accessed on June 26, 2023).
The Japan Times (2022), „Net population influx into Tokyo hits lowest point in 2021 amid pandemic“, https://www.japantimes.co.jp/news/2022/01/28/national/tokyo-population-influx-lowest/ (Accessed on July 09. 2023).

Erik Rimkus is a student in the BA program in Japanese Studies at Freie Universität Berlin

by Cornelia Reiher

After three months of teaching, some of my memories of fieldwork have already faded, but by integrating the topic of urban-rural migration in Japan into one of my courses this semester, I was able to share my fieldwork experiences with students. In a BA course on mobilities, ten students examined the internal and transnational migration of Japanese citizens and the technologies that enable migration, new lifestyles and new forms of work. Students read and translated academic articles, Japan’s latest digital strategy for rural areas, blogposts from urban residents who have moved to the countryside and articles from Turns, a magazine that focuses on rural areas, urban-rural migration and rural revitalization. We also watched promotional videos by prefectures, municipalities or individual migrants.

Some of the students from the BA course on mobilities at the Japanese Studies Institute at FU Berlin
Copyright © Cosmo Hümmer 2023

In class, we discussed many phenomena related to urban-rural migration, paying particular attention to mobilities other than human. With a focus on technologies, we explored how digital transformation has enabled urban-rural migration and changed rural lifestyles. Students were particularly interested in new forms of work such as digital nomadism, remote work and workation, as well as the digitalization of agriculture. We also looked at social media as a means that migrants use to stay in touch with their friends and families in their former place of residence, but also with each other. Looking at the different types of social media networks that migrants use to stay in touch and support each other by sharing information, but also by positively portraying themselves and their experiences in the countryside, provided many interesting starting points for discussions with the students, who could easily connect migrants’ experiences and use of social media with their own life worlds.

Issues of the magazine Turns we read during class
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2023

In addition to reading and discussing the various sources, I also wanted to encourage students to write about what they had learned. But instead of simply writing a term paper that only I would read, I asked students to write posts for this blog based on the course readings. So in the following weeks, this blog will feature posts from BA students in the Japanese Studies program at Freie Universität Berlin who participated in the course on mobilities.

The rural idyll in Japan many urban-rural migrants are looking for
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2023

All the contributions are about urban-rural migration in Japan, but the topics of the contributions are very different. They range from traditional crafts to digital transformation in agriculture. One paper discusses what rural areas are, while others focus on the migration experiences of individual migrants and their families or on new forms of work such as remote work and workation. All contributions are based on Japanese sources that were read, translated and summarized by the students. In some cases, the contributions were inspired by the students’ own experiences in the Japanese countryside and also tell personal stories. I hope readers will enjoy students’ perspectives on urban-rural migration!

by Cecilia Luzi

As mentioned in previous blog posts, field research with a child comes with some challenges, especially when it comes to finding appropriate spaces to play and relax. In this article, I would like to talk about an unexpected place that has become a sanctuary for both of us during our fieldwork in Japan: the onsen (hot springs). During my months of field research in Kyūshū, I made some fascinating discoveries about onsen. For example, I observed that some elderly local women visit the onsen every day, whether in the morning or right after lunch, to bathe for an hour or so before returning to their daily activities. Their skin looks gorgeous, and they look much younger than their actual age. I also discovered that there are family baths, kazokuburo, in Kyūshū where you can pay for an hour’s private bath for your family. Although I was unfamiliar with this, I quickly got used to it because it was a nice way for my family to spend the last few hours of the weekend together before my partner had to catch the train back to Kyōto. Finally, I learned that the people of Kyūshū pay very close attention to the quality of the water in the onsen. They can notice even the slightest change or difference in water quality from one bath to another. It always surprises me when I hear that some people take over an hour’s drive just to have a good bath with high-quality water at the end of the day, even if there is an onsen only ten minutes from their house.

A family bath (kazokuburo) in Takeo
Copyright© Cecilia Luzi 2023

In my last few months in Japan, I had some memorable experiences in the onsen. The first house we stayed in had a traditional Japanese metal kettle bath, called a goemonburo, heated directly from below with firewood. This was a great experience. However, when it was too cold to go outside and prepare the fire, or when I was too tired, we would go to the onsen, which was just a five-minute walk up the street. I often met locals there, and over time their faces became familiar to me. Sometimes there were tourists there, too. One day I met three girls who had come from Kitakyūshū to spend the night at the nearby campsite. They wanted to take a nice bath before going to sleep. “Everyone here says there’s nothing interesting in the area, but I don’t think that’s true,” one of them told me. “The nature is beautiful in every season, and the people are very nice!”

The entrance in one of my favorite onsen
Copyright© Cecilia Luzi 2023

On another occasion, I visited an onsen in Beppu with one of my friends. It was a small onsen up in the hills. It was a cold winter day, and it was very pleasant to bathe in the warmth of the onsen while it was drizzling in the mist… In the pool outside, we struck up a conversation with an old lady who lived nearby and came to the onsen every day. There was also a woman who had just moved with her husband from Kitakyūshū to Beppu after they retired. The elderly lady, who claimed to be 82 years old but looked at least ten years younger, gave the newcomer a list of places to go, including suggestions for cheap onsen for only 100 yen and meals at the university cafeteria: “It’s both delicious and very cheap. You should go there. I go very often!”

A nice meal after a bath in Beppu
Copyright© Cecilia Luzi 2023

When I went to an onsen recently, I was with a young woman who had moved to Hasami from Tōkyō just two weeks ago. I got out of the bathroom early to get my son dressed, and a very funny lady who had already approached me inside started asking me what had brought me to Hasami. Soon all the people in the locker room joined the conversation, especially a young mother with two children who were playing with my son. I asked her where she was from, and when she replied, “Hirado” the other ladies blurted out, “That’s very far away! And you came here just for the onsen? Surely that must take more than an hour!” The young woman nodded, and then suddenly one of the others came up to me and said, “You should go to Hirado while you’re here! It’s a beautiful place.” As soon as she finished, another lady listed a number of other places in the area that I should visit before leaving, and then another lady started naming good onsen and inviting me to try different ones. Suddenly, the entire locker room turned into some kind of travel agency promoting tourism in Nagasaki Prefecture. They were so good at it that I joked that a municipality should hire them!

Takeo Onsen complex during the cherry blossom season
Copyright© Cecilia Luzi 2023

Onsen are great places to engage in conversation and learn more about the daily habits of locals. They can serve as a place to relax as well as a social space for conversation and community building. For my child, onsen became a playground. For me, they became an opportunity to learn more about the daily rhythms of the local community. Exchanges in the bath are very conversational and provide a unique opportunity to connect with others in a relaxed and informal setting. It reminded me of the little bars you find in the main square of any Italian village in the countryside, where people meet to have a drink, chat and give each other unsolicited advice.

by Cornelia Reiher

Finding housing in rural areas is a very important and sometimes difficult part of the urban-rural migrant experience. Previous blogposts have pointed out that while there are many abandoned houses in rural communities, it is often difficult to find housing because the owner is unknown or because they do not want to sell or rent their house. While many urban-rural migrants with families are looking for a house (ikkenya) or an apartment, single people, in particular, do not want to live alone for economic reasons or because they feel lonely. Therefore, sharehouses, a concept that has recently become more popular in Japan (Meagher 2020: 16), are now available in rural areas. However, there are not yet that many sharehouses and those in the areas I studied were established only in the last five years.

View from the window of the sharehouse over the roofs of the town
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2023

During my fieldwork, I met many residents of sharehouses. For most, living in the sharehouse was temporary, but there were also some long-term residents and those who have stayed for a short time, left and then returned to live in the sharehouse for a longer period of time. Sharehouses in the countryside seem to serve several functions: They provide a place to live and often work, new experiences and encounters with diverse people from different backgrounds and valuable information about the city for newcomers. They can also be places where locals and newcomers meet. For example, in the basement of one sharehouse I visited, there is an event space that can be transformed into a coworking space, a café, a concert space, or a pop-up restaurant where locals, Japanese migrants and foreign residents come together.

The living room and kitchen of the sharehouse where I stayed
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2023

I lived in a sharehouse myself during my last field research in the spring and shared the house with two people, a man and a woman in their thirties, who had moved to the city from big cities in Kanto and Kansai. Since the sharehouse had only opened last October, three rooms were still unoccupied and were therefore rented out to short-term visitors like me. On the first floor were three bedrooms and a bathroom. Upstairs was the kitchen, which was also used as a living room, another bathroom and two bedrooms. The decor was a very stylish mix of DIY renovation, old furniture, textiles and IKEA.

The sharehouse was renovated by its owners with the help of volunteers
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2023

Although I had met a resident of the sharehouse during my last field research, I was very nervous about sharing a house with strangers. My last experience with a shared apartment was during my student days, and I didn’t really know what to expect. But it turned out to be a very pleasant experience. We prepared and ate meals together, went out for drinks or just had a nice chat when we met in the kitchen. According to my temporary roommates, one advantage of living together is that they can share food and there are no leftovers. Although they both do their own grocery shopping and each has a basket of non-perishable food like coffee that is not shared, they order vegetables together from a farmer and share them. And if they need something that is not available in town, they order it individually online. Most of the migrants I interviewed agreed that ordering things online makes life in the countryside much more convenient. It was very interesting to see what was shared and what was not shared by the residents of the sharehouse and how they organize their shared space.

A radish from a local organic farmer’s food delivery and a box from Amazon
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2023

Staying in the sharehouse made me realize how important they are for newcomers. Both of my roommates agreed that they came to this city because of the sharehouse and its owners. They both learned about the sharehouse from others who lived there for a short time or helped the owners renovate the sharehouse. They were also impressed by their social media accounts, and when they first visited, the owners introduced them to interesting people, which is why they both think the city is exciting, offers many opportunities, and is home to interesting people. In light of the difficult housing situation in many rural communities, sharehouses can provide housing for newcomers, independent of the sometimes quite limited community support systems. They also offer newcomers many opportunities to connect with locals and learn from the experiences of other urban-rural migrants. Thus, sharehouses are important hubs for urban-rural migrants and also places where many activities take place that make rural communities more interesting.

Reference:

Meagher, Caitlin (2020), Inside a Japanese sharehouse: dreams and realities, London and New York: Routledge.

by Ngo Tu Thanh (Frank Tu)

Buzen is a small coastal city located in the northeast of Fukuoka Prefecture. Despite its small size, both area-wise and population-wise (approx. 24,000 residents), Buzen City has amazed me with its efforts to promote international cooperation and multiculturalism. After fieldwork in Buzen, in this blogpost, I want to share my experiences and the reasons why officials in Buzen are working hard for the city’s internationalization. My first (online) contact in Buzen in September 2021 was with Ms Ngo Thi Nhung, a Vietnamese national working in the City Hall of Buzen, who is a member of the chiiki okoshi kyōryokutai (COKT) Program and also contributed to our blog . I was surprised that Ms Nhung was recruited to work at the city hall and being a Vietnamese national myself, I was also happy to meet a fellow “comrade”. When I connected with Ms. Nhung via Facebook I realized that she is also one of Buzen’s foreigner-friendly official Facebook page admins. Her role in promoting Buzen’s public relations really sets Buzen apart from other localities, as she connects the local government with the public. Thanks to Ms Nhung I could directly arrange appointments with local officials via Buzen’s Facebook page. Last year, I was able to secure an online meeting with both Ms. Nhung and her direct supervisor, who told me that promoting international cooperation is one of Buzen’s main regional revitalization strategies.

Months had passed since our first online interview and when I finally made it to Japan, I attended a diplomatic event between Vietnam and Japan in Fukuoka in July 2022, where chairmen of Vietnamese provinces and their counterparts from Fukuoka Prefecture and other localities in Kyushu came together to promote bilateral partnership. To my surprise, I saw the booth of Buzen City at the event and, more importantly, I also met the official whom I interviewed online. This coincidental encounter was really a joy as neither I nor the Buzen’s official expected to meet each other at an event hosted by the Consulate of Vietnam in Fukuoka. We exchanged contacts and talked briefly. He told me that Buzen is currently trying to strengthen its partnership with Taiwan and Vietnam, and the Mayor of Buzen was at that time on a business trip to Vietnam with Ms. Ngo Thi Nhung to cultivate new opportunities.

In August, I finally went to Buzen. After visiting the city hall and conducting interviews with officials, I learned that the city had just established a new division for international cooperation and multiculturalism (kokusai kyōsei suishin shitsu) with four members, including the official I met online and in Fukuoka, Ms Nhung and another COKT with an international background, who has lived in Switzerland and Taiwan for several years. This new division was established as part of the mayor’s vision to develop the city by strengthening the partnerships with Taiwan and Vietnam and supporting foreign nationals living in Buzen. For instance, Buzen is trying to invite Vietnamese universities to establish local branches in the city, where both international and local students can study. Also, Buzen is looking for business partners in Vietnam who can import Buzen’s local products. Next, in order to promote mutual understanding and support foreign residents (most of whom are Vietnamese technical interns), Buzen also organizes Vietnamese language sessions for locals, and Japanese language courses for foreign nationals. In order for me to directly experience their activities, the officials also invited me to join two events.

I joined a meeting between local officials and a Taiwanese professor who is teaching in Kitakyushu to prepare a Taiwan festival in Buzen in 2023. The event aims at promoting tourism and mutual understanding. The Taiwanese professor came to the meeting with a meticulous plan for the festival and presented his ideas for activities to be conducted at the festival. These included hosting Taiwanese cooking lessons and launching sky lanterns. He also prepared some sample Taiwanese foods for us to try. At the end of the meeting, the officials said they would continue to discuss the plan in the months to come. The officials were very open and flexible with the plan and to test new strategies and ideas. The meeting also made me aware how academics interact with bureaucrats in rural Japan.

The second event I joined was a Vietnamese cooking day organized by Buzen’s local residents and supported by the city hall’s staff. The event featured one of Buzen’s signature agricultural products: loofahs (hechima). Since loofahs are frequently used in the Vietnamese food culture, local residents wanted to learn how Vietnamese people cook it. For this reason, many Vietnamese residents in Buzen joined the event, and together we made six different loofah-based dishes. The event was also a way for local residents and Vietnamese nationals to meet and learn from each other, thereby increasing mutual understanding. After the event, the officials had organized a discussion session where participants could exchange ideas to promote multiculturalism in Buzen. Given that the majority of Vietnamese (and other international) migrants in Buzen are technical interns (ginō jisshūsei), the conversation quickly turned towards this topic. First, Japanese residents acknowledged that the Technical Intern Training program is highly problematic and, in many cases, cruel to Vietnamese participants. While the goal of the program is to provide interns with technical skills that can be transferred back to their home countries, many interns have to undertake repetitive and low-skilled jobs. Ms Nhung made a passionate speech, saying that she had heard of many cases where Japanese firms mistreated and abused Vietnamese interns, considering them only as cheap labor. She hoped the authorities would improve the program. Buzen’s local officials also shared this passion and asked for suggestions to protect and support interns in Buzen by establishing direct hotlines for interns to consult and report cases of mistreatment. That said, some Vietnamese technical interns who participated in the event said that they were personally treated decently, despite the challenging jobs that they were undertaking. During the discussion session, both local residents and officials of Buzen seemed very sympathetic, polite, and willing to take immediate actions.

In summary, Buzen, although a small city, offers great potential for regional revitalization with its efforts in international cooperation and multiculturalism. I personally had a wonderful time in Buzen and very much look forward to visiting the city again. 

Phd research with a kid — part 2

by Cecilia Luzi

It’s been a year since I returned from maternity leave last September. When I wrote the first post for this blog about my experience of raising a child as a PhD student, I talked mostly about what it felt like to return to work after giving birth. I remember being very confused at the time: I didn’t know exactly what to expect or how to approach the various stages of the PhD process with a young child. What worried me the most was the fact that I had to leave Europe to start fieldwork in Japan. Now, I am about to leave for Japan and feel that I am learning to be an anthropologist and a mother at the same time, with all the enthusiasm and anxiety that accompany any new beginning. Although I know that having my son and partner in the field with me is a wonderful opportunity for the mother and anthropologist I want to become, the newness of it all scares me a little.

Over the past year, I have been juggling the uncertainty and insecurity left by the Covid 19 pandemic and the need for constant care and attention that a child in the first year of life requires. My partner and I began preparing all the necessary documents in November 2021, hoping to leave for Japan by the end of the year. For this reason, we decided not to start looking for a kindergarten for our son right away. He was about six months old at the time, and we didn’t want to take him somewhere, let him settle in, and then take him out two months later at that age. However, when the Omicron variant showed up at the end of November and the Japanese government closed the borders again, it became increasingly clear to us that we could not leave so soon. Moreover, we had no idea when and if at all fieldwork in Japan would be possible. After a year of my doctoral work, I was tired of going through the cumbersome bureaucratic procedures to apply for a visa, so in March 2022, we decided to postpone our departure until the fall and I began to collect data with online interviews. At that time, we started looking for a kindergarten for our one-year-old son and only started the Certificate of Eligibility (CoE) application process again in summer. We had to go through the entire process from scratch because our host institutions in Japan had changed. Now the last documents are on their way and soon we will go to the embassy to get the visas in our passports.

For me, organizing a long fieldwork in Japan without knowing the exact start date for months meant learning how to manage an upcoming move by making sure to respect the schedule and necessities of the rigid routine of a child’s first year of life. Specifically, CoE applications alternated with urgent emails to kindergartens in Berlin and pediatrician appointments for mandatory immunizations had to be juggled with Zoom meetings with our host universities in Japan. Today I know that what was for us a long time of postponements and cancellations, fatigue and frustration, was for my son the year of his life, when he ate spaghetti with tomato sauce for the first time, learned to walk around the living room singing songs and making dog noises when he met one on the street. It was a very emotional moment to see him go to to kindergarten for the first time and gradually become independent from me.

Lately I have been thinking about what fieldwork and motherhood might have in common, and this has helped me to see my fears from a different perspective. I am learning to reflect and be aware of my own position, to consider my role and how I perceive myself in contact with others, and I believe this is part of both ethnography and motherhood. Although I realize that the two can be very similar, it scares me that I will have to learn to work in the field and take care of my child at the same time. Will I be good enough to do this for him and for my research? How can I find the time to write notes every night, pay attention to his needs, keep track of what is happening around me, and respond to my growing child’s explosive curiosity? I feel like I’m taking a leap into the void, but perhaps this fear of the unknown is ultimately exactly the feeling one should have when embarking on the field during one’s PhD or becoming a first-time mother.

by Cornelia Reiher

This blog contains several posts about and by members of chiiki okoshi kyōryokutai (COKT).  Launched in 2009 by Japan’s Ministry of Internal Affairs and Communications (Sōmushō), COKT provides funding to communities in rural Japan to hire people who move into their communities and promote revitalization activities for three years (Reiher 2020). However, when editing recent blogposts and scrolling through numerous Instagram profiles of urban-rural migrants and local and central government websites, I was struck by the wide variety of English translations for the program. Some examples include “rural revitalization corps,” “local vitalization cooperator,” “local revitalization squadron” and “community building support staff.” Since COKT is one of the central government’s programs aimed at both rural revitalization and urban-rural migration, I think it is important to reflect on the various translations and interpretations of the program’s name itself.

In this post, I focus primarily on the meaning of the term kyōryoku, which means cooperation or “to work together to do things”. But the way how people work together can differ as I realized when I listened to my research participants who are or were members of COKT. Many reflected on their roles as employees of their respective communities and some saw their role rather as supporting revitalization activities while others described their work more as a cooperation between equal partners. Thus, I believe, thinking about “kyōryoku” can help to better understand the relationships between COKT program participants and their host communities.

Certainly, there are many other problems when translating chiiki okoshi kyōryokutai into English (or German). The problem starts with the term chiiki. It is primarily a geographical and sociological term that can be translated as region or regional, but can also mean a relatively small space such as the immediate neighborhood or an inner-city area or all communities outside of urban centers (Morioka 2008). Chiiki okoshi is a concept with its own history. Since the 1970s, attempts to establish new industries in rural regions and greater autonomy for local authorities have been discussed under the term village renewal (mura okoshi) or regional renewal (chiiki okoshi). The mura okoshi movement was strongly inspired by the ideas of localism (chiiki shugi) (Kitano 2009: 22, 23). It is also debated whether the term ‘revitalization’ or ‘vitalization’ should be used as revitalization implies a rather conservative approach of nostalgic longing for a better past (Klien 2009: 221).

Although at first glance it may seem the least problematic term in the program’s name, kyōryoku can have different meanings when COKT members and municipalities work together. COKT participants’ jobs and the way they are treated by the local government that employs them can differ greatly within and between municipalities. While some COKT members are artists and enjoy the freedom to work in their studios all day, others are required to show up for work in the town hall at 8:30 am and to regularly report to their superiors. Some have clearly defined tasks, such as working at the support desk for incoming migrants, creating and updating municipalities’ social media accounts or working in local cultural facilities. Those who report more positive experiences in the COKT often describe their work experience in terms of cooperation. Some told me that they did not plan to join COKT, but when they called the municipal government of the town they wanted to relocate to or visited the place they were offered a position in the program. In some cases, municipal governments look for people who bring new ideas and initiate projects and are happy to support them. In order to find the best people for the job, they go through a careful selection process. Municipalities who select COKT members based on their ideas for the revitalization of their town are more likely to give them a free hand with their projects. With the goal of settling down, some COKT members already establish companies or careers for the time after their three-year contract ends.

Other (and sometimes the same) municipalities provide COKT members with only little agency to realize their own projects. They are expected them to support local activities instead of cooperating on an equal footing. COKT members who are older and have already had careers in other professions find this particularly obstructive. They have their own ideas about revitalization, but not all of these ideas can be realized. Some of my interviewees, however, don’t want to implement their own ideas and are happy to simply support existing projects.

Sometimes COKT members are hired as substitute for municipal staff due to tight municipal budgets. Some municipalities have found very creative solutions to deal with the lack of staff, for example, topping up the working hours of COKT members (they only work 15 days a month) with an additional salary. So, a large part of the personnel costs is financed by the central government through the COKT program. This is the only way cultural institutions can operate in some communities and further increases the dependency between municipalities and the central government.

In summary, the meaning of kyōryoku in chiiki okoshi kyōryokutai varies from municipality to municipality and within municipalities. However, COKT members who experience kyōryoku as cooperation rather than as support report more positive experiences with the program. Municipalities have different reasons for employing individuals via the COKT program; lacking resources is one of many. Future research examining COKT’s contribution to rural revitalization should pay attention to how municipalities actually work with COKT participants.

References

Reiher, Cornelia (2020), “Embracing the periphery: Urbanites’ motivations to relocate to rural Japan”, in Manzenreiter, Wolfram, Lützeler, Ralph and Polak-Rottmann, Sebastian (Eds.), Japan’s new ruralities: Coping with decline in the periphery, London: Routledge, pp. 230–244.

Kitano, Shu (2009), Space, Planning and Rurality. Uneven Rural Development in Japan, Victoria, BC: Trafford.

Morioka, Kiyoshi (2008) „‚Chiʼiki‘ e no apurōchi“ [Approaches to chiʼiki], in: ders. (ed.), Chiʼiki no shakaigaku [Regional Sociology], Tōkyō: Yūhikaku, S.3-20.

Klien, Susanne (2009), „Ländliche Regionen und Tourismusvermarktung zwischen Revitalisierung oder Exotisierung: Das Beispiel Echigo-Tsumari“, in: Wieczorek, Iris und David Chiavacci (Hg.), Japan 2009. Politik, Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft, Berlin: VSJF, S. 217-242.

by Sarah Bijlsma

On a Monday afternoon, I enter the door of a small esoteric shop on Miyakojima that is hidden behind a bush of shell ginger (getto). I came here together with Kenji, a 40-year-old man originally from Osaka who, until recently, worked as a member of the Community Building Support Staff (chiiki okoshi kyōryokutai). I had been curious about the shop as it describes itself as a space where human vibrations align with the power of nature. The owner, a charismatic man who I estimate to be about 40 years old, tells us that the lapis lazuli, amber, and amethyst jewelry that he sells is inspired by Miyako’s natural world. Stones that have different shades of blue remind him of the ocean, while the darker ones represent the starry sky at night. According to the shop owner, customers often feel a strong connection with one particular stone; it is as if the jewelry picks the buyer instead of the other way around.

Behind the counter, there is a photograph of the owner and receptionist together with the late former PM Shinzo Abe. “He was a very spiritual person,” the receptionist notes. “And he and his wife grew their own vegetables. I don’t know anything about politics, but from a human perspective I had the feeling he was a very good man.” The receptionist, who introduces herself as Emiko, explains that Abe and his wife enjoyed the island because of the high number of negative ions that make Miyako into one large power spot. Negative ions are said to be molecules or atoms that are electrically charged with negative energy and are considered to have a positive effect on the physical and mental well-being of living beings [1].  Furthermore, the strong energy of Miyako can be related to the many dragon deities (ryūjin-sama) that live here. The world that cannot be seen (me ni mienai sekai) is very present, she explains. In that world, every living being is one and the same, that is why we need to share our knowledge and happiness with each other also in this world.

I ask Emiko whether the healing energy of the island remains as powerful as before amidst Miyako’s recent building rush.  She says that if development happens in the right way, energy can certainly be preserved. It is important, for example, that the sky of Miyako is not blocked, so winds and the dragons can freely move around. While she acknowledges that construction work goes hand in hand with environmental issues on Miyako, she stresses she is not against development in general. For example, until a few years ago, local children had only the option to go into sugarcane farming when growing up. Due to this lack of opportunities, most of them left and found jobs in other areas of Japan. Now some of them stay to work in the tourist industry or return to Miyako after a couple of years. Moreover, before 2015, the beaches were full of washed-up plastic and garbage that people had left behind. Much of this has been removed. So, development does not only destroy the environment, but it also creates opportunities for improvement. As we say goodbye, Emiko gives me a firm hug and says I can come back whenever I want to know more. Back in the car, Kenji mentions that judging on the atmosphere around her, he thinks she might be a local shaman (yuta) who mediates between the gods and the contemporary world.

We drive to the ICT center to attend a public talk on recycling. It is organized by Miyako’s Eco Island department that is responsible for environmental policies and PR activities. During the hour and a half presentation, we learn how garbage can be transformed into a valuable resource. Rubber ties can be turned into an energy source used for streetlights and greenhouses in the winter. Also, plastic can be recycled into fashionable drinking cups, of which we all get one after the presentation is done. At the end of the evening, I ask Kenji if he has gained some new insights during the talk. He tells me that he started to think fundamentally differently about Miyako’s development through today’s events. He knows that the community of Japanese migrants on Miyakojima is taking a strong stance against recent changes. But by listening to Emiko and the recycling specialist, he came to understand that development is actually not something that should be avoided at any cost. When you find the right balance, it can become a positive thing for both people and the environment.

When I left my house that day to learn more about Miyako’s environmental changes through the lenses of spirituality and local policies, I did not expect that in both cases economic development would be advocated to me. It made me realize that local residents think about nature in different terms than Japanese migrants from urban areas. This indicates that environmental issues are not so easily captured in terms of objective truth. Even on an island as small as Miyako, the question of what “nature” is and how it should be protected has different answers depending on who you ask.

References

[1] Jiang, S. Y., Ma, A., & Ramachandran, S. (2018). Negative Air Ions and Their Effects on Human Health and Air Quality Improvement. International journal of molecular sciences, 19(10), 2966. https://doi.org/10.3390/ijms19102966

by Kiyomi Misaki

Last November, I started to work for a local tourism association in Niseko in northern Japan as a local revitalization cooperator in the chiiki okoshi kyōryokutai program initiated by the Ministry of Internal Affairs and Communications to encourage people from cities to move to and settle in rural areas and to engage in community activities. It is a countermeasure against the overconcentration of the population in Tokyo and the outflow of the rural population. I am doing fieldwork while working for Kutchan Tourism Association (KTA). Through my fieldwork and working for KTA, I am currently thinking that an economy-oriented climate may undermine the local community and local culture.

It may be confusing that Niseko does not technically have the definition of a region, and people first come to mind is a mountain area in Kutchan town when they hear the name Niseko. For that reason, Niseko in this article means Kutchan town. Niseko, with a population of 15,000 people, is a tourist destination known for powder snow in winter, attracting skiers and snowboarders from all over the world. The mountain area in Niseko has been redeveloped since the late 1990s by Australian entrepreneurs. Since the season in Australia and Japan is opposite, some Australians enjoy skiing and snowboarding throughout the year, going back and forth between Niseko and Australia each winter. Since 2014, the proportion of Australians, which accounted for half of all visitors, has gradually decreased and visitors from Asian countries such as Hong Kong, Singapore and China have increased instead.

With so many foreign tourists, Niseko is a very international place. English becomes the common language in its ski resort during the winter. Long queues at ski lifts and lodges packed with international tourists are a familiar sight during peak season. Land prices going up due to foreign investments and expelling small local businesses from the community. Niseko is now regarded as a successful example of rural revitalization and internationalization through tourism and a front runner of challenges such as overtourism and gentrification at the same time. As a result, media attention and the image of Niseko that people envisage focus on tourism development and internationalization led by tourism. Niseko also uses the international image to attract more tourists and immigrants.

While tourism development significantly impacts the community in Niseko, the community is not only about tourism. People engaging in agriculture have a different lifestyle from those working in the tourism sector. Business owners in the city center (20 minutes’ drive from the mountain area) have different perspectives from those located in the mountain area (ski resorts) regarding community development. They complain about what KTA is doing because they think tourism only contributes to the mountain area and leaves people in the city center behind. I joined a French conversation club in the city center to meet new people. Eventually, I met people with diverse backgrounds, such as an illustrator moving from west Japan to seek powder snow, a housewife coming to Niseko due to her husband’s transfer and a woman who has been running an inn for over 20 years. I am a researcher at a university in Australia/ a chiiki okoshi kyōryokutai member/ born and growing up in Hokkaido. We have different motivations for coming here and diverse perspectives. We all create current Niseko, meaning that local culture is an accumulation of interactions between such people living in the place and nature.

Therefore, culture should be recognized as grassroot politics, practices of people with various values, contradictions, conflict and cooperation emerging from diverse social relationships. However, culture can easily be transformed into a source of profits. Amidst globalized urban lifestyles, rare and unique practices are commodified for tourism in information capitalism [1]. Tourism seemingly brought economic prosperity and diversity to Niseko, but it seems to undermine cultural prosperity and diversity. Cultural prosperity is not promoting the culture as a commodity but creating a climate where people with diverse backgrounds and perspectives can discuss matters of the community.

What is happening in the local community is closely linked with the national policy for regional revitalization. In the shrinking domestic economy, the Japanese government encourages communities to create a unique culture that attracts people to come and immigrate to the area to survive from decline. Many members of the chiiki okoshi kyōryokutai make efforts to find local characteristics for branding and the promotion of tourism to distinguish communities from each other. In this context, communities must become a “kasegu” (making money) community. Many rely on competitive public subsidies to become part of the Kasegu community. Although powder snow and an international image have become an attraction for tourists and immigrants in Niseko, cultural diversity seems missing. Some residents feel that diverse backgrounds and perspectives other than tourism are often neglected in local politics.

The same is true for the decision-making process. Our association is a good example. KTA, does not only depend on subsidies from the town, but is also a hierarchical and patriarchal organization. The top-down process is effective for implementing projects because projects financed through subsidies need to show short-term outcomes. Deliberation is omitted to achieve results in a short time. A short-sighted plan precludes a time-consuming process with many stakeholders. Moreover, middle-aged men are still at the center of the local economy and are responsible for money-making activities. Who is excluded from the decision-making? Should the local culture, understood as all the people and nature creating the community be considered more and how so? In my PhD project, I am trying to explore possible answers to these questions.

References

[1] Yoshimi, S., & Morris-Suzuki, T. (2004). Gurōbarizēshon no Bunka Seiji (The cultural politics of globalisation). Heibonsha.

Kiyomi Misaki is a PhD candidate at Asia Institute, the University of Melbourne, and a researcher at Center for Advanced Tourism Studies, Hokkaido University. She currently works as a member of chiiki okoshi kyōryokutai (translated as local revitalization cooperator) as part of her fieldwork in Niseko, Hokkaido.

Part 2: (Im)Mobilities and economic risks

by Johannes Wilhelm

In rural Aso, the pandemic was initially perceived as a problem of urban areas, but the then unknown disease frightened many. The initial impact in Kumamoto was most noticeable in schools, where graduation ceremonies and new enrollments for the new school year around March/April 2020 were cancelled. Events around the cherry blossom season – such as the beautiful village festival in the 9th district of Kugino – did not take place in most cases. One exception was the hifuri no shinji at Aso Shrine on March 18, 2020, a festival in which hay bundles are tied to a rope and twirled around the shrine’s entrance area. In a sense, the festival marks the beginning of the agricultural year, which is symbolized by a cultic marriage of two deities. Interestingly, the festival almost always coincides with the beginning of the cherry blossom season, an old woman told me. The sandō path to the shrine was lined with numerous people following the festival after dusk, since it is one of the most important holiday ceremonies at the sacred site.

The steadily growing number of so-called inbound tourists from abroad until the turn of the year 2019/2020 – in Kyūshū’s case mainly from China and Korea due to the relatively short distance –came to an abrupt stop with the country’s closure to foreigners. Japan’s entry restrictions had a huge impact on the tourism sector. Aso was no exception. As a resident, this had some advantages such as fewer cars, for example. Before the pandemic, tourists suddenly stopped and parked their car somewhere along a serpentine and even wandered around at times to take photos with their cell phones for social media. One day in May 2020, I had an interesting encounter in Uchinomaki. I was invited by a local group as a guest to stay overnight at the beautiful Sozankyō guesthouse. Throughout its history, the old guesthouse has accommodated famous people like the well-known poets Yosano Tekkan and Akiko. On the way back from breakfast, I unexpectedly met a middle-aged German who had made his way to Japan after an odyssey from Polynesia, where he wanted to wander around as a tourist for as long as possible. Well, each to his own, I thought .

Less tourism also has its advantages, but for those in Aso whose jobs depend on tourism, the pandemic has been a disaster with an unclear end. Y., an employee at the so-called Shokuan (Shokugyō antei-sho, commonly known as “Hellowork”) told us that the number of job seekers was skyrocketing. Since she was also responsible for non-Japanese clients at the “employment office,” she was also able to tell me more about the many foreign helpers, especially in the agricultural sector (Nōgyō jisshūsei, i.e. officially “agricultural interns”). Many among the latter found themselves in an absurd situation, a pandemic limbo, because on the one hand it was not possible for them to leave Japan or enter their home countries. Meanwhile, they ran the risk of overstaying their residence permits and thus slipping into visa crime. By the time the relevant authorities were able to offer a solution to this very problem, the immigration authorities were completely overrun. I experienced this firsthand, when I had to extend my visa in March 2020.

The case of four siblings from the Philippines shows how migrants were affected by this situation. They originally came to Japan as interns and were later hired as helpers by the landlord of my regular pub, where small jazz sessions were held. But the pub had to be constantly closed for a certain period of time and the landlord finally had to file for bankruptcy in April 2021, leaving the siblings more or less out in the cold. The employment office worker told me about nursing schools that were suddenly overrun with women from the Philippines seeking to retrain in nursing despite their lack of Japanese language skills. These schools, in turn, urgently needed support staff and funding to teach basic language skills in the nursing sector.

In contrast to urban areas, the risks of infection in rural Aso were initially manageable. As a result, young urban families and freelancers (e.g., in the digital sector with no local ties) began to move to the countryside. This was actually quite similar to what had happened after the nuclear disaster in Fukushima. The new concept of working holiday was gratefully received and also propagated by numerous media-savvy academics and government agencies (abbreviated as wā-hori it should not be confused with the same abbreviation for workaholic), which in turn led to subsidy programs for office conversions for numerous hostels. Let’s see how long this trend lasts, I thought. At the same time, these new migrants seemed somewhat selfish to me, especially since – in most cases – they ignored the local residents and local conditions to some degree. They did not want to give up their urban lifestyles and do ‘their thing’. Such an attitude, together with a lack of integration efforts by the local authorities tied to Corona measures, was doomed to fail. That locals were hardly willing to make their partly empty properties available was may be a sign of resistance. In the spring of 2020, the waiting list counted more than 200 households who wanted to move in from urban areas to Minamiaso-mura.

Soon, however, the pandemic will also reach rural areas as we have learned from the so-called ‘Spanish flu’. More on this in the following parts of the report.

[… to be continued …]

Johannes Wilhelm is an independent researcher and is affiliated with Vienna University. His main studies focus on the relationship between nature and society. His interests include fisheries, pastures in mountainous regions, and rural areas as much as general phenomena in society such as radicalism, migration and social vulnerability.