by Sarah Bijlsma

At the north side of Miyako Island, from a rock in the sea a bit off coast, arises a pillar with a height of 4.2 meters. The pillar is narrow at its foot, widens a bit towards the middle and comes together at the top in a smooth and round shape. Its material could be that of a mineral or quarts; being partly transparent, the object merges with its surrounding environment as it takes on the color of the air behind it. Apart from the color, it reminds a little of an ancient megalith, like the statues of Stonehenge or the Moai on Easter Island. As such, it is not entirely clear whether this is a man-made shape or a natural geomorphological object. In any case, the pillar has certainly a spiritual atmosphere around it and could be an important object of worship in local religious traditions.

The object I described above was created by the Japanese artist Mori Mariko (b. 1967, Tokyo) and part of the artwork Primal Rhythm.[1] Primal Rhythm is one of six site-specific artworks that will be placed on different continents. The statue Sun Pillar was put on the stack in July 2011 and made of layered acrylic; synthetic fibers with pigments in between that create different hues within the shape. The work further contains of a Moon Stone; a round stone-shaped object that floats on the surface of the sea and changes color according to the tide and the phase of the moon. Once a year, at the winter solstice, the Sun Pillar casts a shadow over the water that pierces the Moon Stone. Mori explains that she was inspired by artifacts found from the Jōmon Period (ca. 14.000 to 300 BCE). “Two objects were always found in a particular area: a round stone and a kind of small standing stone. The pair seems to me to be a symbol of regeneration, or a wish to help in harvest, or related to worship of the nature god. It’s probably a primitive stage of Shintoism.”[2]The Moon Stone, however, is not yet finalized, hence hitherto, the Sun Pillar glimmers alone on its rock formation.

The location of Miyako Island for this artwork has not been chosen coincidentally. Mori “visited” Miyako via Google Earth and decided for Nanako Bay—referred to as “Seven Light Bay” by the artist—as the area seemed fairly untouched. Mori explains that some of the villagers who live nearby participate in annual rites where other islanders are not welcome. “[the rites are] quite hidden,” she says. “If you see [them], you will die. They’re really secretly done, these ceremonies. The island is very well-preserved. There is a rich indigenous community that still exists. Modern things not there so much but there is a lot to learn from them in terms of the relationship of human society to nature.” [3]

In 2011, Mori invited the village shaman to perform a ceremony on the beach during the winter solstice in 2011. “They immediately understood what I am trying to do because they have such a rich relationship with nature,”[4] she states. Since then, Mori herself performs occasionally a ritual at the site, the most recent one during summer solstice this June. In white garment she spread her arms towards the Sun Pillar and let herself and a miniature version of the Moon Stone float on the waves of the sea.[5]  In this regard, Primal Rhythm is indicative for the way how Miyako-jima is represented outside of the region, including assumptions on human-nature relationships and cultural purity that draw so many Japanese tourists and migrants near. Yet, more importantly, what this artwork also illustrates is how Seven Light Bay becomes a site where globalized concepts of place and indigeneity merge with local rituals and rites and where, accordingly, opportunities are created for new “traditions” to emerge.

[1]
Visit for more information about the project its official website via https://www.faoufoundation.org/

[2]
Indrisek, Scott. “Crystal Flag: Mariko Mori wants to bring her nature-loving art to six continents.” Modern Painters, May 2011, pp. 58-93. (Here p. 60).

[3]
Ibid. pp. 60-61.

[4]
Ibid. 61.

[5]
See for videos of these rituals Mori Mariko’s Instagram page via https://www.instagram.com/marikomori/ and https://www.instagram.com/faoufoundation/

By Vincent Heuser

As Cornelia Reiher mentioned in an earlier blog post , the small town of Arita in Saga prefecture is known as “Japan`s birthplace of porcelain”. Despite the ceramics industry being in decline for almost three decades since its prime, Arita porcelain has been maintaining its world-wide fame for centuries. In 2016, Arita porcelain celebrated its 400^th anniversary since its foundation in 1616. Three years prior to this milestone, a Creative Industries Agreement was signed between the Dutch Embassy in Tokyo and Saga prefecture. The main purpose of the settlement of this agreement was the launch of the 2016/project, which aimed to rebrand Arita ware by connecting international design and art studios with local potteries and trading companies [1].

The main part of this project consists of the artist-in-residence program (Creative Residency Arita) which was also implemented in 2016. The idea behind this program is to give artists and designers (referred to as artists from here on) from abroad the opportunity to live and work in Arita for a three-month period. The artists all have their own project related to the production of ceramic work and during their stay in Arita, they work on that project together with locals from the ceramics industry. Generally, the artists are required to finish their project before leaving Arita and a presentation is held by the end of the term at which all the artists that participated in each session introduce the results of their project to the public.

Since the project is sponsored by the Dutch government, Dutch artists and artists who are based in the Netherlands have been most frequent to participate in the Creative Residence Arita program. However, through the open call program, artists from other countries have participated in the past as well, contributing to a further internationalization of Arita town as well as to a greater variety of countries that the ceramics industry in Arita cooperates with.

Since the program started, a total of 25 artists from nine different nations have participated in the Creative Residence Arita. There is a great variety in style and purpose of the ceramic pieces of art that the different artists have produced during their stay in Arita. A feature that most pieces have in common though, is that you can tell that the artists were inspired by their experiences in Arita or generally in Japan as well as the different styles of Arita ware itself.

Unfortunately, due to the pandemic, the Creative Residence Arita program has been interrupted since last year. Since Japan currently does not allow foreign nationals except those with a registered address in Japan to enter the country, no new artists from abroad were able to enter the program even though the number of applicants has remained steady since the launch of the program. However, preparations to resume the program are currently in progress and hopefully the program will be restarted in the near future once it becomes possible again for the new artists to enter the country.

With the beginning of the new fiscal year in April, the administration of the program was shifted from the Saga Prefecture International Division to the Arita Town Hall Commerce and Tourism Division. The fact that all parties involved in the process of organizing and managing the Creative Residence Arita program are now based in Arita makes it possible to keep an even closer connection between the artists, the organizers and the local partners from the ceramics industry. Hopefully, these close connections will lead to an even deeper exchange between the local ceramics industry and artists from all over the world.

[1]
Creative Residency Arita, https://cri-arita.com (last viewed on June 23, 2021)

Vincent Heuser received his bachelor’s degree from Hamburg University with a thesis on “Japan after the triple disaster 2011: The revitalization of the Tōhoku area”. He currently works as coordinator for international relations (CIR) in the JET-Program at the municipal hall of Arita-chō.

by Antonia Vesting

During the winter semester of 2019/20, I studied at Waseda University’s “Transnational and Interdisciplinary Studies in Social Innovation Program” (TAISI Program) in Tōkyō and conducted fieldwork for my upcoming bachelor’s thesis. I conducted interviews with lifestyle migrants living in Miyama town, Kyōto Prefecture and one expert interview with researchers at the DIJ in Tōkyō.

Lifestyle migration can be broadly defined as “the relocation of people within the developed world searching for a better way of life” [1]. In Japan, one further distinguishes between U-turn migration (returning to one’s rural hometown or area) and I-turn migration (moving to a place far away from one’s hometown or the home of one’s parents). In my research, I focused on l-turn migrants.

In 2016, I had spent three months studying Japanese at a Japanese Language School in Kyōto. Through my landlady, who is a Miyama l-turner herself, I was able to visit Miyama several times and was impressed by the innovativeness of individuals and groups who addressed problems such as abandoned woodlands, spreading monocultures and local infrastructural deficiencies. Thus, I became interested in the interconnection of sustainability and innovation of lifestyle migrants in Miyama and later chose this as a topic for my bachelor’s thesis.

My former landlady and friend introduced me to three Miyama I-turners and one I-turner and her friend, a long-term visitor reorienting herself after taking a break from work. After getting in contact with possible interlocutors, during a trip to Miyama in early February, I came back to conduct interviews in March 2020. I was accompanied by my professor for rural development at Waseda.

The results of my research confirmed many findings of the existing literature about lifestyle migration to rural Japan. When it comes to the relocation process, surprisingly, social media did not play a major role for my research participants. For them, connections to locals, as well as other I-turners, companies and other institutions in Miyama were more important. One also received financial support. Adjusting to simpler living standards was not easy for everyone and I wondered whether this is especially the case for older lifestyle migrants.

The interviews also showed that social networking and good relations with locals are the key for a successful life in Miyama. The newcomers actively try to participate in community life by presenting their ideas and visions. They think about their own future and the future of their community and actively and creatively engage in solving problems, often taking sustainability into consideration. However, obstacles remain as newcomers struggle to present their ideas to locals and implement them.

Migrants not only make use of local (traditional) resources and use them in new ways to create a path to the future, but they also use resources from the cities, thus building networks between rural and urban areas. At times they are entrepreneurial and innovative, but in most cases, it is not discernable that their entrepreneurial activities promote social change. Nevertheless, I-turner contribute to sustaining their community.

If I-turners choose to remain in one location in the long-term depends on how long they have already been settled there and how the region and living conditions change in the future. Miyama attracted new residents through its relative proximity to Kyōto – even though it is only accessible by car or bus – and rich natural and cultural amenities suggesting a specific way of life. But depopulation, neglect or climate change affect the satoyama landscape. There is still a lot to be done to preserve Miyama’s attractiveness.

[1]
Benson, Michaela / Karen O’Reilly (2009): „Migration and the search for a better way of life: a critical exploration of lifestyle migration”. In: Sociological Review 57 (4), p. 609.

Antonia Marie Vesting is a MA student in Japanese Studies at Freie Universität Berlin. She received her bachelor’s degree from Hamburg University with a thesis on “Lifestyle-Migration, Sustainability and Innovation in rural Japan: An Exemplary Case Study of a Community in Kyōto Prefecture.”

by Jyoti Vasnani

Vacant houses, or akiya, are one of the ways that Japan’s shrinking population has become visible in its landscape. This is especially so in rural areas, and this visibly empty space highlights the need for revitalisation in rural Japan. 

Akiya have been increasing across Japan over the years. Although the term “akiya” encompasses vacant buildings such as homes for sale or rent, it is akiya which have been essentially abandoned altogether that are a point of concern for both policymakers and citizens. Often, homes become vacant due to the death of the owner. If there is no one indicated clearly as an inheritor, or if the inheritor lives elsewhere and fails to maintain the building (due to the distance, expense, or lack of interest, for example), the home falls into disrepair and becomes a problem for the community. This is common in rural areas. 

Such unmaintained akiya can be a liability to the municipalities they are in, due to the financial costs and impact on third parties (such as the residents in the neighbourhood) of having a precarious house in the area. Not only are they dangerous and a potential spot for pests, they also may affect the scenery, which can deter people from moving in to the neighbourhood.  

Most municipalities, from small villages in Kyushu to the wards of Tokyo, have schemes to help mitigate the rise of akiya. This includes financial support for renovating and selling the structures, as well as the maintenance of so-called “akiya banks,” or databases of vacant houses. Some communities, however, have also begun to think of community-related solutions to the akiya ‘problem’. For example, in Yoshino, Nara, the akiya bank works with the “Live in Yoshino” project (sunde yoshino jigyō), which promotes migration to Yoshino*. It also works in conjunction with a resident group that runs a guesthouse that provides “trial living” to people interested in moving to Yoshino.  

In this manner, rural municipalities convert a problem: the increasing number of vacant houses, into a solution for another problem: attracting newcomers as a countermeasure to depopulation.  

Take, for example, Amakusa City, a remote municipality on the western edge of Kumamoto, which was formed by the amalgamation of the city of Hondo and a number of small fishing villages in 2006. It currently has a population of 78,820 [1], and is best known for Sakitsu, a picturesque hamlet designated a UNESCO World Heritage site in 2018 along with other sites of Japan’s Hidden Christians in Nagasaki, and which attracts tourists.  

Amakusa City hosts a website devoted to attracting new residents [2]. In fact, it is one of the more robust local government-led websites that can be found on local efforts to use akiya to attract new community members. The website’s akiya bank lists available properties (not limited to residences), and it features successful stories of people who have moved to Amakusa, some of whom have started businesses using vacant shops. Such efforts help relieve the worries of potential residents who may not know what to expect from the rural lifestyle. All of these are part of the efforts that Amakusa is taking to encourage people to permanently migrate to their city.   

When I visited Amakusa in 2018, I visited a shop (Figure 3) which was remodelled from a vacant house. It seemed to have been run by a local—nevertheless, it had media coverage and was widely visited, showing that it is possible for a successful business to run out of a vacant property [3]. When I spoke with the owner, he mentioned that he scouted the property and renovated it himself. The owner of Amakusanta, another store located in a remodelled akiya in Sakitsu, learned about the property via a friend who was maintaining it. This could point towards an alternative method of making use of akiya—finding out about it through local, informal means in addition to the information available online officially via the akiya bank—that is not visible to a researcher without fieldwork and getting to know the locals. 

*For more information on Yoshino: http://www.town.yoshino.nara.jp/chosei/keikaku/akiyaproject/

[1]
Amakusa City (2020). Amakusa-shi Tōkeisho (Reiwa 2 nendo) [Statistical Documentation for Amakusa City (for 2020)]. Retrieved from https://www.city.amakusa.kumamoto.jp/kiji0036844/index.html

[2]
Amakusa Web no Eki (n.d.). Amakusa Raifu [Amakusa Life] (Accessed 9 June 2021). Retrieved from https://inaka.amakusa-web.jp/

[3]
Shimoda Kōhī-ten (n.d.). In Facebook [Business page] (Accessed 9 June 2021). Retrieved from https://www.facebook.com/shimodacoffee/

Jyoti Vasnani was a BA student, who graduated from the National University of Singapore in January this year. She has a strong interest in akiya and what communities are doing to make the best out of these spaces, and wrote her thesis on the topic of akiya and place-making.

by Sachiko Ishihara

Hej from Sweden! This is Sachiko Ishihara here, a PhD student at Uppsala University, researching about moving to the countryside in Japan, focusing on two remote islands, Yakushima (Kagoshima prefecture) and Goto (Nagasaki prefecture).

I have just gotten back from another visit to Värmland. One of the rare personal benefits for me from the pandemic has been to be able to spend more time in the countryside. Not in Japan, as I had planned for my fieldwork, but in Sweden, at my partner’s family country house in Värmland, in the western side of Sweden. Throughout this pandemic year, we have gone to do work online from the countryside, parallel to the discussions of teleworking in Japan [1].

In my research, I have been interviewing people who moved to Yakushima and Goto. Now that I can’t be in Japan to have a personal experience of Yakushima and Goto at the moment, I think about my own experience of being in Värmland in a new light. Perhaps I can get new insights and have more to relate to them from my experiences here? Although the contexts are different, I am from the city going to the countryside by choice, too. I am not moving there permanently, but more going back and forth, like the idea of kankei jinkō that Maritchu Durand introduced in an earlier blog post.

A barrier: dialects. Even though my conversational Swedish is quite good when talking to people from Uppsala and Stockholm, I notice that I can barely have a short conversation with the neighbors, struggling to understand their Värmland dialect. I remember that my interviewees, coming from outside the regions of Yakushima and Goto, told me that they also occasionally had trouble understanding local dialects once they moved there. For me, this hinders me from trying to communicate with the neighbors. I wonder how my interviewees in Japan deal with this.

In the winter when we were there in Värmland, we used the woodfire stove to cook. For me, it was the first time and it was something I wanted to try since I had stayed with a family in Yakushima during my fieldwork who only used woodfire stoves to cook. In the house in Värmland, they had preserved the old stove, but for daily cooking we used the electric cooking stove.

It was fun to cook with firewood, although needless to say, it is quite a lot of work to do every day. While we were there, news came from Texas about their blackouts [2]. No power in the freezing winter meant that some people froze to death. Since I grew up my initial nine years in Texas and my brother and his partner still live there, this news hit close to home. And although the Texas issue involves complexity I cannot unpack here, for me the woodfire stove symbolized securing resilience, to be able to keep warmth and to cook, even if the larger system fails somehow.

In May, we also started planting some vegetables in the garden. As many of my interviewees in Japan also engage with farming, I think of more questions to ask next time that relate to concrete farming practices, the many decisions you make from tilling, buying seeds, composting and fertilizing, and beyond.

*

These are only fleeting reflections about my life in rural Sweden during the pandemic, but maybe they will bring me closer to my interviewees and to Yakushima and Goto somehow. Even if I am on the other side of the world.

[1]
Japan Times (2021, May 3): “Japan to promote relocations outside Tokyo without changing jobs”, https://www.japantimes.co.jp/news/2021/05/03/business/relocations-outside-tokyo/ (accessed June 1, 2021).

[2]
The guardian (2021, February 18): “Anger mounts over Texas power blackouts as icy cold maintains its grip”, https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2021/feb/17/texas-power-blackout-weather-cold (accessed June 1, 2021).

By Galina Khoikhina

In August 2020, I went to Hida Furukawa, located in Gifu Prefecture. I was an exchange student in Japan and travelled to this small city as a part of my term paper project about the relationship between anime pilgrimage and rural revitalization. Anime pilgrimage (anime seichi junrei) is a type of tourism based on people visiting places that appear in an anime. Hida Furukawa, became famous as a destination for anime tourism in 2016, just after the release of Makoto Shinkai’s animated film “Your Name (Kimi no na wa)”. 

The animated film “Your Name” tells the story of Mitsuha, a girl from the countryside and Taki, a boy from Tokyo. Although they are strangers, they begin to switch bodies from time to time, and through this experience learn more about each other’s life. According to the plot, Mitsuha lives in the small town of Itomori. It is a fictional town, but many locations could be found in Hida Furukawa and its surroundings. 

The goal of my project was to find out how the release of the animated film “Your Name” affected the tourism industry in Hida Furukawa. To answer my research question, I went to Hida Furukawa and visited tourist information centers, kumihimo workshops and the city library. I also talked with residents. 

First thing I found out was that the tourist information centers offer a map for anime pilgrims. It shows the locations of the places, which appeared in the film, and provides general information about the city. 

The release of the anime film “Your name” also influenced the souvenirs sold to tourists. In addition to selling official anime goods, souvenir shops also sell local products, which are adjusted specially for anime pilgrims. For example, local sake is sold in the same bottles that appear in the anime. 

Furthermore, kumihimo workshops were organized for anime tourists. Kumihimo is the Japanese art of making cords, and it plays an important role in the anime “Your Name”. These workshops allow residents to interact with tourists. 

Some restaurants have also changed their marketing campaigns to attract anime pilgrims. Eateries offer discounts to tourists who came to Hida Furukawa to visit “the sacred sites”. 

Another interesting location is the city library.  Since it played a big part in the anime, tourists began to visit it a lot. Some of them disturbed the readers, so the staff even had to introduce rules for anime pilgrims. However, the librarians are very friendly to properly behaved anime pilgrims. They created a special “Your Name” corner, where visitors can make photos and leave feedback.  

To conclude, Hida Furukawa is an example of how anime content can be successfully integrated into existing tourism strategies and provide citizens working in this industry with a high level of interaction with anime pilgrims. 

*Galina Khoikhina is a BA student in Freie Universität Berlin’s Japanese Studies program. She is currently working on her BA thesis about tourism in rural Japan. 

by Cornelia Reiher

During the Covid-19 pandemic, more Japanese than usual became interested in or actually moved to rural areas [1]. To those interested in relocating to the countryside, several events and fairs provide information about the relocation process, support programs and different areas and municipalities. However, due to the pandemic, many of these events were cancelled or held online. This includes events like the so-called ijū fea (relocation fairs) organized by national organizations like the Japan Organization for Internal Migration (JOIN) or the Furusato kaiki shien sentā (NPO) as well as events organized by prefectures and municipalities. The formats vary from presentations for a larger audience to individual online counselling.

Since Japan’s borders are still closed to foreigners, we cannot do onsite fieldwork in Japan. Therefore, participating in such online events turned out to be a great opportunity to learn more about our research topic and relevant stakeholders and to reflect about (future and digital) access to the field. In April, I participated in an event organized by one prefectural government in Kyūshū that introduced the Chiiki okoshi kyōryokutai (COKT) program. This program was initiated by the Japanese Ministry of Internal Affairs and Communication (Sōmushō) in 2009 and provides municipalities in rural Japan with resources to support people from urban areas to move to their communities and to promote revitalization activities. [2] The event was chaired by an employee from the prefectural office. Two COKT participants from different towns spoke about their experiences and two employees from the municipal halls of the respective towns introduced their municipalities.

I learned a lot about specific issues related to relocation via the COKT program and the individual experiences of the two former COKT members. Both talked about strong social networks in rural towns as a benefit of rural life and gave advice to future applicants to the program. They encouraged them to visit the place they want to relocate to before applying for the program. All speakers stressed that the application should be written with passion.  It was also very interesting to learn about how representatives from the two municipalities promoted their towns to people interested in relocating to Fukuoka prefecture. While one particular emphasized the convenient infrastructure and family-friendly atmosphere, the other promoted housing support via the local database for abandoned houses (akiya banku).

I approached this event as I would have approached any event during onsite fieldwork and took notes during and after the event. On the downside, this format only allowed for one-way communication. Because Zoom was set in a way that only speakers were visible, I didn’t know how many other people participated in the event and I couldn’t approach neither audience nor speakers after the presentations to introduce myself and ask for an interview. However, I gained valuable insights into the proceedings of such events, about some topics COKT members, municipalities and prospective applicants to the program are concerned with, I got to know people I can contact via email and received information about future events I can attend. And despite the fact that this fieldwork took place at my desk in my home office, it brought back some of the excitement about fieldwork. I even was a bit nervous because I didn’t know what to expect. I did not only feel closer to the field, but also inspired by learning about people’s experiences and perspectives on relocation to rural Kyūshū and the COKT program.

[1]
Motohashi, Atsuko and Daichi Matsuoka (2020), More people moving to rural areas across Japan as new lifestyles emerge due to virus, The Mainichi, June 14, 2020, https://mainichi.jp/english/articles/20200612/p2a/00m/0fe/016000c?fbcl (last accessed May 14, 2021).
[2]
Reiher, Cornelia (2020), „Embracing the periphery: Urbanites’ motivations to relocate to rural Japan”, in Manzenreiter, Wolfram, Lützeler, Ralph und Sebastian Polak-Rottmann (eds.), Japan’s New Ruralities: Coping with Decline in the Periphery, London: Routledge, S. 230-244.

By Maritchu Durand

While traveling Japan, I discovered and learned to appreciate guesthouses. They offer affordable and convenient accommodation and provide a welcoming and warm place for lonely travelers exhausted after a long day of discoveries. In Furano, a city in northern Hokkaidō known for its multicolored flower fields, I had an unforgettable experience in a small and cozy hostel. After an eventful and draining day, I was relieved to take a rest in a hammock on the wooden terrace overlooking the small town and later sit down with the other guests. We shared a meal cooked by our host: different seasonal salads and warm dishes, and as a highlight, rice cooked over a woodstove placed in the middle of the small dining room. The owner introduced us to traditions in Hokkaidō and hidden destinations and arranged a cheese-making experience for my delighted neighbor the next day. The sixty-year-old Tokyoite later said that she would definitely come back to the hostel to enjoy the home-like atmosphere, the shared meal with strangers and the warm welcome by the owners.  

Warmly welcoming guests, introducing them to local crafts and specialties and creating a unique experience for and bond with guests is the mission of many guesthouses across rural Japan. This is also true for a hostel in Taketa in Ōita prefecture, one of our field sites. The owners put their hearts into the creation of a kankei jinkō – people who don’t live in the respective cities and towns, but feel attached to the place and at home in the local community and come back several times.[1] The Ministry of Internal Affairs (Sōmushō) emphasizes the importance of kankei jinkō for rural revitalization and defines them as city-dwellers with multiple backgrounds who, while still living in the big cities, keep coming back to a place and contribute to its vitality in many ways. They do so through the promotion of local crafts, volunteering or simply by spending their holidays in their new hometown (furusato).[2]

However, kankei jinkō is not a new concept. A unique example is the village of Kawaba, in Gunma prefecture: An isolated mountain village facing depopulation and economic decline since the 1960s, it successfully reversed these negative trends by creating a unique partnership with Setagaya-ku, one of Tokyo’s wealthiest districts.[3] Thanks to this unique long-term relationship, it became a kenkō mura,  a health village with hotels exclusively reserved for citizens of Setagaya, yearly visits by school children from the capital to experience life in the countryside, and a direct retail-network to sell the local produce to the metropolitan population. Not only did Kawaba considerably boost its economic and tourism activities, the village also gained the whole population of a Tokyoite district as its kankei jinkō. While Kawaba profited from its relative closeness to Tōkyō and active political leadership it remains an exception. I will further inquire how other places in more remote areas can create a kankei jinkō via guesthouses and hospitality to find out how they might contribute to creating bonds with city-dwellers and to the sustainable revitalization of rural municipalities.

[1]
Ong, Roger (2020), “Embraced by people and nature: Taketa Station Hostel Cue”, in: Zenbird, October 13^th, https://zenbird.media/embraced-by-people-and-nature-taketa-station-hostel-cue/, (last accessed May 13^th 2021).

[2]
Sōmushō (2018), “Kankei jinkō to wa” [What is a relationship population?], https://www.soumu.go.jp/kankeijinkou/about/index.html, (last accessed May 13^th  2021).

[3]
Kitano, Shu (2009), Space, planning, and rurality: uneven rural development in Japan, Victoria: Trafford Publishing. P.76ff.

By Tu Thanh Ngo (Frank Tu)

From shiny golden sand dunes to majestic snowy alps, from boundless paddy fields to deep green forests: rural Japan has so much to offer. Rural Japan is irresistibly charming, serene, picturesque, and fresh. This is quite a stark contrast to urban concrete jungles. Many urbanites enjoy a retreat in rural areas for a change after weeks and months of following ‘9 to 5’ schedules. Personally, while in Japan I always looked forward to a run-away trip over the weekend to escape the hustle and bustle of big cities.

So much of the charm of rural Japan comes from so-called amenities. Amenities are broadly defined as features of a region that make it an appealing place to live and work [1], which could be natural and cultural resources or job opportunities [2]. Having rich cultural and natural amenities is a factor to attract tourists as well as potential settlers.

In light of the many rural problems, some rural development scholars argue that one of the most successful strategies to help revitalize rural areas is amenity-based development [3]. They suggest that rural communities should capitalize on local amenities to attract newcomers, be it tourists or long-term migrants. Besides, newcomers play a significant role in rural revitalization by boosting consumption and the service industry in local communities. Moreover, young migrants – those seeking self-fulfillment and new challenges in rural Japan – can also help improve local amenities through activities such as developing local goods, working in local education, branding local products, or promoting the locality through their posts on social media [4].

This strategy to make use of local amenities is also reflected in the Japanese government’s Comprehensive Strategy for rural revitalization. In particular, “Tourismization and networkization of regional resources” is one of the tourism schemes included in the national version of the Comprehensive Strategy [5]. The scheme aims to capitalize on local amenities such as snow resorts, beaches, hot springs, gastro-tourism, geoparks, and cultural practices. Many municipalities follow this strategy. For instance, some focus on hot springs, others focus on traditional crafts such as pottery or bamboo art.

After a few years of travelling, I am still surprised that there are so many hidden gems in rural Japan, which are definitely as astonishing as the more mainstream spots. Should those places become more popular, it is likely that more newcomers and investors would come. I wonder how this would affect the charm of rural Japan.

[1]
Power, T. M. (1988) The Economic Pursuit of Quality. Armonk, NY: M. E. Sharpe.

[2] [3]
Green, G. P. and Zinda, J. A. (2013) ‘Rural development theory’, in Handbook of Rural Development. Massachusetts, USA: Edward Elgar Publishing, Inc. pp.3-20.

Johnson, K. M. and Stewart, S. I. (2005) ‘Recreation, amenity migration and urban proximity’, in Amenities and Rural Development: Theory, Methods and Public Policy. UK: Edward Elgar Publishing Limited. pp. 177-196

[4]
Klien, S. (2020) Urban Migrants in Rural Japan: Between Agency and Anomie in a Post-Growth Society. Albany: SUNY Press.

[5]
Prime Minister’s Office of Japan (2020a) ‘Chiiki Saisei Keikaku: Arita “Han’nō Hantō” Suishin Keikaku’. Prime Minister’s Office of Japan. Available at: https://www.kantei.go.jp/jp/singi/tiiki/tiikisaisei/dai49nintei/plan/y116.pdf.

By Sarah Bijlsma

Four years ago, on a summer morning, I stepped in the elevator of the Metropolitan Government Building in Tokyo. I had just arrived in the Japanese capital after a nine-hours long, uncomfortable bus ride that was meant to save the costs of one night’s accommodation. Standing on the observation deck 200 meters above the ground, I looked at the little squares that I knew were buildings, still sharp in the beginning but blurring into a homogenous grey mass that continued until the horizon. I had never been to a place where concrete did not seem to have an end. Mini-cars and mini-buses moved below me through the streets, but besides, I could not see any signs of life when looking out over the metropole. There, I realized that Tokyo is not so much a background against which people live their individual lives. It is the other way around; Tokyo is the authority here, residents only attribute to its being. The city’s geometric logic and standardization master social, cultural, and economic space in ways that make all living beings and material places to function the larger city design. I felt small up there, yet, feeling small in such a place has less to do with physical size. It was more the overwhelming determinedness of the city that caused my feelings of both emptiness and awe.

Japan is known to be one of the countries with the highest degree of urbanization worldwide. In 2019, around 91% of the population was living in urban areas, good for almost 115 million individuals [1]. This trend is a typical case of self-fulfilling prophecy; while people, jobs, and opportunities become geographically bound to the Japanese metropoles, rural areas suffer under the pressures of a declining and aging population, and their livability declines. Yet, the ongoing Covid-19 pandemic has provided people around the world with opportunities to rethink their ways of living and working. Japan, despite its relatively low infection rate, is not excluded from these debates. According to the Japan Times, 27,006 people moved into Tokyo in the month of September of 2020, a fall of 11,7% compared to the numbers of the year before. At the same time, 30,644 people moved out of the metropole, which is an increase of 12.5% year-on-year. For the third straight month in a row – the longest term ever measured – the numbers of people moving out of Tokyo outnumbered the ones of those moving in. [2]

So where do people go when they “escape” the urban jungle? Is the Japanese countryside turning into a hub for young Tokyoites? The Hometown Return Support Center (Furusato kaiki shien sentaa), an NPO that supports local governments in the revitalization of localities by providing consultation on rural in-migration, job opportunities, and community building, among others, has conducted a survey in 2020 amongst more than 7500 Japanese that wish to relocate to a rural area. Inquiring about their desired destination, the organization concludes that the prefecture most popular amongst aspiring emigrants is Shizuoka prefecture. On the second place ranks Yamanashi, on the third Nagano – prefectures all located just outside of the Tokyo metropole. [3]

In contrast to what the Japan Times article suggests, the survey of the Hometown Return Support Center notes that compared to 2019, the number of inquiries received by email, phone, and other channels decreased with 22% throughout the course of the year. I compared the findings from the article with statistical data on domestic migration within Japan. In March 2021, Shizuoka welcomed 11.864 individuals from other prefectures. The numbers for Yamanashi and Nagano were respectively 3.069 and 6.494; all only a fraction of the new resident numbers in, for example, the prefecture Chiba (33.636), Saitama (36.895) and Fukuoka (23.949) [4]. Also, when looking at migration trends throughout the previous years, especially Aichi and Kanagawa Prefecture witnessed a high number of new residents. [5]

Why do these numbers not correlate with the outcomes of the survey that was conducted by the Hometown Return Support Center? One could say that while people dream of moving to certain places, only a few of them actually make the move. This could be, of course, for several reasons. Perhaps did Shizuoka, Nagano, and Yamanashi Prefecture became so expensive that only the upper-class can afford actually living there? Perhaps these three places hold a particularly strong image in the Japanese imaginary, yet, after seriously exploring their possibilities, aspiring migrants conclude that other prefectures are more convenient as a living place? Or perhaps there are simply many city dwellers playing around with the idea to move away, but in the end decide to terminate their plans and stay in their known environments?

That being said, it seems that the depopulation trend of Tokyo did not set through. In March, 97.325 people moved into the capital, while only 69.544 managed to escape. [6]

[1]
Data derived via https://www.statista.com/statistics/270086/urbanization-in-japan/ (Accessed 29 April 2021).
[2]
Japan Times (2020, 4 November): “Let’s discuss moving to the countryside” https://www.japantimes.co.jp/life/2020/11/17/language/lets-discuss-moving-countryside/. (Accessed 29 April 2021).
[3]
Data derived via https://www.furusatokaiki.net/wp/wp-content/uploads/2021/03/webnews_20210304_furusato_ranking2020.pdf  (Accessed 29 April 2021).
[4]
Data derived via https://www.e-stat.go.jp/en/dbview?sid=0003420473 (Accessed 29 April 2021).
[5]
Data derived via https://www.e-stat.go.jp/en/dbview?sid=0003404081 (Accessed 29 April 2021).
[6]
Data derived via https://www.e-stat.go.jp/en/dbview?sid=0003420473 (Accessed 29 April 2021).