by Sarah Clay

Since the beginning of the 21st century, the Japanese government has encouraged rural areas to develop local brands as part of their revitalization strategies. To attract tourists and migrants from urban areas, rural municipalities and their residents receive support to develop products unique to that region. This resulted throughout Japan in an enormous increase in local products over the past two decades [1]. Some famous examples are the melons from Yūbari town, apples from Nagano, and wine from Yamanashi Prefecture. On the Miyako Islands, you can find all kinds of products made with local herbs and plants. Popular, for instance, is the sweet-scented getto tea, purifying noni soap, and Yarabu Oil that is made by the elderly on Ikema-Jima.But even more than local delicacies or beauty products, it is the sea and its unique color known as “Miyako Blue” that attracts Japanese tourists and migrants the most. In this blog post, I introduce two producers who have turned the sea into a commodity and developed a product that offers tourists and others new ways to experience the sea of Miyako.

The first product is not produced in Miyako, but sold in local stores and in the umi no eki of Irabu-jima. 35 Coffee (pronounced: san-go coffee, sango is the Japanese word for coral) is an Okinawan coffee brand that was founded in 2009. The special thing about the coffee is that the beans are slowly roasted at a temperature of around 200 degrees Celsius on coral fossils from the Okinawan Sea. According to the prefecture’s fishing law, it is strictly forbidden to collect corals or coral fossils. That is why 35 Coffee works with a company that has obtained a special license for this purpose. It is also forbidden to export coral from the prefecture, so 35 Coffee can only produce on the islands of Okinawa – which the company uses as a unique selling point. You can buy the coffee via the company’s website, in local stores and in the two 35 Coffee stores on Kokusai Dōri in Naha and in Okinawa World in Nanjo [2].

Besides using corals in the production process, 35 Coffee donates 3.5 percent of its profits to coral restoration projects. Their main partner is Okikai, a construction and real estate company that also specializes in coral transplantation. Coral transplantation has become a popular conservation method in Okinawa in recent years. First, a healthy host coral is taken from the ocean and divided into several pieces. These polyps are kept in a water tank and monitored until they reach a size when they can be planted back into the ocean [3]. Okikai does this in April and October, as the company realized that survival rates are highest during those months. 

Another product that is being sold on the Miyako Islands is the salt of the brand Kanashaya. Kanashaya means “lovable” in the Miyako language. The handmade salt is extracted directly from ocean water gathered at the Yabiji coral reef, a designated natural reserve that is located a little off shore of Ikema-jima. The producer of the salt, Bibi-san, started the Kanashaya project during the COVID-19 pandemic when she was in need of some extra income. The salt can be bought via her online shop and in local shops and restaurants on Miyako. It can be either used for consumption or mixed with water as a body scrub [4]. There are different variants of Kanashaya salt. The water of Yabiji is collected either during full moon or new moon, with the moon standing every month in a different star sign. As such, all the batches have a different energy that interacts with the energy of the user in unique ways. Salt created from water gathered during the new moon contains livelier energy, as the new moon is a phase of new beginnings. Full moon salt, on the other hand, can be used as a closure, to give gratitude to what came on your path, and to leave behind what is not useful anymore. Gathering the water is a spiritual process for Bibi-san, during which she stands directly in contact with the sea deity Kaijin-sama. During the boat ride to the Yabiji reef, Bibi-san prays to Kaijin-sama and sings the ancient Hifumi Norito prayer as a way to honor the gods.

When I visited Miyakojima, I was interested in how locals and migrants use the sea as inspiration to develop local products that together form the Miyako brand. Some products are small-scale, such as Bibi-san’s Kanashaya salt. Others have grown into big businesses, as the example of 35 Coffee shows. Some products take the bright color of the sea as a starting point, others its symbolism of freedom and purification, still others its spiritual energy. By highlighting the different characteristics of the sea, these products become symbols of the different relationships people have with the sea of Miyako and offer valuable insights into the stories surrounding the natural world of the islands.

References

[1] Rausch, Anthony. 2009. “Capitalizing on Creativity in Rural Areas: National and Local Branding in Japan.” Journal of Rural and Community Development, Vol. 4 No. 2, pp. 65–79.

[2] Website 35 Coffee: https://www.35coffee.com/

[3] See for an in-depth analysis of Okinawan coral gardening:  Claus, C. Anne. 2017. “The Social Life of Okinawan Corals.” Journal for the Study of Religion, Nature and Culture, Vol. 11 No. 2, pp. 157-174

[4] Website Kanashaya: https://bibirk.stores.jp/ and https://www.instagram.com/kanashaya/

by Cornelia Reiher

“What town has a waterfall behind the train station?” one of my research participants asked me proudly as we began our sightseeing tour of his favorite spots in Taketa in the spring of 2023. The impressive waterfall cascades down a rock face and springs from a source near an old shrine that was once the center of the town. He introduced me to the many streams, springs and hot springs in the area and took me to hidden springs, small ponds and waterfalls that I would never have found without his expertise as a local guide. If you spend a little time in Taketa and talk to locals and urban-rural migrants alike, at some point the topic of water comes up. The good quality of the water was mentioned by almost everyone, and some urban-rural migrants have moved to Taketa because of it. Fetching drinking water from the many springs in the area is an integral part of everyday life for many, and water has also become an important part of Taketa’s marketing strategy.

The motivations for moving to a particular rural location are unique to each urban-rural migrant, but many people I interviewed or who appear in online promotional videos for urban-rural migration cite nature as an important reason for their relocation. They moved to the countryside because they wanted to live closer to nature, raise their children in a safe and healthy environment or grow their own food. Fetching spring water (wakimizu) is mentioned in promotional materials and interviews alike as a feature of an idealized rural lifestyle surrounded by beautiful nature. In Taketa, many of the urban-rural migrants I interviewed told me that they moved here because of the good water quality, among other reasons. One migrant praised the beautiful mountains, rivers, sky and water. Another migrant said: “The water is simply wonderful.” (Interview with a female migrant, 2022). Return migrants emphasized that they returned because the food tastes better due to the good water quality, and migrants with children mentioned that they enjoy swimming in the clean water of the rivers. Some stressed that the hot springs in Taketa are better (in terms of water quality) and cheaper than in Oita-shi.

When I visited Taketa, I always found spring water in my accommodation and in restaurants.  Signs pointed out the name of the spring and the health benefits of drinking this particular spring water. My research participants took me to the numerous springs in the area to replenish their drinking water supplies. When we arrived with a trunk full of empty canisters or pet bottles, we parked next to other cars, often from other prefectures in Kyushu, but sometimes also from Honshu. My research participants proudly pointed out to me that people travel long distances to fetch the delicious spring water from Taketa. We had to queue at some springs to fill up our pet bottles, and some springs were completely deserted. Instead of fetching the water from the stream, the community set up taps to make fetching the spring water easier. While for some urban-rural migrants this practice of fetching water has become a routine that makes them feel closer to nature, for some locals it is an economic necessity and a way to save money on their water bill.

Water has also become an important tourist asset in Taketa. The tourism association has created a map of scenic springs. Local guides take tourists to waterfalls and hot springs and promote Taketa’s waterways. There are folk tales about water, such as the story about a dragon living by a waterfall. The dragon terrorized the area and had to be calmed with the head of a cow. After that, he apparently behaved himself. But water is not only important for people’s daily lives and local identity, maintaining its quality and keeping the waterways clean is also a challenge. When we visited different places in spring 2023, my local tour guide pointed out that there was not enough water in the ponds and streams and expressed his concern about how this would affect trees, wildlife and people.

In addition to these environmental challenges, the maintenance of the city’s water channels is becoming increasingly difficult due to the ageing population and the exodus of young people. Residents usually clean the canals together with their neighborhood association (jichikai). In some neighborhoods, only older people still take part in such activities because their children have moved away. In some cases, urban-rural migrants now help with the neighborhood association’s activities to maintain and clean the waterways. In this way, the circle is complete: the water has attracted people to Taketa and is now being maintained by them.

by Josko Kozic

For me, a PhD student of religious studies studying contemporary practiced Buddhism and sacred cultural heritage, the Tajima region including the town of Yabu in Hyōgo Prefecture is an important place for fieldwork. In addition, it is also my partner’s hometown, so every visit to his family is an opportunity to conduct additional field research and open up new adventures, encounters and perspectives. Today I would like to give you an example of how this charming town is being promoted through the efforts of local and international actors and highlight the important role of a Buddhist temple in creating community and creative exchange in the region.

In August 2023, I was kindly invited to an O-bon dance festival by the head Priest of Yabu’s Buddhist temple Nikkō-in. Priest Morita is a passionate music-lover who frequently invites musicians and orchestras from all over the world to Yabu for public music events. When I met him first in 2021, he kindly introduced me to his temple and an ancient statue of a rather rare and special Buddhist deity known by the name of Uhō bosatsu (“Rain blessing Boddhisatva”). This time, Priest Morita invited the famous singer Kawachiya Kikusuimaru, who sings so-called Kawachi Ondo folk songs, primarily incorporating topics such as street life, the working class, yakuza, rough language and Buraku communities as their main theme. The concert took place inside the outdoor part of Nikko-in temple and was held for several hours, beginning in late afternoon and lasting until early night. It was accompanied by Taiko drum and guitar players and got to its climax when all guests started to do an O-bon dance to the music, relaxing and enjoying themselves in the heat of the summer night, occasionally quenching their thirst with some freshly cut watermelon. The concert allowed the locals to gather and spent some carefree time in the wanton mood of a music concert held in a rather unusual location and also provided the opportunity for some exchange between me and Priest Morita.

But the event was also an opportunity to get to know a new friend I had made just before the concert: Cesar Romero, who works in the Trade and Tourism Department as the International Relations Coordinator for Yabu City. I met Cesar by chance at Yabu City Hall, right next to Yōka City Station (michi no eki), where I went to buy a small doll of the local mascot (yurukyara), called “Yappu”, and to get some fresh Sanshō pepper, which is famous nationwide for its luscious fragrance and can trace its reputation back to the Edo period. Cesar approached me and since then we kept in touch and decided to attend the concert at Nikko-in Temple together. Afterwards, he invited us to a newly opened izakaya in Yabu, which is run by young locals and uses regional ingredients for both traditional and fusion food and drinks. Cesar is of Canadian-Colombian descent but grew up in Japan, where he is now involved in numerous activities in Yabu and beyond. During our first conversation, I was very impressed to hear about his experiences working on projects such as harvesting yuzu and Sanshō pepper or organizing a lavish sake event at Yabu’s Akenobe mine.

Primarily, Cesar’s activities are aimed at making Yabu more open to inbound tourism by producing tourism material in English and advising the city on how to improve signage for international tourists. In addition, one of his tasks is to represent Yabu at international tourism conventions, where he encourages travel agencies from all over the world to promote tourism in Yabu. This also involves highlighting alternatives to mass tourism along the Golden Road and focusing on “slow tourism”. In addition, Cesar approaches local groups or members of the Regional Development Cooperation Corps (chiiki okoshi kyōryokutai) to develop possible activities for tourism. Another of Cesar’s tasks is to promote the internationalization of the city in order to make Yabu more foreigner-friendly and to inform residents about intercultural skills and the importance of multiculturalism. According to Cesar, the Yabu region lacks vitality and curiosity to try new things. He adds that the aging community is inevitably becoming more conservative and as a result, part of the community is seriously considering efforts to attract foreign tourists. Although Yabu has many assets that can be promoted abroad, such as Tajima beef, Yōka pork, Asakura Sanshō pepper and local sake, Cesar criticizes the lack of focus of Yabu’s outdated tourism model, which is heavily dependent on the weather, with winter being the busiest season. With warm winters like in 2023, many businesses would not be able to make a profit.

Reflecting on how much Priest Morita as a local and Cesar as a non-local, each separately or hand in hand, can influence social life and tourism in Yabu and surrounding areas, made me realize how social interaction within and beyond cultural and linguistic boundaries acts as an essential tool for rural revitalization engagement and efforts. Many thanks to Cesar Romero and Priest Morita for giving me such deep insights into a region that I consider my “second home!”

Josko Kozic is a PhD candidate at the Institute for Religious Studies at Heidelberg University and currently a visiting scholar at DIJ Tokyo, Nanzan Institute and Sophia University. His current project focuses on the interconnectedness of religious practices, their socio-economics and their politics in relation to cultural heritage efforts (including UNESCO). He specializes in the study of contemporary Shugendō practice, esoteric Buddhism and the iconography of Hindu-Buddhist heritage sites in South, Central and Southeast Asia.

by Cecilia Luzi

I had the opportunity to observe and compare two different communities and the different patterns of urban-rural migration in the bustling cafes of Hasami and the beautiful landscapes of Buzen. My goal was to learn more about the migrants’ perspective on rural life and to analyze the different factors that play a role in creating a sense of belonging. For many of the people I met, their journey was linked to a sincere desire to learn and adapt, which is crucial in fostering a sense of home in a new environment. Amidst this commitment, migrants bring with them a rich history of familial and individual relationships, personal aspirations and unique skills that infuse the process of building a new home with creativity.

Today, I would like to share with you the story of Rieko, a 43-year-old woman who moved with her two daughters to one of the municipalities in my fieldwork. Her husband commutes to the nearest big city and returns home on weekends. Rieko used to work as a freelance web writer and photographer, but now she works for a company promoting local tourism. She is a content creator, and her job allows her to explore local tales, legends, and myths, which she is passionate about. When I arrived, Rieko became my local guide, and we started a tradition where every two to three weeks, we would go on a ramen-and-jinja day. Rieko would drive me to hidden shrines and share their history with me. Afterwards, we would enjoy delicious ramen at nearby spots. Our last ramen-and-jinja day was on a sunny mid-February day in 2023. We headed to a ramen shop along the road that was mainly frequented by truckers, to enjoy a tonkotsu ramen. “It was the first place I tried when I first came down with my husband to visit the area in view of a future move. It’s the best tonkotsu ramen in all of Kyūshū!” Rieko confided. On that particular day, she led me to visit a shrine hidden under a cliff covered with vegetation, in the middle of rice fields. Rieko was a rich source of information about the place, and she insisted that it’s a shame these areas are not adequately promoted.

We discussed how people perceive these areas: “Not many people live in these areas. Outside of here, it’s difficult to make people understand where these towns are, and people have only a very vague idea of how life is in these areas, and this is true also for migrants or those who would like to come here. Once, talking to someone about my choice, they told me how nice it must be to live in a place in the middle of the mountains (note: the municipality has only a very small portion of mountainous terrain; the rest are hills that descend to the sea).” We laughed and Rieko confessed: “I didn’t really know what to respond.” Rieko has been making an effort to connect with her new home by learning about its history and geography. She uses various online sources and visits the local library to gather information. She has also tried to reach out to local amateur historians for more insights, but unfortunately, they were not very cooperative: “You know, it’s often older retired men, and either they aren’t very friendly, or sometimes conversations can get a bit awkward,” she once shared with me. When I visited her home for the first time, she proudly showed me a couple of old books on local history that she had recently acquired from a small museum a few months earlier. Besides her job, Rieko also has a blog where she shares her knowledge of the region’s rich history and legends, as well as her reviews of restaurants and cafes. Her unique perspective as a young woman from “outside” immersing herself in local history makes Rieko’s view on local geographical and historical landscapes refreshing.

Reiko’s personal journey as an urban-rural migrant is a good example of how people try to connect with their new place of residence through their work, lifestyle and interests. Before moving to the country, she had not expected to develop a passion for history. But this unexpected pursuit also proved beneficial for the local government. Rieko occasionally works with the Green Tourism Office to design new brochures and promotional leaflets. By increasing her commitment to her new life, she also became an asset to her new community.

Rieko’s story shows how a sense of belonging is built through a constant effort from migrants who want to feel at home in their new place of residence. Interestingly, this sense of belonging operates reciprocally: as Rieko attaches herself to the place by delving into its past and present, the place becomes a part of her identity. In return, she becomes an integral part of the local community by actively producing knowledge about it and through collaborating with the local government. Similar to many other urban-rural migrants, Rieko introduces the possibility of new ways of inhabiting this space through her presence, actions and perspectives on rural areas. This broadens the definition of what it means to be a local and creates a change in the way rural spaces are perceived and inhabited.

by Joy Hendry

In 2019, just before Japan closed to outside researchers for what must have seemed a cruelly long time to young scholars waiting to do their planned fieldwork, I was lucky enough to make a nostalgic visit to my own first fieldwork location. Thanks to the support of the Daiwa Anglo-Japanese Foundation, I donated some of the materials I had collected 43 years earlier, having decided they were better off in the village than gathering dust on my bookshelves. Moreover, my son and his partner were able to join me and make a documentary film about the visit, which I was delighted to discover could be enjoyed by many classes being taught remotely, also due to the pandemic.

The older villagers remembered the year I had spent as a doctoral student, for there were few foreigners in rural Japan at the time, and my husband and I were a rare sight. Later I took my children to visit, so the man filming them had also been there as a youngster, and of course, the youth group of that time were now running village affairs. They were incredibly welcoming, as they had always been, and the family who had been next-door neighbours to my husband and I opened their home to us, as they had done on several previous visits over the years. There has been reciprocity, of course, and I have just introduced their great granddaughter to the Hall in Oxford used in films of Hogwarts School of Harry Potter fame.

The village of 54 houses has shrunk slightly over the years, and a few newcomers have settled there, but the majority of residents are long-term, continuing families, though the younger generations have often found themselves homes separate from their elders. This is one of the changes since I first lived there, but there are still multiple generations working together on the growing of tea, first introduced as a pilot scheme a few years before I arrived, and chrysanthemums, which flourish in electrically lit greenhouses to allow them to flower for the New Year. These crops have largely replaced the papermaking which had been practiced in 30 houses in the past.

Other crafts I observed, such as bamboo work and lantern-making, have been replaced by businesses such as the supply of local stoneware, manufacture of vinyl bags, and a care home. One resident has a thriving carpentry business which is not new – he was trained in the community – and he was another visitor to Oxford, where he and his son built my university a small but charming Japanese room. His other son will carry on the trade, and between them these young men have added six children to the local school system, quite an achievement as Japan watches the birthrate plummet. A family which collected honey when I was first there has also grown the business and now exports it far and wide, again with generational continuity.

Another couple still thriving in the village invited all their grandchildren round to meet me on this visit. By chance their wedding had taken place during my first stay and their photograph appeared on the front of the book based on my doctoral research. Some of their relatives appeared on the cover of my second book so they laid both out for a family photograph along with albums of other events which have taken place over the years.

It has been a highlight of all my visits to Japan to return to this community, on one occasion with a BBC crew to make another educational film, always to find out how rural life was changing. Fewer people are to be found walking in the streets of the village – they drive out to their fields and greenhouses in their cars and farm vehicles, and there is no longer a village bath to bring everyone out of an evening. However, a splendid new village hall has been built, and it was used formally to receive the family trees and my diagram of how all the houses in the village were related, so there is clearly enough care and resource to give the community a good meeting place.

This visit was possibly my last, and during the pandemic I wrote a memoir of the experiences I have had there over the years, often wonderful, but sometimes frustrating, sad, and of course lonely. The book is called An Affair with a Village, for an anthropologist is always an outsider, marginal to “real life”. I started the book in 1976 so it was good to get it finished, and I hope it may inspire some of those setting out to start on such a career, even if their arrival was delayed, to build good relations with those who help them in Japan.

Joy Hendry is professor emerita of Oxford Brookes University where she taught the Anthropology of Japan for many years.

by Lynn Ng

“Leave no one behind” is the central theme of the United Nations’ pledge towards sustainable development, and it is also one of the four pillars of Japan’s Digital Garden City Strategy [1] to integrate digital technologies into rural regions. Digital technologies are a double-edged sword: they can connect communities, people and urban and rural areas while excluding others, whether due to infrastructural inequality or social disparities.

In Professor Reiher’s “Digitalization in Japan” course, we discussed the changes in Japan’s technological space and their impact on the country’s gender and labor spheres. Sometimes I feel encouraged when I read about the progress of digitalization strategies, and other times the reading reminds me of the numerous hurdles that hinder Japan’s progress as a technological country that “leaves no one behind.” For example, while in class we discussed the rise of digital platforms that allow women to work from home, we also explored the social structures that make their digital work invisible [2]. Later, we also read about how global digital transformation is gaining academic traction in rural areas and how rural communities can benefit from digitalization [3, 4], only to subsequently discuss the scale and applicability of many rural digitalization projects beyond individual case studies.

But I often remember the vast disparity in digital accessibility between communities I experienced during my fieldwork in Fukushima. In my previous blogpost,I wrote about the strong consumption of new digital technologies across Fukushima prefecture after the triple disaster in 2011. Yet, in that writing, unknowingly, I myself had already “left behind” the communities in the same prefecture where I spent a whole week without a single phone signal in 2022.Ironically, I also wrote a post about that experience for this blog. Thus, despite the central government’s vision to realize a society where “no one is left behind” regardless of geographical limitations, age gender or disability, such is the reality of Japan’s digitalization attempts across its regions: Certain communities in Fukushima prefecture, such as Okuma would be developing zero-carbon technologies and unmanned stores, while a community of a similar size just a little over a 30-minute drive into the mountains would lack basic telecommunications infrastructures.

As I now prepare for my return to the field in February, I am both anxious and excited to visit these places again. But I carry a deep hope that the inequality I experienced in the digitization processes has lessened even a little. And I’m curious to find out if the newly launched Digital Garden Cities strategy has spawned new projects at the local level in Fukushima to tackle the digital divide in Japan’s rural areas.

References:

[1] JapanGOV. (2022). Vision for a Digital Garden City Nation: Achieving Rural-Urban Digital Integration and Transformation. Retrieved online: https://www.japan.go.jp/kizuna/2022/01/vision_for_a_digital_garden_city_nation.html

[2] Lukács, Gabriella (2020). Invisibility by Design: Women and Labor in Japan’s Digital Economy. Durham and London: Duke University Press.

[3] Stein, Veronika, Pentzold, Christian, Peter, Sarah and Sterly, Simone (2022). “Digitalization and Civic Participation in Rural Areas: A Systematic Review of Scientific Journals, 2010-2020”. Raumforschung und Raumordnung 80(3), p. 251–265.

[4] Rutihinda, Cranmer (2020). “The Role of Digital Entrepreneurial Platforms and Bricolage Entrepreneurial Processes in Rural Transformation”. Journal of Emerging Trends in Marketing and Management 1(1), p. 220–230.

by Cornelia Reiher

On a beautiful weekend in the spring of 2023, a friend invited me to a market in the countryside of Oita Prefecture. The market was held on the private property of a couple of urban-rural migrants. Their adult son had moved to the same area with his family a few years ago, and the parents followed him because they wanted to be close to him and their grandchildren. In their idyllic garden, which surrounds their house on a hill overlooking the rice fields, several people had set up stalls. They sold pastries, bread, tea, toys and clothes. To get to the house, we had to climb up the hill under flowering trees. When we arrived, a guitar concert was taking place on an impromptu stage, which, together with the scent of spring flowers and blossoming trees, created a very special atmosphere. Many of the visitors and vendors were urban-rural migrants and most of them had brought their children with them.

Before we were allowed to enter, we were asked to exchange Japanese yen for a local currency (chiiki tsūka) called deera, which inspired the name of the event. Everything offered for sale could only be paid for with deera. The man in charge of the currency exchange turned out to be a member of the grassroots organization Transition Japan and lives in Minami Aso, a town close to Taketa. He handed me a brochure with the slogan “Taisetsu na koto wa, ashimoto ni aru.” (The important things are right here.) He explained that the aim of the Transition Town movement is to create a more sustainable future in order to “pass on a rich and beautiful planet to the next generation.” I had only ever read about alternative currency groups and the Transition Town movement in Japan (Morris-Suzuki 2017) and was delighted to see it in action and speak to one of its members.

Transition Japan supports and promotes the Transition Town movement in Japan. The movement envisions a transformed society that turns away from mass production, mass consumption and mass disposal of material goods and towards a new awareness of “the social benefits and environmental impacts of the things we produce” (Morris-Suzuki 2017: 186).The non-profit organization Transition Japan was founded in June 2008 with the aim of introducing the UK-based Transition Town movement to Japan. In June 2009, Transition Towns were launched in Japan in Fujino, Hayama and Koganei. In July 2010, the number of Transition Towns in Japan reached 15 (Transition Japan 2021). After the 3/11 triple disaster, the movement grew strongly, and by early 2017 there were 46 Transition Towns in Japan, and many existing Transition Towns have launched new renewable energy projects (Morris-Suzuki 2017: 185). In 2020, the network consisted of 60 transition groups (Transition Japan 2021).

As there is a Transition Town group in Minami Aso, it was not surprising to see many people and vendors from Minami Aso at the deera matsuri. On their website, the group introduces themselves as “a transition initiative in Kumamoto, Kyushu, at the foot of Mount Aso. The local community is moving towards a sustainable way of life by helping, taking care of each other and living in harmony with Mother Nature.” (Transition Town Minami Aso 2019). Many of the members are involved in permaculture, such as the young couple from Tokyo who moved to Minami Aso a few years ago and who sold tea made from leaves picked under the full moon at their stall at the deera matsuri. The deera matsuri takes place several times a year and is a place where people interested in sustainability and the environment meet to have fun, but also to support the activities of Transition Japan.

Local alternative currencies and local exchange trading systems have been discussed by some scholars as everyday utopias (Cooper 2016, Morris-Suzuki 2017). Everyday utopias are networks and spaces in which regular everyday life is conducted radically differently from mainstream or hegemonic everyday practices. Their aim is not to change society through campaigns or lobbying, but to create change by experiencing social and political life in new ways. In this way, everyday utopias contribute to transformative politics and change by combining the utopian and the everyday (Cooper 2016). Many urban-rural migrants in Japan see rural areas as spaces from which they can initiate change and realize such everyday utopias. I consider the deera matsuri as one example of an everyday utopia. It is part of our project to observe and analyze the changes that they bring about in and beyond our field sites in Kyūshū.

References:

Cooper, D. (2016), Everyday Utopias. The Conceptual Life of Promising Spaces, Durham and London: Duke University Press.

Morris-Suzuki, T. (2017), “Disaster and Utopia: Looking back at 3/11,” Japanese Studies 37:2, 171-190.

Transition Japan (2021), Dantai nitsuite, https://transitionjapan.net/about-tj/about-transition-japan/

Transition Town Minami Aso (2019), About, http://tt-minamiaso.blogspot.com/

by Teoman Erönü

Porcelain has been one of the most important features of Arita’s local identity since the discovery of porcelain stone in the Izumiyama quarry in 1616. In that year, Korean potter Lee Sampyeon (Ri San Pei in Japanese) found kaolin and porcelain was made in Japan for the first time. After this discovery, craftsmen and artists continued porcelain production over the course of more than 400 years. However, as mentioned in previous articles on this blog, many of the local kilns have had to close as demand for the ‘white gold’ has declined since the 1990s and it has become increasingly difficult to find young people to carry on this legacy. Local festivals such as the Arita Porcelain Fair in spring preserve the town’s traditions and, with over a million visitors a year, are one of the few remaining signs of life of the small town’s once thriving industry.

This fact is palpable in the local community, as several groups and individuals, including the city’s mayor, Matsuo Yoshiaki, and Arita City Hall, are doing their best to revitalize this core industry with PR and advertising campaigns as well as international partnership initiatives such as the Creative Residency Arita project. Another important partnership I would like to introduce is the city’s partnership with the German “porcelain city” of Meissen. Meissen was the first European city where porcelain was produced after Friedrich Böttger’s discoveries in 1710, and has also developed a local identity centered around porcelain production. This led to both cities signing a city partnership agreement on February 9, 1979 and thus becoming twin cities. Since then, the two towns have grown closer and closer and have maintained their shared local identity through reciprocal visits by delegations from the two towns at local celebrations. The local Arita-Meissen Friendship Association also plays an important role in connecting the two cities, as it has been organizing youth exchanges between the two cities since 1994.

A new cooperation is planned for 2024, as an elementary school in Meissen, which has renamed itself “Arita Elementary School Meissen”, has proposed a partnership with Arita Elementary School in Arita. Educating the children about their respective histories and similarities through cultural exchange projects is an attempt to raise awareness of the role of porcelain in the minds of children in both cities. The Japanese children proudly presenting their porcelain to the German children during an online exchange project and talking about the pottery lessons in their school is just one of many expressions of these efforts. 2024 marks the 45th anniversary of signing the twin city agreement between Arita and Meissen, and the partnership between the two schools will be officially sealed during an official visit by the principal of “Arita Elementary School Meissen” to Arita. On this occasion, a revival of the local youth exchange, which had been interrupted due to the Covid pandemic, is also planned.

The efforts of the city of Meissen do not stop here. Together with the “State Porcelain Manufactory”, the “Meissen Porcelain Foundation” and the state-owned company “State Palaces, Castles and Gardens of Saxony”, the city has applied to be included on the UNESCO World Heritage List. However, after this application was rejected at the most recent special meeting of the Ministry of Culture on December 4, 2023, the Mayor of Meissen, Olaf Raschke, announced in an interview that a joint application with the city of Arita is being considered, with the porcelain production of both cities being the focus of the application. A successful bid would not only deepen the connection between the two cities at a local level, but would of course also boost national and international tourism and be an important step towards revitalizing both cities. The talks will take place during the official visit of a delegation from Meissen to Arita in fall 2024 on the occasion of the 45th anniversary of the town twinning.

Teoman Erönü graduated from the BA program in Japanese Studies at Freie Universität Berlin in 2021. He is currently the Coordinator for International Relations (CIR) in Arita as part of the JET program.

by Cecilia Luzi

“Japanese homes are sheltered spaces” (Daniels 2010: 19). Navigating intricacies of material culture within domestic Japanese spaces, Daniels sheds light on the inherent challenge of entering these typically private realms, particularly for outsiders. As I prepared for fieldwork, I knew gaining access to the homes of urban migrants would not always be easy. Whether for the brief duration of an interview or an extended period, immersing into research participants’ sharing their living space was paramount to understand how these individuals construct a home and foster a sense of belonging in a new environment. Moreover, houses, along with the everyday objects we use and, in the case of migrants, items brought from their previous homes, emerged as central elements for my research.

I approached my research on domestic spaces as a journey into the intimate spaces of urban-rural migrants’ lives. Sharing moments in their homes, I observed how their houses become more than a mere structure and was turned into a home through everyday activities, such as preparing meals, organizing the day, spending time with family or orchestrating bath time routines. Deciphering the materiality of migrants’ lives emerged as a key element in my research, recognizing that the house is never a neutral or static space; it’s where intimacy unfolds. Each intervention in the domestic space reflects families’ and individuals’ efforts to make themselves “at home.”

The two municipalities where I conducted fieldwork, Buzen and Hasami, differed significantly in terms of socio-economic structure and landscape, among other factors and the migrants I encountered in each municipality. In Buzen, where many migrants were farmers, small entrepreneurs managing cafes,guesthouses, or shops, and freelancers, their flexible schedules provided me with ample opportunities to spend time with them before formal interviews. This familiarity, built over time, enabled me to conduct most conversations in the migrants’ homes, gaining valuable insights into their private lives. Accessing migrants’ homes proved more challenging in Hasami, likely due to differing routines and job constraints among the migrant population. The majority of migrants I met in Hasami were company employees and artisans with less flexibility. Although I built close relationships with a couple of them who generously opened their homes on multiple occasions, I conducted most interviews in cafes, restaurants and migrants’ workshops.

The housing conditions of the migrants I encountered varied, but always contrasted with the highly standardized living arrangements prevalent in Japan. Major building conglomerates dominate the housing market and sell standardized features in new houses, leading to a uniform living experience in both apartments and detached houses (Daniels 2010). These are often chosen from a catalog and sold prefabricated on allocated lots. Notably, only few migrants I engaged with own the houses or apartments they live in; the majority opt to rent at a modest cost. Those who built their own houses went through an accurate negotiation process with building companies to personalize their homes. For instance, they might request triple glass windows for insulation against the cold, a larger living room for children to play, and a personalized garden layout to avoid weeds near the front door in the summer. When moving from the city, migrants put great effort into modeling their new domestic environment with objects and decorations that are in continuity with urban lifestyle—high-tech house equipment, high-speed internet connection, tablets, smartphones, and computers.

Many people I encountered, upon moving from the city to a rural area, chose to rent a small apartment in small residential buildings in town during the transition. “We aren’t ready to fully commit to an akiya,” said one migrant. “We need some time to adapt. I cannot live in a house in the middle of nowhere surrounded by deer at night, not yet! Too much nature!” Choosing to inhabit old, vacant wooden houses is a decision that demands thoughtful consideration and is not inherently evident to everyone. Many times, I was told, “I would like to live in an akiya, but I am not sure I can make it yet.” Numerous abandoned houses require a certain amount of repair work, and even then, living conditions are quite different compared to new industrial prefabricated houses. Yet, a few among the migrants I met chose to restore akiya themselves, enlisting the help of friends or professionals. Old houses are generally spacious, with multiple rooms arranged one after the other, separated by sliding wooden doors translucent (shōji) or covered with thick paper (fusuma), usually on tatami floors. The kitchen is often in a separate room, and depending on the house’s age, it might be right at the entrance on a lower level compared to the rest of the house. As for the toilets and bathrooms, there is no heating or air conditioning, and insulation is almost nonexistent.

Living in a former akiya myself, I realized how the domestic space one inhabits can shape one’s routine, seasonal habits, and even the body. Opting to reside in an old house entails embracing a domestic space that demands adaptation: take the time to carefully warm up the bath in winter, organizing meal preparations to optimize the use of a kitchen that freezes in winter and is very hot in summer, get used to sleep in the sounds of wind and the strong noise of heavy rain on the roof among other things. Reflecting on everyday life in an akiya made me recall Miller’s idea of the ‘haunted house’ or the notion that certain aspects, such as longevity, of homes and material culture “may create a sense that agency lies in these things rather than in the relatively transient persons who occupy or own them” (Miller 2001: 119). In the case of akiya, it is not so much the longevity that imposes on the dwellers, but rather a different domesticity that has nowadays disappeared. This way of living in the house involves, among other things, a different concept of privacy among family members as well as a different relationship with the outside of the house.

Observing urban migrants in rural Japan navigating such complex domestic spaces where contemporary technology has its place in old wooden countryside houses provided a chance to witness their agency on the rural space they come to inhabit and at the same time understand how “material culture and homes can be viewed as agents” (Miller 2001: 119) shaping migrants’ routine and domesticity and thus their sense of home and belonging. After all, it is not just migrants who shape the space, the space also shapes migrants’ everyday life.

References

Daniels, I., Andrews, S., 2010. The Japanese House: Material Culture in the Modern Home, Illustrated edition. ed. Berg Publishers, Oxford.

Miller, D., 2001. Home Possessions: Material Culture Behind Closed Doors. Routledge.

by Yuki Negi

I’m Yuki Negi, PhD candidate in social anthropology, University of Tokyo. From April 2022 to September 2023, I conducted field research in Ama Town as part of the community building support staff program (chiiki okoshi kyōryokutai) under the Ministry of Internal Affairs. In my contribution to this blog, I would like to briefly present my research project.

The town of Ama is one of Japan’s most important communities in the field of rural revitalization. However, it is a remote island with difficult geographical conditions, about 2-3 hours away from the mainland by ferry.  Some may ask: Is a 2–3 hour drive from the mainland really a big problem?  The answer is yes. The ferry from Ama arrives at the port of Shichirui, located on the outskirts of Shimane Prefecture, which has the second smallest population of all 47 prefectures in Japan. To get to another city, you have to take a bus from Shichirui Port to the train station and then take a local train (which runs every hour). In addition, ferry services are often canceled, especially in winter, due to high waves. The journey from Tokyo (Haneda Airport) to Ama usually takes at least 6 to 7 hours and consists of a combination of plane, train, bus and ferry. If you have 6-7 hours to spare, you can travel directly from Haneda Airport to Hawaii or Southeast Asia. Also, unlike many other Japanese islands, there are no famous sightseeing spots in Ama City, and relatively few tourists come to this island.

Despite these disadvantages, the island has managed to attract young urban migrants and promote industries that take advantage of the natural environment. Today, 20% of the island’s 2,200 inhabitants are urban migrants. The Municipality of Ama has taken the lead in numerous revitalization projects. Most of the people who hold key positions in the municipality are locals who were born and raised on the island. They have all known each other since childhood and maintain a close relationship similar to that of relatives. In this context, such a “closed” kinship group plans and runs various “open” projects to attract new outsiders to the island. When I inquired about the success of rural revitalization upon my arrival on the island, one of the key officials at the town office mentioned that the driving force behind the revitalization efforts was a sense of crisis: the town of Ama, with its history of over 1,000 years, was on the brink of extinction. There was no doubt about that, but it seemed to me that it would be difficult to achieve so much with a sense of crisis. As my research progressed, the question of why this rural island on the national border became a remarkable example of successful rural revitalization came into focus.

Interestingly, even those involved in the revitalization of Ama cannot explain the reasons for this success. Many of them point to external factors. For example, some attribute it to the geographical remoteness of the island, which attracts young urban migrants while keeping out large commercial capital that could disrupt the social and economic fabric of the community. Some residents also attribute this to sheer luck. Some urban residents who have migrated to Ama, on the other hand, believe that the municipality’s effective use of island resources (people, goods, money, etc.) plays a crucial role in attracting other important resources from outside the region, contributing to the success of local revitalization. A key factor in this success is the ability of the members overseeing the rural revitalization projects to understand the situation on the island and grasp its social and economic structure. The economic structure is unique, as there is only one office per industry on the island to avoid competition on the market. Recently, however, many business owners or craftsmen, e.g. in shipbuilding, are retiring. When they retire, there is a risk that the entire industry on the island will disappear. As residents cannot rely on neighboring towns due to the island’s remoteness, this “closed” society must “open up” and welcome immigrants from the city, especially those with special skills or the desire to work in industries that are threatened with extinction.

The Municipality of Ama is the main actor trying to attract urban migrants to the island. In such an island society with a limited population, various services need to be facilitated by the town office. Therefore, the town office, where local knowledge and information is gathered, has become a decision-making center for planning rural revitalization projects, taking into account the overall situation of the island. Although this is not unique, the city of Ama has been very successful in attracting people from all over the country. Urban immigrants to Ama Town include individuals with experience working for large companies in urban areas and with knowledge of central government policies and subsidies, which play an important role in augmenting the small rural community’s budget. Because of the presence of these stakeholders, the staff of the municipal office have the opportunity to understand not only how the inside of the island ‘works’, but also how the outside world ‘works’. They skillfully reconcile this naturally (if somewhat unintentionally) acquired local knowledge with the policies of central government and the needs and aspirations of urban migrants. Ultimately, they show that they are able to bring together the interests and aspirations of three different worlds – locals, urban migrants and central government. The city office successfully mobilizes people (both locals and migrants), goods (natural and historical resources of the island) and money (government subsidies, etc.). The increase in resources has created a virtuous cycle in which the town office has been able to mobilize even more people, goods and money. This continuous cycle is a key factor that contributes to Ama being an outstanding example of revitalization. From this point of view, long distance to Tokyo can be an advantage for the revitalization of rural areas in today’s Japan.

Reference: Yamauchi, Michio (2007), Ritōhatsu ikinokuru tame no 10 nen no senryaku, Tōkyō: NHK Press.

Yuki Negi is a PhD candidate in social anthropology at the University of Tokyo.