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.

by Cornelia Reiher

Twenty years ago, when I lived and worked in rural Kyūshū as a JET Program participant, I was almost the only foreigner in town. The JET Program aims to promote international exchange between Japan and other countries, and the foreign participants work temporarily as English teachers or as international relations coordinators in municipal or prefectural offices. During the field research for this project on domestic urban-rural migration, I found that rural Japan has become much more diverse compared to the early 2000s. Not only the number of domestic urban-rural migrants, but also the number of foreign residents in rural areas has increased. These include long-term residents such as marriage migrants from various countries, but also temporary migrants such as women with “show business” visa, certain skilled workers, technical interns from Southeast Asia and migrants from Europe, North America and Australia who teach English or work in the field of cultural exchange (Faier 2007; McConnell 2000; Oishi 2021; Uekusa and Lee 2020).

Rural regions in Japan are increasingly perceived by urbanites as a field of experimentation where diverse lifestyles are possible and people are happier because they can contribute to and even bring about social change (Klien 2020). But whereas domestic urban-rural migrants receive financial and other support to attract them to rural areas, this is not always the case for other groups of migrants.

Technical intern trainees, for example, migrate to Japan temporarily through Japan’s Technical Intern Training Program (TITP), a short-term labor rotation system established in 1993 with a stated objective of transferring skills to workers from East and Southeast Asia. At the end of 2022, 324,940 people were employed through the TITP. In my field sites, the number of technical intern trainees far exceeds the number of domestic urban-rural migrants. In the countryside with its aging population, many technical trainees work in agriculture. They often live on the farm in remote areas without access to public transport. Although essential for rural economies, they do not enjoy the same freedom of movement, economic benefits and rights as domestic urban-rural migrants or transnational migrants with a different visa and are mostly invisible in my field sites.

Compared to technical intern trainees, foreign residents from Europe, Australia and North America have a better visa status and economic resources. Although small in numbers, this group has increased in recent years. Roughly speaking there are two groups: short-term residents who are students or participants in exchange programs, as for example artist-in-residence programs who stay a few months, but often visit several times. And there are long-term residents who have settled in the country, bought houses, have a permanent job or have started their own businesses. Some of them are hypervisible because they are often portrayed in the local and regional media as living proof of the attractiveness of Japan’s rural areas. Although not all of the foreigners I spoke to enjoy this status of local celebrity, they all contribute to rural revitalization in various ways, for example by renovating empty houses, running cafes and guesthouses, or coordinating artist-in-residence programs. Some are graduates of the JET program who have decided to stay. Recently, the chiiki okoshi kyōryokutai (COKT) program has also started accepting foreigners who are hired to support other foreigners, for example as technical interns. This is where the JET program, the COKT program and the TITP overlap.

To summarize, all newcomers, whether they are Japanese citizens or foreigners, return migrants or new to rural communities, face different difficulties. However, there are differences in terms of the support they receive and how welcome they are. As local governments have recognized the importance of migrants in sustaining rural communities, this is slowly changing. However, the hierarchy between the different migrant groups in rural Japan is an important issue that needs to be addressed as there will be more foreign workers in agriculture, care and factories in rural areas in the future. Local governments in rural areas will need to pay more attention to their support and welfare.

References

Faier, L. (2007), „Filipina Migrants in Rural Japan and their Professions of Love”, American Ethnologist 34, 1, 148–162.

Klien, S. (2020), Urban Migrants in Rural Japan: Between Agency and Anomie in a Post- Growth Society, New York: State University of New York Press.

McConnell, D. L. (2000), Importing Diversity: Inside Japan’s JET Program, Berkeley: University of California Press.

Oishi, N. (2021), “Skilled or unskilled?: The reconfiguration of migration policies in Japan,” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 47, 10, 2252-2269.

Uekusa, S. and Lee, S. (2020), “Strategic invisibilization, hypervisibility and empowerment among marriage-migrant women in rural Japan,” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 46, 13, 2782-2799.

by Cecilia Luzi

In October 2022, I left Berlin for fieldwork in Japan. I was excited yet scared, as I was moving to a place I had never been before, and I had to conduct research alone with my one-and-a-half-year-old son. It felt like a fantastic adventure ahead but also a big leap into the unknown. After spending ten months in Japan, I returned to Berlin in early August 2023. In this post, I want to share my fieldwork experience.

I spent the first five months in Buzen and the next five months in Hasami. I chose to start in Buzen because I had built connections with potential research participants online before my departure… I spent ten days in the only hotel in town in search for long-term accommodation and a rental car and expanded my network among urban migrants. During my stay in Buzen, I had a packed schedule. I explored the area, joined small markets, mochi-making sessions, kagura festivals, akiya renovation meetings, informal community meals, and talked with both locals and migrants throughout the day. In the evening, I took notes, sent messages to friends and informants, and planned for the next day. I quickly discovered that while the migrant community in Buzen was relatively small, they had connections with people in nearby towns who shared similar experiences. Within a month, I had met almost everyone in the extended migrant community. To establish trust and connections, I spent an additional month getting to know their daily routines before starting formal interviews. This familiarity allowed me to get closer to migrants and conduct most conversations in their homes, which provided valuable insights into their private lives. While in Buzen, I had to move three times. At first, I lived in a renovated warehouse at the foot of Mount Kubote. In January, I rented part of an old house that belonged to a deceased elderly lady. Finally, in my last month, I lived in a trial house owned by the municipality. Although the frequent moving was a bit of a challenge, I was able to experience different living conditions and develop a deeper understanding of the community area.

When the time came to move to Hasami, I began my search for accommodation two months in advance. For the first three weeks, I stayed in the municipal trial house, which was smaller, recently constructed, and better equipped than my previous accommodation. After that, I moved into a share house for employees of a major ceramic company coming to Hasami’s headquarters temporarily from all over Japan. The house was located in the heart of Hasami, attached to the company’s headquarters and main warehouse. Upon arriving in Hasami, I immediately noticed a significant difference in daily life compared to Buzen. There were many cafés  and restaurants, some of which reminded me of those in big cities like Tokyo or Fukuoka. The streets were always busy, and the supermarket parking lots were full between 5 and 6 pm. From my arrival until late May, there were events taking place almost every weekend in Hasami or nearby municipalities. One of the most notable events was the tōki matsuri, which is held every year during the golden week holiday season. This market involves all the ceramic kilns in Hasami and keeps the whole town busy for over a month.  Accessing migrants’ homes was more difficult in Hasami. Unlike in Buzen, where most people had flexible schedules, the migrants in Hasami were mostly company employees and artisans. Therefore, I conducted most interviews in public places like cafés, restaurants and workshops.

Buzen and Hasami are very different. Buzen stretches from the mountains to the sea. Hasami has a compact center, which makes daily activities easier and saves on gasoline costs. In Buzen, it was difficult to find accommodation for the first 10 days. The town has only one hotel, an old ryokan run by a couple over 75 years old. While the locals were warm, helpful and curious about my presence, finding accommodation and childcare for my son was a challenge. Gradually building informal relationships during my stay helped me get everything I needed. In Hasami, the experience was smoother, possibly due to the city’s familiarity with welcoming outsiders thanks to the ceramics industry and its appeal to urban migrants across the country. I quickly realized that there were structures and services in place to help newcomers. Even in the town’s administration, everyone was helpful and provided me with all the necessary information to manage the bureaucratic procedures for my stay.

During my fieldwork, I was able to observe first-hand how both locals and migrants in Buzen and Hasami interacted with their environment by immersing myself in the daily rhythms of the two towns. I visited local grocery stores, supermarkets, cafés and museums and chatted with shopkeepers, service staff and locals. I also had the opportunity to interact with the local authorities, which gave me valuable insights into the services and infrastructure of both cities. As I had a car during my stay and I was able to explore even the most remote mountain villages. I also spent my free time with migrants, visiting friends’ homes and observing them at work. Through my son I also gained an insight into the childcare systems of both towns.

Despite the challenges I faced, especially when navigating a small rural town in Japan with my child, the kindness and empathy I received from everyone I encountered was invaluable. It helped me connect with people on a deeper level and understand how moving to rural areas can have transformative power. Now that I am back in Berlin, I have realized that this emotional journey embodies the true value of field research and participant observation.

Our team will take a break over the holidays. The blog will be back on January 12. Thank you for following our blog and for supporting our activities. Happy holidays and a happy new year!

by Lynn Ng

Digital technologies dominate a significant aspect of our daily lives, and, with infrastructural and regulatory support, hold tremendous potential in promoting Japan’s social and economic growth. Japan’s focus on improving its digital environment and governance is recently most evidenced by the nation’s well-reported organization of the Japan-EU Digital Partnership Council first held on 3 July 2023 [1]. With promises of strategic cooperation in research and development of 5G networks and digital trade principles, as well as data governance and cybersecurity, Japan (as well as the European Union) is arming itself with resources for the new digital society – or commonly referenced as “Society 5.0.”

Other preparations towards Society 5.0 include Prime Minster Fumio Kishida’s announcement of the “Vision for a Digital Garden City Nation” in 2022 [2], thereby kick-starting the rapid transformation particularly of Japan’s rural regions. Rural Japan’s digital transformation since the announcement is increasingly noticeable and has caught the attention of many contributors to this blog. Recent posts on this blog examine the emergence of smart farming, the development of digital human resources, and the potential of digital transformation in Japan’s regions. Followers of this blog would thus by now have a good grasp on what digitalization and digital transformation (DX) are, and what these keywords mean for Japan.

Fukushima is also well onto this trend. As a part of the “Vision for a Digital Garden City Nation,” cities in Fukushima prefecture host several technological and digital research facilities, one of them being the Robot Test Field (RTF) [3] in Namie-town – a town greatly affected by the nuclear disaster of 2011. RTF currently houses incredible facilities that support drones and other un-manned aerospace and deep-space, as well as underwater technological research, among many other cutting-edge technologies. RTF opened in March 2020 amidst the coronavirus pandemic. In January 2023, I visited the RTF facility and spoke with Mr. Sato, a middle-aged mechanical engineer and operations manager of the facility, about the former disaster region’s digital growth. We stood on the roof of the building, me shivering in mid-January chills, as Mr. Sato explains to me what research goes on in the different structures in the vicinity of the main building. Mr. Sato, a returnee to Namie-town, waves at the vast land earmarked for RTF developments that we stood on, and exclaimed how much the region has changed in the last two years.

But the technological transformation of Fukushima goes beyond RTF. I encountered new technologies across Fukushima prefecture, such as un-manned convenience stores, automated lawnmowers, and drones. In Namie-town, I was taught by locals how to use the shiny display panels to call for on-demand free taxi services that run across the town [4]. In Okuma-town, I watched municipal officials grab sandwiches and snacks off a shelf that they smoothly paid for using a QR code. Perhaps none of these technologies are as advanced as the deep-space research going on within RTF, but the transformation in behavior is obvious. Locals use digital technologies in their everyday lives in many parts of Fukushima. I asked a municipal officer charging his mobile at one of the many public charging posts, to which he had simply replied: “Ah right, yeah. These are just everywhere here.” Digital transformation of Japan, and any other society, involve not only the establishment of infrastructure and research of new technologies and regulations, but also the uptake of these new technologies by the people. This seems to work well in Fukushima.

[1] Digital Agency. (2023). Japan-EU Digital Partnership Council held. Retrieved online: https://www.digital.go.jp/en/7faa668c-3787-4ff8-934b-093c4d2448c5-en#main-results

[2] 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

[3] FIPO. (2023). Fukushima Robot Test Field. Retrieved online: https://www.fipo.or.jp/robot/en/overview

[4] Nissan Smart Mobility. (2023). Smart Mobility in Namie. Retrieved online: https://www.smamobi.jp/

by Sarah Clay

On a hot day in late August 2023, I take a tuk-tuk from my hotel and make my way to the outskirts of Colombo, Sri Lanka. My driver skeptically asks me if there is some sort of tourist attraction out there, and when we arrive, he waits in the vehicle until I assure him he brought me to the right place. I am here to meet Kanchana Weerakoon and to visit one of her Metta Gardens. The Metta Garden project is part of the Eco Temple Community, a network of Buddhist priests and other civil society groups all over Asia that originates in Japan and engages in environmental activities based upon beliefs of faith.

The Eco Temple Community was founded in 2015 in the context of the Interfaith Climate and Ecology Network (ICE) of the International Network of Engaged Buddhists (INEB).  Key figures in shaping the project are Jonathan Watts, associate professor of Buddhist studies at Keio University in Japan, and Rev. Hidehito Okochi. Rev. Okochi is a priest of Pure Land Buddhism and has been involved with a wide range of social and environmental initiatives both in and outside of Japan. Based upon his view on Japan’s destructive economic activities and the 2011 Fukushima Triple Disaster, he turned his own Juko-in Temple and Kenji-in Temple into so-called Eco Temples. Located in downtown Tokyo, Kenji-in makes use of only natural and chemical-free building materials, while Juko-in uses renewable energy gained via solar panels on the roof of the building. In 2015, he initiated the Eco Temple working group to share insights on resiliency activities from Fukushima and on creating Eco Temples in urban Japan [1].

The first Metta Garden in Colombo started as an urban garden close to the office of Kanchana Weerakoon’s organization ECO Friendly Volunteers (ECO-V) [2]. When she bought the plot in 2013, there was only a lonely palm tree in the middle of garbage piles dumped by neighboring households. She explains that there is a connection between the outer environment and what humans have within. “If there is a dirty corner in nature, then that is also where dirty people live. […] But when it is a beautiful garden, more clean, more pure, […] then that is where the most spiritual nature is. Strong energy comes out and the plants are happy.  And this is also where more content people are.” [interview Kanchana Weerakoon 25.8.2023] As Metta is the Buddhist concept of loving-kindness, Kanchana wanted to create a place for urban people to come and remember the cosmic relationship they have with the natural world.

When you enter the garden that is ca. 12 x 6 meters in size, you first need to step over a small ditch.  After, there is a path made of sharp stones yet, when arriving in the garden soft grass-like plants bring relief under your feet. Kanchana explains to me that this is to remind the visitor that life is a struggle, but that relief can be found in the natural world. The garden is made as a mandala with round plant beddings in all four directions. Each bedding and its plants are connected to an element; tomatoes and peppers represent fire, cabbage water, and the hardness of guava represent the earth. Metta Garden is a sensory garden. The plants are chosen to tickle your senses with their colors, structures, smells, sounds, and tastes. 90% has medicinal properties, and visitors are always encouraged to eat a lot of what they see. In the middle of the garden Kanchana planted a cherry tree that she feels represents herself. She explains to me that in Buddhism the middle is the connection point, it is where you can see both sides. As this cherry tree gives fruits the whole year round, there is always enough for both animals and humans, taking away any hierarchies.

In the days that followed, Kanchana showed me more Metta Gardens that were created in Colombo in the previous years. Some are private gardens, some are publicly owned, but all are designed as a Buddhist mandala and grown without the use of any pesticides. One visit brings us to a home garden in a busy Colombo district of a man who moved to Italy many years ago. He keeps his house as a holiday home and another family lives there to take care of the building in the meantime. Kanchana explains that she created a mandala garden with smaller beddings, so the man can walk through easily and meditate.

Another garden belongs to a newly found center for the empowerment of women. This garden is designed especially as a fruit and vegetable garden, to provide healthy food to pregnant women and children amidst Sri Lanka’s persistent economic crisis. There are various moringa trees, guavas, and banana plants as well as all kinds of nutritious vegetables. A sunflower blooms in the middle of the mandala, representing joy and happiness.

Kanchana’s Metta Gardens are indeed small spaces of joy and happiness in a highly urbanized environment. What I find so fascinating is that it is never only about the environment; the idea is that by nurturing the outer world, also the inner world gets nourished. Thus, while Metta Gardens are a reaction to the environmental degradation that is so present in Colombo these days, they are equally created to positively contribute to Sri Lanka’s social issues. This challenges the conceptual dichotomy of society and the natural world. Metta Garden also illustrates that projects that are part of the Eco Temple Community are always transnational and local at once. All projects share an understanding of Buddhist concepts and the tasks that religious practitioners have in this world. Although originating in Japan, these forms of knowledge are translated differently in the various sites according to the social and environmental needs that exist on the ground. As such, they provide insights into the ways in which religious traditions gain different meanings and practices according to time and place.  

[1] website Eco Temple Community Development Project https://eco-temple.net/

[2] website Eco-Friendly Volunteers https://eco-v.org/metta-garden/

by Cecilia Luzi

Last August, I returned from Japan after ten months of field research in Buzen and Hasami. During my time there, I gained important new insights. Being so close to the places and people changed my perspective on urban-rural migration in unexpected ways. Among the many experiences and observations, one thing struck me as soon as I arrived and has continued to fascinate me: the amazing diversity of life paths of urban migrants in rural Japan. Some of them were born in the city, took the plunge to settle in the tranquility of Hasami or Buzen, and never moved anywhere else. Others had traveled the world in their twenties before settling permanently in rural Japan. Some returned to their hometowns after years in Tokyo because they wanted to be close to family and friends, while others deliberately moved as far away from their relatives as possible. Some followed their spouses to the countryside, while other migrants remained in constant motion, either driven by a desire for change or leaving the country because they had difficulty finding a job or a place to live. The complexity of these stories makes it very difficult to classify urban-rural migrants into predefined categories based either on their origin or their aspirations for the future, as the following examples show.

The first time I met Hitomi, she suggested that we meet at the local farmer’s market during her lunch break. We enjoyed our bento boxes together, sitting at the tables beside the shop under the warm November sun, and chatted animatedly about our lives. Hitomi works as a translator in Chinese and English at the local Toshiba branch. Her husband is Colombian, and they have three delightful daughters. Hitomi was born in Kitakyushu and moved to the countryside four years ago, where her parents have been residing for the past decade. They renovated her father’s childhood home in the mountains. Hitomi has plenty of friends both among migrants and locals and she became one of my gatekeepers, opening many doors for me. One of the first people she introduced me to was Kenji. Kenji is a 47 years old, soft-spoken man with a warm smile. He was born in Hokkaido but grew up in Tokyo with his single mother. He completed his graduation in sociology from the university and studied in the USA. After struggling with precarious jobs in Tokyo, he decided to move to a small town in central Kyushu to dedicate his life to agriculture and sustainable living. He now lives in an old house with his wife and three-year-old daughter, splitting his time between farming and working as an online therapist. Kenji has embraced a self-sustainable way of life, where he farms, hunts and exchanges food and tools with others to use as little money as possible: “As long as I can live in proximity with nature and be self-sustainable, I can live anywhere.”

Yusuke is a 53-year-old man from Kyoto who had spent 25 years in New Zealand before moving back to Japan with his family two years ago. He used to work in the restaurant business. Born in Kyoto, his parents now live in Nara prefecture, and with their age progressing, he felt he wanted to be closer to them. He chuckled and said, “But not too close! I am not used to have them around anymore.” Yusuke is currently employed at the town hall, and his contract will end at the end of this year. In the future, he plans to manage a café, co-working space and guesthouse in a renovated building within an old ceramic factory complex. Thanks to him, I had the opportunity to speak with many other migrants who come to rural Japan through the chiiki okoshi kyōryokutai program. If he cannot find a stable occupation before the end of the year, he will need to move back to New Zealand because he would have no pension in Japan.

The first time I went to Nami’s café, I had no idea that she was also a migrant. Nami is a 44-year-old woman who returned to her hometown after spending several years in Tokyo and Paris where she studied fashion. She now lives in her childhood home with her parents, 12-year-old son and newborn daughter while waiting for her new house to be built. Her husband comes to visit from Tokyo from time to time. Nami’s move back home was not just a change of location, it was a complete life reinvention. She was eager to return to work after spending years as a housewife in Tokyo, and with the help of her family, she found a job managing a ceramic shop and a café that is connected to her family’s kiln.

The stories I presented here highlight the complex nature of urban-rural migration in Japan, and at the same time, they challenge the existing labels used to describe internal migration patterns, such as U-turn, I-turn, J-turn, ijū, and teijū that do not accurately capture the intricate and multifaceted experiences of contemporary urban-rural migrants. These categories are based on geographic origins or settlement intentions and fail to comprehend the complexities of today’s migration patterns. The categories of U-turn (returning home), I-turn (moving to a new rural town), and J-turn (relocating to a different town) oversimplify the trajectories of migration. Similarly, the differentiation between ijū, which identifies the migration movement, and teijū that defines the permanent settlement, lacks nuance and is extremely subjective, making it difficult to define the experience of migrants accordingly. During my ethnography, I encountered many individuals like Hitomi, Yusuke, Nami, and Kenji, whose experiences cannot be neatly fitted into these predefined categories. The people I met showed me how the rigid boundaries within the conventional categories are, in reality, remarkably fluid. Especially when examining the experiences of individuals like Nami and Hitomi, the categorization seemed useless to me. Their stories not only demonstrate how the complexity within the “migrant” category makes these labels inconsistent, but also pushed me to question the actual distinction between “locals” and “migrants.” In Nami’s and Hitomi’s unique trajectories, the line between insider and outsider blurs and leaves me with a pressing question: what truly defines a migrant in the context of contemporary migration patterns, and how do these shifting identities influence the rural landscape?