by Ngo Tu Thanh (Frank Tu)

There has been an abundance of studies demonstrating that the outflow of people from rural areas to urban cities for work and education purposes is one of the main rural challenges. However, the outbreak of COVID-19 has forced countries around the world, including Japan, to utilize virtual modes of working and learning. Social distancing allows for greater flexibility since employees and students are no longer required to be physically present. As Zoom, Microsoft Teams, Webex, and other meeting applications became household names as a byproduct of COVID-19, I was really curious to figure out if the pandemic and the growing popularity of telework and e-learning might have any impact on rural Japan.

There have been reports of people fleeing Tokyo to other regions to escape COVID-19. For instance, 400,000 people were reported to have left Tokyo in 2020 [1], and the number of those moving away from Tokyo in 2022 was even higher than that in 2021 [2]. Moreover, telework also is said to have long-lasting potential. According to Yamamoto (2020), 25% of those who had worked remotely were interested in moving to rural areas. These numbers seem to suggest an increase of urban-rural migration in Japan against the backdrop of the COVID-19 pandemic [3].

In order to further explicate the impact of COVID-19 on rural areas, I have conducted online interviews and written exchanges with five national policy actors in Japan. They include a high-ranking official at the Headquarters for Regional Revitalization (Cabinet Office), three Advisors for Regional Vitality (Ministry of Internal Affairs and Communications), and one high-ranking official of the Japan Organization for Internal Migration (JOIN).

It has become clear from the exchanges that all five research participants were optimistic about an increase in urban-rural migrants, particularly due to the growing popularity and adoption of telework and e-learning. However, whether telework can have long-lasting effects on rural areas depends on whether Japan’s companies and organizations continue to allow for this mode of working, even after the COVID pandemic. 

The official at the Headquarters for Regional Revitalization said that the COVID-19 pandemic might have had a positive impact on urban-rural migration, particularly due to people’s changing attitudes towards migration and the emergence of telework. He stated: “While the COVID-19 pandemic has caused damage to the regional economy and society, it has changed people’s mindset and behavior as evidenced by a decline in the net inflow of population into the Tokyo region, an increase in people’s interest in migration to regions and the penetration of telework.” [4]

The Advisors for Regional Vitality also were also in agreement regarding the roles of the COVID-19 pandemic and immigration. First, they believed that the pandemic might have presented a great opportunity for urban-rural migration. The advisors explained that telework allows employees to work from rural areas while still maintaining their urban salaries. This can increase employees’ disposable income as living expenses are comparatively cheaper in rural areas. Similarly, e-learning may also allow students to attend courses at universities in urban cities while living in their hometowns. However, according to the advisors, such a positive impact of COVID-19 on rural revitalization could only last in the long term if Japanese companies and organizations allowed for this new style of working to continue post-COVID. 

Similarly, the JOIN manager also believed that the pandemic would have a positive impact on migration to rural areas. He said that before the pandemic, many companies in Tokyo had already planned to move to telework for they expected that Tokyo would be overcrowded during the Tokyo Olympics. However, COVID-19 had accelerated the transition to telework. Indeed, he stated that Japanese people are moving and working remotely from places around Tokyo such as Chiba, Kanagawa, and Saitama. Finally, he also believed teleworking from places outside of Tokyo would increase disposable income.

In the early days of the pandemic, there were various efforts to incentivize Tokyo-based employees to work remotely from depopulated areas. For instance, in 2020 a company launched a “co-working space bus tour”, which visited different municipalities outside of Tokyo. The tour was a rare attempt in Japan to bring teleworkers together [5]. However, we are currently in the third year of the COVID-19 pandemic. As companies and educational institutions around Japan are slowly getting back to the traditional style that requires on-site presence, it is important to consider the potential of telework and e-learning for urban-rural migration and rural revitalization. Will Japan capitalize on this opportunity, or will it discard the three years of expertise with online working and learning? I would be very interested to follow up on this.  

References

[1] Teh, C. (2021) ‘400,000 people have fled Tokyo in a 2020 pandemic exodus, seeking cheaper and less crowded cities’, Insider. Available at: https://www.insider.com/400000-people-flee-tokyo-in-2020-pandemic-exodus-2021-3.

[2] Koizumi, H. (2022) ‘More people leave Tokyo’s 23 wards than move in during 2021’, The Asahi Shimbun. Available at: https://www.asahi.com/ajw/articles/14538705.

[3] Yamamoto, T. (2020) ‘1 in 4 teleworkers mulling ditching Japan’s big cities for rural areas’, The Asahi Shimbun. Available at: https://www.asahi.com/ajw/articles/13479412.

[4] Written response from the research participant (2021).

[5] Mainichi Shimbun (2020) ‘Rimōto wāku saizensen: kowākingu tsuā basu de katamichi 90 kiro idõshinagaramo hataraku hito mo aidea mo bunsan’. Available at: https://mainichi.jp/articles/20200124/ddm/012/100/077000c.

by Maritchu Durand

It has now been more than two years that the Covid-19 pandemic has affected many aspects of our lives, including the way we conduct research for our project. Since none of us could go to Japan to conduct fieldwork, we decided to broaden our perspective and to take a look at urban-rural migration in our vicinity. I had seen a short documentary on neo-rurals on the European public service channel arte [1] recently, featuring a community project founded by former residents of Berlin in the capital’s surrounding region Brandenburg. I contacted them and got a quick and positive response: our team was welcome to pay a visit if we wished to get to know the place better. On a cool Saturday morning at the end of March, we packed our sandwiches, put on our hiking shoes and set off to Brandenburg.

Without a car, there are two possibilities to go there: either by bus that drives by every hour or so, or a 10 kilometer walk. We chose the second option and passed through small sleepy villages in-between large fields and pine forests. Surrounded by nature, I was expecting to find a community embedded in its natural environment, with inclines towards self-sufficiency, organic produce and sustainable farming. Previously, I had heard of farms in Brandenburg selling their local produce on markets in the capital. But what we found was slightly different and surprising.

After a two hour walk and a cold picknick on the damp grass, we were happy to reach the small village where the community project is located. Just across the pebble stone road, facing the church, is the entrance of Hof Prädikow: an abandoned complex that hosted many different buildings for different activities such as a forge, a brewery, a bakery and different storage buildings. Passing the gates, we entered the first courtyard: while the small café, the adjacent barn and an old building were already in use, most of the other buildings were either under construction or still rather run down. As soon as we arrived, one of the residents, whom I had previously emailed, greeted and invited us to sit and enjoy some home-made sweets and coffee.

In the café, we had the opportunity to talk to our host about the community project, how it came to be and how it functioned. It is run by a collective that currently consists of 60 adults and 30 children, mainly from Berlin. All members have already moved or will soon be moving to the village. The community is organized in specialized groups that are responsible for and possess expertise on different key fields in the community. It is based on the principle of sociocracy. Each adult member has a voice and participates in the decision-making process. One of the important decisions the community collectively makes is whom to accept as a new member and resident. They receive many applications and carefully choose its members, making sure they fit their mindset and agree to their overall goal to live together. But what did those individuals seek in the countryside? For some, it is a life surrounded by nature to raise their children as well as a life within a community. The latter refers to the feeling of being part of a collective and being able to realize personal projects within a group. Most of the residents want to get away from the city. Although the community is not designed as a weekend destination some residents seem to still be very much connected to the capital and keep their apartments in the city to return whenever necessary.

While living in the cooperatively owned apartments, residents initiate different events and projects. One project is the Café where locals and visitors of all ages can meet while enjoying a drink, a hearty homemade meal or artisanal cakes. Other projects include as a co-working space, a barn for events organized by locals and newcomers. Realizing these projects and the costly renovation of the old buildings was only possible thanks to several sponsors. I was surprised to find out that many actors from NPOs to regional and national governments were involved in financing the project.

This was a very interesting trip that allowed us to get a glimpse into urban-rural migration at our doorsteps. It was not exactly what I had expected. While I thought I would find more connections to agriculture and nature, the focus of the community was rather on communal and shared living. I was also surprised by how popular communal living is in Germany, something I have not come across in Japan – at least to that extent. On the contrary, some problems seemed to be quite similar to what we have seen in Japan, especially the relationship they had with the local population, between consensus building, skeptical beginnings and ideological differences. Do these types of community also exist in Japan? This is a question yet to be explored.

[1] https://www.arte.tv/de/videos/093706-001-A/re-der-lockruf-der-provinz/

by Sarah Bijlsma

In order to make tamanu oil, you first need a tree known as penaga laut or nyamplung (Calophyllum inophyllum) or terihaboku in Japanese. In the local dialect of Ikema-jima, a small island just off the coast of Miyako, this tree is called yarab. The local population of Ikema-jima has been planting yarab trees since the times of the Ryūkyū Kingdom on shores and around agricultural fields. Together with the lower adan tree (Pandanus odoratissimus), these lines of vegetation serve as windbreaks against the strong northern winds that come from the ocean. As such, they protect crops from damage by outside forces, while simultaneously preventing ki (energy) to flow out of the island.

Yarab trees bloom in the spring and fall and often bear fruit throughout the year. The fruits are round and a few centimeters in size, have a greyish green color and pungent taste. While humans generally do not consume the fruits, the bats on Ikema-jima are fond of them. At night, they pick them from the trees and eat the pulp with their small teeth. The seed inside the fruit is too hard to eat and hence dropped. Bats only eat those fruits that are free from chemicals; finding yarab seeds on the ground is a sign that no pesticides are used.

The local population celebrates yarab trees as symbols of fertility and scolds them for the many seeds and fruits that are lying around everywhere. Yet, recently the Ikema residents began to view them from a new perspective. After working for seven years for the Ikema Welfare Support Center (Ikema fukushi shien sentaa), Kanagawa-born Tomoko Miwa realized that creating jobs for the island’s children in the future would help Ikema island the most. Together with her husband she started Yarabu Tree, a small company that plants yarab trees and produces tamanu oil from their seeds.

A first step in the oil production process is to go out and collect the seeds. In this, Tomoko and her husband are helped by Ikema’s obaa-san and ojii-san. At that point, the seeds are still wrapped in a hard brown shell that needs to be cracked with a hammer or nutcracker—another job for the elderly islanders. Tomoko explains to me that planting yarab trees helps against soil erosion, but the oil production process also enhances the social relationships between the islanders. “There are of course people who are not able to receive salaries like we do, who are disabled, or who cannot live a normal life for any other reason. These individuals quickly withdraw from [social life on] the island” [1]. An example are the many old men on Ikema-jima who develop drinking issues. Without having anything better to do, they start early in the morning, and just wait until the evening comes, drinking by themselves. “Our idea was that with Yarabu Tree, these people can get a job that they can do anytime anywhere, in their own pace, with people they like […]. Bit by bit, we touched upon different kinds of people and while we had never imagined that before, these people built relationships with one another. Of course, they receive money because that is important too, but what surprised us the most is how the relationship between the people on the island is changing gradually” [2].

After the shells are removed, the seeds are washed and dried in the sun. This process can take up to three months. Tomoko has tried to dry the seeds mechanically but concluded that much of the natural resin is lost in that way. When it is time, the seeds are turned into tamanu oil by using cold-pressing techniques. The oil is sold pure, as body oil, or mixed with the flowers of shell ginger (Alpinia zerumbet). The Yarabu Forest that Tomoko and her husband began will be turned into a commons when fully grown. In this way, everyone on the island can go and collect the seeds, crack the shells, and produce the oil by themselves.

Tamanu oil is a product of multi-species collaboration and co-habitation. Tree, bat, and human work together to secure each other’s livelihoods. “[When I first told the obaa-san and ojii-san about my plans], they were like, ‘that is definitely impossible! Those fallen things, let’s just throw them with the garbage’” [3]. Tomoko laughs and says that the locals still can hardly believe that people in big cities actually buy the product. This illustrates how tamanu oil creates a bridge between Ikema-jima’s local traditions and people in Japanese metropoles who support the island through buying the products. Tamanu oil also connects Miyako’s long-term residents and newcomers. “I think that you heard this as well, but it is true that the people who migrated [to the Miyako Islands] and the people from here usually do not have so much contact with one another. They have separate communities, and the migrants are not so interested or involved with the islanders, I believe. But the tamanu oil that we produce is made by the elderly of the island, you know. […] And the migrants are very interested in [the oil], which means that there is a connection after all, I think” [3].

[1] Interview with Tomoko Miwa, 23 March 2022.
[2] Interview with Tomoko Miwa, 23 March 2022.
[3] Interview with Tomoko Miwa, 23 March 2022.
[4] Interview with Tomoko Miwa, 23 March 2022.

by Cecilia Luzi

As many posts on this blog have shown, rural Japan is diverse. The experiences of living in rural areas vary according to geographical, economic or demographic conditions. But local or prefectural authorities, the central government and individual citizens spread an image of an idealized rural life which is highly homogeneous. Images of idealized rural lifestyles are not something new, and in times of the Covid pandemic, digital media are becoming the perfect tool to circulate new images of rural lifestyles.

Migrants use social media to share information about their lives and their jobs, often on a daily base. The great creativity in terms of creating jobs and businesses always strikes me when I go through migrants’ profiles. Many are owners of small independent businesses such as cafes, shops, guesthouses and wellness-related enterprises. This plurality in urban-rural migrants’ entrepreneurship was already discovered by other authors who have studied urban-rural migration in Japan. Among young urbanites’ reasons for leaving the metropolis is their desire to live and work in a community with close social ties and enjoyable interactions with people from this community [1].

Migrant entrepreneurs become part of social networks which extend beyond work. They participate in local markets, buy ingredients from small local farms, organize events for the town and receive help from and exchange vegetables with their neighbors. At the same time, they post about their lives on social media and receive comments and likes from all over Japan, sometimes from the entire world. What these social media profiles seem to suggest, or at least what migrants want followers to see, is that living and working in rural areas today does not lead to isolation and disconnectedness. On the contrary: it can lead to close local connections while at the same time virtual interactions allow migrants to cultivate the bonds with those left behind and maintain their social networks even beyond the place they live in.

Municipal and prefectural authorities also use official websites and social media to promote the life in the countryside. They aim to appeal to urban dwellers in pursuit of newcomers to rural areas. Local authorities tend to emphasize that rural environments offer rich and new possibilities for interactions with locals. However, finding a job or starting a new business can be a daunting task for newcomers who cannot count on their social safety net. Therefore, municipalities and prefectures provide measures to support work and occupation for migrants. These are at the heart of their rural revitalization strategies.

Recently, I observed something interesting on Nagasaki Prefecture’s website for prospective migrants, Nagasaki ijū-nabi. To the many pages full of support schemes and facilities, the prefecture added a link to a new section advertising remote work around September 2021. On this new website, the prefecture promotes events about remote working facilities and provides a list of several local initiatives and start-ups that support connectivity and remote work. My impression is that Nagasaki aims to expand the opportunities and the use of telework in many professions of the tertiary sector in order to attract people who want to leave Tokyo during the pandemic [2].

The message on Nagasaki prefecture’s website is simple: the prefecture provides in-migrants with all that is necessary to stay fully digitally connected and to be able to work remotely after migration. This way, they can have a fulfilling professional life while enjoying Nagasaki’s rich natural and cultural environments. Moreover, they can maintain the connections with the metropolis, while living “a better life” in the countryside with people who share their lifestyle.

In conclusion, exploring how migrants and local authorities showcase rural life in the digital space can help us to understand multiple layers of connectedness between rural and urban areas. Nowadays in Japan, the possibility for connections and social networks appears to be key to realize a good life in the countryside. Real world interactions are what many migrants aim for, while digital connections are what they bring to rural areas. I would say that the access to digital networks enables the sustainment of existing social and professional networks and the creation of new ones. Digital networks and remote work make rural lives possible for many migrants. One fundamental aspect of new rural lifestyles in contemporary Japan is social connections, both physical and digital.

References

[1]
Klien, S. (2020). Urban Migrants in Rural Japan: Between Agency and Anomie in a Post-Growth Society. Suny Press.

[2]
Ueda, M. (2020, 8 July). Urban exodus in cards as people find freedom in teleworking. The Asahi Shinbun. https://www.asahi.com/ajw/articles/13485555

[1]
Ritsumeikan Asia Pacific University, https:// apu.ac.jp/home/news/article/?storyid=3145 (last viewed on March 3^rd, 2022)

[2]
Official Journal of Arita Town, December 2019

by Lynn Ng

In April 2019, I made my first trip into Fukushima on a friend’s spontaneous invitation – a week-long trip I never imagined would turn into an MA, and now doctoral research project. On a late afternoon in end-April, I arrived at Odaka station and was greeted by the station master. “The winds sure are strong, right? Please take care,” he said as I handed him my ticket. Heeding his words, I cautiously pulled the doors open and stepped out of the station expecting “strong winds” but was met with nothing more than a mild breeze. With the station master’s strange warning stuck to my mind, I slowly made my way to the café where my friend would meet me.

At the quiet café, with all due social awkwardness, I’d blurted out “the winds sure are strong, huh?” to the café owner. The owner looked up, glanced in the direction of the station, and commented that, yes, the winds were indeed strong. A silent minute passed before he began a lengthy explanation of why the winds were strong: The lands beyond the station (towards the coast) used to be farmlands protected by windbreaks – the rows of trees that shelter the farms from coastal winds. After 3/11, the trees felled and unobstructed coastal winds now blow freely into the town.

As an environmental biologist, my first instinct then was to question this exaggerated range of windbreaks. Still, I held my tongue. Instead, I asked how he knew this information, and what it was like growing up in this area before the triple disaster. To my surprise, he was from urban Tokyo and had never been to Fukushima until 2016. And thus, my curiosities were piqued – what was an urbanite such as him doing in rural post-disaster Fukushima?

Later in the week, the café owner introduced me to his friend who offered to give me a tour around town. She drove me past rolling hills of sunflowers and canola, with wind turbines turning far in the background. She told me about the town’s plan to develop into Japan’s canola-town, since canola plants are sturdy and grow quickly, and thus can very efficiently absorb contaminants in the soil. I’d silently scoffed at her comment, not because of canola’s capabilities in decontaminating the soils, but because Japan’s canola-town is a crown already claimed by the town [1] in Hokkaido in which I lived for three years. In that brief moment, standing amongst the canola flowers in Odaka, I had felt immensely protective of the place I had called home.

Again, I kept my mouth shut. I instead redirected the conversation to anecdotes of the countryside. We joked about hazardous elderly drivers before she admitted that she missed having movie theaters nearby. I would from here on learn that she came here from metropolitan Nagoya. And from here, my curiosities spiraled out of control – What were urbanites such as her and the café owner doing in rural post-disaster Fukushima? Were there more of them? Are they an isolated bubble of I-turners? How integrated were they into the larger population? What else do they do here? Do they participate in the region’s revitalization programs? Out of all of Japan’s regions, why Fukushima?

Over the months after this trip, I developed these first questions into a full MA project. With every return trip I made to Fukushima, I met more I- and U-turners (or in Fukushima’s terms, F-turners [2]) and learned more narratives. I would learn that the complexity of Fukushima’s nuclear exclusion zones extends far beyond population movements and Becquerel-Sieverts, and traverses into domains of hope and belonging. Now as a doctoral candidate at GEAS in Berlin, I approach the phenomenon of urban-rural migration into Fukushima with the same curiosity, and cannot wait to dive in even deeper than before.

References

[1]
Takikawa has been home to Japan’s largest canola fields for seven straight years.Takikawa City (2021). Nanohana ni tsuite [About Canola]. Available at: https://www.city.takikawa.hokkaido.jp/230keizai/03kankourenkei/10menu/nanohana.html

[2]
“F-Turn” is Fukushima Prefecture’s project at promoting U-I-J turns into Fukushima. Fukushima Prefecture (2022). F-tān [F-Turn]. Available at: https://www.f-turn.jp/

by Cornelia Reiher

A few weeks ago, I went to a rural place in Germany’s north for a holiday. In this area, the internet connection is still very bad and since I was looking for some peace it appeared to be the perfect place to spend some time enjoying the silence. I wanted to experience the simple rural life by taking long walks without meeting anyone, sitting in front of a wood-burning fireplace, waking up to the sound of the birds and ignoring my phone, emails and social media for a few days.

However, a terrible storm raged over Germany and in addition to the bad internet connection, there was a power outage, leaving us with no other heating than the fireplace and without light and hot water. Although I found this romantic at first, I was soon longing for hot coffee, a warm shower and a warm meal and bedroom. Everywhere in the area, electricity went off and only one person in the small hamlet owned a gas oven where he made coffee and then visited every house to share it with his neighbors. We also borrowed candles from our hosts and we got quite inventive in warming ready-made soup on our fireplace and even managed to boil water (it took 15 minutes!) for coffee and the eggs we received from our hosts who raise chickens. Electricity and warm water were finally back after two days and I have never enjoyed a hot shower more in my entire life.

This experience made me think about the comforts of rural lifestyles. Many urban-to-rural migrants want to live a simple life close to nature, but how simple is too simple? What do people need for a good life in the countryside in terms of comfort and convenience? In online interviews I conducted recently I asked urban-rural migrants in Kyūshū if they miss anything in their country life. The majority was satisfied with their current lives and mentioned that the town they live in offers more amenities than they would have thought. The answers, however, differed depending on where research participants had lived before and on their previous lifestyles.

One respondent, for example, missed shopping malls shortly after moving to the rural town he now lives in, because he had spent much of his free time in such places. He however said that he soon realized that there are many other things he could do. His new leisure activities include hiking and taking walks around his neighborhood to discover new places like shrines. One woman told me that she liked to go to the movies when she lived in Tokyo and missed a movie theater in her new place of residence. However, she is busy with farming now and only occasionally visits the small galleries in town and sometimes attends a live concert in the newly built music hall. Other newcomers stressed that they prefer the availability of delicious food, clean water, nature and onsen over the amenities of the urban consumer society. In fact, in many cases, getting away from a consumption-oriented urban lifestyle was the main reason why they relocated to the countryside in the first place.

Almost everyone I talked to emphasized that they don’t need to spend much money in their everyday lives. Often, gasoline is the highest cost. Depending on a car to get around was one of the things most of my research participants were actually critical of. One reason was the high cost, the other was the lack of physical activity. While in Tokyo they had to walk to the train station or when they went shopping. In the countryside, however, they drive everywhere by car. Another problem mentioned by many research participants was the sometimes spotty and slow internet connection that also somewhat ridicules new government concepts like “workation”. This concept combines “work” and “vacation” and aims to increase telework from rural areas in order to create a kankei jinkō – that is people who develop bonds to rural communities and will eventually move to the countryside permanently in the future (Japan Times 2019).

In summary, people who move to rural areas look for a simple life in the countryside amidst beautiful nature. They often decide to leave the convenience of their former urban lifestyle behind, but this does not mean that they can do without a stable internet (and by no means without electricity). For many ijūsha this is a matter of necessity to continue their jobs and to connect with their friends and families within and beyond Japan.

References

Japan Times (2019), Japan’s local governments launch ‘workation’ alliance to boost regional revitalization and work-style reform, https://www.japantimes.co.jp/news/2019/11/18/business/japan-local-governments-workation-alliance-revitalization-work-style-reform/, accessed December 4, 2019.

by Wendy Wuyts

I am a feminist. I strongly realized this when I lived and did research in Japan and particularly during an onsite training from April 2018 to February 2019. The onsite research training (ORT) was organized by professors from Nagoya University and aimed at teaching students the skills of clinical environmental studies. Together with three other PhD students I was assigned to conduct case studies in Higashi-Shirakawa and Shirakawa-chō in Gifu prefecture. These two towns were introduced to us as suffering from extreme population decline. When we enrolled in ORT in 2018, the professors had already conducted this training for several years in the Ise Bay Bioregion in Japan (Kato et al. 2014). The ‘Onsite research training (ORT)’ is transdisciplinary and stimulates a co-learning and co-designing process. We were encouraged to present both a diagnosis of local problems and then a treatment based on information gathered through interviews and discussions with local experts to understand their tacit knowledge and to combine it with academic knowledge.

During a well-planned three-day visit to the two villages, the professors (mostly male) would present local stories. Our task was to document everything in order to make a diagnosis and to select a problem we would focus on in the next six months.  We met local government officials, visited farmers (pork, green tea, vegetables), tea factories, taxi drivers and other inhabitants of the villages who talked about their problems and ideas. We met long-term residents and newcomers. Interestingly, most of them were Japanese men. We listened to 30 men, and only two women. In addition, women, including female professors, were put in serving roles. The feminist inside me roared.

After these three days, I remarked to the professors that we heard quite biased stories of these villages and asked for more female voices during our next visit. The professors did not understand the need for interviewing women at first, but my experiences in Japan and exchange with feminist students at Nagoya University made me realize the importance of gender analysis in rural or any other place(s) as different gender roles result in different everyday experiences and knowledge about the place people inhabit (West & Zimmerman, 1987). We were later introduced to more women in the field. Their stories and literature on gender in Japanese rural villages and towns provided even more evidence that gender is an important factor when it comes to, for example, community participation.

For our project, we decided to analyze the acceptance of newcomers in the two towns. Rather than attracting newcomers, making them stay, was a challenge in both places. We wanted to find out if this was related to their social acceptance. In October, we designed a questionnaire in order to compare and analyze the acceptance of I-turners, U-turners and people that married locals. We created questionnaires and with the help of the local governments, sent out questionnaires to 800 people (625 in Shirakawa-chō and 175 in Higashi-Shirakawa). The response rate was 40% or more (330/800).

We asked two questions that were inspired by literature on gender relations and previous conversations with men and women in the months before. One question was about community spaces where newcomers and long-term residents can meet. The other was about community events where they could get in touch. We were interested in, if for example, men would answer differently than women. Our analysis found that women more often answered that they think that not enough community spaces are available, while more men said there are not enough community events for newcomers that would foster communication with local residents. These differences are due to the gendered accessibility of community events and community spaces. Thus, our research shows how important a gender perspective is regarding the acceptance of newcomers in rural Japan. By the way: In the following year, the ORT organizers included more “female stories” in the three-day introduction to their onsite research training.

Wendy Wuyts, originally from Belgium, received her PhD in environmental science from the Graduate School of Environmental Studies, Nagoya University. She currently works as researcher in the Norwegian University of Science and Technology. Her research interests include (social impacts of) circularity, sustainable transitions and territorial ecology. Results of this study are not published (yet), but the author still has all the data, the report and posters for seminars, reflections and other notes. You can contact her (wendy.wuyts@ntnu.no) if you want to learn more.

References:

Kato, Hirokazu, Hiroyuki Shimizu, Noriyuki Kawamura, Yasuhiro Hirano, Takashi Tashiro, Hiromi Yamashita, Keisuke Tomita, Mitsuyuki Tomiyoshi, & Kazu Hagihara. (2014), A Prospect Toward Establishment of Basic and Clinical Environmental Studies by ORT (On-Site Research Training) in Shimizu, H. and Murayama, A. eds., 2014. Basic and clinical environmental approaches in landscape planning. Springer Science & Business Media. https://link.springer.com/content/pdf/10.1007/978-4-431-54415-9.pdf, Accessed 10 April 2019.

West, C., Zimmermann, D.H. (1987). ‘Doing Gender’, Gender & Society 1 (2): 125-151.

by Maritchu Durand

For a few years now and increasingly since the start of the Covid-19 pandemic, urbanites’ interest in moving to the countryside and renovating vacant houses has been growing in Japan. Prefectures attempt to attract younger people who seek a place to live outside the metropoles while keeping a close connection to urban spaces. But for more remote prefectures with high numbers of abandoned houses, it is hard to compete with prefectures that are much closer to urban centers like Tokyo or Osaka. Isseki nichō – to kill two birds with one stone –is what towns and prefectures in remote areas try to do when promoting the reuse of akiya, the vacant houses of rural Japan, to attract young migrants. Oita prefecture, for example, organizes workshops on different aspects of DIY (Do It Yourself) renovation of akiya and features stories about recently renovated houses and their inhabitants in short videos on its migration and relocation website.

Each story is centered around an interview with people who renovated a house and introduces the renovation works they accomplished themselves in their new homes. Each of the renovation projects represents a different ‘level’ of experience: beginner, intermediate and expert. The video about the ‘beginner level’ introduces a young couple who moved from southern Kyushu to a small mountainous community where they renovated a more than 100-year-old house from floor to ceiling. They threw down walls to create a wide and open central space and furnished it with antiques. While the young man declares that with an akiya, one starts with a disadvantage, it becomes a precious advantage in many aspects later on. It gives them the freedom to design it the way they want. In addition, it becomes a unique way to connect with the local population by asking them for advice on renovation. The migrants also discover skills they did not know they had prior the start of this adventure. In the future, the young couple wants to turn their new home into a guesthouse.

The lively and energetic family featured in the second video represents the ‘intermediate level’ of renovation and shares a similar experience of connecting with locals through their renovation experience. The couple moved from Tokyo and renovated a 50-year-old house in a traditional shopping street. The more they asked locals for advice, the more they discovered how much the community was willing to help them fulfill their dream to open a share-house with a multi-use room on the ground floor they rent out for events and pop-up stores. In addition, they could rely on a broad network of friends and connections, both nationwide and international, that came to help with the renovation. The couple could therefore manage to take care of their three children while conducting all the renovation work themselves.

The video on the ‘expert level’ tells a renovation story of a U-turner who transformed an old house into an Italian restaurant. It unravels a successful mixture of boldness, determination, and community ties. Within forty days, the 30-year-old man managed to completely renovate and modernize a 70-year-old building into a modern restaurant. He realized that once he started making things himself that he will also be able to renovate again and maintain the house in the long run, thereby making the restaurant sustainable and economically viable.

All interviewees talk about an innovative and “DIY” spirit that is growing in Oita. According to them, more and more people decide to take matters into their own hands and, with the help of the local community and their friends and acquaintances from all over Japan, they manage to realize their own renovation projects. Their renovation experiences include stories of entrepreneurship, strong community ties, self-realization and perseverance to realize one’s own dream.

In addition to the videos, Oita prefectures also offers workshops about DIY renovation. The workshops target especially young women and their families who wish to move to Oita and renovate a house. As experienced senpai, the people who appear in the videos, also participate in the workshops and talk about all the possibilities renovation projects offer to potential migrants. The workshops offer a comprehensive overview of what a DIY renovation implies from finding a house to living a fun life while renovating an akiya. Offering workshops on renovation featuring true life stories while creating a network of young innovators and an active community surrounding the reuse and repurposing of older houses might be an advantage for more remote areas like Oita. It remains to be seen if these events will motivate more young people to move to Kyushu and transform a vacant house into their dream home.