by Cecilia Luzi

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

by Ngo Tu Thanh (Frank Tu)

Since the invention of the Internet, digital technologies have increasingly become a dominant force in our everyday lives. Digital technology and digitization have evolved remarkably fast in recent years (Coccoli et al. 2014). Morakanyane et al. (2017) define digital transformation or DX as a process that leverages digital capabilities and technologies with the goal of creating new value. Various digital technologies such as social media, cloud-based services, the Internet of Things, blockchain, robotics and automation and Society 5.0 have led to significant changes (Khare et al. 2020, Margiono 2019). In the context of globalization, digital transformation is considered an important strategy that has the potential to positively impact social life and economic growth. As a result, governments and businesses around the world have leveraged digital transformation for their development. In Europe, for example, a 2017 survey found that two-thirds of EU citizens recognize the positive impact of digital transformation and consider it important. Since 2014, the EU has proactively implemented legislation focused on business digitization, investment in digital infrastructure and services, cybersecurity, e-commerce, and data protection (European Parliament 2019).

Working area open to the public on the top of Nagaski Prefectural Government Building
Copyright © Ngo Tu Thanh 2022

Digital transformation has also become a key focus in Japan, both as a buzzword and as a real policy. My interviews with more than thirty policy actors, including politicians, bureaucrats, and advisors, show that many Japanese policy insiders believe that digital transformation was greatly accelerated due to the COVID-19 outbreak. Like the rest of the world, Japan experienced a widespread utilization of digital services and new modes of working, such as telework and e-education, as a result of the pandemic. Indeed, it has been reported that Former Prime Minister Suga proposed a plan to establish a Digital Agency in 2020 due to Japan’s inadequate digital infrastructure exposed by COVID-19 (Suzuki 2021). The Digital Agency was eventually realized in 2021 and is currently headed by Digital Minister Konō Tarō.

In many rural communities, coworking spaces were just introduced recently
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2023

Most of the political actors I interviewed firmly believe that digital transformation will have a positive impact on regional development. New ways of working, studying and living, such as telework, workation and distance learning, can help prevent people from migrating from rural areas to cities, especially Tokyo, to work and study. In addition, migrants can now move to rural areas to work and study. Digital transformation is also having a positive impact on Japan’s (rural) development by simplifying the strict bureaucratic processes for which Japan is notorious. Interviewees noted that traditional procedures involving seals, paper documents and fax machines have been eliminated in some public institutions and private companies. For example, a member of the Fukuoka Prefectural Assembly (interviewed August 30, 2022) believes that further efforts should be made to digitize Japan’s bureaucratic procedures to make it easier to apply for national rural revitalization grants.

Coworking spaces in Saga and Oita prefectures
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2022, 2023

The Japanese government believes that digital transformation is a domain that requires strong leadership at the national level. In 2022, the Kishida administration further demonstrated its commitment to promoting and leveraging digitalization for regional development by adopting a new framework titled “Digital National Garden City Concept” (Dejitaru denen toshi kokka kōsō). However, local government officials I have interviewed highlight some challenges for Japan’s digitalization efforts. Municipal officials from Buzen City and Hasami Town stated that these municipalities still lack the necessary infrastructure to fully benefit from digital transformation, such as strong internet connection, co-working areas for teleworkers, and human resources capable of driving local digitalization initiatives. However, this new framework presents an interesting development that warrants further examination and attention. Will digitalization succeed in Japan, and how will it impact Japan’s rural development? These are the questions that I want to explore in the future.

References
Coccoli, Mauro, Angela Guercio, Paolo Maresca, and Lidia Stanganelli. 2014. “Smarter Universities: A Vision for the Fast Changing Digital Era.” Journal of Visual Languages and Computing 25: 1003–11.
European Parliament. 2019. “Digital Transformation.” European Parliament. https://www.europarl.europa.eu/RegData/etudes/BRIE/2019/633171/EPRS_BRI(2019)633171_EN.pdf.
Margiono, Ari. 2021. “Digital Transformation: Setting the Pace.” Journal of Business Strategy 42 (5): 315–22.
Morakanyane, Resego, Audrey A Grace, and Philip O’Reily. 2017. “Conceptualizing Digital Transformation in Business Organizations: A Systematic Review of Literature.” In BLED 2017 Proceedings, 21:428–44. Bled, Slovenia.
Suzuki, Wataru. 2021. “Japan Launches Agency to Undo ‘Digital Defeat’: 5 Things to Know.” Nikkei Asia, 2021, sec. Politics. https://asia.nikkei.com/Politics/Japan-launches-agency-to-undo-digital-defeat-5-things-to-know.

雨の中で磁器を購入
Shopping for porcelain in the rain
Copyright @ Arita Town Hall 2023

マスクをつけている来場者とつけていない来場者
Visitors at the Tōki-ichi , some with and some without mask
Copyright @ Arita Town Hall 2023

有田陶器市が開催された皿山通りを練り歩くバグパイプパレード
Bagpipe Parade through the main street where the Tōki-ichi  was held
Copyright @ Arita Town Hall 2023

朝がゆのふるまい
Serving Asa-Gayu
Copyright @ Arita Town Hall 2023

References

[1] Official Tourism Website of Saga Prefecture, https://www.asobo-saga.jp (last viewed on May 23^rd, 2023)
[2] https://arita-toukiichi.or.jp/news (last viewed on May 23^rd, 2023)
[3] https://www.saga-s.co.jp/articles/-/1031379 (last viewed on May 23^rd, 2023)
[4] https://www.saga-s.co.jp/articles/-/849986 (last viewed on May 23^rd, 2023)
[5] https://www.saga-s.co.jp/articles/-/1029400 (last viewed on May 23^rd, 2023)
[6] https://www.saga-s.co.jp/articles/-/1028563 (last viewed on May 23^rd, 2023)

by Cornelia Reiher

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reference:

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

by Susanne Klien

Fieldwork tends to be seen as a standard tool in ethnography, at least until the pandemic. Not so much has been written about exhaustions during and after fieldwork although some vivid depictions of challenges feature on this blog and are described in detail in Kottmann’s and Reiher’s Handbook of Research Design, Fieldwork and Methods (2020). Often, as researchers being indebted to a multiplicity of people in the field, we are less aware of the physical and mental tolls that the conduct of fieldwork in fact takes on our bodies and minds. Immersion constitutes immeasurable chances for us to gain new insights into the field. Yet, immersion also means pressure to miss out, as Harvey-Sanchez and Olsen (2019) observe: “Being forced to see how all the fragments are situated in a web of significance is draining at times. I feel like a vessel and an emotional labourer at once. Taking in all of the different fragments and being forced to see how they fit into a system of meaning, while also being attuned to every pause, every silence, every conversation, and the broader rhythm of speech and movement. I want to be able to unsee it, I explained at the time. Now I’ve learned how to turn on my ethnographer mode, but I need to learn how to turn it off. I want to take off the ethnographer hat –“

Life and death
Copyright © Susanne Klien 2021

From my own experience, it is often after returning home that the full impact shows: a sense of prolonged exhaustion that continues for one month or even more depending on the length and intensity of fieldwork. With increasing age and time constraints, the extent of exhaustion seems to grow. During my follow-up fieldwork of one month in Kamiyama Town, Tokushima in April-May 2021, the different climate, insect and concerns about how to conduct fieldwork during a pandemic were just some elements that seemed to enforce my sense of exhaustion. I remember dropping into the local public bath (onsen) every other day as a means of coping with my lingering physical tiredness. Soaking in the hot water worked wonders. I had been to the small rural town six years before, but still, finding a daily pace, re-establishing a network, accessing things, people, securing food – there were many potential sources of trouble, especially because this was at the height of the pandemic. This time, I stayed with an acquaintance who had set up a guesthouse in a small mountain village – a decision that helped me to get invaluable insights into the tensions between newcomers and locals. The elevated location of my accommodation offered an impressive panorama view across the picturesque valley. It also meant, however, an exposure to a vast array of insects, most uncomfortably, poisonous centipedes and leeches. During my stay, other guests were also exposed and with every day of my stay, I felt the threat of an encounter, especially because I was sleeping on a futon on the tatami floor. I witnessed the fiancé of my host expertly catching a centipede with chopsticks, an impressive feat. Towards the end of my stay, I detected one more of my centipede fellows next to my mattress. I felt a sense of triumph when I managed to catch it (admittedly, not with chopsticks) – ironically, next to Didier Fassin’s Life: A Critical User’s Manual, which I never got around to reading during my stay.

The narrow, curvy road leading to the guesthouse
Copyright © Susanne Klien 2021

The lingering sense of tension, a stiff neck, unfamiliar humidity, the fear of driving on the narrow, winding roads are all moments of immersion. At the beginning of my stay, I was ambitious enough to think that I would cook for myself. After the second day, however, I gave in to the temptation of sharing meals with my hosts. These meals were particularly enjoyable given that there were new guests and visitors every other day and even if there weren’t, these were wonderful opportunities to ask questions about the town and its people. These meals also provided chances to support local shops: I loved going to the (only) local butcher on the main street to get some meat as it was incredibly tasty. My hosts would contribute (mostly self-grown) vegetables – a perfect combination. I also liked to buy a few bottles of local craft beer in town for my hosts, guests and myself.

Kamiyama beer, local meat and self-grown vegetables of my hosts for dinner
Copyright © Susanne Klien 2021

But let’s get back to the ethnographer’s hat and how to get rid of it for one’s own and for the sake of one’s body and mind. In retrospect, I approached my follow-up stay as an extended immersive practice, even when I was sleeping, as I expected centipedes. The only time-out in a way was soaking myself in the hot water, enjoying the moment, trying to think of nothing. There were other instances of going to public baths in rural areas during fieldwork that were more social, so the practice of going to onsen as such may be multi-faceted depending on the field, one’s stage of fieldwork and many other factors. In any case, with more experiences of fieldwork in vastly different contexts, I feel that it is crucial to make sure that one allows for such moments of taking off the ethnographer’s hat and – ideally more extended time off out of respect for one’s body and mind.

References
Harvey-Sanchez, Amanda and Annika Olsen (2019). “Ethnography as Obsession: On Immersion and Separation in Fieldwork and Writing”, Ethnography of the University 2018: Focus on Politics, https://ethnographylab.ca/2019/01/07/ethnography-as-obsession-on-immersion-and-separation-in-fieldwork-and-writing/ accessed on 25 April 2023.
Kottmann, Nora and Cornelia Reiher (eds.) (2020). Studying Japan: Handbook of Research Designs, Fieldwork and Methods, Baden Baden: Nomos.

*Susanne Klien is an associate professor at Hokkaido University. Her main research interests include the appropriation of local traditions, demographic decline and alternative forms of living and working in post-growth Japan. She is the author of Urban Migrants in Rural Japan: Between Agency and Anomie in a Post-Growth Society (State University of New York Press, 2020).

by Cecilia Luzi

After spending five months conducting fieldwork in Buzen, I moved to my second field site in March: the charming town of Hasami. Located on the border between Nagasaki and Saga prefecture, Hasami is renowned for its lively atmosphere and long tradition of ceramic production. Over the coming months, I will immerse myself in the daily life in Hasami to explore what makes this town such a draw for people from all over Japan and beyond.

The old school building where the event took place.
Copyright ©Cecilia Luzi 2023

On my second weekend in Hasami, I participated in an exciting event at the old Chuo Elementary School. The four-day exhibition and market was called “Thought” and featured crafts and artisans from the Kyūshū region showcasing clothing, accessories and tableware. The first two days were reserved for vendors and investors, while the last two days were open to the public. When I attended the event on a Sunday around 11 a.m., people were eating, drinking and chatting outside while children ran around blowing bubbles. As we walked up the stairs, we passed four food stalls selling bento, coffee and sweets. I couldn’t resist filling my bag with delicious treats, and I took the opportunity to chat with the friendly vendors, who were all young couples between the ages of 35 and 45. They all run restaurants and cafes in the neighboring towns of Hasami and were intrigued by my presence, especially my son’s decision to walk barefoot on the concrete and grass.

The menus from food stands at the market.
Copyright ©Cecilia Luzi 2023

As we entered the building, we were handed tote bags to put our shoes in. A friendly receptionist, who appeared to be in her 20s, asked me where we were from and greeted my son with a smile. I learned she and the other staff were mostly from Fukuoka and had come to Hasami for the four-day event. “Hasami is a fascinating place,” she said, “I’m sure you’ll enjoy the next few months here!” As we made our way inside, we noticed a large crowd milling around the various booths. With about 40 exhibitors, all younger than 45, there was a lot to see. I was particularly taken with two men from Amami Oshima who were using traditional dyeing techniques with indigo and red mud. Although I was somewhat familiar with ao-zome, indigo-based dyeing, I wasn’t sure I had understood the term “doro-zome” correctly when I heard it. Looking for an explanation, I asked, “You mean mud, as in soil?” They nodded and explained to me that mud dyeing or “doro-zome” (泥染め) is an ancient technique practiced on the island of Ōshima, where a special iron-rich soil makes this type of dyeing possible. The result is really beautiful.

The brochure of the clothing brand from Amami Ōshima.
Copyright ©Cecilia Luzi 2023

As I continued my tour, I came across jewelry reminiscent of twigs and leaves, recycled plastic bags, and modular coasters. Then I stumbled upon a booth with four cheerful boys presenting a children’s board game made of small colorful wooden cubes on a square tray. I was impressed by the inventor’s enthusiasm, and we struck up a conversation. He was about 30 years old, and when he learned that I lived in Berlin, he sighed and told me about his dream to present his game at a famous board game fair in Germany. He had finally managed to get his game produced in Japan, and now he wanted to take it abroad. He was born and raised in Saga Prefecture, and his game is now sold in big stores in Fukuoka. “Since a few months ago, it’s also available in a store in Arita, right next door, if you’re interested,” he added with a smile. I took the brochure and wished him good luck. Across the room, people were trying on clothes, sniffing essential oils, and having their feet measured for custom-made shoes or their fingers for future wedding rings. Although it was already noon on the second day, the atmosphere was lively and cheerful with a throng of people.

The flyer of the colorful wooden board game
Copyright ©Cecilia Luzi 2023

It was fascinating to chat briefly with the young craftsmen and women from all corners of Kyūshū. On the way home, I couldn’t help but think about how Hasami manages to attract such events and who the key players are behind this movement. I look forward to continuing my fieldwork in Hasami and finding out what makes this city a “very interesting place,” according to everyone I meet.

by Lynn Ng

Maps are not only important for spatial understanding and navigation; they also tell stories across time and serve as memory aids. During my fieldwork in Japan, I arrived in a landscape that offered me no data signal and thus no GPS and no online maps. I was very disturbed. For the first time since my introduction to mobile GPS technology, I had to rely on local maps and signs and my terrible sense of direction to find my way around the countryside. On my third day in the field, I ambitiously attempted to walk to the neighboring village despite the lack of GPS. I walked for over an hour in the direction I thought the village was. I turned off a main road onto a small farm track and then onto a footpath up a hill that I assumed separated the two villages. I followed the ribbons on the trees and the location markers on the path. Finally, I reached a dead end – a sort of plateau where no discernible paths continued. I never found the village. Instead, I took a long nap in the open field until a concerned elderly couple woke me up and pointed me to the closest village – where I had walked from. The couple disappeared into the woods as mysteriously as they had appeared. I often wondered if they had been a figment of an exhaustion-induced lucid dream.

Exhausted, lost and defeated, I took a long nap under these beautiful skies.
Copyright © Lynn Ng 2022

In my next field site, I tried to walk to a distant monument near the reconstruction zone. Even though my GPS was now working, many parts of the Fukushima coastal region have not yet been updated on digital maps. I asked a bus driver about the region – whether it was already walkable or whether it was dominated by construction vehicles. He looked at me, frowned, and asked me for paper and pencil to explain the route. He drew me a map and explained the individual landmarks to look out for. It was drizzling that day. The bus driver asked me why I wanted to visit this place. I explained my research and he told me his story. I was the only passenger on the bus, and during the almost fifteen minutes after the scheduled departure of the bus, the driver described the city – his hometown – to me. I commented on the beautiful reconstructed coastlines. He expressed deep disgust, “You don’t know how it used to be.” He complained about regional politics and about the intended preservation of the monument. I chuckled nervously and he started the bus. After just five minutes of turns around barricaded roads and empty fields, I alighted the bus into increasingly heavier rain. He sighed at my insistence on visiting the monument and wished me luck. I never reached the monument. The rain had become immensely heavy and the roads were occupied by large construction trucks. Before I had even reached the first turn, I was drenched and my shoes soaked despite the umbrella I had in hand. Instead, I sought shelter in a facility nearby, where I, coincidentally, bumped into one of my research participants who was also seeking shelter from the rain.

The map the bus driver drew for me.
Copyright © Lynn Ng 2023

Maps are also often especially important in times of crisis, i.e., evacuation. “Look how silly this is,” one research participant laughed excitedly, pointing to an evacuation sign. From the main train station (Ono) in the city of Okuma, the nearest evacuation point at city hall is five kilometers (or a 70-minute walk) away. She pointed to the distance and joked that we would all die instantly if something happened. I chuckled nervously, not because of the distance and the potential danger we were in, but because of the somberness of her joke and whether it was appropriate for me to make fun of it. She explained to me that City Hall was the first to be reopened, and that subsequently important facilities and plants were built in the region. She showed me her hometown, the barricaded streets, and the upcoming new construction near the train station. People working near the station would have to evacuate five kilometers away in an emergency. I wondered if the Ono Station evacuation map would be updated in the future, and if so, when.

The evacuation map at Ono station.
Copyright © Lynn Ng 2023

Indeed, maps are critical to my understanding and memory of Fukushima and events during fieldwork. I watched as maps were drawn and redrawn at Fukushima to reflect new facilities and new reopenings. Looking back now at Ono’s evacuation map, I recall the emptiness of the immediate area around the station and the isolation of City Hall. I would look back at the bus driver’s hand-drawn map and remember his scowl and concerned eyes for a small explorer traveling in the pouring rain. I would look at the online maps of the mountainous village and realize that all along I had been heading southwest instead of north.

by Ngo Tu Thanh (Frank Tu)

In my previous blog post, I have shown that the lack of resources and politicians’ attention to elections creates room for other policy actors to step in. A group of actors that carries sway in making rural revitalization policies is external experts who advise the government. In Japan, there are two types of external advisors who advise the government: officially recognized government advisors and informal government advisors. In this blog post, I will explore the roles and profiles of officially recognized government advisors.

Officially recognized government advisors are experts acknowledged by the Japanese government to advise on rural revitalization among many other policy fields. In the field of rural revitalization policies, these experts specialize in various fields such as tourism promotion, transportation, attracting young people to the countryside, marketing or digital transformation. As of April 2023, there were 531 officially recognized Advisors for Regional Vitality (Chiiki ryokusōzō adobaizā) at the Japanese Ministry of Internal Affairs and Communications (MIC 2023). They are compensated with public funds and play a critical role in providing valuable insights and recommendations to the government.

Ministry of Internal Affairs and Communications (MIC) – the patron of MIC Advisors for Regional Vitality
Copyright © Ngo Tu Thanh 2022

During my fieldwork, I had the chance to talk to several officially recognized government advisors. They have diverse educational backgrounds and professional experiences. The majority of advisors hold at least an undergraduate degree. Most of the advisors have extensive leadership experience. All advisors I have talked to are leaders within their respective organizations, some serving as directors and/or presidents of their companies, others holding top leadership roles in several NPOs. These leadership roles provide advisors with the necessary skills and experience to make sound recommendations to the government. However, this raises concerns about conflicts of interest, as advisors might push for policies that benefit their businesses. Advisors also have extensive experience working with various government ministries and agencies at both national and local levels, as well as hands-on experience in regional revitalization projects. One advisor I talked to has served as the Chief Digital Officer in a prefectural government and advised government agencies such as the Cabinet Office and the Digital Agency on various issues, including regional revitalization, gender equality, immigration and depopulation. Another advisor previously worked as a policy bureau member of a large municipal government and was a member in the Tourism Strategy Implementation Task Force of the Cabinet Office. She has also been involved in various theater planning and art policy promotion initiatives. Yet another advisor has created promotional videos for government organizations such as the Ministry of Agriculture, Forestry and Fisheries (MAFF) and MIC.

This is the office of an NPO where an advisor works as leader
Copyright © Ngo Tu Thanh 2022

Testimonies from the government advisors show that they have a rather limited influence on policy agendas but may have sway in providing technical advice. This finding supports the similar argument made by Romann (2020) that advisory committees and advisors (shingikai) might have limited influence. However, one advisor who specialized in digital transformation provided an anecdote about how he proposed ideas to eliminate fax machines to Digital Minister Konō Tarō in a meeting; the Minister agreed, and his ministry actually implemented a similar strategy a few months later. This particular advisor has been known as a proactive leader who also wants to reform rigid administrative procedures in Japan. This indicates that when there is less conflict over the political nature of policies with key decision-makers, advisors’ technical advice may be quite influential.

In summary, government advisors offer diverse experiences and extensive knowledge of rural revitalization. Advisors can also work on policy implementation at the local level. Besides, while their influence over policy agendas may be limited, their technical advice may provide great value for policymaking at the national level, if political conditions are met.

References
Michalowitz, Irina. 2007. “What Determines Influence? Assessing Conditions for Decision-Making Influence of Interest Groups in the EU.” Journal of European Public Policy 14 (1).
MIC (Ministry of Internal Affairs and Communications). 2023. “Chiiki Jinzai Netto (Chiikiryoku Sōzō Adobaizā),” https://www.soumu.go.jp/ganbaru/jinzai/.Accessed April 20, 2023.
Romann, Eric. 2020. Nonmarket Strategy in Japan: How Foreign Firms Lobby “Inside the Castle.” Singapore: Springer Nature Singapore.

by Cornelia Reiher

In March and April, I again had the opportunity to travel to Japan for field research. Spring is not only the most beautiful season with its cherry blossoms, but also a time of festivals to celebrate them. As the number of covid infections has been declining for some time, many of these local festivals were held for the first time since the pandemic began. I attended cherry blossom festivals (sakura matsuri) and markets, and although most people were still wearing masks, it was wonderful to see people once again doing hanami, enjoying food and drink, listening to live music, watching plays, and taking photos of the most beautiful cherry trees in the area.

Cherry tree in full bloom
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2023

Most of the festivals I attended were rather small matsuri organized by individual villages and usually attended by locals. At one of the sakura matsuri, there was not only food and drink, but also kagura, a ceremonial dance theater that recounts the myths of ancient Japan. In the play we watched, the hero had to fight two dragons and planned to get them drunk on sake so they would fall asleep. He put a big barrel of sake on the stage, and when the dragons drank it, they fell asleep. The hero came back to kill them in their sleep, but they woke up and started a fight. In the end, the hero succeeded in cutting off both of their heads and celebrated himself quite a bit. The performance was characterized by great costumes, pyrotechnics and colored smoke. The dragon actors really enjoyed suddenly running from the stage into the audience to scare the few small children watching with their parents and grandparents. Although most of the festival attendees were older, the actors were quite young. I enjoyed the kagura, the music, and the relaxed atmosphere while eating strawberries and drinking sake with the locals very much.

Kagura at a local cherry blossom festival
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2023

While literally everyone wore a mask at this sakura matsuri, another festival I attended was a mask-free area. The Deera Matsuri was a small market-like festival in a beautiful private garden in the mountains owned by ijūsha. It was idyllically situated on a mountain overlooking fields with flowers everywhere. When we arrived, live guitar music was playing on stage, and before we could enter, we were asked to exchange Japanese yen for a local currency (chiiki tsūka) called deera, which inspired the name of the event. Equipped with deera, we walked around and met many friends and acquaintances, most of them ijūsha. There were about ten stalls selling pastries, tea, knickknacks and bread. I bought tea from a young couple who had just moved to Taketa from Tokyo. The tea was picked during the full moon. Coffee and chai were served in the house where many children were running around screaming happily. There was a boisterous and relaxed atmosphere in the beautiful surroundings and with guitar music playing. At the end of the event, we looked at the organizers’ artwork in the gallery they run in a former warehouse next to the building where they live.

The Deera Festival in an idyllic garden in the mountains
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2023

One of the larger festivals I attended was the Okajo sakura matsuri, which features a parade of residents dressed in Edo period costumes. In the morning, all the participants gathered in their robes at the ruins of Oka Castle in Taketa. The parking lots nearby were crowded, and the city government staff had to show the visitors, who had traveled from all over Kyūshū, a place to park. We joined the crowd and walked up the hill to arrive just as the parade was to begin with a taiko performance. The parade then moved from the castle ruins down to the old castle town, where it was enthusiastically greeted by residents, tourists and friends of the participants. The colorful customs and music were very impressive.

Before the parade: Gathering for the Okajo Sakura Matsuri
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2023

When I returned to Arita at the end of my fieldwork, I was very surprised to see that preparations for the Ceramic Fair (tōki ichi), the biggest festival of the year, were already underway, even though it did not begin for another two weeks. We already saw tents selling porcelain at a discount. In the parking lot in front of the guest house where we were staying, there was a tent and the staff from the kiln across the street was setting up shelves and racks. Everyone told me that this was only the second tōki ichi after the two-year hiatus due to the pandemic, and that everyone was very excited to enjoy the Ceramic Fair. Since there was no food and drink sold last year due to the pandemic-related restrictions, it was not as much fun as usual. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to attend the tōki ichi this year due to teaching obligations, but I hope it will be as nice as it has been in the past.

Getting ready for the Ceramic Fair during Golden Week
Copyright © Cornelia Reiher 2023

Visiting festivals and talking with people who were preparing for and looking forward to future events made me aware of the importance of these festivals for communities, social relations and cohesion, local businesses, tourism and local identity. The excitement about the festival’s return showed how much people had missed working together to prepare the food, organize the program, and set up the stage and booths. But even more important was the opportunity to meet people they hadn’t seen in a long time. I heard so many people shouting: “O hisashiburi!” (Long time no see!) and catching up on the last three years. On the other hand, I also heard of villages where the pandemic served as an excuse to abandon festivals because of the aging of the population, which made it very difficult to find people to organize local events. Since local festivals are important for rural areas and their residents, I hope they will survive, and I am very much looking forward to participating in more festivals next year.

by Cecilia Luzi

From the very first day of my fieldwork in Japan, I knew that this would be a great adventure. After a long ride on the Shinkansen from Kyoto, I found myself tired in a hotel in Buzen, but my child was crying to go out and play somewhere. This was just the beginning of a series of intense months spent between field research and the need to create a new routine for myself and my child. Soon I was spending endless hours in public parks in rural Japan and making some interesting discoveries. First, I noticed that there were public parks that were only for the elderly, with equipment for back and leg exercises. This is a clear sign that the Japanese population is aging at a dizzying pace, especially in rural areas. Second, in rural Japan, there are some stunning parks! Having lived in Berlin for two years, I thought that Germany held the record for the most spectacular public parks, but I had to revise my opinion. The parks here in Japan are generally well maintained, with beautiful gardens and large playgrounds for children. I also noticed that parents often play with their children, whereas in Europe, parents often sit on benches and watch their children play. But in Japan, parents climb the slides together with their children, and everyone seems to be having a good time. However, this can also lead to some awkward moments when you’re stuck on a slide tower with another parent that’s meant for kids between the ages of 5 and 10! But in the end, it’s all part of the fun.

Playing with leaves in autumn
Copyright © Cecilia Luzi 2022

I also had many interesting encounters during my stays in parks. In front of the hotel where I stayed during the first days of my fieldwork, there was a clearing with a pavilion and some benches. On the evening of my arrival, I decided to take a walk and came across some strange fitness equipment in the park (which I later found out was for elderly people). While I was trying to make sense of it, a man walking his dog approached me and my son. He seemed intrigued by our presence. We exchanged a few words, and after 10 minutes we were sitting in his living room eating cookies and talking with him and his wife about the increasing desolation of the city with more and more empty houses and a rapidly aging population.

Collecting acorns in fall and enjoying springtime in public parks
Copyright © Cecilia Luzi 2022, 2023

During fall, the parks turned into a veritable sea of color. Every day was like discovering a different landscape, and my son filled my pockets with colorful leaves, acorns and chestnuts at every turn. On a sunny December day, we met a family at the slide who had recently moved from Tokyo to the nearby village. The mother was Japanese, the father Senegalese, and they had a 5-year-old daughter who was cheerful and lively and quickly gained my son’s trust. We immediately struck up a conversation as we were curious about each other. I soon discovered that their move to the countryside was more challenging than expected, as the mentality was different than in the city and communication, especially in the workplace, was less direct. “At the moment we are saving, and as soon as our daughter starts elementary school, we have decided to move to Senegal,” explained the mother.

Public parks in Japan are often shaded by large cherry trees of all kinds. This year, they bloomed between late March and early April at my field site. So when I had to organize a meeting with one of my research participants, we did not hesitate to organize a hanami with our children. She came with her parents and we spent an hour eating strawberries and talking about her ten years in Japan as a potter, while the children played and screamed non-stop.

Slides in Japan are very long
Copyright © Cecilia Luzi 2023

When I moved to my second field site, I stayed in a trial house provided by the municipality for the first ten days. It was only a two-minute walk from the largest park and playground in town. Every day we went to the slides and met many different families. What surprised me most was that many people I spoke with were not from the city, but had moved here after marriage because their spouse was originally born here. Whether they were men or women, whether they came from nearby cities or from big cities like Nagasaki or Fukuoka, many moved to this small town of 15,000 people after deciding to get married and have children.

The beach is our second option if we don’t want to go to the park.
Copyright © Cecilia Luzi 2023

When I arrived in the field months ago, I quickly realized that I had to face many challenges: finding the right people to socialize with, adapting to a new place, and most importantly, finding a way to give my child the serenity he needed in a completely different context than he was used to. All the initial phases of participant observation, which were very important to my research, took a back seat to the need to make the move as easy as possible for my child. Anyone who has dealt with babies and toddlers, as well as older children, knows that they need constant attention, constant presence, and a good dose of daily entertainment. And when you just want to flip open the futon and enjoy an episode of some show before you start preparing dinner after a busy day of meetings and interviews, you need to get out and play. Doing fieldwork with a young child in tow means leaving the house every day, even when you’re tired and exhausted. Some days this can be very exhausting, but there are also positive aspects to this situation. I have spent many happy hours in the parks watching my son play, grow, and interact with adults and children, but most importantly, even on days when I would have preferred to stay home and avoid people, my child has forced me to go out. As time went on, I became more and more confident in going out every day. Now I enjoy chatting with the other moms and dads in town, and what is just a playground for my child has become a new source of observation for me every day.