*composite text file of:
"Local History & the Politics of Renewing a Regional Japanese
Town" (1997 dissertation of Guven Peter Witteveen)
                  gpwitt@bigfoot.com

The (170 pages) 500 MB file is located at:
http://www.geocities.com/sjmiy/witt_dst.txt   (effective 21 Dec 99)
 *bibliography is the separate file:
http://www.msu.edu/user/wittevee/publications/witt_bib.txt
                  posted to website on 27 December 1997
        =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

     [Witteveen, chapter 1, excerpt]
     [http://www.msu.edu/user/wittevee/publications/ch1end.txt]

PLAN OF THE DISSERTATION, IN THREE PARTS

Chapters one and two supply the background for the fieldwork and
the research findings generated. In particular, chapter two
describes the field site of Takefu through statistical measures
with comparison to the prefecture and country. In the second part
of the dissertation the subjects of local history sites and
events (chapter three), organizations with an interest in aspects
of local history (chapter four), and the Takefu Renaissance group
(TR) in particular will be presented (chapter five). To focus on
the significance of local history in a regional Japanese town
like Takefu, just one of Renaissance's projects will be singled
out for close examination (chapter six), the Kokaido Hall (KKD).
Being one of the town's surviving early Western style buildings
(1929), TR lobbied for the KKD's preservation and, because of its
central location, its use as a town visitor center/museum. But
then quite unexpectedly the mayor commandeered the building for
use as an exhibition hall for the works of a pre WWII (oil)
painter with no connection to the city.
     The city administration seized upon these collected works
only when the person claiming ownership of them offered to donate
several pieces on condition that they be properly maintained and
displayed, and that several other pieces would be purchased at
the same time. The complicated and less than transparent nature
of these transactions provoked Takefu Renaissance in their
efforts to foster local pride and historical preservation
awareness among fellow residents. In the course of these efforts,
the limitations of Japanese-style democracy as practiced in the
town became a focus of their discussions; the politics of culture
became a distinct subject. These events are recounted in chapter
eight. Rounding out this study of local history, chapter seven
will discuss the attitudes of townspeople to the past in light of
Takefu's economic conditions and cultural conventions more
generally, based on the results of a survey conducted in the
course of fieldwork.
     Before summing up and coming to some conclusions on the
subject of local history and the politics of renewing a regional
Japanese town, the third part of the dissertation will explore
the field of Takefu's public discourse. Because of certain
irregularities in the city's handling of the KKD's conversion to
a museum, the processes and principals involved in Japanese civil
society were thrown into relief. Chapter eight will look at the
obstacles and achievements of TR in persistently applying
pressure to rectify the mayor's shunting of the KKD into a would-
be art gallery. Chapter nine will step back from this case far
enough to discuss the subject of Japanese civil society in a
comparative and comprehensive way.
     In consideration of the ethnographic background (part one)
and the significance of local history in the Takefu Renaissance
story (part two), and the uses and politics of local history for
renewing the town (part three), the dissertation concludes by
returning to the questions posed at the outset about how local
history representation is shaped and the uses to which it is put.
Finally, there are appendices of the history attitudes survey
form (A), its gloss in English (B), detailed replies from
selected survey questions (C), and a glossary of Japanese words
used in the dissertation, as well as list of recently "borrowed"
words overheard during fieldwork as an indication of one type of
disseminated information reaching people in the town of Takefu
(D). Takefu Renaissance's charter and a copy of the petition it
submitted to the city hall appear in appendix E, while a
selection of illustrative photographs is given in appendix F.
Finally, there is a summary chronology of the KKD affair in
appendix G. There is a list of references cited at the end, both
in Japanese and in English.

        =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=


     [Witteveen, chapter 2, excerpt]
     [http://www.msu.edu/user/wittevee/publications/ch2fukui.txt]

 [chapter opening]
This chapter will describe the town of Takefu through its own
statistics and compare it to other places in the prefecture and
across the nation. Proceeding from international per capita
figures to municipal conditions, a quantitative picture of the
town should emerge to provide the necessary context for
appreciating the activities and achievements of the citizens
movement Takefu Renaissance (TR), which will be the centerpiece
in this study of local history and the politics of renewing a
regional Japanese town. Since the dissertation is about the
cultural politics and political culture of Takefu, the first
question must be to ask how representative the town is of urban
Japan.

  [elipsis to prefectural data of Fukui-ken]


FUKUI AND HER PEOPLE SEEN IN THE NUMBERS______________

Having pointed out the features of the three prefecture of the
Hokuriku region that stand out in comparison with national
averages, as well as the places at which Fukui differs from the
other two prefectures, it is now time to look further at the
patterns of Fukui's statistical rankings in the country. But
first some basic facts will be given.
     The prefecture's boundaries form the shape of a key, with
the narrow end at the south called Reinan area, separated by
mountains from the larger, more populous area in the north called
Reihoku (photo a). At 35� north latitude, the climate is
temperate, and is influenced by the proximity to the Japan Sea.
The narcissus was Fukui's first designated natural symbol and,
according to an official pamphlet, reflects collective
characteristics, "It is said that the patience of this flower
that blooms in the severe wind and snow of Japan Sea reflects the
personality of the citizens of Fukui Prefecture" (F, back). With
828,000 people, it ranks 44th of Japan's 47 prefectures in
population.
     The genesis of the present boundaries is worth reviewing,
for it explains the composite nature of the prefecture. At the
end of the Tokugawa reign in 1867, old fiefdoms were amalgamated,
often along the same geographical features and regional cultural
affinities that defined the premodern divisions previously. In
Fukui several combinations were tried before arriving at the
present formulation 14 years later (1881). The result was a
fracture prone graft of two distinct regions, Reinan to the south
and Reihoku to the north, each with separate traditions and
loyalties. In spite of the old rivalries between Fukui-city, Ono-
city, and Takefu-city, and these in the north together versus the
people living in the southern end of the prefecture, the present
prefectural system continues to serve. A look back at historical
developments can similarly shed light on the prefecture's
dominant industries today.
     Fukui ranks first and second nationally in a variety of silk
and artificial silk fabric products. Other top ranking
manufactures in the prefecture include knit wear, dyeing and
finishing of yarn and fabric, lace and other textiles, paper
making, spectacles, straw rope and lacquerware production (F).
Households had raised silkworms for generations, so it was
natural to set up the early textile factories in Fukui. Thus the
manufacture of fabric and related services has long been
associated with Fukui prefecture and gave many women the
possibility of wage labor, resulting in the prefecture's national
lead in the percentage of women engaged in gainful employment
(56% Fukui, 48% Japan, F:52). The cottage industry of eyeglass
frame production has been another leading source of families'
double incomes
     Certain measures of the prefecture are in line with national
averages. For example, the per capita numbers of psychiatric
hospitals (K:372) and counselors (K:332), old people's centers
(K:317) and sports facilities (F:49) in Fukui are similar to the
rest of Japan. The same is true of the money spent per pupil in
elementary school and on public welfare, although it could be
argued that the same figure goes further in Fukui than in
metropolitan areas. The number of nurses per capita and the
proportion of female teachers at the junior high school level are
likewise as expected based on national averages. The people of
Fukui also hit the national average in the area of leisure and
culture. The number of passports per 1,000 persons (considerable
international business for a rural area), the spending per person
on books, and the number of movie theaters per 1,000 persons all
are comparable to the national averages. But considering the
predominantly urban environment of most Japanese, with only 30%
living in places like Fukui with towns of 200,000 or less, the
figures for passports, reading matter and movie theaters are
significant. Finally, with regard to demographic averages, Fukui
matches the national rates per capita for incidence of heart
disease, stroke, and high blood pressure, as well as deaths per
1,000 people (although more elderly do live in the provinces).
Life expectancy for Fukui women, on the other hand, is higher
than the rest of the country on average.
     The subject of demography brings up an important facet of
life in Hokuriku generally, and Fukui in particular. Expressed as
a percentage of the population at each five year age group, the
three prefectures of Hokuriku show a slight drop from the
national averages for the ages 20-39. In Fukui this drop from
national average is from age 15-54, with the under 15s (9% Japan,
9.5% Fukui, M: pp.460-465) and over 55s coming in slightly above
the country's averages (13.9% Japan, 15.85% Fukui, ibid). Stated
another way, the slight discrepancy with the national averages is
likely due to the phenomenon of young people seeking work in the
metropolitan centers, possibly returning in middle age or later
to retire in Fukui. The graph below shows the mix of males and
females in Fukui-ken in 1990. 

The most prominent feature is the bulge in persons born in the
years after soldiers were repatriated at the end of WWII. A
second bulge is the echo of the earlier "baby boom" generation.
Less obvious demographic facts of Fukui's population include the
absence of males born before 1930, killed in the 15 years of war.
At the opposite end, the naturally occurring birth ratio of males
to females is skewed at two points. The first is in the youngest
age groups, born between 1975 and 1990. One explanation for the
unnatural proportion of males is the introduction of ultrasound
sexing and selective abortion of female fetuses. At least this
accords with the East Asian value placed on male household heirs
and coincides with the advent of this technology. The second
inversion of the sexes occurs among those born between 1945 and
1960, or the ages of 30 to 45 at the time of this national
census. One explanation is that while both men and women move to
the metropolitan areas for work, it is more often men who are
called on to return and take over the household, family business,
or religious office. These returnees will ideally be oldest sons,
resulting in the phenomenon of locally born oldest sons
concentrating in rural areas like Fukui prefecture. Being groomed
as prospective (nominal) heir to a household or enterprise may
have the effect of making this segment of the population
accustomed to the attention of authority and conservativeness of
responsibility. In other words, while the nation as a whole is
graying (koreika shakai), the countryside is composed of a higher
percentage of the elderly, who, along with the numerous
households headed by oldest sons, tend to be more conservative in
outlook.
     The practically equal proportion of males and females
between the ages of 20 and 30 may reflect the slightly greater
number of young women than men seeking work for a time outside
the prefecture, resulting in a ratio less than the expected
majority in females. Whereas the mortality and baby boom impacts
of the war years, and the availability of ultrasound sexing of
fetuses will characterize the Japanese population everywhere, in
regional prefectures like Fukui the effects of (temporary)
outmigration on the numbers and the distribution of the sexes can
also be seen.
     The numerous ways in which Fukui prefecture leads the
country all seem to come from the inhabitants being more Japanese
than Japanese. That is, while education and hard work are valued
widely, in Fukui these are emphasized even more. As a result, the
people of Fukui have the third highest rate of high school
graduates going on to higher education (44.2% F:41). Government
expenditures per capita on education (#4, K:118), on community
education (#2, K:119), on learning and leisure halls for young
people (#3, K:172), and the rate of gym diffusion among public
high schools (#2, K:141) are all very high. Through the
exhortations of government and teachers, and the examples set by
peers and parents, young people take on a high regard for
education. Students in all forms of learning institution in Fukui
are 6.46 per 1,000 persons (#2, F:44). Libraries per population
are also high (#2, K:170), despite the tendency for people to
frequent bookstores, either to build their own libraries, or to
stand and read in the shop (tachi yomi). Further evidence of the
greater than average involvement in education comes anecdotally
in the example of the prefecture's initiatives to expand the
native English speaker program. In 1984, with the national
government providing funds for two American Assistant English
Teachers, Fukui led the way by funding six additional foreign
teaching assistants, to be distributed across the entire
prefecture. Following the success of Fukui's example, other
prefectural school boards have followed suit, resulting in a
Japan English Teacher (JET) program that is tens of times bigger,
employing native English speakers from across the planet.
     Fukui prefecture could be nicknamed Academy in the Fields
(inaka no gakuen) for the energy and money spent on educating one
another. But an equally fitting moniker would be Prefecture of
Company Presidents (shacho no kuni). The many small contractors
and subcontractors to the eyeglass frame and textile industries
have led to a proliferation of company presidents. Thus the
familiar address one receives at the barbecue and beer shops,
"shacho!" which is as much flattery as a statistically fair guess
as to the patron's social rank. The many double incomes (or more
if multi-generational) households have made it possible for many
others to go into business for themselves, contributing to
Fukui's higher than average number of modest enterprises listed
previously (barber shops, etc).
     With so many female wage earners (#1, 56.3%, F:52) working
so many hours each month (#4, 186 hours, F:54), the amount of
cash in the local economy has had many ramifications for
household as well as government in Fukui. The people of Fukui
have levels of savings per person higher than the national
average (F28: $69,000 per person Fukui, $66,020 Japan). This
follows from the fact that they save a greater portion of their
earnings, have lower living expenses, and have one of the highest
rates of double incomes. But the figure of average savings
account balances is deceptive, for the lower wages as well as
expenses of the rural areas mean that a given figure is worth
more in practical terms. Large personal savings (#4, K:75; cf.
$1.3 million per Fukui household, $1.09 million Japan, F:62), the
availability of land and number of three generation households
(#6, 38.9%, F:19) may explain the size (#3, 165 m�, F:67), and
proportion of owner occupied houses (#5, 78.2%, F:66) in the
prefecture. The pervasiveness of multi-generation households can
be seen not only in the size of homes, but also in the
prefecture's position in total number of households (#46, K:43)
compared to this ranking #44 in its total population (K:15). Seen
another way, Fukui is #3 in average number of persons per
household (3.48 persons, F:18). Things like divorce rate (#44,
K:53), bankruptcies (#43, K:63) and life expectancy of men (#14,
K:355) may also relate to the mix of psychic support and
expectations exerted by three generations living together.
     Savings and the prescription to work may also account for
the number of rehabilitation hospitals (#3, F:81), staff (#1,
K:326) and residents (#1, K:327). At the same time these provide
work for Fukui's greater than average number of nurses and
assistant nurses (M:537), as well as being a visible example of
the government's use of tax money for all to plainly see. With
its high rate of property taxation (#3, K:89) the government of
Fukui prefecture has been able to pour money into educational
expenses (above), major building projects (#1, K:100, 107, 115),
road paving (#5 in % roads hard surfaced, K:302), and civil
engineering works (#5, K:115). The roadworks may be in response
to the high rate of car ownership (#5, K:248), a fact related to
the many traffic deaths (#5, K:429) and violations (#3, K:430).
The prefectural government also stands out in its funding for
public safety: ambulances (#4, K:398), firefighters (#5, K:414),
fire prevention (#3, K:102). Given the horror of Fukui-city's
aerial bombardment in the closing weeks of WWII and its complete
destruction three years later by earthquake, the public safety
budget is no surprise. This experience of disaster may also
explain the prominent rate of disaster insurance (#4, K:448),
basic life insurance (#4, K:446), and the size of policies
insured (#2, K:444), at triple the Japanese average ($340,100;
F:100)
     There are some negative consequences to the cash rich local
economy created by the many small companies and household double
incomes. Consumers are able and willing to pay more for food, for
example (#5, K:243). They also use the low priced electrical
energy from nearby nuclear power generators in greater than
average amounts per year (#4, 7330 kw per person, F:29). Finally,
the price of residential land has increased at a rapid rate in
recent years (#2, K:244). Taking the positive and negative
ramifications on balance, though, the combination of strong work
ethic among both sexes and the emphasis on education throughout
the life course seems to have been for the best. At least with
reference to the amount of public consciousness, the prefecture
excels. Measured as per cent of the population involved in social
service [shakai hoshi katsudo], Fukui ranks first among
prefectures (K:179). At the same time, at the opposite extreme
from the citizens of Fukui, the prefectural government shows much
less awareness of the public good. There seems to be little in
the way of zoning control or review boards for proposed
construction, with the result of haphazard urban development. The
people of Takefu fit within most of the wider prefecture's
statistical indicators, although in some ways the figures of the
town show clear contrasts.

        =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=


     [Witteveen, chapter 2, excerpt]
     [http://www.msu.edu/user/wittevee/publications/ch2takef.txt]

 [chapter opening]
This chapter will describe the town of Takefu through its own
statistics and compare it to other places in the prefecture and
across the nation. Proceeding from international per capita
figures to municipal conditions, a quantitative picture of the
town should emerge to provide the necessary context for
appreciating the activities and achievements of the citizens
movement Takefu Renaissance (TR), which will be the centerpiece
in this study of local history and the politics of renewing a
regional Japanese town. Since the dissertation is about the
cultural politics and political culture of Takefu, the first
question must be to ask how representative the town is of urban
Japan.

  [elipsis to municipal data of Takefu-shi]


TAKEFU REFLECTED IN THE NUMBERS_______________________

To make useful connections, the various figures have been grouped
into four topical areas. Presented in order of public visibility,
these figures have to do with 1) the city's infrastructure and
public services, 2) community events and civil society, 3)
economic measures and 4), household information.
     Many of the impressions a visitor to Takefu first has are
supported by statistical prominences (photo C). For example, in
the town itself there are a relatively high proportion of
buildings constructed before WWII (T:10), and many of these are
in the traditional form of a shop fronting the street level with
a living area above and to the rear (11.1% Takefu, 6.6% Japan,
T:10). More of Takefu's streets are in the narrow category of
less than 4 meters than in the prefecture on average (42.3%
Takefu, 34% Fukui, T:11), and the overall low rate of sewerage
connections in Fukui prefecture is even lower in Takefu (T:13).
Finally, a visitor might notice derelict houses or shops closed
for business here and there. This is the practical result of the
population "doughnut" phenomenon (D:9), whereby aging parents at
city center cannot induce children or outsiders to take over
their business. Younger people are either unable or unwilling to
move to the closely built old neighborhoods, something reflected
in the drop for Takefu's core population (T:27), as well as in
elementary school enrollments.
     Records are kept of less obvious, but no less notable
features of Takefu's infrastructure. Municipal expenditures on
public welfare per capita (S: p.129, G-1) is low in a prefecture
which is ranked overall above the national median at number 19
(K:110). This conservative view of a limited government welfare
in Takefu is congruent with the conservative attitudes to
authority reflected and made possible by high ratios of
townspeople per doctor, dentist (T:21), teacher (T:27), and city
council member (S: p.118, D-6). The traditionally high status of
each of these roles is perpetuated because of their scarcity in
relation to the rest of the population. Hence each concentrates
more power in his or her hands than elsewhere.
     Moving from measures of Takefu's infrastructure to the
town's civil society and public life, other statistics stand out.
For example, in spite of their library holding one of the highest
number of books per capita in the prefecture, the lending rate
per person on average is one of the lowest (T:30). This accords
with the conservative belief in buying one's books instead of
using the ones lent to "the public." Nextdoor Sabae-city, in many
ways contrasting the conservativism of Takefu people, records one
of the prefecture's highest lending rates per capita (T:30).
Perhaps it is Takefu's conservative attitudes in general, and the
relatively high regard for authority that results in lower than
expected incidents of crime reported. Although the city accounts
for 8.64% of Fukui's population, in cities and countryside, it
was the location for only 8% of the crimes (P: p.1). Abiding the
law is less clear in the case of driving etiquette, however. The
highest proportion of the prefecture's already high rate of fatal
accidents is recorded in Takefu (X: pp.6-7). Certainly the area's
mixture of narrow lanes, wide highways, and winding mountain
roads introduces many demands on drivers. A happier picture comes
from fire statistics, where the town seems to beat the odds.
Despite the low number of fire fighters, and closely packed,
normally old wood-built houses of the city, there are relatively
few outbreaks reported.
     The third area of municipal statistics relates to economic
measures. A similar percentage of Takefu's population is engaged
in farming as the rest of the prefecture (26.5% Takefu, 26.8%
Fukui, 14% Japan, T:40). But the majority of these are part-time
farmers, relying on elderly family members, both spouses and
other relatives to supply labor (92.8% Takefu, 66.5% Japan, T40),
with rice the singlemost important source of agricultural income
(72.1% Fukui, 29.7% Japan, S:15). Takefu has proportionately
fewer people involved in services (17% Takefu, 23% Fukui, 26%
Japan, T:36). In the tertiary sector about 27% is retail business
(D:18) with 430 food related businesses, 290 restaurants, 220
clothing, 100 furniture, and 90 car or bicycle related. Takefu
leads the prefecture in value of goods manufactured per person
(T:45), with four corporations alone accounting for 30% of the
jobs (automotive and electronics). Other, smaller, companies
include makers of sportswear (30 factories), roof tiles (11),
furniture (70) and cutlery (43) (G:2, 3). Unemployment, already
low in Fukui-prefecture (1.3%, Japan 1.9%), is similarly low in
Takefu, where many foreigners of Japanese descent have flocked
since the national government began granting a special labor visa
in 1990. The 700 Japanese-Brazilians are the singlemost numerous
in Takefu and together with the other resident foreigners amount
to 1,000 persons, or almost 1.5% of the city's population, far
more than ever lived there before. Takefu surpasses the
prefecture for jobs per seeker (3.3) with a figure of 5.4 jobs
available for every person seeking work (T:33). In short, while
old shops are closing downtown, business overall is good in the
Takefu area, with new stores opening along the recently completed
by-pass highways and in shopping centers outside the traditional
commercial center downtown. Figures from the Tannan tax bureau,
centering on Sabae and Takefu, show a lower than average number
of incidences of tax arrears per filing household or company. The
average amount in arrears is also lower than average here
(Z:142).
     Finally, the remaining municipal statistics give some
indication of household condition and the sorts of choices
townspeople make which concern their own well being. Once again
the conservative or traditional values held in Takefu are
reflected in a figure like the low proportion of elderly living
on their own (K:48). Put another way, more people live in three
generation households there than in the prefecture or country
overall. Furthermore, the number of often elderly, bedridden per
1,000 persons is higher in Takefu (2.7) than in the prefecture on
average (1.8). Turning to the working age segment of the
population, Takefu differs from the prefectural pattern. In spite
of, or perhaps because of, the abundance of work and high rate of
double incomes (tomo bataraki), birth rates have dropped between
1980 and 1991 by 15-20% (D:9). Lastly, Takefu preschool and day
care rates are at the top for Fukui prefecture. It is not clear
whether this has more to do with an above average urgency to
excel in education (a cultural value and means of grading job
applicants, gakureki seido, the "school credential society"), or
is simply related to the availability of municipal subsidy for
two parent working families. What is more certain, though, is
that the high number of students to teachers (T:27, 28) helps to
perpetuate the traditionally high status enjoyed by teachers.
Both their scarcity (and good pay, but long hours) and the
command or lecture style of leading classes maintain the distance
between learner and leader needed to reinforce the teacher's
elevated status.
     In sum, while it is not a revealing observation, Takefu is
indeed characterized by its more than average conservative
attitudes. Japanese folk wisdom is not entirely off the mark when
it identifies certain collective characteristics with
geographical features and the particular historical experience of
feudalism of a place. Hence, the uncertainties of harvesting the
sea is supposed to make people in coastal fishing villages
gregarious and changeable. Those in the mountainous interior are
supposed to be strong willed, quiet and sure of themselves. While
those in the rice growing valley bottoms, like Takefu, who were
most closely subject to feudal controls are supposedly most meek
under government authority, even today.
     Dozens of quantitative measures confirm the conservative
outlook and agree with the townspeople's own collective
representations. To these can be added a more impressionistic
synopsis. At the 1994 Takefu Cultural Symposium organized by
Takefu Renaissance, Mr. Mitamura, Vice-president of the city's
Chamber of Commerce, read from a letter describing the essential
qualities of townspeople observed by an outsider who had been
posted to his bank's Takefu branch office.

             The Subject of Takefu People 
� They are zealous at work and persevering, able to stand up
against both cold weather and adversity.

� They never cease in efforts to improve their lives.

� They are zealous too about education, with excellent school
credentials.

� They are capable of supporting cultural refinements.

� Although they are dedicated to their work [practices], people
think that they won't survive without following where others'
lead.

� The people put great value on their own family's ways, and
while they are big hearted, when they meet someone different to
them, no matter how talented, they won't regard the person in a
favorable light. Instead they will talk behind the person's back,
all the while giving no indication of this to the person.

So there turn out to be obstacles to revitalizing the town. And
even people of talent end up cramped. Since other places lack
these conditions, when these people [move away and] exert their
talent they become company presidents. But they don't heap
accolades on their hometown, nor desire to [return and] spend the
rest of their lives there.

                 Manager of Hokuriku Bank, Takefu branch, c. 1970



The behaviors and beliefs substantiated by the various statistics
contribute to an ethnographic description of a regional town in
an area of Japan neglected by foreign social scientists so far.
But with regard to the thesis of this dissertation, local history
and the politics of renewing a regional Japanese town, several
implication follow from the town's conservative expectations and
practices. Before spelling these out, however, it is worth
reviewing the highlights of Fukui and the other prefectures of
the Hokuriku region, along with national figures to see the
outlines of Takefu in full form.
     While the town is average with the prefecture and nation in
many ways, it is at the top and bottom rankings that the
townspeople's conservative character shows up. As Fukui's second
largest city, its characteristics match the prefecture's
statistical saliences cited earlier. These include prominent
educational and employment figures as well as numbers which
indicate conservative attitudes toward the role of government.
The prefecture (44.2%) exceeds national averages (34.5%) for the
percentage of high school graduates seeking further education
(F:41). Libraries per capita (#2, K:170), public education
expenditure (K:118), adult education budgets per capita (K:119,
177), including homemakers taking courses (K:176), rank Fukui
prefecture and by extension Takefu city near the nation's top.    
 In matters of employment the prefecture is notable for the high
proportion of women in the work force (#1, 56.3%). In the case of
married women, this results in household double incomes and
thanks to frugal consumer habits, leads also to high amounts of
savings per household (#6) and high home ownership rates (#5,
78.2%). Many households are multi-generational, as the figures
indicate for persons per household (#3), and rankings in
population (#44) versus number of households (#46), and
households having a relative 65 of older living at home (#6).
Many people enjoy the independence of owning a car (#11) and work
in jobs related to the prefecture's leading industries: textile
production and eyeglass manufacture. Many others run small
businesses (e.g. restaurants, barbers) or work in the
prefecture's many financial institutions (nearly twice the number
per capita as elsewhere in Japan).
     Finally, the generally conservative character of the
prefecture can be seen in voters' preferences and consumers'
tastes. Like other rural districts with important agricultural
production, the people in Fukui have consistently supported the
historically dominant party, the LDP (Liberal Democratic Party),
which despite its name has been compared in content with the
conservative Republicans in the U.S. political world (55-65%
Fukui prefecture, 38.9% Japan, NHK 1979:61). Indices of consumer
characteristics include per capita sales of the traditional
Japanese alcoholic beverage, sake, above the national average.
The number for liquor regarded as foreign, or at least less
Japanese than sake (and beer), are correspondingly lower than the
rest of the country. Looking at households, the figure for amount
spent on (first) weddings in Fukui-prefecture (above all Takefu,
�16,000,000 or $11,428 in 1985 at �140 = $1) is 2� times that of
the national average (1985, D:9).
     By considering the measures of Takefu and Fukui's generally
conservative nature in the context of nation-wide averages, the
fullest quantitative portrait of the field site will emerge.
Japanese society is characterized by great uniformity as well as
diversity. Literacy rates and educational standards, quality of
medical care and public service, access to the information of
mass media and the products of mass production assure a common
stock of experience across the land. This characteristic is
further enhanced by the Tokyo-centrism, location of political,
commercial, scientific and cultural organizations. At the same
time, the differences between the generations are amplified by
the introduction of new technology and maturation of a consumer
ethic. Differences are further heightened by the existing
regional differences that for centuries were perpetuated from one
valley or village to the next in splendid ignorance of each
other's ways. Then there are the contrasts in rural and urban
social life that add to the variation in Japanese social life.
Expressed in percentages of the national population, people
living in regional towns like Takefu of up to 100,000 residents
are just 12% of the population. Those in towns of less than
30,000 represent 21%, while those in regional cities of 100 to
450,000 equal 49% of the country's total population. Thus, 70% of
the Japanese live in regional towns and villages, while the
remaining 30% live in the metropolitan centers and prefectural
capitals. On balance, however, most Japanese live in urban
conditions.
     The country's demographic profile includes a low rate of
population increase (9.86 births per 1,000, cf. 15.7 for the
U.S.), a divorce rate almost � that of the U.S., long life
expectancy and a projected bulge in the proportion of elderly
citizens which will affect consumer as well as voter preferences
(Hussen 1991, Uchida 1991) and social services. The Japanese
government's proportion of GDP spent on military, research and
development, civil service and public education are all smaller
than those of the U.S. The practical result is to cause private
enterprise to answer these needs. And in the case of money saved
from the defense expenses, the effect is to reduce the tax burden
on the individuals and companies in the Japanese economy. But
more specifically of significance to the subject of this
dissertation, these relatively low levels of government support
may possibly have the consequence of inuring citizens to the
limited aims of elected authorities and civil servants. In other
words, government in Japan may then come to be perceived as
having a narrow definition of the public benefit or the common
good. There are plenty of big budget public works projects, but
relatively little record of social initiatives.
     The country's economy, like that of Takefu, has rapidly
grown since the end of the Edo years in 1868, and particularly
following WWII, during the period of high economic growth [keizai
kodo seicho], 1955-73. Throughout this period the people of Japan
have depended on imported energy and raw materials to support
their national economy. Increasingly, however, the low labor
costs in some cases (S.E. Asia, China) and balance of trade
concerns in others (N. America, W. Europe) has led to more and
more production moving overseas. When this domestic economic
downturn and the rise of the yen's exchange rate in the 1990s and
subsequent difficulty in selling goods abroad is seen together
with the sudden demise of the real estate and securities
speculation in 1993 (the "bubble" economy' bursting), it is easy
to understand the slight climb in unemployment figures.
Homelessness has risen in the metropolitan centers, and not just
among Japanese nationals. With the passage of special working
permission granted to foreigners of Japanese descent on the one
hand, and to non-Japanese manual laborers from certain countries
on the other, the number of foreigners in economic distress has
gone up.
     Like their counterparts in the other industrialized
societies, increasing numbers of Japanese are questioning the
earlier goals of accumulating material wealth and (conspicuous)
consumption. For example, the number of practitioners of
traditional hobbies and skills are up, as are the sales of books
about the Tokugawa days, and the ratings for period dramas
(Kitada 1994). But despite the appearance of wealth indicated on
paper by statistics, the average person has a similar amount of
disposable income as other people living in the industrially
developed nations, except that housing and food and
transportation costs are proportionately higher (Van Wolferen
1989:411).
     Among the leading industrial nations like the U.S., the
educational attainment separating ruled from ruler is relative
small, with high rates of persons pursuing post secondary school
education. Unlike Westerners, however, there is a wider band of
the population who identify themselves as middle class (83.2%).
And studies of income distribution coefficients confirm a
relatively low range of differences between lowest and highest in
Japan (McKean 1989:202). Educational levels are at or above those
in peer national states: e.g. literacy at 99%, publishing and
readership of books and other print media at twice the U.S. rate.
The informational content in the monthly news magazine bungei
shunju, similar in circulation to Newsweek in the U.S., is as
sophisticated as a much less widely circulated publication like
The Atlantic Monthly in the U.S. (cited in Christopher, 1983:200-
2). Others have called these indicators false due to the lifeless
form that the supposedly intellectual discourse takes (Miyoshi
1991:217-232; Van Wolferen 1989:94-8), but the generally
inquisitive and news hungry nature of people in Japan cannot be
denied.
     This sketch of Takefu based on numbers is now complete and
can be seen as a whole. The nation has international prominence,
with economic involvements overseas that have repercussions at
home and vice versa. Japan's economy has blossomed since the
1980s and as the population grays and foreign goods and services
become ever easier to obtain, both the government and individual
citizens are pressing for increasing emphasis on quality of life
issues, the development of social amenities and value put on
leisure pursuits. Now that target economic standards have been
reached, there is increasing attention placed on developing
community identity (machi zukuri), social services (shakai
fukushi) and life long education (shogai kyoiku). These
tendencies may be amplified in Fukui prefecture because of the
high rates of two parents working, the generally serious but
thoughtful nature of the people, the higher than average
proportion of elderly in the population, the emphasis on
education and search for new ways to live in an atmosphere which
is prevailingly conservative at the household and prefectural
level. Into this picture comes the statistical portrait of
Takefu, which matches Fukui prefecture's emphasis on work,
savings, education and traditional practices at home and in work
life. Notable distinctions include the look of the city itself,
with many prewar wooden buildings and narrow streets, the
authority enjoyed by the relatively low number of authority
figures (doctors, dentists, teachers, city council members), the
slightly higher number of people aged 15-65 but low amount of
crime reported, a relatively large number of foreign residents
and manufacturing jobs, and a discernable zeal for adding to
one's education and savings account.
     While the people of Takefu also fit within the general
description of Japan, owing to geographical particulars, the
course of economic development and the intangible elements of
expectations and values, the townspeople stand out in
quantitative national comparisons. Their conservative attitudes
and practices have several implications for the thesis of this
dissertation about the politics of renewing a regional Japanese
town. Specifically, the extremely deferential attitudes of the
people to those with titles of authority (e.g. doctors, dentists,
teachers, civil servants and elected officials) means that
community leaders like these are not likely to be (openly)
challenged in their decisions. Neither are townspeople likely to
try participating in decisions which affect themselves or the
town overall. Similarly, the record of the city expenditure on
welfare services (low) and municipally created health and
recreation facilities (high) shows the government accustomed to
its paternalistic role. Thus when elected leaders confuse a
project that is in their personal political interests for one
benefitting the city and therefore also seen to be a generous
enhancement to the well-behaved constituents, then townspeople
are unlikely to rise up and call these assumptions into question
at the risk of seeming ungrateful, or worse, to be seen as a
public nuisance.
     Yet, against these odds, that is exactly what TR did when
the mayor led the town council and ranks of civil servants into
the dubious KKD project for conversion into the Saeki Yuzo
Gallery. In addition, the large number of manufacturing jobs,
which depend on the status quo of government and business
relations means that many of Takefu's townspeople have more than
cultural values that incline them toward conservative ways of
thinking and acting. They may perceive their livelihoods to
depend on traditional ways of doing things and hence, have
economic incentives for letting sleeping dogs lie.

        =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=


     [Witteveen, chapter 3, excerpt]
     [http://www.msu.edu/user/wittevee/publications/ch3intro.txt]

Chapter Three: LOCAL HISTORY PANORAMA
     M challenged the idea that Fukui prefecture has
     especially valued its bunkazai [cultural treasures]
     earlier than most, beginning in the Meiji period
     (c.1870). To the contrary, there is little interest
     in the local past... and rekishi ishiki [awareness
     of history] here is very usui, amari nai [scant, thin].      
---interview, Fukui Prefectural Museum, May, 1994


From the mouth of a curator this is a strong indictment indeed.
But evidence of the local past, its presentation and the interest
shown by segments of the population does vary. In this chapter a
panorama of local history events, institutions, sites and related
subjects appears. Beginning with a brief look at the region's
history and residues which attract interest in local history, the
following matters will be described: features of historical
interest in Takefu itself, the local history sites in the wider
prefecture, and the range of historiographic genres (classes,
symposia, broadcast interviews, publication, etc.). Other topics
will include education and entertainment programs on tv, along
with historical references in commercial forms (souvenirs,
traditional products, historical theme parks), the history found
in museum displays, and lastly, the references made to local
history in area events. By describing the range of forms that
local history takes, a background will be established for the
chapters which follow about local history groups, Takefu
Renaissance in particular, and the story of one of this group's
projects, the Kokaido Hall.


     Regarding the best way to make use of the long
     history and remaining traces of the past in Takefu:
     first of all he hoped the townspeople would have
     jikaku [self awareness] of the town's distinguished
     history; namely, within the three prefectures of the
     Hokuriku region, only Kanazawa-city can claim to be
     comparable in augustness. Of course, Takefu is outshined 
     by places like Nara or Hida-Takayama. Ancient kofun
     burial mounds dot the wider region, but only Takefu
     has documentary claim to being an important settlement 
     thereafter, at least since the AD 700s.
   ---paraphrase, Mr. Saito Kazo, Takefu historian, October, 1994


The three prefectures along the Japan Sea comprising the Hokuriku
district have been called the Empire of Buddhism [bukkyo no
teikoku]. The Shinshu sect in particular, popular among
agricultural households, flourishes in this region (Sofue 1971).
As an example, for its population and surface area, Fukui
prefecture has three times the number of temples of all sects as
does nearby Nagano prefecture. This concentration of religious
structures and practitioners is particularly concentrated in
Takefu. With its 14 temples and 115 shrines and a population of
25,000 in the core of the town (44 temples and 193 shrines for
the 70,000 persons of the total municipality). Takefu is
reminiscent of Kyoto, blessed with temples. One was founded in
A.D. 739 and several others in the 15th and 16th centuries, with
a few wooden buildings surviving from the 18th century. Whereas
residences and family businesses have been subject to division by
inheritance or confiscation by ruling powers previously, it is
normally only temples and shrines, conservative by nature, which
have persisted whole. Because of the great numbers of temples and
a street plan dating from the Edo period (1603-1867), the local
history features of Takefu relate mainly to these precincts and
to this era.
     Before the time of mass media and universities, it was at
temples that study and diffusion of the new technologies, ideas
and information from the East Asian continent took place.
Craftsmen came to work alongside Takefu's temples making swords,
small sickles and other cutlery. Geographically, Takefu was the
axis for the overland routes north-south along the valley, and
east-west, from sea to the interior. And so the town served as
entrep�t, with shops crowded along the small streets. It is this
triple legacy of temples, crafts workers, and merchants that
created the characteristic townscape of the core of Takefu still
visible today.
     The town's atmosphere comes from its alleys and streets,
seldom straight, and its many pre World War II wooden buildings,
normally two floors, with narrow faces that extend back several
times their frontage (photos h, i, m). The conversion to steel
frame, aluminum or ceramic faced buildings has been relatively
slow in coming to the old town center. What once was seen
negatively by business leaders as being old-fashioned now in the
"leisure age" [reija jidai] is coming to be viewed favorably as
old-fashioned by city planners and people deeply attached to the
old cityscape. Thus the streetscape itself constitutes the most
basic feature of the local history panorama.
     The townscape is important not only for giving Takefu its
physical character, but is important also psychologically. Omoide
ippai [stuffed with memories] is how Pr. Abe Takao put it during
his talk at the April, 1994 meeting of Takefu Renaissance. He
went on to say Takefu ningen ga kawatemo kawaranai [even though
the people of Takefu change over the years, the place and
therefore its people remain the same]. That is, there is an
essential something that defines the place and its people which
persists across generations and across socio-economic
backgrounds. His remark was made to support the group's efforts
to have the city preserve and use the oldest surviving merchant-
type house, the Oi-ke (c.1807). Its design is characteristic of
the area and its size larger than average. It is located on the
ancient Hokkokkaido roadway, and was home for decades to a
family's successive generations of brewers and merchants of soy
sauce. Pr. Abe suggested that the historical house could serve as
the embodiment of Takefu rashisa [Takefu-ness]; its ochitsukusa
and its utsukushisa [sense of ease and beauty].
     The historical character of the townscape has been the basis
for the city's development plan begun in 1984, called "Shape Up
My Town" (original title in English), and subtitled "rekishi to
KURAFTO no machizukuri koso" [economic development and community
identity scheme, building on the town's history and craft
traditions]. During the still prosperous 1980s this plan called
for about a dozen neighborhood projects; for example, to make
room for a ruler straight 360 meter long boulevard (photo j)
between the train station and the central Shinto shrine, Soja-
jinja. Another project would seek cooperation from neighborhood
residents and merchants in the town's efforts to restore the
streetscape of one area to the time before tarmac and utility
poles (photos v, w). In 1991 a three person Bureau of Economic
Redevelopment was set up in the city's department of construction
to carry out the projects. So far only these projects closest to
the city hall are nearing completion. These have been financed by
the private sector. Not being purely public works projects, the
city met with some resistance to the plans around the train
station area and that of the storehouse conversion scheme in
Horai district.
     The final size of the downtown development project is going
to be about half the original plan. Principal reasons residents
and merchants gave for withdrawing support were that status quo
was fine; it would cost money to change and the risks would not
warrant the sums ventured. In the end, the city did not press its
plans because, as one of the civil servants in charge said, to
force the project through would run the risk of alienating
people. They might well sell up and go elsewhere, leaving this
important part of the city hollowed out, occupied only during
business hours; a lonesome prospect [sabishii] he said. The
roadwork projects which involve buying land, and the "community
street" projects (pedestrian walkways widened, trees planted,
property owners encouraged to preserve their old-style fa�ades)
have not yet begun.
     Over the years the ideas of city planning have turned about
face. The SUKURAPU ANDO BIRUDO [scrap and build] philosophy
current during the economic boom years [keizai kodo seicho],
since the 1960s has given way to more thoughtful control of a
town's built landscape in the 1990s. In places like Takefu, tardy
in demolishing themselves, there is less of the uniformity of
franchises, prefabricated dwellings, neon signs and parking lots
which make one place in Japan look like any other. To highlight
rather than to cover up or destroy a town's idiosyncratic
features has become a slogan for the 1990s. Kosei o nobasu
[express the town's special character] is the watchword I was
told by a member of the town's planning section.
     So, for example, I was told of the idea to capitalize on the
concentration of early 20th century storehouses (kura) by
converting them into a into a small collection of boutiques as
had been successfully tried elsewhere in the country (photo k). I
was referred to the project to replant pines among selected
lengths of open water courses --some far from the actual
historical locations-- which had once been a hallmark of the
town, but which in the summer of 1966 had been entirely removed
as an impediment to cars and trucks.
     What survives of historic Takefu mainly dates from the early
modern period (1603-1867). It is this character which must be
made use of I was told; to be put forward as part of Takefu's
public face. But the old priorities and previous way of thinking
change slowly, especially among the senior city planners who hold
decision-making powers. Thus, in spite of the plans to restore
the streetscape of one neighborhood at the center of the town,
another project under discussion was to elaborate upon the newly
opened Murasaki Shikibu Park (12th century theme) by creating a
segment of old-style streetscape (e.g. 19th century theme) with
shops selling souvenirs and old-time products, for example. In
other words, the city has followed national trends to take stock
of its townscape, if only out of necessity to appeal to shoppers
of the 1990s. But one of the town's patriots pointed out to me
that this talk of preserving a generic specimen of the townscape,
at a place that before was rice field, at the outskirts of town,
unconnected to the craft and commercial heritage of the town
core, only showed disregard for supporting the living fabric of
the town center as it lives on today.
     The city's Bureau of Economic Redevelopment [shigaichi
saikaihatsu shitsu] and the city's Planning Section [kikaku
chosei ka] were not the only groups that recognize the salience
of the historic townscape. On the weekend of April 16-17, 1994,
in the neighborhood at the south end of Takefu near the Kami Soja
Shrine, residents held a sort of street party; a family affair
with snacks and crafts for sale. The "kojiki ichi," as it was
called, centered on the old buildings flanking the ancient road,
the kyu hokkokkaido, running through the neighborhood. Moving
from the streetscape generally to specific sites of local history
interest, a look at the walking map put out by the city Board of
Education (kyoiku iinkai) shows that shrines and temples figure
prominently. Only 3 of the 21 attractions featured are non-
religious: the traces of a temple/redoubt's moat, a maze-like
street crossing, and Shikibu Park.


Each neighborhood normally has a corresponding shrine it belongs
to, so there are several facilities in Takefu. But a few of these
stand out for particular mention: the central shrine of Takefu,
Soja-jinja; and the shrine dedicated to the memory of the city's
first appointed daimyo, the Lord Honda Tomimasa (1572-1649). An
example representative of how local history is handled at temples
is Ryusen-ji, a Soto-sect Zen Buddhist temple patronized by the
once ruling Honda dynasty. It holds the most land among Takefu's
temples. Founded in 1367, and with its kuri (quarters for the
head priest and novices) dating to the late 18th century, Ryusen-
ji is peppered with historical significata. South of the main
gate is the city's war memorial, built on temple land. At the
main gate of the temple, within its precincts, and throughout the
attached graveyard are several boards explaining the significance
of various features on the grounds. One of these gives the
locations of the tombs of various members of the former lord's
family, showing the genealogical ties of each (photo c). In the
temple's storehouses are many of the ruling family's effects. A
few of these articles are on permanent display in glass cases on
the walls of the room enshrining the temple's founder (photo n).
The 35 year old head priest of Ryusen-ji is himself keen on local
history and in October, 1994, mounted an exhibition of about 300
items from the temple's coffers, including several from the Honda
dynasty. Previously he also published a history of the temple for
sale to visitors.
     Also on the grounds are the graves of about 50 killed during
the early war years mid-century, before the full scale of the
destruction would be known. The temple donated part of its lands
for these individual tombstones (most Japanese tombs are family
rather than personal). Unlike the other features of the precinct,
these are not marked by one of the priest's explanatory
signboards. But every year, a week before the mid-August O-Bon
holiday to remember ancestors, the osegaki ceremony is held at
the temple to remember the dead --including these-- and to pray
for the repose of their spirits. During one part of the service,
priests process through the graveyard, going to the tomb of the
founding lord Honda, and on their return to the honden [main
hall], filing through the rows of uniform small granite obelisks
of the WWII dead.
     Setsumei kanban signboards declaring the significance of a
place or thing can be seen around the city. The city's board of
education has erected many of these to identify bunkazai
[important cultural property]. In a few cases they have been
designated instead by Fukui's prefectural board of education, or
even by the nation's Bureau of Cultural Affairs (bunkacho). One
of the historians of the city who used to sit on the 16 member
annual bunkazai review board thought this list of treasures
barely scratched the surface of the wealth of treasures held
collectively among the many old families in town. Examples of
bunkazai in Takefu are historical documents, scrolls, sculptures,
castle ruins, items associated with pre-Western mathematical
techniques, an historical house, and the performances of Echizen-
style manzai (musical banter).
     The majority of Takefu's bunkazai belong to the city itself,
or to the quasi-public organizations of temples and shrines.
Religious paraphernalia and objects of art make up the bulk of
the city's treasures. That is, it appears to be problematic to
name personal property as an important cultural property (cf. in
the U.S.A. the system of listed property on the national and/or
state registers of historic places). The man I spoke with at the
city's board of education attributed the conspicuous lack of
designated buildings to the absence of an architectural historian
sitting on the review board from its inception in 1967 until as
recently as 1993. Another possible explanation which he
hypothesized was that chattels are more readily classed as valued
properties than are the functional dwellings, work places and
religious buildings. Or maybe the large number of temples make it
only natural that Buddhist statues and images should make up the
bulk of the town's bunkazai.
     In any case, unlike the compensations of being listed on the
National or State Register of Historic Places in the U.S., there
is little consequence attached to this designation in Japan. That
is, unlike the property tax advantages for owners in the U.S., or
the tax credits sometimes available to them for restoring
historic property, Japanese holders of bunkazai receive no
support from the city or prefecture other than coverage for any
damages or necessary repairs. On the other hand, nationally
designated important treasures, for example, received some money
for maintenance, which is administered directly from the Bureau
of Cultural Affairs.
     In comparison to the number of history signboards erected by
the board of education, inscribed stone markers are most
numerous. These range from 30 cm high miniatures in a pint sized
garden of a restaurant, to 3 meter high tablets telling a story.
They are commissioned by the city, by businesses, by parishioners
or by individuals. The content may be eulogy, or poetry; it may
be an old milestone or memorial to a martyr; it may mark where a
past emperor slept, or a birthplace or a dwelling otherwise
forgotten. But of the 162 stone markers in and around Takefu,
catalogued and transcribed for the Official History of Takefu
(1966), 92 are markers or monuments (...hi) and 34 are notable
grave stones (...haka). Of the others 21 are inscriptions made on
temple bells, nine are tower or pagoda structures (...to), the
few others include shell mounds (two), street lantern (one), and
baked clay (tile) writing (two). Other markers can be seen around
the streets and in residential gardens and business premises
which were overlooked or not deemed important enough for
inclusion in the city's official catalogue. The point is that
stone markers seem to be as common as trees around the properties
of Takefu. They dot the landscape, both public and private. The
signboards and markers of Takefu constitute one more part of its
local history features.
     Since 1992 the youth division of the Tachiaoi Kai historical
association of Takefu has organized twice yearly walking tours.
In addition to the many temples and shrines to visit, there are
streets from which smiths have not yet moved to the purpose-built
facilities south and west of the town center. Participants have
visited these work places, retail stores, and sites once used in
the past for making the town's traditional cutlery. Other places
of historical interest visited around the town's core have
included the ateliers of candy, furniture, cabinetry, candle, and
paper lantern (chochin) makers. Temples, shrines and the former
residences of historical figures have also been visited. People
joining the walking tours receive a hand-out which gives a
synopsis of each of the half dozen stops. These fact-sketches are
then fleshed out by someone at each site using a megaphone. In
the two hour Saturday morning walk of May, 1994, there were about
30 school aged children and 40 adults, mainly men in their 60s or
older. In November there were about 60 of each.
     Other occasions to listen to the history of sites around
Takefu come in the form of volunteer guides' presentations.
Previously it was one of the town's historians who would be asked
by the city or the Chamber of Commerce to entertain a group of
visitors with stories of Takefu's past. To ease the burden and
make arrangements less formal, a group of volunteers was
recruited and trained by the city's Lifelong Learning Center and
the town's historians. The Takefu Kataribe [raconteurs of
Takefu], as they are called, have prepared themselves to speak at
length and to be able to answer most questions about the
following sites of historical interest in around Takefu: 23
temples, shrines and historical sites in the town center, the
Murasaki Shikibu park, and the Echizen no Sato history theme
park, its accompanying museum and sites of historical note in the
vicinity of the Ajimano village where the park is located.
     A variation on the histories offered by members of Takefu
Kataribe can be heard by reserving a seat on the tour bus company
that includes Takefu and environs on its itinerary. According to
one manual lent me by a guide, the salient topics for Takefu are
its claim to being the ancient Echizen koshi no kuni regional
capital, its association with the world famous 10th century woman
novelist Murasaki Shikibu, a derelict well associated with the
famous medieval swordsmith credited with bringing the well known
forging and cutlery industry to the town, the chrysanthemum
festival held each fall, and Takefu's highly regarded version of
buckwheat noodles, topped with cold stock and grated radish,
bonito shavings, some chopped leek (the honest, rustic taste of
oroshi soba).
     Every spring --usually by bus, and fall --usually on foot,
elementary school children take field trips to nearby sites of
educational interest. At historical sites, the explanations
depend on the interpretations of the teacher. Popular stops
include the Echizen no Sato historical park, the Murasaki Shikibu
Park and nearby, the city's newly opened, small gallery called
Shikura.

        =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=


     [Witteveen, chapter 4, elipsis to end]
     [http://www.msu.edu/user/wittevee/publications/ch4sum.txt]

TAKEFU'S LOCAL HISTORY GROUPS IN SUMMARY

The goal of this chapter has been to go beyond the panorama of
local history in the previous chapter to describe the many ways
in which Takefu people are engaged in history related
organizations. All together the number of Takefu people belonging
to the groups concerned with the local past described here may
total as many as 350, with Takefu Renaissance making it 425, city
initiated groups 450, with the staff of relevant municipal
bureaus making the total approximately 500. This estimate does
not include Obon and yanshiki dancers, Life Long Education Center
classes on history, people who find pleasure in singing popular
and folk songs on karaoke, history teachers, readers and writers
of local history, or religious officials either Buddhist or
Shinto who in ceremony (especially Shinto priests) or by function
(Buddhist priests: death anniversaries) are connected to the
local past. By the crudest estimate, this subtotal might reach
200. But when the people who collect, sell, or make traditional
products; the hobbyists who practice traditional forms; and the
people who participate in neighborhood Shinto festivals are added
in, virtually the entire municipal area is touched by local
history. Thus while interest is found in several degrees and
varies from isolated and personal incidents to the whole of the
local past, certainly the people of Takefu are interested in
their past. And judging from the range of historical places and
events in the Takefu area, citizens have a wide choice of
activities to take part in; from museum displays to neighborhood
festivals, from photo retrospectives on exhibit to demonstrations
of traditional crafts such as paper making.
     Overall the only organization concerned with Takefu's
history in its entirety is the Board of Education. To a lesser
extent the candidates in the Takefu Bunka Shi program, the
volunteer Kataribe, and the students the Takefu High School
history society also have wide ranging knowledge of the local
history. Groups like Tachiaoi Kai and their "Junior" division
pitched for school children, and the Genji Academy are interested
in specific periods, while members of S.A.E.T., Ki to Kenchiku
Kai, the Oi-ke discussion group and the Moku Sei Sha are
interested in specific sites or artifacts of Takefu's past.     
Among the groups interested in the town's history as story (a
collective representation), the purposes of the past differ. For
the City Hall's offices that cite the town's history, the goal is
to supply an obligatory paraphrase of the history, highlighting
features of distinction: old regional capital, host to 11th
century novelist Murasaki Shikibu, cutlery industry, site of the
Kokubun-ji medieval network of temples, peaceful feudal reign,
leading manufacturer of Fukui prefecture. For the Board of
Education the goal is to investigate and disseminate
authoritative information about the past in several forms to
members of the public of all walks of life. For Takefu High
School's history society the past is a body of knowledge to
explore and reflect upon. For Tachiaoi Kai the (early modern)
past is something to research, assemble archives of; and like the
Board of Education, it is something to clarify as a final,
authoritative truth. It is also, as the President, Mr. Saito
Kazo, said at the end of the field trip in September, 1994, the
basis for developing personal and community pride in the town
(machi zukuri). Finally, another use of Takefu's past is to mark
the anniversaries that are to be commemorated (350 years since
the first lord's death and 400 years since his arrival), thus
glorifying this leader, but also by extension the town that has
been passed down from those times, too.
     In some of the groups above, however, the past is of more
than symbolic consequence or a source for shared identity. A hint
of the idea that history is an important part of today's quality
of life and indeed an element of today's economic well-being is
evident in several of the groups' activities. Examples include
the modest activism of Tachiaoi Kai in petitioning for the
preservation of the Oi-ke historical house, the efforts of the
Oi-ke neighbors discussion group, or the more philosophically
directed concern in S.A.E.T. for the natural and historical
amenities of the surrounding area to be recognized and carefully
maintained. The treasure of Takefu's townscape is half-heartedly
recognized by the city's Downtown Economic Redevelopment Office.
But to see this philosophy fully embraced, the case of Takefu
Renaissance will be taken up in full detail next.

        =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=



     [Witteveen, chapter 5, full text]
     [http://www.msu.edu/user/wittevee/publications/ch5all.txt]



Chapter Five: TAKEFU RENAISSANCE AND ITS WORK



              __The launch of "Takefu RUNESANS"__
     30 townspeople with proposals for stimulating culture
  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   
   On the evening of the 25th, a group of citizens interested 
   in using cultural matters to build community spirit
   gathered in the Townspeople's Hall to hold the general 
   opening of "Takefu RUNESANS." They will be sharing
   opinions about how to preserve the [historical house]
   Oi-ke (Wakatake neighborhood) and how to utilize the
   former Kokaido Hall, as well as making proposals of their
   ideas to the city government and townspeople.

                              Fukui Newspaper, 27 February 1993


Takefu Runesans (TR, or Takefu Renaissance) is a remarkable group
of townspeople; a phenomenon shaped both by its time and more
generally by the values and conventions found in Japanese
culture. People from a variety of backgrounds and expertise have
come together to form a citizen movement (shimin undo) to
supplement the city government's administration of its bunka, or
arts and heritage. But unlike most single issue interest groups
which disband once their goal is met, TR is engaged in several
projects and has no fixed end point. One of the members, asked
about the group's tenacity in pursuing the town museum project,
referred back to the time the group was formed. He said the
members he knew had gone into it with the idea that it would be
RAIFU WAKU [life work, a labor of love]. Furthermore, the goals
of enriching and revitalizing community life, culturally as well
as economically and politically, are not motivated by acute
distress (cf. pollution victims seeking redress, anti-nuclear
protesters who live near the power generators). Elusive matters
such as quality of life and protecting the town's amenities are
the desired results of this organizations efforts to toughen
building codes, to stimulate public discussion of matters of town
government, and to encourage citizens to participate according to
their abilities in the government of Takefu. In its membership,
organization, vision and projects, TR is something new to
Japanese life. This chapter will describe each of these aspects,
thus going beyond the local history panorama of chapter three and
the sketch of Takefu groups concerned with the town's past given
in chapter four. In addition, this chapter will introduce some of
the individuals in TR who are deeply attached to the town and to
its future.


     Based on a deep love of this city, this organization
     has been established to discuss, draw up and carry out 
     projects to make Takefu a better place to live in.
     Questions to consider are: what should be preserved of 
     the old town, what should be built, and what kind of
     life should we try to develop.

     "Purpose," Takefu Renaissance charter, February, 1993
                                               (see appendix E)


Takefu Runesans held its first official meeting in February,
1993. It superseded the more narrowly focused fine arts group,
Takefu no Bunka o Kangaeru Kai (TBKK, Association for the
Discussion of Culture in Takefu). Within a year, membership grew
from 52 to 75, of which about 18 persons form the most active
core. The three creators of TBKK and subsequently TR held in
common a desire to expand the educational possibilities for
townspeople of all ages, and in so doing, to foster local pride
and aichaku (sense of attachment) to the town, its heritage and
its prospects. Two of the three had the same experience of
leaving the town as young adults and returning to make their home
there around 1983.


     Ms. Miki used the simile of climbing a mountain
     and shedding baggage unwanted at the moment without
     thinking ahead to describe the way cityscape and
     community life (RAIFU SUTAIRU) have been sacrificed
     blindly to economic efficiency. Once you've reached
     the peak, shivering in nothing but your shorts, the
     things you rashly dispensed with suddenly seem
     important. Far better said Ms. Miki to go a bit
     slower, but more fully equipped into the future:
     although it is troublesome, do go ahead and carry
     along your sketch book and easel, your musical
     instruments and other amenities.
                                       interview, 15 April 1994


In the 10 or more years the TR founders were away, the townscape
changed drastically. Streets were widened in places, here and
there downtown businesses closed. The fashion for covering store
fronts with roll-up steel doors or grilles had spread along the
commercial streets, as did the conversion from the old-style
enameled or gilt wooden shopsigns to illuminated plastic ones and
brightly colored awnings. The most drastic change was the
buildings razed for parking lots, or destroyed in favor of the
convenience and newness of simple steel and concrete buildings.
Without the city maintaining a clear policy or procedure for
reviewing the historical worth of buildings, owners have been
uninformed and unhindered in their decisions to raze or
fundamentally to alter their properties. The occasional person
who would like to preserve some of the original character does
not receive guidance or any form of substantive support that
might encourage him or her to do so.
     The group's membership is diverse, as the following cross-
listing of member interests and affiliations shows: echizen
manzai (a traditional celebratory chant-like song), echizen uchi
hamono (hand crafted cutlery of the area), the town's furniture
guild, yanshiki (the local folk dance), the town's early modern
era and its daimyo (the Honda family), commercial revitalization
of the old shopping core, historical artists/artisans of the town
and bunkazai ("treasures") in the town, the role of temples in
the town's life, and historical preservation of buildings.
Members' backgrounds also vary: architect, commercial and home
builder, doctor, dentist, homemaker, computer software designer,
cabinet makers, chamber of commerce staff, civil servant, cook,
teacher, professor (out of town), national museum curator (out of
town), local history writer and columnist, shop keepers.
     Membership is open to all, with the participation of certain
residents actively solicited. To date many civic leaders have
joined, but there are also some notable exceptions, mainly those
knowledgeable people who are also working for the city
government. What the members of TR have in common is their age
(40-70), their gender (90% or more men), their origins (almost
entirely Takefu born and raised, or at least now living or
working there). Most importantly, they seem unanimous in their
stated aims: to accomplish the projects described below, to
foster a wider appreciation of the townscape among residents, and
to encourage a new, cooperative and open relationship between the
town's administrators and its citizens, one in which the diverse
expertise of residents is solicited. In particular, TR hopes to
make the review of construction proposals more systematic, so as
to incorporate an assessment of a building's historical value,
and to encourage new buildings to be congruent with the existing
streetscape.


Ms. Miki Yoshimi, educator and community organizer_______

Like a herald for a reborn Japanese society, Miki Yoshimi was
born the year that WWII ended and peace returned. Although she
has lived in places across the islands, she now lives in the
house she grew up in, raising a single high school aged daughter
and heir. In time perhaps her daughter, too, will marry a man
willing to take on the name of Miki so that the family line may
continue. Like her father, herself and her husband, Ms. Miki
entered the family by adoption. The second of four children, her
birth father let his childless sister two doors down raise the
child as her own. So even though she was never far from her birth
siblings, and remains in their vicinity now, Ms. Miki
nevertheless received the undivided attention of her new parents.
This no doubt contributed to the single minded efforts at school
she made.
     Excelling in her classes from her earliest years, Ms. Miki
also played well as a volleyball team member, in addition to
frequently taking leadership roles in classroom activities. Her
love of learning has continued to this day. Several years after
graduating from Nara Women's College in art history, she
supported her husband at Medical School by tutoring students. And
between 1983 and 1991 she organized after school enrichment
classes in art and literature for young people in Takefu. Later
she taught Japanese to Takefu's resident Chinese vocational
students for a year. Like friends and relatives in the world of
art, publishing and academia, she keeps herself informed of
educational developments, especially when it contains an applied
or activist aspect.
     The helpfulness she exhibited during her school days was the
seed of what has grown with experience into one of the dominant
themes in Takefu Renaissance. As a college student she
contributed to braille and audio conversions of Japanese
literature. She also got a taste of activism when she joined
others in a movement in the 1960s to have a bridge built between
an island leper colony in the Inland Sea and Tokushima prefecture
on the much larger island of Shikoku. Later, as more and more
cases of industrial pollution began to surface, she and her
husband vowed to help victims in the capacity of lawyers. But
they realized that medical care would bring the most important
relief to injured people, so they spent six years in Hokkaido
while her husband completed his medical training. Eventually he
came to specialize in psychiatry and stress management, beginning
with a job in the old city of Kanazawa, not far from Fukui
prefecture. In 1983 he was able to gain a seat at the medical
college of Fukui University, where he remained until the early
1990s when he entered private practice.
     After living in the ancient cities of Nara, Kyoto, and
Kanazawa, the national center of Tokyo and wide open frontier
spaces of Hokkaido, the Mikis at last moved back to the equally
ancient town of Takefu. Aside from quality of life, one reason to
return was to be able to care for their aging parents in the
succeeding years. Ms. Miki apprenticed herself to her father and
for the nine years before he died helped him to cast the yaki in
wood brands used by the town's builders of traditional furniture.
In addition to combining her interests in art history and
traditional Japanese craftsmanship, the work resonated with the
city's centuries of traditional metal and wood working
industries, as well as the work of her older (birth) brother, a
master joiner living in the same neighborhood. Today in the
former work space adjoining her house, along with various
collectible ceramic pieces, she keeps a stock of the old iron
yaki in.
     Like the classic lines of her sensible, simple clothing and
short pageboy hair style, the Miki's house reflects her tastes.
The rooms are decorated with Japanese and Western images and
objects in uncluttered Japanese simplicity. Among the tableware
in the kitchen are the old lacquered dishes and assorted pieces
of local earthenware gathered over the years by herself and
family before her. The kitchen and adjoining study with its big
wooden table and case of reference books often serves as the
meeting place for the TR and other small planning sessions where
ideas are born around cups of tea, coffee or sake. The same
refined sense that comes across in her speaking, dress and home
is evident on her meishi [name card]. Unlike the crisp, sometimes
illustrated cards commonly used these days, hers is in the style
of an old woodblock, imprinted on the uneven edges of washi
[Japanese (handmade) paper]. Above all it is Ms. Miki's personal
reformist vision, colored by the craftsperson's high standards
and affinity with fellow townspeople, and her optimism that
contributes to the shape and character of Takefu Renaissance.
From the time that TBKK formed, her impact on peers and the town
as a whole has grown steadily, fulfilling her desire to improve
the civic and cultural life of the people of Takefu now and
moreover in the next generations.


The goals of Takefu Renaissance_______________________

As the charter for TR declares, it is to function as a para-
governmental organ, a meeting place for officials and interested
members of the public. With civil society so restricted in
Japanese life (see chapter nine), the creation of a forum
intermediate to official authorities and individuals is
especially significant. One measure of the group's success is the
fact that TR has already brought together the talents of many
different residents to work cooperatively toward common goals.
Regardless of the realization of project goals, both TR's Miki
and members of the Board of Education consider the public
exchange of ideas at the regular meetings to be a worthwhile
result. This was reaffirmed at the 1994 fall symposium with its
theme of Takefu's own machi shu [civic leaders of the medieval
years, and beyond]. The discussion served as a mirror, suggesting
that those at the symposium were the inheritors of this noble
spirit; an inheritance that could be both a source of pride and a
spur to participating in Takefu's rebirth.
     Apart from the group's specific projects, they would like to
see the town's government reformed. If only the relationship
between the government and the governed could be reconceived,
then the civil servants would be able to continue doing what they
do best and residents with expert knowledge or articulate
opinions could supplement the discussions of decision makers.
Under such a scheme, everybody would benefit from the wider
knowledge base and citizen involvement in civic affairs. The
reality is of course different. This is why TR would like there
to be formal occasions in which citizen input is solicited. At
present, the government presents a stone face to the public so
that even determined and well-meaning people, like those in TR,
meet with silent, blank faces, and frustrating ambiguity. There
is little incentive for public participation in civic affairs.
Nor are there institutions which link townspeople to politicians,
except in the case of purely individual interests.
     In the opinion of Ms. Miki, a prime example of the city
leaders' inadequate cultivation of town spirit is the big events
like the 1994 riverside jamboree they sponsor. The effect may be
to attract visitors, to please residents and therefore to put the
present government in a good light. But by using the money to
cater a big party, the chance to sponsor smaller, neighborhood
based events is forgone. She emphasizes that sponsored events
should be meant first for local people. Should outsiders find
appeal too, that is fine. But it should not be the goal.
     Instead of spending money and organizational energies on
what amounts to the city government's promotion of itself, Ms.
Miki would prefer the effort go into smaller scale projects, such
as the exhibit of heirlooms kept by households which otherwise
would not be known to the public. Similarly, an exhibition of the
works of crafts workers in one of the traditional industries of
the town (e.g. cutlery) would be worthwhile, she suggested. And
in fact, TR is trying to arrange for these sorts of display. Half
of the profits from sales of the 1994 calendar (furusato Takefu
nadokoro egoyomi), illustrated with watercolors of the famous
places and performances in Takefu's heritage, were earmarked for
a fund to be used for neighborhood based initiatives. TR lent its
organizational expertise and gave some funding to a street fair
held in April, 1994 in the old neighborhood of the Oi-ke
historical house. They helped organize and research a display of
the works of the local 18th century painter Serikawa Kodosai kept
by people, shrines and temples in the area.
     Other components of the TR vision of local history were
expressed by Professor Abe Takao of Hokuriku University in
Kanazawa who is an expert on jichi (regional development and
politics), a consultant to TR and friend of Ms. Miki Yoshimi.
After the first hour of the April, 1994 monthly meeting of TR,
Pr. Abe was given the floor. He reflected on the past year's
progress of TR and then turned to what efforts should be made
next. He referred to ideas learned from the English National
Trust and its local variation, the civic trust. The shibikku
torasto (civic trust) consists of interested members of the
public as well as government united with the goal of preserving
and expanding the amenities of a town. In particular, there
should be a clear idea of what is fitting in a place or tei ichi
(settled or blending in with its location) as he put it. He
illustrated the idea by referring to the analogy of what is
traditionally thought of as the ideal husband-wife relationship,
in which the wife is constantly in attendance of the man, but
like the air that surrounds, is only conspicuous by her absence.
So, too, the physical fabric of Takefu is vital, but noticed
usually only once it is removed. The physical fabric of a town
not only lends character, but also shapes the character of its
residents, he suggested. Specifically, he said Takefu ningen ga
kawattemo kawaranai. That is, as one generation gives way to the
next, something essentially Takefu-ite lives on.
     He also said the people living in a place owed it more than
taxes. The local and national government slogan "machi zukuri"
[cultivating community] rings hollow if it is legislated from
above. Instead, each person should participate (katsuyaku) in the
town's public life. They also should be given the opportunity to
fulfil a more physical obligation to participate in civic life,
to pay their debt in "sweat" (ase o kakeru) by lending a hand in
various activities in their town's life. Finally, it was not
enough merely to preserve historical traces in Takefu, he said.
History needs to be incorporated into people's lives, not as a
residual category but as something useful and of value to them.
He was underlining the importance of seizing upon Takefu's oldest
remaining merchant house, the Oi-ke, as the physical embodiment
of the town's beauty [utsukushisa] and its inherent atmosphere of
comfort [ochitsukusa], as well as its commercial role
historically. The town's legacies must, he thought, be used
somehow.
     Later Pr. Abe invoked the theme of "internationalization"
(kokusaika) as a further reason to regulate changes in one's town
more carefully. For many neighboring Asian countries, the
trajectory of rapid economic development in Japanese society
makes it a role model. Representatives from foreign countries
will come to Japan and ask how the new material wealth is used.
Not to take care of Japan's own culture would perhaps be met by
disbelief; but worse, could influence leaders of other countries
to be lax about taking care of their own heritage.
     For Japanese government leaders and citizens carelessly to
continue the "scrap and build" destruction of historic traces
simply cannot be allowed, Pr. Abe said. Kokusaika not only brings
with it the obligation to behave as a responsible role model, but
also the imperative to "know thyself." That is, in order for
Japanese people and their leaders to embrace international
differences maturely, it would not do to dispense with local
forms in favor of foreign ways. Rather, participation in
international arenas must be founded on the certain knowledge and
love of one's own ways. Thus, perhaps less convincing to TR
members than to an academic like Pr. Abe, the economic fact of
Japan's place in Asia and in the world is another reason he gave
to treasure and use local traces of the past. His philosophy of
the fundamental role in machi zukuri of citizen involvement in
controlling the built landscape is shared by members of TR. Their
vision, as declared in the 1993 charter, was composed in the
formative stages by Ms. Miki. But an equally vigorous advocate of
Takefu's renaissance is Mr. Inoue Kazuharu.


Mr. Inoue Kazuharu, computer software consultant___________

The house is approached through a narrow alleyway, about 15
meters off the downtown street near city center. Mr. Inoue, his
mother, his spouse and four school age children are the sixth
generation to live in Takefu. Before then the Inoue line lived
outside of the city. But still today they are connected to a
temple 3-4 km east of the city itself, where he currently serves
as an officer, responsible in part for the temple's upkeep. A
thin, taller than average man in his middle 40s, Mr. Inoue has
worked out of his home office for the past 12-13 years.
     He follows his father's example in many respects. His father
honored his filial duty after college, eschewed the rewards of
metropolitan life and applied himself to the betterment of Takefu
and care of his mother. After teaching in the high school, he
entered city politics, eventually rising to third in line after
the mayor. By quiet example rather than persuasion, he taught his
son Kazuharu to love the town and to take part in its
development. In the same way, the younger Inoue decided to move
back to Takefu to raise his family and to become involved in
efforts to expand cultural offerings in the town. He, like his
father, quit the built-up urban areas and comforts of an
attractive income,  instead choosing the environment and society
of the place he grew up in.
     For several years he wrote feasibility studies for
development projects funded by the Japanese government. This
brought him to Indonesia, Malaysia and The Philippines among
other places. These experiences abroad and the familiarity of
government work came on top of previous periods outside of Japan.
He spent six months as a budget world traveller during his
college days, and a few years studying agricultural development
and irrigation science in the U.S.A. So it is easy to see how he
can feel detached from Takefu, even as he is deeply attached to
it. The knowledge and contacts gained in the metropolis allowed
him to return to Takefu and to start his own business in the
early 1980s.
     At the back of the house and adjoining the old-style
earthen, white washed storehouse (kura) he has made his office.
Like the foreign sounding name of his company, SIENSU KURAFTO
[Science Craft], his business, thoughts and locutions are
interspersed with non-native Japanese words and ideas.
Telecommuting is not yet a reality, since at least every other
month he travels up to Tokyo on business, either connected to
newly developed American software he's polished with more
complete Japanese equivalents to the on-screen prompts, or
connected to his number crunching for agricultural projects. As
if this work were not enough, he is involved in numerous
organizations in the city.
     Mr. Inoue belongs to the merchants' circle [shotengai], CCI
(Chamber of Commerce and Industry), YEG (Young Entrepreneurs
Group), ward fire brigade and neighborhood association (chonai
kai), and the Tachiaoi Kai local history association. But by far
the most fateful affiliation has been with the Takefu
International Musical Festival organizing committee, begun in
1988. Messrs. Inoue, Takagi, and T. Saito together hatched the
idea, eventually attracting more than 70 members of the public to
share in the work of preparing for the week long series of
performances, large and small, formal and impromptu. From this
intersection of people came several of the active members of
Takefu Renaissance, including its guiding (e.g. Ms. Miki) and
driving leaders (e.g. Mr. Yamamoto). While Mr. Inoue never
mentioned performing music himself, his love of music and
appreciation of the good it would bring the town are evidenced in
the festival's realization each year.
     Music provides him with inspiration, too. When asked for a
personal influence (other than within his own family), he cites a
piccolo maker in Hokkaido who produces perhaps only three fine
hand made instruments each year. Besides the craftsman's ethic he
embodies (cf. figure 5-2, below), Mr. Yamada is also active in
civil society, campaigning ardently against golf-resorts laid
over the native landscape, for example. In their activism, work
ethic, and promotions of music events in their respective towns,
these two men are indeed alike.
     If there is one thing that enervates Mr. Inoue, it is the
short term vision of the city's administrative and elected
leaders. Although he does not feel able to stand alone against
the ingrained conventions of municipal politics and therefore
will not consider running for office, he does feel in a position
to draw attention to current deficiencies. His merchant heritage
teaches that 30% of proceeds should be set aside for future
generations as a matter of course. And his thorough and ongoing
biographic study of the 19th century native son, Matsui Kosetsu,
who promoted the town's educational, industrial, and cultural
facilities has taught him the worth of having vision.
     In both breadth and distance of vision, the governing
leaders of Takefu fail miserably in Mr. Inoue's eyes, not always
as individuals but moreover systemically, in the whole of the
political institution. In these views he is not alone, for in the
discussions of TR the interests and procedures of politics
regularly overlap with those of culture. One of the interesting
ideas that has come out of their discussions is the usefulness of
historical analogies. In other words, the history of Takefu, both
its physical traces and its more intangible legacies can and
should provide a rich source of future economic developments.     
The biography of Matsui Kosetsu has been a personal inspiration
for Mr. Inoue, both as a personage and as a figure connected to
the KKD, as well as to recently demolished literary salon/garden,
the Shoyo-en. Likewise, the 1994 cultural symposium which TR
sponsored, Takefu's Machi Shu, took the town's artisanal and
other non-samurai civic leaders as its subject, a medieval
precedent for the view of government being in partnership with
townspeople which TR espouses. The theme for the next symposium
was set to focus on the town's craftspeople; again, something not
unrelated to the business of TR.
     The lanky Mr. Inoue, often with the appearance of being
short of sleep, is always well informed. In his reedy voice he is
quick to join discussions during the TR meetings. In comparison
to the sometimes silent, or at least cautious comments by others,
his logic filled replies may give others the impression of being
wordy and excitable. But judging from the group's newsletter he
edits, what he has to say is sharp and to the point, possibly
something other than Japanese in its very directness. References
to the internet, the recent Japanese Nobel laureate's
iconoclastic remarks, and to the association he makes between
TR's new logo (figure 5-1, below) and Alvin Toffler's The Third
Wave all indicate the wide ranging interests Mr. Inoue brings to
TR and to his mission of bettering the town he loves so well.

 [graphic image: "new cultural     [graphic image: silhouette of  
movement, since 1993"]            painter at easel]


Figure 5-1 (left) Takefu Renaissance logo, adopted 10/94.
Figure 5-2 (right) Graphic at the foot of Takefu Renaissance
Newsletter, 10/94.



Mr. Yamamoto Yuichiro, dentist________________________

The energetic stride of the dentist Mr. Yamamoto gives an
indication of his results-oriented zeal. Although he is not
taller than average, the sharp glances coming from the steel-
rimmed glasses on his close-cropped head give the impression that
he is a man of affairs, able to speak rapidly, with explosive
manner or smooth polish as the occasion demands. Along with his
walk, glance and rhetorical powers, Yamamoto sensei's well fed
presence radiates success and ambitiousness. Although his 1951
birth makes him younger than the other TR leaders, in matters of
negotiation and problem solving his experience and abilities make
him the engine of the organization. Of course his many
involvements mean less time spent with his family, which like
those of Ms. Miki and Mr. Inoue includes school age children. In
addition to his instrumental role in TR he is active in his
neighborhood organization (chonai kai), the PTO (Parent Teacher
Organization), Takefu medical/dental roundtable, the CCI (Chamber
of Commerce and Industry), the Rotary Club, and most centrally,
the recently established International Music Festival held each
June in Takefu since 1989. In fact this last is what originally
brought Mr. Yamamoto, Mr. Inoue and Ms. Miki together, resulting
in the Takefu no Bunka o Kangaeru Kai (TBKK).
     The discussion and preparations for the city's international
musical festival made acquaintances of these three, but it was
their concern about the KKD which made them friends. When
opinions were divided in the music committee about the connection
of the KKD to the cultural festivities being planned, these three
helped to create the TBKK which later grew into TR. Mr. Yamamoto,
the most ready to roll up his sleeves and enter the fray of face
to face municipal politics spoke admiringly of his two seniors,
pointing out with envy their strategic and far seeing minds in
contrast to the rush of his own day to day living. It is true
that Mr. Inoue's philosophical and technological knack and Ms.
Miki's sense of classiness and her ability to organize events are
indispensable to his own powers. But it is in combination, rather
than individually, that they form the effective core they do of
TR.
     Like the other two, Mr. Yamamoto's experience early on
shaped his current civic mindedness. In his case it was an older
cousin who worked long and hard to get through medical school and
complete the long hours of an internship that so impressed Mr.
Yamamoto to look beyond the welfare of his own family and to
consider that of a wider community. Whatever else influenced him,
he is above all else pragmatic. A case in point is his reasoning
about the programming for the Music Festival. After all, he said,
even as you try to surpass the events of last year, you are
setting a harder task for the year following! Likewise, during
the question time which followed my address to the March, 1995
monthly meeting of TR, he was the one most outspoken about the
disappointing version of democracy practiced by the city
government. He was the one to ask me to contrast my experiences
of democratic ways with those observed in Takefu. Like a moth
drawn to a fire, Mr. Yamamoto invariably would sharpen the edge
of a discussion by tracing out the implications of the ideas into
actions. Perhaps most unabashed of TR's members, he recognizes
the intimate link between culture and politics. The image of a
spark plug would not be an unfair summary of Mr. Yamamoto's zeal
and his organizational value to TR.


The structure of Takefu Renaissance___________________

According to the TR charter, the group will have one chief
representative (daihyo, contact person), one chief and several
other officers (kanji, or leaders in effect), and two highly
respected persons as overseers (kanji, homonym to above). All of
the positions are two year non-renewable terms. Six committees
were set up at the outset: 1) the project to preserve the former
Kokaido community hall and an old merchant house, the Oi-ke, 2)
exhibitions and lectures, 3) printing of picture postcards,
illustrated calendar, and (reprinting) an old map of the town, 4)
publications, 5) making an historical walking tour pamphlet for
use by visitors to the city's annual month-long chrysanthemum
festival, 6) investigation of the "civic trust" concept (cf. the
English model) and its practices. The most active of these
committees is that of publications. They have produced and
distributed texts of past speakers, and the advertising and guide
booklets for the September symposium. They have reprinted an 1887
shoko binran, the equivalent of the business telephone directory
of the day, illustrating the region's shops and important
facilities. Another project has been to gather information and
publish something about properties recently or soon to be
demolished.
     At its monthly meetings Takefu Runesans usually brings
together 15-30 people to listen to reports by the various
committees, to talk about current and future projects, and to
decide how to solve problems that may have arisen. There is
normally a set topic for the two hour gathering. Examples have
included planning the September symposium, learning about some
facet of the local past well-known to one of the members, or the
observations and counsel of Mr. Abe Takao, a professor of local
government and civic vitality who is friends with one of the TR
leaders. Three or four times the meeting has taken place at or
followed up with a party at the country house of one of the
group's leaders. This socializing cements the solidarity of the
active membership.
      As for the economic facts of maintaining TR, the �2000
annual dues provides money enough for mailing announcements and
for renting meeting space every month, normally in the town's
Bunka Senta (Culture Hall). Proceeds from sales of the 1994 and
1995 calendars have been quite large, since labor and material
were donated or provided at cost. The �3,600,000 ($36,000)
profits will begin a trust to support neighborhood festivals,
exhibitions and publications. The goal is to encourage residents
to build a shared neighborhood identity through various projects,
for which TR can provide some funding, but more importantly, the
organizational experience to help residents to carry out their
designs.


The working atmosphere in Takefu Renaissance__________

Under its original mission of kindling interest among townspeople
in Takefu's heritage and in the arts, members share a sense of
purpose. The case of the Kokaido (KKD) and the Oi-ke only added
an element of urgency. And in the summer of 1994, the first hints
of irregularities in the handling of the KKD conversion into town
museum (at first) and later exhibition hall for Saeki Yuzo's oil
paintings spurred TR into the role of watchdog for the city
government's due process. In this way the theme of reform was
added to the group's sense of purpose and urgency. None of these
characteristics are unusual, but what makes the working of TR
remarkable is a feeling of serendipity; of all members
contributing their best to the group and then, fortuitously,
events falling into place. One reason for this like mindedness is
of course the self-selection of members. In some cases likely
candidates were identified from members' personal networks and
specially invited to come and use their skills.
     Pr. Abe attributed the rapid development of TR to the good
relationships between its members. An auspicious fate binds
members to common purpose, or as he put it, en ga ii. The example
of rescuing archival material of one of Takefu's famous sons,
Matsui Kosetsu (1818-1885) is illustrative. On the day the estate
was being demolished, Mr. Yokota, a cabinetmaker and member of
TR, went over to salvage the 100 year old sliding wood and paper
doors so that he could study the technique of their construction.
When he arrived, he recognized that the paper that had been used
to patch the shoji lattice had been written on by a fine
calligrapher's hand. A closer look revealed it to be letters of
Kosetsu. Mr. Yokota contacted Mr. Inoue, a keen student of
Kosetsu, and despite having been too late to block the
destruction of the old grounds, soon they had recovered all of
this archival material.
     To say the coalescence of TR members had been fateful is not
to say there is always consensus; for opinions are often divided
between those who want to press on without delay, and those who
hesitate lest they cause any criticism of the town government.
Also, the depth of individual members' relationship with their
fellows varies. Some are friends from long ago, while other
friendships are newly made. But in their avowed collective goals,
the most active 15-20 members do seem a well matched group of
personalities and skills: people with vision as well as ones used
to the hurly burly of practical affairs and problem solving.     
The highly motivated and cooperative spirit of TR activities is
reminiscent of the mixture of familiarity and respect found in
the Japanese high school "homerooms" or after school groups
working together on a project. This exuberance was evident in the
November, 1994 meeting when concern mounted about the
government's slippery slide into the KKD as site for Saeki Yuzo's
oil paintings. The inconsistencies of the official statements
when held up against information gathered from independent
sources were charted on a chalkboard in sequence. Heated
discussion ensued as to how best to proceed with these facts.
Surprisingly, when conversation is most active, one of the very
opinionated leaders will have little or nothing to contribute.
Asked later, Ms. Miki said that she says enough in the
preparation committee meetings beforehand and thus will speak at
the full meetings held each month only when an important point
has been left out or the conversation should drift too far.     
This was the case after the December meeting. Having run overtime
as usual, the meeting adjourned and several members gathered
downstairs in the lobby of the Bunka Senta to discuss an
anonymous fax that had been leaked to TR which incriminated the
mayor in his choice of bidder for a giant city contract. The
opinions were exchanged in a brain storming flurry. In what is
perhaps characteristic of the Japanese language, thoughts were
either truncated mid-sentence, or other people would leap into
the phrase to finish it for the speaker. The rest of the
listeners would nod or make conversational sounds of agreement
(aizuchi). As the pace increased in the discussion about what to
do with the information, it was Ms. Miki who calmed things by
quietly wondering out loud if TR did not already have more than
enough work to do; that a separate group might better be formed
for such investigations.
     This sympat�que and egalitarian air in TR has not come about
as a natural course, however. Japanese from the earliest age are
taught to perceive the social world hierarchically, whether
status difference is sibling order of birth, height, test
rankings, school year and school reputation, or size and
prestigiousness of one's employer. With the exception of fellow
class mates and work colleagues inducted in the same hiring
cycle, there are precious few social relations where people can
freely speak as equals. The familiar set of hierarchical
distinctions would normally carry over into organizations like
TR, as well. Certainly the supervisory and figure-head (parental)
role is given to highly respected and senior members of TR. But
to discourage the usual display of social status beyond this, the
group's roster does not record age or occupation, although many
of the members know this much about their friends already.
Entries give nothing more than name, address, telephone and/or
facsimile number, acting role in TR if any, and a note of the
person's special interest or any affiliation which overlaps with
TR (e.g. Yanshiki dance preservation society, or Tachiaoi Kai
historical society).
     The egalitarian spirit cultivated among active members is
illustrated in the way all join in to set up the chairs and
tables for monthly meetings and then clear things away again at
the end. Another example came during the May, 1994 monthly
meeting which was held outdoors on the city's Mt. Murakuni, a 239
meter feature near the town center. After one member led the 15
people along a trail to a clearing halfway up the side of the
peak, Mr. Saito Kazo, one of the town's historians and TR
supervisor, then pointed out the (historical) features visible
below. Back at the starting point the spouse of another member
had prepared a cauldron of oden, a favorite usually cold weather
dish of chunked vegetables, meat, fish and shellfish slow cooked
in a savory broth. The dish itself is enjoyed by all classes of
people, but it is a food popularly associated the "ordinary
people," shomin ryori. After the meal and the business part of
the meeting, both young and old pitched in to clear up the picnic
site.
     Along with their egalitarian spirit and love of the old
town, tebento [supply your own lunch] is another principle which
underlies the activities of TR. According to Mr. Inoue, this term
comes closest as a functional translation to 'volunteer' as he
came to understand it in the time he spent living in the U.S. The
two key elements of the word are that participation is not
motivated by the expectation of material gain, and that in fact
volunteers often pay their own way, in effect giving their time
as well as money. The Japanese loan word boranchiya (volunteer)
usually includes the unpaid element, but is often performed as an
obligation. For example, during scheduled seasonal neighborhood
litter pick ups, each household may be supposed to supply an
able-bodied member as a boranchiya.
     What Mr. Inoue would like to see spread beyond TR and among
the people of Takefu is this notion of tebento, which in spirit
is closer to the altruism of "volunteer" (English) than is
"boranchiya" (Japanese). In practice, however, relations between
citizens (seeker) and government (benevolent power) tend to have
about them an expectation of being rewarded. He explained it this
way: debts of obligation (on) are acquired and discharged as one
acts within a web of personal connections and role definitions
(on o kashikari). For example, if a cat is found dead in front of
a person's house, Mr. Inoue thought the person would sooner call
City Hall, than to dispose of it themselves. In this respect,
government is regarded as a public cow which some canny citizens
are able to milk better than others. For example if a group is
formed with the purpose of edification, they might well expect to
receive a city subsidy. Neighborhood associations (chonai kai)
too tend to find ways to expend their allocated budgets with the
expectation of getting as much as they can each year.
     Personal networks of friends, family and acquaintances are
an important resource to any organization, and no less so to TR,
where members bring to the group a variety of life experiences.
The production of the high quality 1994 and 1995 calendars was
done through members and their connections, thus reducing costs
to the bare minimum and the donated materials, volunteered time
and expertise allowed the bulk of proceeds to build up TR's
coffers. Relationships with members of the mass media are valued
and are carefully tended as well, to the mutual benefit of both
TR and the reporters investigation matters such as the KKD affair
or the progress of the Oi-ke historical house. Then there are
contacts with former classmates and people linked by shared
profession. Information on matters relating to Saeki Yuzo and his
paintings have come first in trickles and then streams from
sources across the islands in the form of fax, letter, and
telephone calls to TR leaders.
     In addition to the working spirit of TR that includes sense
of mission, reform, and collegial exuberance, there is also a
trace of the skilled craftworker's character. That is, among at
least six of the 18 most active members there is this blend of
expert knowledge and artistry, pride and determination. Not only
is craft work emblematic of Takefu now and in the past, but also
the image of a capable person expressing him or herself through
plain and honest work seems to appeal to several TR members;
certainly to those half dozen who once were or are now engaged in
this type of occupation.


How Renaissance is perceived__________________________

Over the course of the fieldwork year and in measure with their
increasing involvement with the KKD-as-gallery affair, TR's
public profile grew larger. In March, 1994, about one year after
its creation, one of the city's archeology curators working at
the Board of Education described the group with a mixture of
interest and worry. Interest because it was a good example of
townspeople organizing themselves to build pride and knowledge of
the town. Worry because, glossing his words, "some think they are
too pushy" [and thus liable to cause controversy on the way to
their laudable goals].
     One of the curators at the Fukui prefectural museum, who
knew of TR quoted an acquaintance on Takefu's Education Board who
thought the group urusai (shrill, a nuisance); preferring instead
they would realize their goals in a quiet, more reserved manner.
Yet despite the wall of silence the principals met with, the
members of TR who were charged with going to city hall and making
inquiries after the status of the KKD reported often being warmly
received by sympathetically minded civil servants.
     In a separate instance, during an interview with myself in
October, 1994, Mr. Kondo Tsutomu in the Planning Office spoke
well of TR and similarly citizen-led initiatives aiming to
participate in the town's planning, especially from the earliest,
conceptual stages [tane kara]. In particular, he supported
efforts of citizen groups which made use of the town's kosei
(individual character) to help build community identity.
     Among the majority of townspeople TR is viewed with a
mixture of support and possibly annoyance. When doubts were
raised about the authenticity of the Saeki Yuzo paintings and the
good faith of the paintings' owner, not to mention doubts about
the irregular government procedures, then TR came to the
attention of most Takefu people. The symposia they had organized,
the work of their publications committee, and other public events
TR had cosponsored were then overshadowed by their part in
monitoring the course of the KKD's handling.
     At the end of December, after the group held a public
meeting to discuss the KKD course of events and irregularities,
TR's Inoue said he had received numerous telephone calls and
faxes of support for the efforts of TR. The messages came not
only from local sources, where many townspeople had until then
cared or known little about the matter, but since the event was
carried by NHK television and the print media, response came from
all over the country. At the end of the public meeting it was
decided that the several causes for complaint be submitted to the
city government independently by representatives of various
groups, instead of making TR the single source of government
criticism.
     Finally, even as the media exposed the story of the KKD to a
national audience and city hall officials increased their
pressure on TR's leaders, Mr. Inoue reported in March, 1995 that
the ordinary workers at city hall seemed to regard TR activities
in a positive light. So from these few reactions, the good deeds
of TR and the care taken by its spokespersons in making things
clear to the press have resulted in a favorable public perception
of the group. But TR may have been perceived as quirky. That is
because, as members explained, most fellow townspeople fail to
see why a group should take interest in civic affairs or in the
town's heritage and the arts, which according to conventional
thinking are the preserve of individual owners or City Hall and
its Board of Education.


Takefu Renaissance in operation_______________________

A look at the list of TR monthly meeting themes and record of
other events for 1994 provides an overview to the organization's
vitality and extensive activities. Below is a translation of the
list which was distributed at the November meeting (my
translation).

REGULAR MONTHLY MEETINGS IN OVERVIEW
 (month)  (topic)
  1   Thinking about the exhibition of this year of old shopsigns
  2   Learning about the kowakamai (dance)
  3   Telling about Takefu's past, S. Kodo on his The Golden Age  
  4   Pr. Abe; also, talk about new trends in machi zukuri
  5   Picnic outing, a revival of the Aoyama spring hiking custom 
      in town
  6   A look at nearby Omushi hamlet's 18th century painter       
 Serikawa Kodosai
  7   The hokke temples and our town's premodern community
       leaders     
  8   Plans for the symposium, machi shu (14th-16th century       
 community leaders)     
  9   Second annual civic symposium, this year's theme: machi shu 
 10  Final preparations for making the fund-raising 1995
       calendar
  11  Looking over the year's activities
  12  Reading the old maps of Takefu


ADDITIONAL ACTIVITIES
 1/1  '94 calendar illustration originals on display (main
       shrine)
 2/   Mayor meets with leaders of Takefu Runesans
 3/17 Public reading by S.Kodo of his The Golden Age (main
       shrine)
 3/19 Propose the Tachibana branch of Fukui Bank be preserved
 6/18 Cosponsor "Shop Signs" exhibition, reprint "Fukui-ken       
 Commercial Directory" (1887, illustrated)
 7/8  Submit petitions to the mayor and the city council head     
   for the establishment of a citizen/administrator joint
   committee to study "cultural institutions," or to discuss
   "uses for the KKD"(no reply)
 8/5  Convene "preservation of the Oi-ke" (neighborhood temple)
 9/3  "Oi-ke and the building of community" televised
 9/14 Print glossy booklet to accompany the evening's symposium
 9/22 Cosponsor the exhibition, "Serikawa's paintings"
 11/15 "The craftsman's almanac of Echizen province"
      ('95 calendar)


From this list it is easy to see the practical efforts TR has
made to draw on the town's past in order to stimulate study and
pride in Takefu. Guest speakers, local authors and accomplished
artists are presented, along with publications that focus on town
landmarks. Recourse to the mass media and initiatives at the city
hall round out the year. What is less evident from this summary,
however, is the manner in which TR conducts its projects.
     The methods and intent of TR were given in December, 1994,
just before the KKD public meeting was begun during the interview
of TR's leaders by NHK television reporters. While the camera
crew got set up in the meeting chamber, across the hall in a
carpeted office of the city's Culture Center, TR's president (Mr.
Ueki), guarantor of integrity (Mr. Uesaka), committee officer
(Ms. Miki), a member of the publications committee (Mr. Matsui),
and myself sat down to give some background to the evening's
meeting and to the TR group itself. Mr. Ueki Masaharu, as
spokesman, chose his words carefully, emphasizing that what was
about the happen was not an inquisition. TR means no harm, but
that the meeting was meant to be an honest search for options,
ideas and opinions from the general public. By way of preface he
sketched the group's beginnings and current projects, at which
time he produced samples of the publication committee's efforts:
a (watercolor) illustrated calendar for the coming year, and a
copy of the republication of the 1887 commercial atlas of the
prefecture (shoko binran).
     Gift giving is a well developed custom in Japanese social
life, and not only do people like to receive gifts, but may
sometimes expect to do so (cf. Befu 1974, 1989). The things TR
has to offer are beautiful indeed and as such play a part in the
life of the organization. For example, invited speakers at the
monthly meetings are normally presented with a piece of cutlery,
emblematic of the town's centuries old industrial tradition.     
Like organizations generally in Japan, TR suffers from
insularity. TR has little contact with peer organizations in
other towns. What lateral connection there may be is sporadic and
at the level of individuals rather than organizations. This is
partly offset by the great appetite people generally have for the
learning the latest developments elsewhere available through book
stores, the mass media, and visits to the metropolitan centers.
And thanks to their steady contact with the well traveled
consultant on regional development, Pr. Abe, the group knows
about citizen initiatives elsewhere, including in the signature
canalway restoration in Omi-hachiman (cf. Kawabata 1991) and the
Kurokabe glassworks arcade in Nagahama, both near Lake Biwa in
nextdoor Shiga prefecture. From these and other instances, one
strategy Pr. Abe advised was to try to sweep in as many
townspeople as possible into TR's projects, especially civil
servants.
     Telecommunication technology certainly has affected the way
TR operates. In particular the household facsimile machine has
strengthened links within TR as well as extending the reach of
its information gathering activities. Newspaper articles,
photographs, queries and other documents are conveyed swiftly,
surely and securely. Leaders share information such as the
clipping from a regional newspaper in north-east Japan that
pointed to suspicious facts when the owner of the Saeki Yuzo oil
paintings earlier had tried to peddle them there. Dialogues can
be carried out asynchronously; that is, when one member seeks
clarification or proposes a course of action to another, no
matter what the hour, the other can respond by phone, fax, or in
person when circumstances permit. Without a doubt, the ability to
transmit images and text instantly across town or to the other
side of Japan, singly or to a distribution list, has been a help
in TR's development. It has become indispensable to the way it
operates.
     The telephone too is a standard part of the organization's
life, often prefatory to a fax message or inquiry. Following a
newspaper story, an announcement, or an event like the fall
symposium, the job of responding to the public can be a busy one
indeed. It is only by virtue of being able to flexibly schedule
his computer software related work and data processing that the
acting mado guchi [point of contact], Mr. Inoue, has been able to
take the callers. Then there are the calls and remarks from City
Hall to pressure TR, including repeated requests for a list of
members' names. Fortunately, the clear goals, fine reputations,
and the fact that many of the leaders do not depend directly on
the city for their business has protected the group from any
possible suggestion that their livelihoods might somehow be
jeopardized as a consequence of their TR involvement.
     In addition to the formal operations of the group, there is
the informal side of it, too. As was described earlier, the
members of TR are a congenial bunch. This spirit has been
cultivated by gatherings that have been mainly recreational. One
was an overnight trip to an art exhibition in Tokyo. Another
group trip was planned for 1995. In the previous year the monthly
meeting for May was held outdoors and included a short hike and
meal of oden hot pot. Most monthly meetings end around 10:00 p.m.
Afterwards members sometimes adjourn to an all night restaurant
or to a downtown sushi shop to carry on discussions. And a few
times each year, Mr. and Ms. Miki have hosted parties at a
holiday house they keep about 10 km outside of town. Participants
will contribute to the costs and often bring some type of drink
or food as well. Being one of the few women active in TR, Ms.
Miki often ends up taking upon herself the role of hostess.     
Although each of the projects TR is involved in requires a
different set of skills and methods, in their study of the KKD
handling, the most important tool has been simply to monitor
proceedings. At the winter city council meeting in December about
10 people showed up in the normally empty visitors' gallery to
watch the exchange between councilors and the mayor, his
assistants and the department heads. This show of force was the
launching of a new organization, the Takefu Mihari Ban ["sentinel
corps" or citizen watchdogs]. Members of TR did help to institute
this group, but the two organizations were independent of each
other. This was a distinction Ms. Miki was careful to draw in
interviews afterwards in the kisha KURABU (press club) three
floors below the council chamber. Citizen watchdog groups exist
in metropolitan areas already, and in Kanagawa prefecture,
dominated by the port city of Yokohama, they have gone as far as
formally creating an ombudsman position. As the name suggests,
the goal of Mihari Ban is to monitor council proceedings like a
volunteer ethics and oversight committee and, going a step
further than journalists whose job considerations restrain them,
to stimulate public response on matters of consequence to
citizens. Education about local government is a further aim of
such groups.
     Simply observing Takefu's government in action seems to have
more real effect than submitting formal petitions or visiting
City Hall offices in person. At least this is what Mr. Uesaka
Norio remarked after sitting in on a committee meeting a few days
before the winter general assembly of the Takefu City Council.
The fact that TR was closely following the developments of the
KKD affair seemed to make certain councilors nervous. Mr. Uesaka
said that councilors receive a salary and thus should devote
their full time to studying up on the diverse issues that come
before them. And yet the ones less diligent than the others were
bound to feel inadequately prepared, Mr. Uesaka thought. Thus,
getting members of the public to observe their town government,
he thought, could only be for the best.


Mr. Uesaka Norio, teacher and writer__________________

"When sunny hoe, when rainy read" (seiko udoku) is the figure of
speech Uesaka sensei [respected mentor; teacher] used to describe
his approach to life. He combines an interest in the quotidian
and local with the professionalism of a craftsman (shokunin, as
he says). Born as Saito Norio in 1931, not far from where he
lives now with his wife, daughter and adopted son-in-law, Uesaka
sensei himself married into the Uesaka family, taking the surname
of his wife in 1958. Although he was transferred to several area
schools according to the prefectural Board of Education's
instructions, for most of his career he taught Japanese language
and literature at the academic tracked Takefu High School. It was
here, in the midst of his duties as supervisor of the school
newspaper and among colleagues encouraged to pursue pet research
projects of their own, that he developed an interest in local
personages and events of the past.
     Mr. Uesaka's first big publication was a documentary of the
December, 1924 shipwreck of a naval ship on exercises not far
from Takefu. The struggle of coastal villagers to comfort the
dying young men gained a national readership and confirmed his
love of recording things lest they be forgotten forever. He takes
his task to write in a manner which is pleasing and easy to read,
told from the perspective of a researcher who is situated
locally, and possibly connected personally to his subject. Since
retiring at age 60, he has continued writing and editing.
     From his roomy but book and manuscript filled study he is
gathering material to contribute to a history of Fukui
prefecture's women. Along the way he seized upon the biographical
details of a well known watercolor artist, Iwasaki Chihiro, who
was born not far from his house. With some irrefutable
documentary evidence he felt her claim on the mayor's proposed
gallery/research archives should eclipse that of Saeki Yuzo with
all of its shadowy negotiations. Other projects include three
volumes of his collected essays, editing work for the regional
literary magazine nihonkai sakka, occasional columns in
newspapers and on radio, and an anthology of poems by the native
son Tachibana Akemi from the mid 19th century. Tachibana's "poor
in goods but rich in spirit" life story gained national attention
when the U.S. President Clinton made reference to it in a 1994
address. Finally, like his senior, Saito Kazo sensei, Mr. Uesaka
has written retrospectives of local schools and societies to
commemorate founding anniversaries. In Uesaka sensei's case, it
was to mark the 30 years since the founding of Fukui Higashi Yogo
Gakko, a special needs school, where he served as vice principal
toward the end of his public school teaching career.
     Wearing heavy framed, tortoise shell glasses and with his
wavy hair brushed strait back, Mr. Uesaka seems at ease with the
world. Ensconced in his tsuri kaeru chosho ana, the "den of the
writing carefree frog a'fishing" [nickname], a lifetime of
projects past, current and planned surround him. Happiest with
some tea or a can of beer and a cigarette, he says the pace only
becomes more hectic after one "retires." Actually he does
continue to teach once a week at a private high school with its
junior college in Fukui city. His slight frame and gentle manner
of speaking and putting things into print belie his sharp vision
and zeal to delve into ever more local matters, fulfilling an
urge in common with the other active members of TR to give of
themselves to the town in its present and future forms. Even
though he, along with the town historian Saito sensei, occupies
one of the supervisory, mainly honorary roles, Uesaka sensei
repeated his admiration for the drive, vision and savoir faire of
the group's younger members.


Another example of TR's method of carefully examining the
activities of City Hall is the ongoing matter of the Oi-ke
historical house. Efforts by the city to obtain the property
began in earnest in 1990. But due to circumstances detailed in
chapter eight, the only concrete result has been a publication
which documents the building [hozon kiroku]. Despite persistent
pressure from the Tachiaoi Kai historical society, and repeated
efforts led by TR, the city refuses to pursue the matter further,
even though there is little basis for their city's claim that the
owners have caused the impasse. At the November monthly meeting
of TR, Mr. Saito Kazo produced a copy of the city council's
quarterly circular, the shi gikai dayori, from a few days before.
This special 100th issue was printed with an eye catching pink
front. Inside was a feature on the chronology of the KKD matter,
presented in a simple way, giving no hint of the dubious
circumstances of the Saeki Yuzo paintings offer, much less the
less than democratic way the government had undertaken the
affair. The effect was to selectively inform readers in such a
way as to make the whole matter seem a fait accompli. Questions
about the Oi-ke were also featured in the same issue. Mr. Saito,
himself once personally involved in the matter, took exception to
two points in the piece. In it, the councilor involved in the
city's economic development planning and chair of the general
affairs committee, Mr. Takamori, answered a letter asking why the
city would not preserve the house. He said, one, that the
national Agency for Cultural Affairs (bunkacho) was not
enthusiastic about it; and two, that the property owners were not
responding to the city's efforts.
     Both things were half right, but the half that was missing
changes the true meaning. First of all, Mr. Saito was present
when the bunkacho representative stood in front of the historical
house and pronounced it an excellent candidate to be named an
Important Cultural Property. The city's shi gikai dayori circular
failed to say that national policy dictated that matters be
pursued locally whenever possible, which is what Councilor
Takamori seized upon in a partial way. Secondly, Mr. Saito had
spoken with the owners and knew them to be interested in seeing
the place preserved for public benefit. The councilor's published
reply was half true in saying that the owners were not
responding, but the reason why was omitted; namely the fact that
the city's efforts could not be taken seriously.


Mr. Saito Kazo, one of Takefu's historians____________

Saito sensei wears his formidable reputation lightly. Despite a
sometimes stern aspect, he is always fair in his comments, and
not just in response to the strange inquiries of a foreign
dissertator. Born in 1922 in one of the Japanese East Asian
colonies, he grew up in the quiet of prewar Takefu. He spent four
years of his youth as a heavy machine gunner in the army,
something which has given him many vivid memories. He had always
expected Americans to be fearsome things. In one instance he
remembered seeing from his post on a coastal hilltop a U.S. plane
destroy a fisherman's boat and then return to try killing the
drifting men. So it was at first with some chagrin that he found
himself now discussing his background and interests in local
history with a young American over a cup of coffee.
     Mr. Saito is one of the authorities of Takefu's history.
After 40 years as elementary and high school teacher and later
principal, a writer and editor of numerous publications, and
consultant to the city's Board of Education, he is still very
active in all matters connected with the town's past. Now in his
70s, bespectacled and thinning on top, he continues to direct the
Tachiaoi Kai local historical association and to speak about the
Tokugawa years, including to research the documents of that age,
with two sections of komonjo reading groups to lead each week.
Despite the hard times he and his generation have seen, he
maintains a stubborn optimism.
     Asked about the roots of his historical interest, he tells
that his own family occupied the bottom rung of feudal retainers
(ashigari), entitled to a stipend of rice to feed the loyal
member and his spouse. His love of the town comes with his aging
and the layers of memories the streets hold; of the way people
would water down the dusty streets in the evening; of the way
neighbors were once more closely connected to each other; of the
way old people once rated higher respect in public. Most of all,
he said his interest in Takefu's past has developed with his
reading through old letters and documents of the Edo era,
catching a glimpse of a time so very different and yet the same
as today. In his four grandchildren, his students from the past
and present and his fellow townspeople he hopes a self awareness
of the town's special character will develop. Takefu is unique
among area towns, he notes, for its long history as a capital,
its surviving street plan and considerable number of surviving
structures from long ago.
     In these musings he slips into the light but firm voice of
an educator. Mr. Saito is in his element when playing his role of
senior authority and popularizer of historical knowledge, but is
equally ready to inject a chuckle for levity. For his great love
of the town, his many contacts, wide respect and sometimes
youthful willingness to consider new ideas, Saito sensei was
asked, along with his junior by 9 years Uesaka sensei, to be the
"overseeing guarantor of integrity" (kanji) for Takefu
Renaissance.


Takefu's Renaissance once more________________________

Summarizing the organization and their initiatives must begin
with a note of the novel character of Takefu Renaissance. Through
the curious intersection of generational, demographic,
educational and industrial trends a group unusual in Japanese
society was able to form. The group is led by civic minded
individuals of the experimental and iconoclastic generation who
were in college in the late 1960s. Like counterparts elsewhere
around the country, they came back to the city of their youth as
part of a national "U-turn" [U-tan] phenomenon. Returning after
many years, the changes to the town, while later and less drastic
than elsewhere in Japan, shocked them into making some effort to
revitalize the regional town's economy and civic pride. The
occasion of councilmen proposing the KKD be gutted for parking
space sparked TR's leaders into action and, along with a small
group of equally dedicated fellow townspeople, they organized a
counter proposal that the facility be renovated for use as the
town's museum instead. But what is exceptionable about the group
is not its emergence, but the fact that it has a broad base, has
a long term vision for the city, has ventured into the political
arena of civil society, and shares a perceptibly collegial spirit
among members.
     Beginning in response to the threatened disfiguration of a
local civic landmark, the KKD Hall, Takefu no Bunka o Kangaeru
Kai arose and over the course of a year evolved into the more
encompassing citizen's group, Takefu RUNESANS. The group's
declared goals included preserving the Oi-ke historical house and
getting the best possible community value out of the KKD
renovation, as well as pressing for greater interest and pride
among people in Takefu leading to the possibility of wider
citizen participation in civic (municipally administered)
affairs. To reach these ends RUNESANS drafted a charter and
appointed officers. They conduct monthly meetings which allow
discussion, brainstorming and presentations. By cultivating a
collegial spirit, and being careful to soften the rough edges of
status that would normally obtain, the group has been able to
conduct its initiatives smoothly. The multiple outlets for their
efforts include publications, public lectures, petitions,
interviews with journalists, enquiries, and the use of their
organizational knowledge in the service of exhibitions and
neighborhood events. The net effect of TR at work in Takefu's
civil society can be measured by the public perception it has
won. While many townspeople, civil servants included, wonder at
the trouble the group has set for itself, just as many respect
them for their professional manner, their tenacity and the focus
they bring to the problems taken up.
     The question of whether a similar group would have arisen
without this special combination of personnel, location and
sequence of events is difficult to answer. But what is certain is
the novel character of the group and its potential to serve as a
model for grass roots citizen's movements elsewhere in Japan (cf.
"Citizens Forum 21," Japan Foundation 1996, volume 24, number 3).
In the following chapters the case of the KKD project will be
recounted in detail to further illuminate the workings of TR and
the arenas they move in.

        =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

     [Witteveen, chapter 6, elipsis to end]
     [http://www.msu.edu/user/wittevee/publications/ch6sum.txt]

Chapter Six: LOCAL HISTORY AND THE POLITICS OF RENEWING TAKEFU


Summary of chapter six________________________________

This chapter has told the story of the Kokaido Hall (KKD) up
until December, 1993. From the time in 1986 that there was first
talk of the building's eventual demolition to the time that the
Fukui Newspaper reported a plan to convert the ground floor to a
parking lot, less than six years had passed. About six months
after that newspaper story Takefu no Bunka o Kangaeru Kai had
formed itself, had begun issuing public appeals for the
building's preservation and rehabilitation, and had created a
list of possible uses for the reuse of the facility. In the next
six months they evolved into the more sophisticated and
interventionist group Takefu Renaissance. Then in August, 1993,
six months after TR's launch, they submitted a detailed plan for
the reuse of the KKD as a museum.
     By way of background to this course of events, discussions
with civil servants concerned with the administration of cultural
affairs in the prefecture and city were described. The issues in
the civil servant's world which would have a bearing on the
future of the KKD were then counterposed to the views of some
townspeople concerned with the town's cultural life. Finally, to
document the KKD reuse proposals, the plans at each stage were
presented, culminating in the "Proposal of Fundamental Concepts
for Reuse of the Kokaido Hall," which was submitted to members of
city council in August, 1993. The following chapter will explore
how Takefu residents understand their past, and will explore the
things which influenced the plans for representing their history
one day at the KKD.



        =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=


     [Witteveen, chapter 7, full text & appendices B, C]
     [http://www.msu.edu/user/wittevee/publications/ch7all.txt]

"JAPANESE HISTORICAL CONSCIOUSNESS AND THE KOKAIDO"
  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
>>>>>>>>>brief outline of chapter subheads<<<<<<<<<<<

*Scholarly interest in history representations
 *Indigenous regard of the past-present relationship
  *First impressions of Japanese historicity
   *The survey of historical understanding
*Historicity survey, set I:  images associated with these words 
*Historicity survey, set II: aware of the past in one's own life  
*Historicity survey, set III: good eras, bad eras
     *Historicity survey synthesis: men and women
*Historicity survey synthesis: age groups
 *Significance of the survey findings
  *Nostalgia
   *Museum displays and regard for the past
*Caring for ancestors and regard for the past
 *Time culture in Japanese life
  *More clues to historicity in Japan
   *Summary of chapter seven: Japanese history and the Kokaido    
 museum

*Appendix: Historicity survey, English gloss
 *Appendix: Selected survey responses in detail
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= 

Chapter Seven: JAPANESE HISTORICAL CONSCIOUSNESS AND THE KOKAIDO

   ...each age writes the history of the past anew with
   reference to the conditions uppermost in its own time.
       ---Frederick Jackson Turner, historian (born 1861)

   We cannot avoid remaking our heritage, for every act
   of recognition alters what survives. We can use the
   past fruitfully only when we realize that to inherit
   is also to transform.
       ---David Lowenthal, geographer (1985:412)


The scholarly literature on museums and Japanese social life
provides several keys to understanding the museum plan which
_Takefu Renaissance_ (TR) submitted to the city councilors of
Takefu. Special attention will be given to the significance of
culturally specific attitudes toward the past in shaping
representations of history in general. The scope will then narrow
to writings about Japanese representations of the past, and
finally leave the literature to look at the results of a survey
conducted while in the field concerning attitudes of townspeople
toward the past.
     A useful starting place for the study of historical
representation in public life comes from the study of museums. In
recent years a sustained body of scholarship has developed to
thoughtfully study the content of history exhibitions and the
functions of public history in social life. Writers have
scrutinized historical displays to see what is being told, as
well as to see the viewpoints being presented or left out (Benson
et.al 1986, Blatti 1987, Karp & Lavine 1991b, Karp, Kreamer &
Lavine 1992b, Kreamer 1992, Leon & Rosenzweig 1989, Potter &
Leone 1992, Wallace 1989).
     The subject of historical and ethnographic museums, mainly
in the Western world, has generated a great deal of interest
among social analysts, curators, journalists, and the communities
who have a stake in exhibit displays. While the museum as an
institution itself is not new, scholarly and popular
acknowledgement of its political nature within the social order
is. In an edited volume, Karp (1992a, cf. 1991a) tells how
museums through their label text and the choice of categories for
groups of people effectively impress an identity upon the people
described. In the referential act of naming, a set of
expectations and limitations is laid over the preexisting
stereotypes which the labels of Chicano, suffragette, or deaf
communities carry, for example. Thus Karp writes that museums and
the discussions they generate are one place for contesting the
identities of the many communities that comprise a society.     
The starting point for Karp's essay is a distinction in social
life between political and civil society, which was originally
made in the 1930s by Antonio Gramsci to describe the nature of
social order within a state. It is the coercive powers found in
political life, in combination with the hegemonic nature
(seemingly apolitical, received conventions of propriety) of
civil society, that gives a state its stability (Gramsci
1971:263). In Karp's essay the difference of civil and political
society is the difference between discussing a matter and doing
something about a matter, using the force of law. In this view,
museums increasingly are the subject and location of contested
identity. It is here that life chances accrue to the named
communities under scrutiny. The case of the Kokaido (KKD) museum
will be taken up in the following two chapters to discuss further
the nature of civil and political society in one regional
Japanese town. What follows here, however, is a review of another
aspect of the study of museums; not a consideration of museums'
place in civil society or public life, but instead the
complementary question, the role of social facts in making museum
representations of history. This will be an enquiry into the
shaping effects of present-day social conditions and cultural
conventions on history displays.
     Scholars from all across the social sciences and humanities
have written about the peculiar link between today's
circumstances and the way people understand their past.
Geographers (Lowenthal 1985, 1989), archeologists (Fowler 1992),
historians (Bury 1932, Carruthers 1990, Chamberlain 1912, Nora
1989), anthropologists (E.Bruner and Gorfain 1984, Kugelmass
1992, Price 1983, Yoneyama 1994), sociologists (Buruma 1994,
Halbwachs 1992) and psychologists (J.Bruner 1990) have all
written about the way in which individuals, corporate groups, and
nation-states recognize and articulate their pasts in keeping
with present-day sensibilities and in line with the prevailing
conventions for presenting history.
     Historical events might not be crudely overwritten in any
obvious way. More subtly perhaps, the story remains the same, but
its significance may change. In the example given by Koselleck
for the Nazi era in Germany, this identity of past and present
becomes clear: [although] "the events of 1933 have occurred once
and for all... the experiences which are based upon them can
change over time" (1985, cited in Boyarin 1994:29). In other
words, in circular fashion, understanding of the past gives
significance to people's present life at the same time that their
grasp of history is revised with reference to current
circumstances. This is not to say that unsettling pasts can
facilely be made palatable, but that in time even the worst
chapters of history will be incorporated into the history told in
the present. For national level history in the 20th century, this
rehabilitating process has been illustrated in the cases of
Germany (Kramer 1995) and Japan (Buruma 1994). But to say the
past is refigured in light of the present does not mean that
people everywhere perceive an abiding presence of the past in
their lives, either as an acting force in daily affairs, or
merely as an inert relic.  



SCHOLARLY INTEREST IN HISTORY REPRESENTATIONS

The study of history as it is told within each society is
implicitly the study of the past-to-present relationship.
Researchers inside and outside of anthropology have taken history
as an analytic object. Within Krech's review of writings that
call themselves "ethnohistory," the following types of study have
emerged: 1) histories of _ethnoi_ (particular, often fourth
world, populations) done in by outside observers in a
conventional chronological narrative way, 2) documentation and
description of indigenous forms of historiography, 3) writing
that relates insiders' understanding of the past in a particular
society, 4) standard history written to take account of cultural
dimensions and dynamics of past events, including possibly
incorporating the elaborations of native informants which could
result in, 5) an outsider's narrative history configured
chronologically which goes beyond merely (above) decoding
cultural elements to reveal larger processual subtleties (Krech
1991:360-361).
     Within these studies interest has not been very great in
local (indigenous) forms of telling history and maintaining
social memory --numbers 2 and 3 above. While linguistic and
cultural relativism has been a persisting topic in anthropology,
the relativism of historical representation has been commonly
overlooked. Studies of "sense of place" and the appreciation of
native forms of presenting history have mainly come from scholars
of oral history (Basso 1984, Borofsky 1987, D'Azevedo 1962,
Descola 1995, Feierman 1990, Hill 1988, Peel 1984, Rosaldo 1980,
Tonkin 1990, Vansina 1985). But Japan scholars, too, have touched
on the shape and meaning of the past there (Buruma 1994, Goto
1993, Han 1995, Kweon 1994, Lebra 1993, Masters 1992, Plath 1964,
R. Smith 1974, Wendelken-Mortensen 1994).
     Studies of Japanese life that have touched on the past-
present relationship have been diverse. Examples include the
historical preservation movement (Kihara 1980, 1986; cf. in
Greece, Herzfeld 1991), historical homes (Ehrentraut 1989, 1993,
1995), and the making and marketing folk-style pottery (Moeran
1984). Plath (1964) and R. Smith (1974) probed the particularly
Japanese character of the persisting past in the form of ancestor
worship practices. Others have looked at history's meaning among
certain groups of people, explaining how members of the former
aristocratic class understand their heritage (Lebra 1993),
looking at the way townspeople remember their peasant martyrs
(Walthall 1986), studying how a city's earliest residents use
history to define their relationship to the town's recent,
commuter residents (Robertson 1991), or discussing how
neighborhood festivals can promote a sense of community (Bestor
1989, cf. Kelly 1990a). Still other researchers have looked at
the realm of leisure, studying the nostalgia found in folk songs
(Hughes 1985) or in domestic travel campaigns (Graburn 1983,
1987, 1990; Ivy 1989, 1995), and the national history depicted in
an amusement park (Brannen 1992). Each of these studies touches
upon historical understanding, but none takes representations of
the past as its central matter (cf. Bestor 1989, Fujitani 1992,
1993; Robertson 1988, Yoneyama 1993, 1994).
     _Historicity_, taken here to mean the attitudes, content and
stylistic conventions for representing the past within a society,
has been recognized as an issue within the scholarly literature.
But it is normally mentioned incidentally rather than to be taken
up as an analytical focal point. Among historians, White (1990)
holds one of the strongest interpretations for historical
relativism. He writes about the effects of literary devices used
by professionally trained historians, and about the predisposing
order in the narrative form itself which they use (cf. J. Bruner
1990, Flores 1995, Polkinghorne 1988, Yoneyama 1993). These
analyses have seldom extended to amateur local history (cf.
_jibunshi_ Figal 1994, Suzuki 1982). Although they do look at the
nature of writing history, these writings seldom go into the
rhetorical features specific to a culture.
     When the forms and qualities of history representations are
mentioned, it is often incidental to the author's main subject.
In the anthropological study of Japan, too, various research has
touched on the indigenous understanding of the past-present
relationship. Bestor looked at the multiple struggles over what
was 'traditional' in a Tokyo suburb in the early 1980s. His
iconoclastic aim was to show readers that Tokyo does not consist
of village-like enclaves with great historical depth, nor is
Japanese social life governed by the principle of 'harmony.' For
him, recourse to history was something instrumental; something to
further one's personal status. He found that it was merchants who
promoted a sense of village-like continuities of tradition. He
did not consider historical representation as something
contingent upon the historical moment or connected to indigenous
attitudes about the past-present relationship, as I propose to
do.

    "Traditionalism, to use Bestor's term, has proven a
    useful idiom in which to blunt the disruptive potential 
    of this diversity [to the supposed homogeneity of
    Japanese: life styles and life chances] by casting it
    as a more innocuous contrast of old and new"
                                                 Kelly 1991:422

Jennifer Robertson took up the competing interests of natives and
newcomers in a commuter city of the Tokyo metropolis. Through
historical records, participant observation, and symbolic
analysis, she described the relations of these two populations of
the town and the initiatives by the city government to smooth
over the divisive distinctions which the residents made.
Tradition played a strategic part in the town's community
relations of the two groups. Displays of history would link
personal claims to historical precedent, the town's efforts at
collective representations to create civic pride, and historical
visions used in national campaigns of nostalgia, reinforced by
national grants to encourage 'local place making' (_furusato
zukuri_).
     While Robertson did point out that the thematic content of
the Japanese past promoted in public discourse is agrarian (cf.
Gotoda 1985:12), she did not dwell on the stylistics of
townspeople's vision of the past; the qualities of pastness
itself. She focused on the claims to historical precedence made
by townspople and the meanings of the past for the country-wide
phenomenon of 'native-place making' (_furusato zukuri_). By
contrast, I am looking systematically for a relationship between
townspeople's historical understanding and prevailing economic
conditions, and the display of local history. Like Robertson, I
am interested in the impression which national media makes on the
local community through their presentation of _furusato zukuri_
and _machi zukuri_ (hometown and community cultivation efforts),
Japaneseness (_nihonjin ron_) and 'Internationalizing' (_kokusai
ka_). But unlike Robertson, I have put the historical
representations in the foreground. Being a regional town, the
civic boosterism of Takefu's past involves things other than the
tension between the native and newcomer groups she described.
Taken together these glimpses of Japanese relationships with the
past suggest some dimensions of the indigenous historical
understanding.



INDIGENOUS REGARD OF THE PAST-PRESENT RELATIONSHIP

Indigenous ways of understanding history have not been examined
systematically (Lowenthal 1985:xxvi), despite the salience as an
issue in historiography. People's attitudes toward the preceding
era or toward more distant times vary from one society to the
next. Depending on the country and the people's social
infrastructure, different parts of the past will be highlighted
or else be downplayed. _What Time is this Place?_ (Lynch 1976) is
a book about the U.S.A. describing the dominance of the
Revolutionary War era on the East Coast, and the Civil War and
Victorian era for the Middle West. The necessary complement to
the preferred eras, personages and events is the forgotten past.
Or, in the words of John Tchen, the question to ask is not only
"what has been a part of commonly remembered community
history...[and] what stories or myths are retold to help
understand the past" but also "what aspects of life have become
silences in the collective memory" (Tchen 1992:315)? In addition
to patterns of preferred pasts, the quality of pastness and
individuals' historical consciousness may differ (e.g. by gender,
Keesing 1985), a point Climo and Teski elaborate in their edited
volume, _The Labyrinth of Memory_ (1995:3-9). The processes they
distinguish concern individuals, but with regard to the
dimensions of historicity, should apply equally well to
collective representations of history display, too. These include
remembering (inflected by present needs), forgetting (repressing
unsuitable matters), reconstructing memory (interpolating from
sparse traces), metamorphosis of memory (narratives with a life
of their own), vicarious memory (others' experiences insinuated
as one's own through proximity, familiarity, or emblematic
identity).
     Where people speak the same language, but have different
public discourse, the past relates differently to the present.
Lowenthal (1989) remarks on the contrast in the "redemptive
exceptionalism" among the professionally written American
histories, and the British historical establishment, "which
portrays Britain as a nation with an already achieved historical
identity that demands of the present only appropriate reverence
and protection" (p.1275). In contrast to both of these, he
remarks on the collapsed time scale in Irish perceptions of
history, in which events like the Battle of the Boyne in 1690 can
still be regarded as unresolved matters of living consequence
(Lowenthal 1985).
     It is not enough simply to ask what occurred in the past, as
both native and non-native historians normally do. One must also
consider the (stylistic) form which the story or display takes,
along with attitudes toward heritage, and the recourse which
individuals and institutions have to historical knowledge. The
case of the 16th century, mission educated but indigenous Andean
historian, Guaman Poma de Ayala, shows some of the diversity in
recording and presenting historical knowledge. He combined the
precolonial visual and spoken tradition of telling the past with
the textual protocols of the Spanish overseers (Adorno 1989).
While his depiction of the past has generated scholarly
attention, less dramatic forms of indigenous history must
likewise be considered when trying to understand local historical
representations.
     The form of representation is not limited to written or
pictorial media. Basso (1984) and Rosaldo (1980) invaded the
cultural geographer's subject when they described how stories of
the past are attached to the terrain where people make their
lives. Basso focused on Western Apache place names which, like
those Ojibway names incorporated into the geography of the Great
Lakes region, take the form of a long title. These serve as a
kind of headline, condensing the attached story. The people
Rosaldo lived with in the Philippines did not have these story-
like names for the local landscape. But he found people recounted
events by reference to place; that is, the location was equally
important as the events to (public) memory. Basso's and Rosaldo's
work on memory places suggests an extension from the mnemonic
cues of toponyms to all proper nouns loaded with meanings (cf.
Buruma 1994; for advertising and tourism meanings, Graburn 1983,
1988, 1990). The names of personages, buildings and artifacts
(cf. routines themselves which Bourdieu calls "habitus," 1984)
may serve to anchor and give substance to connections of the
past-present.
     The landscape and annual calendar are marked not only by
stories but also with commemoratives such as monuments or
calendrical events, particularly in the case of nations.
Lowenthal (1985), Mosse (1975) and Nora (1989) have described the
proliferation of historical markers as part of national states'
ongoing need to substantiate their apparent longevity and to mark
territorial boundaries. Nora's discussion in particular is
stimulating. He suggests the national state's interest in a
totalizing and metropolitan version of history has encroached
upon local historical understanding and upon individuals' sense
of the past to the point that memory places (_les lieux de
memoire_) are restricted to isolated sites such as museums. The
result is to divorce the past from current social life until, as
Hartley began his novel _The Go-Between_, "The past is a foreign
country, they do things differently there." Indeed, as History
written with a capital 'h' comes to be a province restricted to
professionally trained, metropolitan scholars, the past does come
to be a foreign place, suitable for brief visits by the curious
and fun seekers, unrelated and inconsequential to a person's
daily decisions or livelihood.
     The nature of this link between past and present is
determined by the avenues available for knowing the past. As
Lowenthal points out, people come to know the past through a
combination of personal experience, beliefs, reworked memories,
relics, and the History found in cultural productions, whether in
its educational, entertainment, or commercial varieties
(Lowenthal 1985:185-7). The past which people know and refer to
in the present is mostly recent (ibid:40); going further back,
the necessary residues and experiences which would link people of
today to events of the past are not readily available.
     What the issue of indigenous historical understanding
(historicity) means for local historical representations is that
the nation-state may indeed cast a long shadow over the attitudes
to the past held by people in the provinces (Lowenthal, Nora).
Historicity means, further, that the local terrain itself holds
collective memories (Basso, Rosaldo). Besides the presence of the
past and the form of its representation, notions of ancientness,
attitudes to past society, and the relationship people perceive
between past and present must also be considered (cf. Descola
nd.). It also means that references to important past dates and
public events may act like other proper nouns such as toponyms
and the names of emblematic personages which carry special
cultural significance.



FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF JAPANESE HISTORICITY

In Japanese life today, there has been an efflorescence in
popular historical interest with particular emphasis on the
feudal Edo period (Kelly 1990a, 1990b; cf. Kitada 1994). This
boom is reflected in television production, with the focus of
television epic dramas on these early modern years (Kelly 1990a)
and on the pre-WWII years in the day-time serials (Kitada 1994,
cf. Samuels 1994:13-15, 246-249). This attention and popular
fascination with the Japanese past is spurred by something more
fundamental than the mandate of The Japanese Broadcasting
Corporation (NHK), which in its charter "is specifically enjoined
to promote the elevation of cultural standards, preservation of
cultural heritage, and creation of new cultural traditions"
(I.Hall 1983).
     Popular interest in the past can also be seen in the
promotion of local products and tourism campaigns (Yates 1995),
books on traditional foods and handicrafts, and schedules of
festival events published in newspapers. Robertson (1991) tells
of newspapers that carry columns devoted to Japanese ways, along
with a calendar of festival times and places. The national
government even established an information center for people
planning to tour the provinces (p.58). The postal service has
ready-made packets of regional delicacies on sale, for an
authentic taste of the locality (p.31). And she goes on to say
that the expressions of local pride 35-40 years ago which were
once regarded as parochial have since the 1980s been seen in a
positive light (p.69).
     The national and local manifestations of nostalgia Robertson
sees partly as an extension of a literary genre with roots going
back at least 1500 years. According to this 'affective
environmentalism' (p.17) the air, water, quality of light and so
forth of the locale are supposed to impart character to the
people who live there. This longing for ancestral place she
identifies with a collective search for an 'authentic,' morally
pristine society of agriculturists (p.71). Gotoda (1985) goes
further by locating this collective agrarian life in the rural
northeast of the main island whence much of Tokyo, and therefore
"Japan," comes from. In Robertson's example, one suburbanite's
image of the goodness of the provincial life consists of
"[unconditional] motherly love and local dialect... without these
conditions the _furusato_ feeling [belonging to an (ancestral)
locale] toward a place will evaporate" (p.20). This
identification between the past and the provincial landscape of
(imagined) agricultural communities was also mentioned by Kelly
(1986, 1990a). He described his fellow rural townspeople as
"poised delicately between having a past --the focus of local
concern, and being a past --the focus of metropolitan
fascination" (1990a:80). People in Japan are linked to their past
through feelings and practices of memorializing their ancestors
in which the (putative) opinions of the dearly departed may be
taken into account in making life decisions (R. Smith 1974).
Japanese may feel a stronger sense of obligation to maintain a
family line and its social standing than Westerners are
accustomed to.
     Lebra (1993) describes Japanese attitudes toward the past in
her book about former aristocrats there. After WWII the legal
status of both aristocrat and the household (_ie_) form of
inheritance were abolished in the name of democratic forms (cf.
Imai-Thurn 1995). Yet among elites and commoners alike she
describes the salient feeling of obligation to perpetuate these
distinctions in their family lines (p.117). Another indicator of
Japanese attitudes to the past comes from Plath (1964) and R.
Smith (1966, 1974). Both looked at ancestor worship practices in
Japan and concluded that the dead continue to play a role in
lives of their descendants. In some cases the dearly departed are
relied upon or taken into account when making life decisions at
the daily service performed in front of the memorial altars.
Using a rough analogy, the altars act something like a one-way
videophone, allowing the departed to observe the earth-bound (cf.
Lebra 1976a, 1982, 1991).
     In addition to the Japanese attitudes toward history
suggested by Lebra, Plath, R. Smith, Kelly, and Robertson,
Theodore Bestor points out the ease with which social
developments are regarded as traditional (1989:253). He mentions
the observations made by many Japan scholars that the Japanese
have a "penchant for 'instant tradition' --the ability to cloak
new circumstances and institutions with a mantle of
traditionalism" (cf. Fujitani 1986, 1993; and, re: State Shinto,
Chamberlain 1912). In the same passage he goes on to say that
"even as stability of tradition is lauded as a great virtue,
innovation and flexibility are highly regarded."
     Other dimensions of historicity are the linguistic
conventions of presenting a story and the values and worldview
people hold for their past. Both the manner of representing
history and of reacting to it are affected by these cultural
considerations. Concepts like causality, fate, agency and
authority, and the positive or negative images associated with a
place or historical time contribute to the character of the past
which members of a society understand.
     The way Japanese worldview may color historical meanings can
be seen in the insinuation of causative significance to the
quality of air, water, and light of a locale. These properties
can be associated with the characteristic creative powers of a
place. A certain course of events, or the emergence of a
historical personage or product, for example, can be understood
to derive from these innate, organic properties of a location
(cf. Robertson 1991:17). The outline that emerges from these
various observations is that indigenous historical understanding
is bound up not only with worldview and genealogical reckoning,
or with the themes and course of Japanese past events, but is
tied also to economic imperatives of commodity culture (Robertson
1991, cf. Ivy 1995), and the contrast of region to metropolis
(Kelly 1990b).
     In sum, Japanese historicity seems to have three dimensions:
the places where the past can be found (the physical, ideational,
experiential features available to people), the culturally
particular forms and content of the past (investigated below),
and the influences of current social conditions on the
representation and understanding of history. By combing the
literature on Japanese life, some of the details of Japanese
historicity have emerged. But to sample the character of the
Japanese past-present relationship I prepared a list of survey
questions which would more directly provide information about
respondents' thoughts about the past. A sample of the Japanese
survey form appears in appendix A, the English gloss in appendix
B [attached to foot of this ASCII file].



THE SURVEY OF HISTORICAL UNDERSTANDING

Inspired by Lowenthal's 1985 panoptic look at the uses and regard
for the past in the U.S.A. and England (cf. Fowler 1992), this
survey was designed to elicit details of Japanese historicity. It
was designed to probe attitudes to historical periods by looking
at respondents' experience of time-culture, such as differences
in genealogical depth, places within one's life that were self-
consciously "historical" or which were perceived to be unchanged
from the past. It would discover the locations and objects which
caused feelings of historicness, as well as the images of history
learned from public discourse (advertisement, school years,
historical dramas). Finally, the survey examined the intersection
of historical meanings with both the town's image and national
self-representations (i.e. the extent to which ethnic and
regional identity is founded on historical visions). Wherever
possible, findings were sorted by age and sex to give a more
finely tuned picture of history for people in the regional town
of Takefu.
     The form that was distributed in the spring of 1995 to 300
people of Takefu achieved a response rate of roughly 33% (98
forms). The survey went through several incarnations. It was
first conceived in English in 1991 as part of an assignment for a
graduate course on time-culture. After a year in the field I
created a Japanese version, replacing some earlier questions with
more focused ones. A Japanese friend helped to sharpen the
sentences to make it read as intended in the original. Through a
personal connection this handwritten form went out to 19 members
of the Takefu High School class of 1959 who lived outside of
Takefu but still participated in annual reunions. Thanks to the
letter of introduction by their classmate which accompanied the
survey, 12 people replied. Compared to this rate and the 100%
response rate of the 40 personal friends or acquaintances
enlisted in the project, the other groups contacted had much
lower response rates.
     Both the Tachiaoi Kai and Takefu Renaissance (TR) assisted
me by converting the form into typescript, adding further
questions, reproducing and mailing the forms to everybody on
their mailing lists. Other participants included members of the
public who were attending a community education course on local
history held on weekends in Takefu, and a class of 35 high school
students (given a shorter form in English, partly as an exercise
in their foreign language skills). Among the 98 respondents were
three friends from the southern metropolis of Fukuoka and 16 from
further south still, Kagoshima, at the north and south ends of
the island of Kyushu respectively.
     The survey replies can be characterized further by sex: 65
males, 30 females, 3 not stated. Classified by age somewhat
subjectively into four groups according to the era at which they
reached some degree of adult consciousness (age 12), the ratio of
surveys was, in order of youngest group to oldest, 7:27:35:26.
The three other individuals gave no specific age. Group I (ages
12-19, born 1976-1983) has grown up in a period of material
prosperity, but has little social experience outside of school
and home. Group II (ages 20-40, born 1955-1975) came of age
during a period of material prosperity, and has had experience of
work and the wider social world. Group III (ages 41-61, born
1934-1954) entered their youth in the aftermath of the war years
in which much of the old order persisted and material wealth
could not yet have been imagined. Group IV (ages 62 and older,
born 1933 or before) formed their adult character under the
prewar and wartime militaristic regime, a time barely
recognizable now in the bountiful 1990s. The table below
summarizes the characteristics of the survey sample collected.

--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--

++younger half++     ALL AGES        I, 12-19       II, 20-40     
     TOTALS
                     #/total (%)     #/total (%)     #/total (%)
aggregate            98/98 =100%     7/95 =7%        27/95 =28%
average age          46 years        15 years        30 years     
      BY SEX               
men                  60/95 =63%      2/60 =3%        14/60 =23% 
average age          52 years        18 years        32 years
women                35/95 =37%      5/35 =14%       13/35 =37%
average age          40 years        15 years        29 years     
      BY REGION               
Takefu               64/98 =65%      6/64 =9%        7/64 =11%
average age          42 years        17 years        28 years
Fukui-ken            15/98 =15%      0               9/15 =60%
av.age               49 years         -              29 years
Kyushu               19/98 =19%      1/19 =5%        13/19 =68%
average age          29 years        12 years        31 years




++older half++     ALL AGES      III, 41-61       IV, 61+
           TOTALS                     
                   #/total (%)    #/total (%)     #/total (%)
aggregate          98/98 =100%    35/95 =37%      26/95 =27%
average age        46 years       53 years        69 years
           BY SEX                     
men                60/95 =63%     22/60 =37%       22/60 =37%
average  age       52 years       53 years         73 years women 
            35/95 =37%     13/35 =37%       4/35 =11% average age 
      40 years       53 years         73 years            BY
REGION                     
Takefu             64/98 =65%     27/64 =42%       24/64 =38%
average age        42 years       54 years         70 years
Fukui-ken          15/98 =15%     5/15 =33%        1/15 =7%
average age        49 years       53 years         65 years
Kyushu             19/98 =19%     3/19 =16%         0
average age        29 years       45 years          -

Table 7-1 Survey returns characterized by age, sex, region.  --.-
-.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--

There is some question about the suitability of the questions
asked. Perhaps five or six individuals added a note to their
survey form saying that the survey was hard to answer, and an
equal number made the same comment in person. A review of the
lowest response rate per question pinpoints the hardest parts: #8
("What examples does the expression 'feudal' bring to mind?") at
20 of 84 omitted, #9 (ditto, "Japanese") at 20 of 84 omitted, #10
("Examples of past-related words conveying a positive image; for
example, used in advertisement") at 29 of 84 omitted, and #13
("Age at which the named items acquire antique value") at 20 of
84 omitted. While omission rates varied among each of the pools
of respondents, these four items were least answered overall. The
question about intergenerational difference in attitudes toward
history, not asked in all versions of the survey, was also
frequently skipped over (17 of 58 omissions).
     The survey can be characterized not only by its content, but
also by what it does not ask. First, there is the imbalance of
men and women, with males outnumbering females by two to one.
Replies come disproportionately from people over the age of 50,
for whom WWII is a real memory. Aside from a few replies from
residents in Fukui prefecture outside of Takefu, and 19 from the
south island of Kyushu, the survey represents only the ideas of
Takefu townspeople. Finally, a shortfall of this survey is the
unknown occupational and educational status of most respondents,
which precludes any analysis by socioeconomic stratification.     
As an interpretive note, owing to parts of forms returned
incomplete, the aggregate results do not tally with the sum of
the results presented elsewhere by age, or sex. This is because
some respondents omitted name or age or sex. Also, the total
number of replies varied from question to question. In some cases
this was because of one person's multiple answers or, at other
times, because of high omission rates. While the questions
themselves were identical on all versions of the forms (apart
from the English language set for the high school students),
certain groups were given abridged editions. Thus even though 98
persons replied, some questions might have as few as 78 replies,
for example. Despite these shortcomings, however, the results do
provide the details needed to better define Japanese historicity.
Even where data is incomplete, the analysis of the surveys does
provide clues to the ways in which Japanese life is connected to
the cultural conventions for representing the past in places like
the KKD museum.

The findings of the survey are presented first simply as data and
description, which are used later to synthesize a picture of
differences in Japanese historical consciousness in the age
groups and sexes. Then the significance of the findings is
discussed with reference to scholarly sources. To begin with, the
results are grouped into four sets, beginning at the level of
respondents' impressions of the past, drawn from word
associations for several past-related terms. The next set focuses
on material culture, asking about old things used in home
decoration, as well as respondents' ideas about the age at which
various objects acquire antique value. The third set probes
historical topoi, asking about favorite eras and the images each
period holds. The last set presents collective representations,
first the images of Takefu held by its "expatriots" (Takefu
raised, but not longer resident), and then asking all
respondents' what came to mind for "typical of Japanese people or
style" (_nihonteki_, _nihonjin teki_). The goal of this last data
set was to find out which if any collective representations
intersect with historical associations.
     In a nutshell, the results displayed clear patterns
according to differences in age and sex of the respondents, not
only in the interest expressed for particular historical eras,
but also in genealogical depth of knowledge and the patterns of
word associations generated by the sample phrases. The
persistence and persuasiveness of a feudal character in social
life today was recognized by many who filled out the survey. Less
surprising was the finding that the average number of generations
known to the people surveyed seemed relatively high compared to
people living in the U.S.A. Similarly, the threshold after which
a thing took on antique value turned out to be,
impressionistically, higher than for U.S. analogues. There was a
marked degree of awareness in the historical nature of the fabric
and routines of individuals' personal lives. Finally, nearly half
of the images associated with the town of Takefu and of the
examples given for "typically Japanese" made reference to the
past, thus showing that history does indeed provide a fine source
of collective representations.



HISTORICITY SURVEY, SET I:  IMAGES ASSOCIATED WITH THESE WORDS

In these questions respondents were asked for concrete examples
which fit the words "feudalistic" (_hoken teki_), "old-fashioned"
(_furukusai_, or _okurete iru_). The first term is always
pejorative, whereas the term old-fashioned drew mixed but mostly
negative associations. To find cases of past-reference which, on
the contrary, were positive, a question about expressions used in
advertising was posed. When replies were tallied, they seemed to
group themselves into the following related ideas (duplicates are
not listed). Unique, infrequent or unfocused answers are all
treated as "other." A brief summary of the responses by category
appears below, while a complete listing in English is given in
appendix C [attached to foot of this ASCII file]. The
significance of these questions lies in showing which aspects of
the past are disliked, or on the contrary, are considered to be
appealing.


Question 8: Examples of being "feudalistic" (_hoken teki_)
(past-pejorative reference) n=69 persons, 83 total replies

� (17%) Character of interrelations
� (12%) Rigidity of one's status
� (10%) Politics, politicians
� (10%) Workplace or school examples
� (16%) Household life
� (18%) Female-male relations
� (17%) Other


Looking at the examples elicited by the expression "feudal," two
general observations can be made. One is the fairly narrow range
in responses. The six topical categories account for 82% of the
replies. Two, the categories concern ways of acting or ways of
being treated for the most part, rather than the ways of thinking
which the term "old-fashioned" elicited. Defined by the contexts
of school, work, politics, social life and male-female relations,
these ways of acting take place largely in public view; that is,
respondents have pointed out that the lasting historical traces
of feudalism are to be found in civil society.
     Three of the categories were factored by sex and by age
group. Women, at 35% of the respondent pool, gave 37% of the
workplace related examples of feudalism, while men accounted for
the rest. So, within the limitations of this small survey, both
sexes supplied answers in proportion to their numbers in this
case. In contrast, women accounted for 66% of the examples
categorized as "male-female interactions." This leads to the
inference that (historical) gender inequalities are least likely
to be taken for granted by the status inferior, which most often
in Japanese social life is women. Moving from disproportionately
high to low number of responses, women gave only 12.5% of the
"politics, politicians" examples of what feudalism calls to mind.
Whether it is a lack of political opportunity, experience,
interest, or all three, by their survey answers, this category
has turned up notable differences in historical attitudes and
understanding between the men and women in this sample of
Japanese society.
     Sorted by age, other patterns emerge. Among the examples of
feudalism which referred to "politics, politicians," the oldest
group of men and women (62 years and older) supplied only 12.5%.
Yet they comprise 28% of the surveys returned, and 23% of the
replies to this question in particular about the expression
"feudal." This would seem to mean that political life is
unfamiliar to them. Or, if known to the same extent as it is
among their juniors, it could also mean that their failure to
identify the feudal character of the political world comes from
taking these ways for granted, as natural, and therefore not
especially (pejoratively) marked as feudalistic.
     In common with the category above, the oldest group of
respondents gave few examples which identified "male-female
relationships." While they gave 23% of the answers to question
eight in total, in this single category they gave only 7%. As was
true in "politics, politicians," the same inference can be made:
that for people in age group IV the way men and women are
supposed to relate is not considered to be especially feudal.
Rather, the inequalities which respondents in other age groups
identified as being feudalistic, the oldest respondent group did
not make note of.
     At the opposite pole, age group II (ages 20-40), at 28% of
the survey population and 33% of replies to this question,
accounted for 47% of the "male-female relationships" category.
This difference in historical awareness reflects the very
different worlds which group II (born postwar) and group IV (born
prewar) respondents grew up in and continue to inhabit. Group II
again stood out for their feudalism examples identifying the
workplace. They accounted for 28% of the examples to question
eight, but in the category of "workplace" they provided 57% of
the replies.
     By contrast, groups three (37% of total replies, 28% of
answers to this category) and four (28% of replies, 14% of
examples here) were both under represented in "workplace." As in
the cases above, it was the young people of group II who took
sharpest exception to the status quo, together supplying many of
the feudal examples from their daily lives. The next older
generation gave relatively slight recognition to feudalistic
ways. Either group III were less aware of the inequalities
created during the three centuries of feudal life, or they may
have had a professional or personal stake in maintaining the
status quo and thus they did not pejoratively identify their own
experience of workplace, political life, and male-female
relationships with the label of "feudal."
     The question asking for illustrations of the term "old-
fashioned" (_furukusai_, or _okurete iru_) drew responses falling
less neatly into topical categories than was true in the case of
"feudal." The five main categories amounted to just 51.5% of the
examples given. The categories of "male-female relationships" and
"politics, politicians" appeared again for question seven. But
the other three categories differed from those found above in
question eight. The typology is summarized below


Question 7: Examples for "old-fashioned" (_okurete iru_,
_furukusai_)
          n=80  persons (48 male, 32 female), 97 total replies

� (17.5%) Way of thinking
� (10%) Old people's ways
� (7%) Politics, politicians
� (9%) Unequal status of women and men
� (6%) Social intercourse
� (49.5%) Other

In contrast to the examples given for "feudal" which largely
concerned actions or ways of behaving, the replies to "old-
fashioned" were more often about a way of thinking or an
attitude. Women (41% of respondents in this question) were
conspicuous for giving 66% of the examples in the "male-female
relationships" category. They were conspicuously absent (0%) from
replies in the "politics, politicians" category. Put another way,
they showed acute awareness of the historically persisting
qualities of public life. At the same time, it was the men who
showed least sensitivity to the "old-fashioned" qualities of
male-female interactions.
     The age groups giving disproportionate numbers of "old-
fashioned" illustrations in the politics category were groups III
and IV. Group III (ages 41-61) gave only 25% of the examples, far
short of their 39% share of total replies to question seven.
Group IV could have been expected to give about 19% of the
replies. In fact, however, they gave almost twice that number
(37%). One interpretation here is that group III, in the prime of
their working lives, tends to deny or possibly fails to recognize
the "old-fashioned" way that political matters are conducted.
Group IV, now at some distance from the fray of everyday
political concerns, perhaps recognized the continuance of the
conservative nature of politics more readily. Yet, significantly,
group IV apparently did not label these matters "feudal" in the
earlier question (12.5% of category, despite having 23% of the
question eight replies overall). So this oldest group identified
politics as old-fashioned (i.e. prewar vestiges perceptible), but
not to the extent of being feudal.
     The category of "male-female relationships" shows that the
younger generations were most conscious of the traces of past
ways here. Group I (10% of question seven replies) and group II
(32% of replies) each gave 44% of the examples, while groups III
(39% of replies) and IV (19% of replies) gave 11% and 0%,
respectively. Group I also supplied many of the answers to the
"old people's ways" category. This youngest group (12-19 years
old), along with the oldest group, gave twice as many responses
as expected from their number overall: 20% from group I, 40% from
group II. In contrast, group III (41-61 years) only provided 10%
of the replies, far short of their 39% share of overall
participation in question seven. These results lead to the
conclusion that middle-aged people resist identifying the stage
of life they are approaching with the label "old-fashioned;" but
that the youngest and oldest both associate this expression with
the ways of old people. On the part of young people it may be a
stereotype. On the part of their seniors, the high response rate
may come out of self-conscious acceptance.


Question 10: Expressions of the past with favorable meaning n=56 
persons, 95 total replies

� (12%) Place names or associated with a locale
� (23%) Aesthetic concepts
� (22%) Sensuously engaging examples
� (15%) Time terms
� (15%) Examples of tradition, practices
� (14%) Objects

All of the examples given for question ten fit into one of six
categories. As a whole they rarely refer to a specific historical
period. Instead they speak of the past in general. Most often
this means the space of a few generations still within living
memory. If a single era is cited, it is normally the feudal days
of the Edo period. The two references to Heian times are
exceptional and most likely relate to the city of Takefu's
association with the historical personage of Murasaki Shikibu,
the tenth century woman who is supposed to have gained some of
her inspiration for writing her famous novel from living in the
town.
     The other notable thing about the six topical categories is
the way they can be divided into two types of examples. One type
are simple inert references (categories above: place and period
names, objects). The other type are examples that are
"participatory" in the sense that the expressions concern ways of
acting, an ambience or sensation of historicness (categories
above: sensuous, aesthetic, tradition and practices). That the
expressions of the past used in advertisement, among other
places, derive favorable associations from their "participatory"
or present day use-value is telling of the Japanese
predisposition to the pragmatic and present day world, something
congruent with the Shinto worldview. In other words, although
advertising in every society is the art of choosing expressions
with appealing associations, when it comes to Japanese images of
the past, part of the pleasure seems to come from the direct,
sensory effect the citation has. Thus, "the taste of old Takefu"
would be more likely than would a historical reference to
propriety ("established 1903," or "The first ...in Japan") or to
continuity ("for three generations"), for example.



HISTORICITY SURVEY, SET II: AWARE OF THE PAST IN ONE'S OWN LIFE

Questions 5, 6, 12, 13, and 14 concern the objects, interior
decoration, routines of one's life, and the places people have
visited which cause them to identify it as being historical.
While the questions in the first set of findings above were meant
to discover people's historical consciousness of Japanese social
life more generally, the following questions had the more limited
aim of focusing on respondents' awareness of the character and
continuity with the past in their immediate environments. When
question 13 about thresholds for acquiring antique value and
question 14 about genealogical depth were sorted by age and sex,
distinctive patterns emerged. 

  --.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--
SUMMARY OF ANTIQUES' THRESHOLD AGES
 (average and by age group, in years)
KEY: H(ouse), C(eramics), F(urniture), K(nickknack, especially
for the decorative _tokonoma_ space), S(croll, pictorial or
calligraphic), G(arden), L(acqerware), J(apanese sword), W(riting
tools)
class=#   H=34   C=30   F=23   K=23   S=24   G=26   J=27   W=16
YEARS
average    174   256    119   147   219   287   15   181   181

highest    400   1000   590   300   690   990   90   800   990
lowest     40    20     30    40    30    30    10   60    10
range      360   960    560   260   660   960   80   740   980

AVG II     164   332    190   123   297   370   310  350   343
AVG III    155   233    76    141   301   226   176  288   138
AVG IV     196   237    130   158   187   293   157  320   150
range      41    99     114   35    114   144   153  62    205


AVG men    183   305    112   174   197   282   164  36    142  
" women  143    140   73    107   186   156   170  218   90

Table 7-2 Threshold ages of antique value for selected subjects.  
--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--
class  H     C      F      K      S      G      L      J      W
AVG  174   256    119    147    219    287    194    315    181

focal years                  
in                  
100s  1~3  1~2.1  .5~1   1~2    1~2   1~5.1  1~3.1  1.1~5   1~1.5

      1@40  1@20   1@40   1@40   1@30   2@30   1@10   1@60  1@10
      3@50  2@50   6@50   2@50   1@40   1@50   2@30   1@70  1@30 
      1@80  2@80   1@80   1@70   1@70   4@100  2@50   4@110 2@50 
     10@100 7@100  11@100 1@80   5@100  3@150  1@70   4@150 1@80 
      1@130 2@150  3@150  7@100  3@150  4@200  1@80   3@210 5@110
      2@160 5@210  1@310  3@150  7@200  3@310  4@100  2@310 4@150
      8@210 1@250  1@590  4@200  2@310  1@350  4@150  3@390 1@310
      2@250 2@310         1@260  1@390  2@390  2@200  2@400 1@390
      4@300 1@350         3@310  1@400  1@400  1@260  1@460 1@990
      1@340 1@390         1@400  2@510  3@510  5@310  3@500 
      1@390 2@400                1@690  1@600  1@390  1@560 
      1@400 1@500                       1@690  1@400  2@610 
            1@560                       1@990  1@510  1@810 
            2@1000                             1@600

Table 7-3 Distribution of responses for threshold ages.
  --.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--

The summary of findings for question 13 shows several things. By
comparison to a similar survey question conducted, say, in the
U.S.A., the typology of objects is culture bound, and the
threshold age after which an item can be considered an antique
seems high on average. Among the categories given, "Japanese
sword" has an average threshold of 315 years. At the opposite
extreme, "furniture" has an average threshold of 119 years. In
the U.S., buildings must normally be 50 years old to qualify for
nomination to the National Register of Historic Places. But in
the minds of these many Japanese respondents, houses on average
should be at least 174 years old to be considered as something
other than merely old. The range of responses varied from 40 to
400 years, with the majority of replies for houses falling
between 100 and 300 years old.
     Other remarks about the summary table include the categories
most often and least often replied to, and the categories having
the tightest distribution of replies. "House," at 34 replies
actually specifying a date, was most often identified with
specific thresholds of antiquity, and "Writing tools" (equipment
and materials, but not old manuscripts) at 16 replies was least
often responded to. This difference may speak to the recognition
value of each of these. For example, the house appears to be a
well recognized category, while writing tools seems to be a
relatively unfamiliar genre of antique among respondents. In
addition to variations in topical familiarity, the people who
filled in the survey showed differing degrees of agreement in the
threshold ages they assigned to each category. Whether it is the
nature of the subjects themselves, or the doxa of antiquities
experts which respondents have learned through the popular
culture of the mass media, certain antique categories had
especially tight ranges in the distribution of answers.
"Lacquerware," "Japanese sword," and "writing tools" gave
threshold ranges that were within 100-150 years apart. To a
lesser degree (100-200 year spread) "ceramic" and decorative
"knickknack" also showed a tight concentration in their
distribution of replies. On the other hand, "furniture" displayed
the least amount of agreement among respondents, with most
replies falling between 50 and 310 years old.
     Men and women showed a consistent difference in their
responses. With the exceptions of "lacquerware" and hanging
"scrolls," which had practically identical average thresholds,
men assigned longer thresholds to qualify an item with antique
value. In the case of "ceramic" the difference in men's and
women's threshold averaged 165 years! The gender differences
averaged across all nine categories was 68 years. It is not clear
whether these differences are due to less interest and day to day
experience among women in these subjects, or is due to greater
depth of historical knowledge generally among men on average.
Whatever the causes, what is certain is the marked pattern of
male-female difference in historical awareness.
     Analyzed according to age group, another pattern emerges.
People over the age of 61 generally assigned antique thresholds
somewhere between the low estimates of age group III and the high
estimates of age group II. Age group I gave too few replies for
comparison. If age accords with experience and the thresholds
given by the people in group IV are accepted in some subjective
sense as "correct," then the 20-40 year olds of group II tended
to over estimate the age at which an item could be considered
antique. Meanwhile the 41-61 year old group tended to assign
antique status to items prematurely, as compared to their
seniors.
     Another pattern discernable by age group analysis is the
tight range of differences in threshold averages for "house" (41
years), "knickknack" (35 years), and "Japanese sword" (62 years).
Perhaps this is due to uniformly widespread, conventional
knowledge that associates famous swords, officially designated
historical homes and typical home ornaments with specific
periods. On the other hand, "garden," "lacquerware," and "writing
tools" have the widest variation in their threshold averages
among the age groups. This may be due to the objects themselves
not being conventionally assigned antique value as such, either
because the item is valued for its usability rather than for
collectibility (lacquerware, writing tools), or else it is valued
not simply by age, but rather by the worth of its maker
(gardens). Alternatively, and more specifically a matter of
generational experiences, these classes of object may have
figured quite differently into the daily experiences of the
groups contrasted here. For example, lacquerware may be viewed as
something basically utilitarian by older people, but as
decorative or collectible by younger people.
     The next survey question asked people what if anything of
their home decoration was historical or antique. Unlike the
hypothetical question above, with its nine categories and tenth
"other" category, question 12 was more open ended, not suggesting
any particular examples. And yet, 73% of the 111 replies fell
into just five categories.

Question 12: Decorations in your home of historical character
n=58 persons, 111 total replies

� (29%) hanging scrolls (calligraphy, _sansui_ ink and brush)
� (17%) ceramics, pottery, porcelain, vases
� (15%) knickknacks, _tokonoma_ (display space) objects
� (7%) weapons, armor
� (5%) folding screens (_byobu_)
� (27%) other

Missing from the survey replies were some of the categories used
in the earlier question about antiques. "Furniture," "writing
tools," and "lacquerware" were not mentioned as types of old
things in respondents' home decoration. Whereas these things
might contribute to the decoration of a European or American's
home, in Japan the fact that these items are meant to be used,
not primarily to be displayed, might account for the fact that
nobody identified them as historical parts of their home
decoration. Following this same reasoning, the sometimes quite
old family altars (_butsudan_) which are in daily use were never
mentioned, not as element of one's home furnishings, nor in the
question below about how one's life is linked to the past.


Question 6: Elements in your life connected to the past
n=71 persons, 136 total replies

� (24.3%) home and home decoration
� (12.5%) foodways
� (11%) language uses
� (11%) articles of clothing
� (6.6%) religious affairs and events
� (6.6%) agricultural tools, other old implements
� (28%) other


Again, in comparison to results that might be obtained from an
analogous survey done in the U.S.A., the typology of the Japanese
results speaks to the great differences in these two societies.
While "home and home decoration" might register in both places,
the other categories in the Japanese results reflect the enormous
changes accompanying each successive generation from the dawn of
the modern era in 1867 until today. Taken all together, the
material fabric of respondents' lives accounts for more than half
of the 136 replies. The fact that most of the information given
in this question can be encompassed in six categories indicates
the relatively high degree of agreement from one person to the
next about the kinds of things appropriate to a category. Put
another way, the intersection of various respondent's answers in
these six categories may reflect a highly consistent standard of
living.

Question 5: What places give you a feeling of historicness
n=93 persons, 211 total replies

� (48%) particular places; among which
    ---temples        23%
    ---old buildings  18%
    ---shrines        9%
    ---houses         5%
    ---castles        4%
� (29%) old objects; among which
    ---agricultural   18%
� (9%) traditional performances, events
� (8%) representations of history
� (7%) language used, old documents


The combined total of "places" and "objects" is 77%. Within each
category certain items were named most frequently. While the
"object" category ranges from tea ceremony equipment to mosquito
netting, it is the handling or mere sight of old agricultural
implements that roused a sense of historicness most often. Among
the places which respondents named, temples above all, but also
old buildings, houses, shrines and castles generated feelings of
historicness. While few places were further specified by
historical era (e.g. Kyoto of 1500), most of the examples given
can be inferred to mean the Edo period or later (1600 to
present). The eras that appeal to individuals may vary, but it
would seem from these results that the experiences which generate
feelings of historicness are mostly limited to the era from which
there is most abundant physical evidence, as well as most
representation in Japanese popular culture.


  --.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--
Question 14: The earliest ancestor you know

   TOTAL    BY SEX        AGE GROUP
   n=87    m=51  f=34  I=7  II=27  III=31  IV=11    unknown=9 
    4.6     5.0   3.9   2.6  3.1    5.0     6.6 

* range of 1-29 generations
* distribution of 2-3 generations (61%), 2-5 generations (86%)

Table 7-4 Generational depth of knowledge by sex, age group. 
  --.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--

Several things stand out from this summary of genealogical depth.
First there is the generally long memory, averaging 4.6
generations. Taking the survey population average age of 46 and
counting backwards 23 years per generation means many respondents
know an ancestor who would have been born in 1870-1880, after the
early modern era had ceased in name. But this kind of statistical
extrapolation involves sleight of hand. A truer picture comes
from the distribution of replies, where just over half of all
people knew an ancestor two or three generations back. Only about
15% of respondents knew an ancestor between 6 and 29 generations
back. And while it is not impossible that the name or deed of a
person be handed down orally, most knowledge of one's ancestors
after three or four generations is preserved through written
records, such as the _kako cho_ (household deaths register, or
literally, "log of the past"). In the survey sample there was a
range of methods given for knowing one's ancestors.



  --.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--
Records    Photo, memento    Story    Contact    Unspecified  
16%        13%               19%      31%        21%


Table 7-5 Medium for knowing earliest ancestor.
  --.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--
Factored by age group and by sex, the survey results show that
knowledge of one's own past increases with age, in conjunction
with the time when one's parents themselves become ancestors and
the duties for memorialization fall to oneself. Men reported an
average of 5.1 generations of familiarity to women's average of
3.9, in spite of the fact that it tends to be the wife or her
mother-in-law who performs the daily service for the dearly
departed at the family altar. This pattern is congruent with the
earlier gender difference for question 13 (antique thresholds).


HISTORICITY SURVEY, SET III: GOOD ERAS, BAD ERAS

For this question people were asked to choose amongst 18
conventional periods of history for their favorite or favorites.
Then they were asked for the images they associated with these
eras. Finally, they were asked to name eras of little interest or
ones they found unappealing, and to describe the meanings they
associated with those times.

  --.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--
Jomon             300 B.C.
Yayoi             300 A.D.
Kofun             710
_(Asuka)
Nara              592 to 710
Heian             794
Kamakura          1185
Muromachi         1333
_(Sengoku)         _(1467 to 1568)
Azuchi-Momoyama   1576
Edo               1600
_(Bakumatsu)       (1853 to 1866)
_(Ishin)          1866 to 1868
Meiji             1867
Taisho            1912
Showa             1925
_(prewar)         1925 to 1931
_(war)            1931 to 1945
_(postwar)        1945 to 1988


Table 7-6 Conventional periodization of Japanese history.
  --.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--
Beginning with the favorably regarded eras, 82 people (68% men,
37% women, 4% not stated) gave a total of 138 replies. The
periods most often named were Jomon (11% of the respondents),
Asuka (12%), Nara (11%), Heian (17%), Edo (13%), Bakumatsu (15%),
Meiji Restoration (20%), and the postwar period (11%). All
together these periods accounted for 65% of the 138 replies.
Looking at eras of disinterest or dislike, only 68 people
replied, in the same proportion of men to women as above.
Although almost all eras were named at least once, the clearest
concentrations of answers were in the Sengoku (Warring States)
period at 18% of those responding, and the war years 1931-1945 at
46% of respondents. Taken together those two eras accounted for
43 of the 94 eras named. Another pattern in the data was of
periods not necessarily identified negatively, yet virtually
ignored in the question about positive, appealing eras. Yayoi was
mentioned only once. And its sequel the Kofun period, along with
the early medieval Kamakura era, were both mentioned only twice.
Finally, there were a few eras with relatively strong responses
in both the positive and negative categories, signifying
ambivalence among respondents as a whole. These were Jomon (9 for
: 6 against), Heian (14 : 6), Sengoku (7 : 12), and prewar Showa
(7 : 6).
     Figured according to age group, the following pattern
appeared. All three groups had interest in the Meiji Restoration,
but they distinguished themselves by the other eras named. Age
group I did not provide enough information to include in this
analysis, but the second age group showed a preference for the
relatively recent eras, the third with the Edo period, and the
fourth with the medieval eras. The replies are summarized below
in the form of percentage of _persons_ in each group responding,
rather than percentage of the group's total _replies_ going to a
given era.


  --.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--age
group    II       III          IV          Men       Women
n=persons    n=26     n=21 %       n=24 %      n=48 %    n=30 % 
GOOD ERAS
          Heian 12   Jomon 14     Asuka 17    Asuka 15  Jomon 20 
          Ishin 12   Edo 14       Nara 17     Nara 13   Heian 23 
         Prewar 12   Bakumatsu 14 Sengoku 17  Heian 15
        Postwar 10   Ishin 14     Ishin 17    Sengoku 13
                                  Meiji 17    Edo 17
                                              Bakumatsu 21
                                              Ishin 27
    .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . 

age group      II      III      IV             Men      Women
n=persons    n=23 %    n=20 %   n=21 _%        n=42 %   n=25 % 
BAD ERAS
Sengoku        17        15       24           19       16
Edo            13                              12
Taisho         13                                       16
Prewar         13
wartime        35        55       52           50       40

Table 7-7 Historical eras preferred, disliked.
  --.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--

As for negative eras, the Warring States (Sengoku) and WWII
periods were selected across the age groups, with one exception.
Those who grew up before today's age of prosperity were only
about half as likely to specify their dislike for the war years.
This may be due to taking the misery of this time for granted,
something not requiring special mention. Or more likely it is
group III's lack of immediate knowledge of these years. In
contrast, the respondents in group IV would have such
experiences, and those in group II would know it as an object of
fascination through folk and documentary sources rather than as
direct experience.
     The table also spells out male-female differences in
responses. Women's interests in particular eras were spread out
among 13 eras, with concentrations only in the stone age Jomon
and the classical court period of Heian (A.D. 795-1185). Men's
replies were clearest in seven periods, running through early,
medieval and Edo periods. Among these, the single most frequently
marked era was the transition time between Edo and early modern
times known as the Meiji Ishin [Restoration]. For least favorite
eras the gender difference in the pattern of replies was less
marked. Both men and women disliked the war years of this century
and the 16th. What distinguished the sexes was men's added choice
of the early modern years, and for women the Taisho period (1912-
1925). To understand the significance of the favorable and
unfavorable eras, it is necessary to consider the character of
images which respondents held for each period.


  --.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--GOOD
ERAS [persons, images] n=82
Jomon     [9,8]     A50    P20    R38    _      _
Asuka-    [10,10]   A50    P25     _     _      _
Nara-     [9,8]     A25    P25     _     _      _
Heian-    [14,12]   A66    P30     _     _      _
Sengoku-  [9,10]     _     _      R30    E30    _
Edo-      [11,9]    A22    P27    R44     _    C22
Bakumatsu [12,11]    _     P25     _     E55    _
Ishin-    [16,12]    _      _      _     E75    _
prewar    [7,6]      _            R50    E33    _
postwar   [9,6]      _                         C50 


 KEY (good eras) by theme and percentage of responses:
A*tmosphere, C*onditions of life for average people, E*nergy and
vitality, P*roducts of the culture, R*oots of family or Japanese
society.

  --.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.-- BAD
ERAS [persons, images] n=68
Jomon       [6,0]      
Heian       [6,2 =r]      
Sengoku     [12,7] n43      
prewar      [6,2 =s,h]
wartime     [31,33] g33 a18 s18 h15

 KEY (bad eras) by theme and percentage of responses: g*eneral
misery caused, a*uthority abused, h*umanity crushed, r*igidity of
relationships, s*elf suffered, n*ormality shattered, d*epressing
period of decline.

Table 7-8 Abstracted themes of images associated with historical
eras.
  --.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--
Ideally, the thematic analysis should be carried to the next
step, discovering the generational and gender differences in
people's replies. Unfortunately there are too few images to make
any meaningful observations. However, the thematic balance of
each group's cumulative images will be presented below. For now
the only observation to make, aside from the specific character
of each period, is to point out the three general thematic phases
in the favorably marked eras. "Atmosphere of the time" and
cultural "products" of the period dominated the images of eras
from the 12th century Heian and earlier. Looking the other way,
from the 16th century Sengoku period onwards, the dominant themes
were cultural "products," "energy" and "roots" of one's own
family (or the nation). In other words, the earliest phase
consists of static images (arts and achievements, and
impressionistic tableaux of a refined atmosphere). The premodern
era through the prewar years on the other hand, consists of more
dynamic imagery: the vitality and personal connection to the
time, along with the arts and achievements of the time. Finally,
the replies for postwar phase pragmatically emphasize the living
conditions enjoyed now by most people, which contrast so
dramatically with the war and prewar years still in the memory of
older people.
     A rough idea of each group's most frequently associated
types of historical images can be gotten from a look at the
aggregate of images associated with the selected positive eras
and coding them thematically. "Atmosphere of the towns" (29%) was
most frequently given, followed in order by "energy of the age"
(24%), family "roots" to the period and cultural "products"
created, both at 17%; with "conditions of life for the average
person" (12%) cited least often. Using these figures as a
reference point, the different emphases expressed by sex and age
group can be seen in the summary table below.


  --.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--GOOD
ERA    Themes divided by age group, sex (% of group's total)
THEMES

n=replies  ALL=92   II=33   III=21    IV=28    M=65    F=27

A.tmosphere 29       30       *23       *37      25      37
E.nergy     24       19        27       *18     *29     *12
R.oots      17       12        23        18      16     *22
P.roducts   17       15        18       *22      20      16
C.onditions 12      *19         9        *4      10      12


Table 7-9 Images associated with positive historical eras
*asterisk figures indicate 5% of more variance to the aggregate.  
--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--


Most of the images associated with the various historical eras
fall into the same proportions within each group as they do in
the aggregate. Nevertheless there were a few saliencies with more
than five percentage points difference (in bold type), the
equivalent to one or more actual replies diverging from the
aggregate average for the era. Age group II showed an emphasis on
"living conditions of the average person," while group III
deemphasized "atmosphere" of the times within the images they had
associated with favorable eras. Age group IV showed an increased
emphasis on "atmosphere" of the times and the achievements
produced in the period ("products"). On the other hand, in the
categories of the "energy" of the times and "living conditions of
the average person," group IV's proportion of replies was lower
than it was in the aggregate.
     Between the sexes, too, there were a few points of
divergence from the thematic distribution of the aggregate
replies. Men emphasized the "energy" of the times, while women on
the contrary deemphasized it. At the same time, women gave
increased emphasis to the "atmosphere" of the times and the
connections of their family (or national) roots to a particular
era. In the images associated with disliked historical eras there
was also a pattern of differences by age group and sex.


  --.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--
BAD ERA    Themes divided by age group, sex (% of group's total)
THEMES

n=replies       ALL=55   II=16   III=18   IV=21   M=32   F=22

g.eneral misery    22     *6       *33     24      22     18
a.uthority         16      19       11     19      19     14
h.umanity          16     *6       *22     19     *9      18
r.igidity          16     *38      *6     *10     *22     14
s.elf suffered     11      6        6     *19      13      9
n.ormality          9      12       11      5      6      14
d.epressing         9      12       11      5     *22     14

KEY: g.eneral misery caused, a.uthority abused, h.umanity
crushed, r.igidity of relationships, s.elf suffered, n.ormality
shattered, d.epressing period of decline

Table 7-10 Images associated with negative historical eras
*asterisk figures indicate 6% of more variance to the aggregate.  
--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--


While the variety of themes for the disliked (negative)
historical eras remained the same in all groups of the survey,
the emphasis within each group as a whole did vary slightly. For
example, groups II and III showed their emphases inversely. Where
group II emphasized rigidity of relationships, III gave fewer
images of this type than expected from the aggregate's proportion
in the category. On the other hand, group III emphasized the
general misery caused for people during the disliked eras.
Similarly, III gave increased emphasis to human decency being
trampled ("humanity crushed"). Group II showed just the opposite,
deemphasizing these two categories. The oldest group, aged 62 and
older, deemphasized "rigidity of relations," much like group III
did. But unlike either of the younger two groups, the oldest
respondents highlighted their own (wartime) suffering.
     The images women gave for the disliked eras were in
proportion with the aggregate distribution. But men's images
differed to the aggregate in three areas. Both "rigidity of
relationships" and "depressing decline generally" were more
frequently mentioned by men than for the aggregate of replies.
However, "humanity crushed" amounted to fewer references than it
did in the combined survey replies.
     The Japanese past is long and varied. The possibilities for
evoking nostalgia are correspondingly diverse. And as the next
section will show, many of the collective representations of
being Japanese and for the town of Takefu derive from the past as
it is imagined. Yet as the previous section shows, the past is
neither continuous nor uniform in the images which people
associate with it. Each age group and sex values the periods of
history differently, and more specifically, the types of positive
or negative images held for each period. Toward the end of this
discussion of the survey findings, the results from all questions
asked will be compiled to synthesize a picture of historicity by
age group and by sex.


HISTORICITY SURVEY, SET IV: ETHNIC AND REGIONAL IDENTITY

Memories of Takefu held by a dozen of Takefu High School's
graduating class of 1959 who now live in other parts of the
country were added to the images of Takefu given by seven people
still living in the town. Their images totaled 62, which when
coded thematically increased to 75 because some examples could be
double coded. The images were then divided into answers referring
to history (41%), cultural products or events (16%), nature (16%)
and other (17%). Probing further into the eras pointed to in the
history related images, the early modern era proved to be the
most numerous at 45%. References to the years since 1868 totaled
32%, and those to the other distinct era, the Heian, totalled
23%. The most obvious explanation for these concentrations is
Takefu's link to the Heian period novelist Murasaki Shikibu, the
preponderance of the town's historical fabric dating to the Edo
years, and the fact that living memory does not extend past the
130 years of the Modern Era. But what is of greatest interest
here is that historical, cultural and natural resources, the
three inherent properties or "capital" belonging to a place which
sometimes are conflated, account for 73% of the town's collective
images.


  --.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--
Question 9  Examples of what is Japanese (* =salient points)  row
A =% of thematic category _from each group_ :
   their share in question 9
 row B =% of group's total _replies_ per category :
   groups'cumulative pattern


age set   II           III       IV          men       women
n=replies 34 (37%)    34 (37%)   21 (23%)    53 (58%)  38 (42%)
attitudes 
     A     30<37      37=37      33>32       57<58     43>42 
     B     26<33      32<33      48>33       32<33     34>33

practices
     A     31<37      *62>37     8<23*       47<58*   *54>42 
     B     12<14       24>14     5<14        11<14     18>14
social-relations
     A     40>37       28<37     28>23       68>58     32<42 
     B     29>27       21<27     33>27       32>27     21<27

objects
     A    *48>37       35<37     13<23       57>58     43>42 
     B     32>25       24<25     14<25*      25=25     26>25

Table 7-11 Typology of collective representations: "Japanese."   
--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--.--

As in the collective representations of "what Takefu brings to
mind," in the more wide ranging "typical of Japanese people or
style" (_nihonjin teki_, or _nihon teki_), historical references
were again abundant. Specifically, collective representations of
ethnicity/nationality intersected with historical associations in
40 of the 91 replies given or 44%. These 40 references
concentrated in the categories "Japanese objects and material
culture" (69%), with the fewest number of references in the
category "Japanese social relations" (17%). Of "Japanese
practices and pursuits" 62% of the examples made historical
reference. And in "Japanese attitudes and concepts" 43% of the
replies concerned the past.
     The replies of historical reference made by both men and
women were in proportion to their respective shares of this
survey question. But examined by age group, the proportion of
historically linked references decreased with age. Among the 40
history related replies, 19 (48%) were made by age group II who
gave only 37% of the answers to question nine. Group III also
made up 37% of answers overall, and 35% of history related
replies. The oldest group (23% of question nine) located
"Japaneseness" in historical reference least often at 15%.
     The age group patterns can be examined in greater detail.
According to the results, age group II had 9 of its 19 history
related replies in the category of "Japanese objects and material
culture." Age group III had 5 of its 14 replies each in the
categories "Japanese objects and material culture" and "Japanese
practices and pursuits." Finally, age group IV had 4 of its 6
replies in the category "Japanese attitudes and concepts."
Although such a small sample of history related collective
representations makes any interpretation tentative, the pattern
that has emerged is one of increasing abstraction with age. That
is, the replies from the youngest respondents locate "what is
Japanese" in concrete objects, while the oldest respondents
identify Japaneseness with certain attitudes and concepts. The
respondents who are between the other two groups in age also gave
replies that were intermediate on the concrete to abstract scale,
with most of their examples concentrating in "Japanese practices
and pursuits."



HISTORICITY SURVEY SYNTHESIS: MEN AND WOMEN

Men and women differed greatly in their word associations for
"feudal" and "old fashioned." Among the replies which fell into
the category of "has to do with male-female relationships," women
showed themselves to be most aware of the old inequalities. They
gave 66% of the examples in this category, but only 35-40% of the
replies overall to the two survey questions. In the category
"politics, politicians," though, the pattern was reversed. At
60-65% of the replies overall, men gave 87.5% of "the ways of
politics are feudal" and 100% of "the ways of politics are old
fashioned." It is not clear whether these patterns come mainly
from gender related predispositions or the social spaces men and
women conventionally move in.
     Another gender difference has to do with the extent of
historical knowledge. The question about genealogical depth
showed men on average to know an ancestor by name as far back as
5 generations to women's 3.9 generations. The question about the
threshold for antiques showed men on average to assign a more
conservative (older) threshold. The fact that women consistently
assigned more recent threshold ages does not necessarily mean
their knowledge of antiques' values is more limited than men's.
But inexperience does appear to cause exaggerated estimates, as
the age pattern shows with the younger respondents, who assigned
the oldest, very approximate thresholds.
     Gender also correlates with the differences in preferred
historical eras. While many were held in common, only the men
chose the heroic, manly 16th century era of Warring States
(_sengoku jidai_). Thematically, the images they held of this
time were equally divided among the categories "energy," "culture
produced" and "personal connection (roots)." Women on the other
hand notably singled out the prosaic, possibly dreamier times of
Jomon and Heian. Among the five thematic categories of images
associated with the appealing eras, 37% of women's replies
concentrated in images relating to "the atmosphere then,"
slightly more than the 29% share expected from the combined male
and female replies in that category overall. Meanwhile, only 12%
of women's replies could be categorized under "energy of the
period," in contrast to the 24% share of combined male and female
examples going to this category.
     Finally, with regard to the pattern of themes found in the
images given for disliked periods of history, a good deal of both
men and women gave answers categorized as "general misery of the
times." Beyond this however, women gave many replies in the
category "basic humanity was crushed." By contrast, men's answers
fell into "authority overstepped; excess" and "rigid, unfair
social relationships." The overall picture for the Japanese men
and women's historicity synthesized from this survey is
reminiscent of gender stereotypes perhaps, reflecting Man's
supposed political ambition, their (feigned) ignorance of gender
inequalities, knowledge of genealogy and interest in heroic
history. Woman then is the complement to this caricature.
Simplified or not, the patterns of the survey replies confirm
that even stereotypes like these contain a grain of truth.


HISTORICITY SURVEY SYNTHESIS: AGE GROUPS

The results of this survey reveal some of the differences in the
understanding of history and attitudes to the past-present
relationship among the small sample of 98 Japanese from each of
the three age groups having sufficient data to analyze. The first
difference came in the pattern of replies to the questions asking
for word associations. "Feudal" brought to mind examples in the
category "at the work place," "politics and politicians," and
"male-female relationships" among others. Respondents of the
oldest age group (62 years and older), raised before the war,
gave fewer examples in these categories than their overall
proportion of replies to the question warranted. As an example,
they could have been expected to supply 23% of the examples
concerning "male-female relationships," but in fact only gave 7%.
This relative lack of recognition of the persisting historical
inequalities in the settings above is likely due to a combination
of the times of their formative years, and the biological effects
of aging. Group III, in the prime of their working lives (41-61
years old) and providing 37% of the examples overall to this
survey question echoed their seniors in the unexpectedly low
number of "feudal" examples falling into the categories "at the
work place," with only 28% of the examples. On the other hand,
the people in their 20s and 30s gave more examples than expected
in the categories "male-female relationships" and "at the work
place." The heightened awareness of feudal-like status
inequalities shown by the younger generation is not surprising,
given their post-war upbringing and their relatively junior
position in social hierarchies.
     One interesting variation in the age group patterns is the
eldest group's high proportion of examples in the category
"politics, politicians" for the question asking for "examples of
what is old fashioned." Having shied from labeling the political
arena as being feudal, they did abundantly identify it as old
fashioned (37% of replies to their mere 19% of overall replies to
question seven). The 41-61 year olds, in contrast, gave only 25%
of these examples to their total 39% share of replies to question
seven. This reluctance to call the ways of political life "old
fashioned" or "behind the times" perhaps is a manifestation of
the stake they hold in social life.
     The question asking for examples of what is old fashioned
showed that both the youngest and oldest respondents associated
the term with examples of old people's ways, though probably for
differing reasons. Group II gave 20% of these examples, twice
their 10% share in question seven overall. Group IV gave 40%,
again about twice their 19% share in question seven. By contrast,
those in the prime of life identified "what is old fashioned"
with the ways of old people in only 10% of the examples, despite
their 39% proportion of the replies to this question overall.
This aversity to label their coming life stage as "old fashioned"
or "behind the times" is understandable as undercutting their
present station at the center of social affairs.
     With regard to the knowledge of the past, as can be
expected, experience seems to accord with age. The oldest
respondents reported the greatest genealogical depth on average,
with the successively younger age groups sharing correspondingly
lesser genealogical depth (6.6 generations for group IV, 2.6 for
group I). When it comes to estimating the threshold at which old
things take on antique value, the youngest group consistently
gave the highest number of years and the people 41-61 years old
consistently gave the lowest number of years. The responses of
group IV, perhaps from accumulated knowledge of market values, or
maybe merely reflecting the historical horizons of their
generation, consistently gave threshold ages that were between
group II's and III's. The finding that the antique categories of
house, knickknack, Japanese sword and ceramic had the closest
range of threshold estimates among all age groups seems to
indicate that knowledge of these subjects is most uniform or
codified, while the categories of garden, lacquerware and writing
tools, by comparison, are least fixed by convention and vary by
age set.
     Preference for, and to a lesser extent dislike of, the
various historical periods revealed still other age group
specific patterns. While nearly every one of the 18 conventional
periods was named, among those most frequently marked favorably,
there was a pattern of interest in increasingly ancient eras with
increasing age of respondents. Respondents of all ages chose the
restoration years around the transition from the feudal to the
modern era, but age group II reported interest in the periods of
the modern era of living memory which lead up to the present day.
Group III marked the times whence much of today's Japanese
culture derives (Edo), as well as the archeological wellspring of
Japanese ethnicity, the stone age Jomon period. Group IV marked
the 16th century Sengoku warring states period, along with the
7-8th century Asuka and Nara periods, the time when Buddhism --an
often increasing preoccupation of Japanese aged 55 and older--
first made inroads on the archipelago.
     When the images associated with favorable eras are examined
thematically, other age group patterns emerge. The people in
their 20s and 30s gave a disproportionate number of examples
falling in the category of "living conditions for the average
person" (23% of their replies overall, cf. the 12% share in this
category for the replies from all age groups combined). Looked at
another way, the emphasis the younger respondents placed on
consequences to the common person's life showed up in their 67%
share of the examples in this category from all age groups
combined, well above their 35% share of all thematic replies. The
other salience was the emphasis among the oldest respondents on
historical associations falling into the "atmosphere of the time
is appealing." They provided 55% of the examples in this
category, accounting for 37% of the group's total number of
replies (cf. 25% averaged for all age groups in this category).
     Moving from the positive to the negatively associated
periods of history, the two periods most frequently cited were
the same in all age groups: the wartime at the middle of this
century and the Warring States period of the 16th century. On top
of this, however, the youngest age group identified the badness
of the early modern era and the years 1912-1945, perhaps echoing
the conventional interpretation learned from textbooks and
televised historical dramas.
     Expressed thematically, group II again stands out. Only
respondents in their 20s and 30s gave unexpectedly few negative
associations in the category "general misery and suffering" (6%),
despite their emphasis on "living conditions of the common
person" in the positive themes above. Most of this group's
examples concentrated on "authority overstepped" (19% of the
group's examples) and "rigid, unfair social relations" (36%, cf.
16% here among all ages combined). This focus on social status
corresponds with the high awareness of the feudal character of
relations at work, and between men and women described earlier.
By comparison, age group III's examples cluster on "general
misery of the age" (33%) and "basic humanity crushed" (22%). Age
group IV's pattern is the most varied, with concentrations of
examples on "general misery" (24%), "basic humanity crushed"
(19%), "authority overstepped" (19%), and "suffering of oneself"
(19%).
     Looking only at the negative associations held for the WWII
war years, the intergroup differences stand out clearest of all.
The youngest group emphasized "authority abused" (37%) and
"rigid, unjust social relations" (25%). The people in their 40s
and 50s emphasized "general misery" (42%). People over the age of
62 emphasized "general misery" (38%) and "suffering of oneself"
(31%). This pattern of negative associations can be understood
from the source of each generation's primary experience: the book
and tv learning of the young people, the oral history based
knowledge of the middle group, and the direct personal experience
of the oldest group.
     Finally, the pattern that appeared for the question "what is
Japanese" was one of increasingly abstract referents with age.
Thus, the examples from age group II accounted for 48% of
"Japanese objects," disproportionate to the 37% of the replies
they gave to the question overall. Group III gave 62% of the
"Japanese practices and pursuits," well above their 37% share of
examples overall. And people in group IV gave 33% of "Japanese
attitudes and concepts," in spite of their 23% share overall in
this question. Another way of describing the prominence of group
IV's examples in this category is to say that 48% of their total
number of replies were classified in this category.
Correspondingly they deemphasized "practices and pursuits" (8% of
their replies, cf. 23% for the combined age groups) and "Japanese
objects" (13%, cf. 23% for the combined age groups).
     This synthesis of generational differences in historical
understanding and attitudes to the past helps to sketch profiles
for each age group. People in their 20s and 30s reached adult
consciousness after the worst of the war's aftermath had been
physically washed away by the rising tide of material prosperity.
They are most aware of the historical inequalities conserved from
the prewar ("what is old fashioned") and premodern ("what is
feudal") periods. For people in this age group, historical
consciousness tends to be limited to the years within living
memory since the end of the early modern age. In their thematic
associations of positive and negative eras, they stand out for
their democratic and consumer oriented interest in "the common
persons' living conditions." Finally and in accordance with their
relatively brief life experience, their shallow genealogical
depth and primary source of historical experience coming from
textbooks and tv, this youngest group tends to locate their
Japaneseness in the concrete forms of material culture, whereas
their seniors focused on processual and conceptual defining
elements. Many of the young people's examples of collective
representations ("what is Japanese") made historical
associations. Of the collective representations relating to the
past, 48% came from group II, well above their 33% share in the
question overall.
     Respondents now in their prime of life grew up during and
immediately after the "15 year war," as it is known. Their first
source of historical knowledge is a combination of their own and
their elder's experiences, and whatever formal education they may
have received. As a result, their interests extend past the
modern era and into the Edo age. Their genealogical depth and
familiarity with estimating the age value of antiques is
intermediate to those of their juniors and their seniors. Also
midway along the continuum of "Japaneseness," this age group
emphasized neither the "Japanese objects" of group II, nor the
"Japanese attitudes and concepts" of group IV. Instead, they
identified "Japanese practices and pursuits" as being especially
important. To round out the picture, the stake these people hold
in business and social life must be taken into account. The
replies of group III showed lower than expected acknowledgement
of the feudal character of life in the work place. The same is
true for their share of examples of "old fashioned" which fell
into the categories of "politics, politicians" and "the ways of
old people."
     Many of the people in the oldest group have retired from the
working world and have the occasion and predisposition to reflect
on the cataclysmic days they have lived through. Very few of
their examples of "what is feudal" would fit into the categories
"male-female relationships," "politics, politicians," and "at the
work place." Compared with the other age groups, these oldest
respondents do not seem to recognize the historical persistence
of inequalities that prevail still. Yet perhaps their seniority
has granted them the deepest and wisest consciousness of the
past. On average, people in this age group have the greatest
genealogical depth and their choice of favorable historical
periods goes back earliest overall. Thematically, the people in
group IV gave more than their share of examples falling into the
category of "the atmosphere of the time is attractive." "Living
conditions of the common persons" is correspondingly low among
the older respondents. As a complement to this group's generally
well developed historical consciousness, they gave the most
examples of what is Japanese which concerned "attitudes and
concepts." That is, as sophistication of historical knowledge
matures and life experience grows, the locus of collective
representations seems to move from the concrete to the figurative
or abstract expressions.
     As was true of the possibly stereotypical pictures of male
and female historicity, the synthesis for generational
differences in historicity similarly tends to confirm
stereotypes. Nevertheless, by furnishing data for what previously
was in the realm of assumption or speculation, this survey has
given worthwhile results.



SIGNIFICANCE OF THE SURVEY FINDINGS

In this section the meaning of the findings will be elaborated by
recourse to scholarly literature before finally considering the
consequences of these results for an analysis of the Kokaido
Museum's exhibition proposal. For the convenience of
presentation, the first observation generated by the survey has
been that collective representations of both Takefu (41%) and of
being Japanese (42%) frequently make direct or indirect
historical references. For example, "Takefu is the place whence
Tokyo University's first president came," makes explicit
reference to the past. And, "practicing the art of tea service
[_cha no yu_] is an example of what I think of as being
Japanese," makes implicit reference to continuity from the past
through practice, the incorporation of old artifacts, and
acknowledgement of the master's lineage. That the past was found
to be the source for collective representation underscores the
importance of how people of each society understand the past-
relationship.
     Analysts of ethnicity and the motive sentiments of national
states have previously discussed the role of public
commemorations and (textbook) history in rousing emotions and
stimulating loyal attachment to a territory. Writers like
Anderson (1983), Lowenthal (1985), A. Smith (1986), and E. Weber
(1976) all have described the processes of inventing national
citizens and appropriating historical events, personages, and
places into nationally claimed heritage. They tell how the images
of history which people hold in their minds functions to create a
family-like sense of belonging to the state and a superorganic
(monolingual) body of citizens. Nora says the universalizing
current in state sponsored histories makes for a past that is
supposed to belong to everyone, yet belongs to nobody in
particular. The perception of 'belonging to all citizens,'
regardless of origins, is the basis for allegiance and national
state collective representations.
     National identity is something which has to be reproduced
daily and in each generation. History is a potent source for
defining and reaffirming collective identity. National
governments have a stake in persuading individuals that they
belong not to region or to ethnic group, but to the national
citizenry. States use history to teach citizens a common origin
and thus to insinuate a shared destiny. National governments also
make use of the persuasive power of tradition when justifying
their deeds or motives. As Hobsbawm and Ranger (1983) describe
it, practices attributed to tradition or claimed to be authentic
often turn out to be of quite recent origin; they are invented
traditions. Others have made the same point in Japan: Bury
(1932), Chamberlain (1912), Fujitani (1993), Schnell (1993).     
The results of this small survey of Japanese historicity
supplement the studies above by quantifying the extent to which
people at various stages of life identify their ethnicity with
elements which refer to the past. Furthermore, recognizing that
this observation may not apply universally, a pattern emerged
among people in their 20s and 30s. They located their
Japaneseness in culturally marked objects like _sento_ [public
baths] or _tatami_ [floor covering woven of rushes] more often
than did older respondents. People over the age of 62 gave most
of the examples of Japaneseness in the "Japanese attitudes and
concepts" category (e.g. circumspection, perseverance). Falling
halfway between the concrete associations of the young and the
more abstract associations made by the old, people in their 40s
and 50s gave most of the examples in the "Japanese practices and
pursuits" category (e.g. the art of tea service, conventions of
gift giving). Since "Japanese objects" had a higher proportion of
references to the past, it follows in the case of this survey
population that the collective representations of young people
above all have a physical character and contain historical
attachments.
     Age also correlates with the pattern of preferred eras, with
the interests of the oldest respondents going back the furthest
and those of the youngest going back the least far (cf. Mita
1992:309, for male and female valorization of periods in the
modern era only). Categorized by theme, the replies of the oldest
group emphasized the "atmosphere" of that period, while those of
the youngest group stood out in "the common person's living
conditions." The theme that appeared most often in men's replies
was "the energy of that age," while women's answers concentrated
on the "atmosphere" of the period.
     On the other hand, negatively valued historical periods
(WWII and the 16th century Warring States period) were almost
uniformly selected across the generations and sexes.
Thematically, however, women emphasized the "violation of basic
human character." Men along with women identified "general
misery," but differed in their emphasis on "authority
overstepped" and "rigid, unjust social relations." Factored
according to age group, each group's historical experience seemed
to play a part in the particular character of their replies. The
youngest group, whose knowledge came from textbooks, had answers
falling into the categories of "authority overstepped" and
"rigid, unfair social relations." Group III, whose knowledge came
from oral tradition and hearsay emphasized "general misery of the
age" and "basic humanity crushed." And group IV, whose knowldege
came from direct experience, gave examples which fit into the
multiple categories of "general misery," "basic humanity
crushed," "authority overstepped," and "suffering of oneself."
     These findings are significant for lending substance and
detail to the observations made elsewhere about the rise in
popular historical interest observed across the country. Kelly
(1986), for example, refers to the history "boom" that began in
the 1980s. Robertson (1988, 1991) documents the nostalgically
motivated activities of "native place making" (_furusato
zukuri_). The inventories of Japanese local histories Bunn and
Roberts (1981) and Nagano (1988) made from the holdings of their
countries' respective libraries give further evidence of
residents keen interest in the history of their own surroundings.
At the most popular level, there are at least a dozen major
historical theme parks in Japan, mainly focused on the premodern
(Edo) and early modern years. And the fact that the theme of the
nationally televised serial drama (_taiga DORAMA_) each year
often comes from the early modern period is elaborated in
Kitada's 1994 piece. She writes of the flourish in titles and
volume of books sold about the Edo period. The bad old days have
been recast as more creative times of simple living and cultural
inventiveness, a wellspring of purely Japanese genius and source
for Japanese solutions for problems today. For example, a white
paper on leisure pursuits which she quotes showed a 15.8%
increase in people practicing calligraphy and a 4.8% increase in
practitioners of the art of tea service (_cha no yu_). Lebra
(1991) also notes the mainly Edo era character of history
parades, heritage tourism, and (aristocratic) ancestors --
personal or emblematic of a town or region. She suggests that
this selective historical interest has to do with a hunger for
the order and stability that the past represents. Against the
maelstrom of the "information society" (_joho shakai_) and the
demands of "becoming internationally oriented" (_kokusaika_),
imagining the past offers tempting pleasures indeed.
     Advertisers have exploited history's appeal to good effect.
Examples in the survey fell into two types of thematic category:
conventional, inert reference to places, events or words having
historical meanings (e.g. Edo-style sushi, Echizen [premodern
region name] style soba noodles) on the one hand, and more
sensuously directed references on the other (e.g. old fashioned
quality, the taste of your old hometown). The attractive power of
these expressions comes partly from the sensory pleasure of
whatever taste or other quality is being enhanced by hearkening
to history. But it comes moreover from the resonance with
feelings of nostalgia that are being stimulated.


NOSTALGIA

     Seventeenth century nostalgia was a physical rather
   than a mental complaint, an illness with explicit
   symptoms and often lethal consequences. First medically
   diagnosed and coined (from the Greek _nosos_ = return
   to native land, and _algos_ =suffering or grief) in
   1688 by Johannes Hofer, nostalgia was already common;
   once away from their native land, some people languished, 
   wasted away, and even perished. Hofer saw the illness
   as a 'continuous vibration of animal spirits through
   those fibers of the middle brain in which the impressed
   traces of ideas of the Fatherland still cling'.
     ---Lowenthal, 1985, _The Past is a Foreign Country_, p.10.


With a long and continuous record of the past, the terrain of
nostalgia in Japan is vast indeed. The field includes images of
harmonious communal, egalitarian village life in the horizon of
living memory as taught by oral tradition. Then there are images
based in historical research of rigid social life during early
modern and medieval times, compensated for mainly by the small
pleasure of extended family life and a putative harmony with
nature. In addition there are images based in archeological
research of the communal, egalitarian life supposed for
prehistoric and earliest historic times. While each period is
capable of generating feelings of nostalgia, it is the years
since 1868 that are normally implicated in the _furusato zukuri_
(native place making) phenomena which Ivy (1995) and Robertson
(1991) write about. In particular, Robertson describes this
longing for ancestral place as a collective search for an
'authentic,' morally pristine society of agriculturists (p.71).
Mita (1992) adds further detail through his content analysis of
popular songs between 1868 and 1963.
     Nostalgic images in popular culture contain several
recurring themes. With cultural values placed on seasonality and
the heightened awareness of life's mutability more generally, it
is not surprising that "loneliness" and the hunger of "nostalgia"
are among the popular songs of this century (Mita 1992:104).
Being a longitudinal analysis, however, what is especially
interesting in Mita's study is the evolution he traces in the
usage of the term "nostalgia" itself (_kyoshu_ or the English
derived _NOSUTARUJIA_, dated from 1918, Arakawa 1967:436). Its
meaning in the early period of his study was limited to the
feelings a person had for his own origins, usually caused by
military duty or economic migration to urban centers. As more and
more people from the countryside gathered in cities the lyrics
began to permit more generic associations of place and sentiment.
This stage is what David Hughes captured in his dissertation "The
Heart's Hometown" (1985). The most surprising transformation in
usage, Mita writes, is from longings for an imagined "everyone's
hometown" to a thirst not for a human place, but for nature,
something conspicuously absent from most urban experience in
Japan (p.115).
     The past appeals to people today for reasons other than the
resonating emotions of nostalgia that advertisers can call up by
using historical references in their copy writing. In the Takefu
survey 60% of the examples of history, related expressions with
positive meanings belonged to the categories of "aesthetics,"
"sensuous appeals," and "traditions and practices." The examples
in these categories for the most part contained an element of
sensory pleasure, such as the taste, look or feel of a particular
historical referent. In other words, the appeal lies in the
possibility of a person participating in the past through direct,
probably non-verbal experience. The past is valued not
necessarily as the "foreign country people can visit" for
recreation before returning to the comforts of their familiar
world, as Lowenthal (1985) portrays in the English speaking
countries of England and the United States. Instead, things from
the past or associated with the past gain value for the pleasure
they can give to people's everyday world: as novelty, as status
marked emblem, or as something superior in craftsmanship to the
standards of today. Taking this experiential pleasure in its
broadest sense will include the appeals of nostalgia, because in
the end this longing too amounts to (sometimes unrequited)
pleasure. Thus, ultimately, all instances of historical reference
in advertisement can be seen as part of the Japanese present-
oriented and pragmatic predisposition perceived by generations of
social observers. 



MUSEUM DISPLAYS AND REGARD FOR THE PAST

Japanese worldview has several facets that may affect museum
representations of history and individual's attitudes toward the
past-present relationship. Present day orientation (E.T. Hall
1987, Lebra 1976b, Nakane 1970), the highly developed economy of
exchanging presents (Befu 1974, 1989), and the elaborate care
given to presentation (Ben-Ari et.al. 1990, Hendry 1993:8-26,
1996) are all part of the practical, this-worldly nature of
Japanese social life and outlook. The production of visually
appealing, elaborately prepared reports by archeologists,
journalists, and college students in Japan are manifestations of
this orientation. While these may sometimes be thin on synthesis
they will be correspondingly thick on details. Related to this
emphasis on practical results and the present-moment is the great
attention placed on appearances, containers and packaging, both
literal and figurative (Hendry 1996, 1993:8-26 cf. Edwards 1989).
Great ingenuity goes into the Japanese design of even the most
everyday of objects. In fact, sometimes the container seems to be
more important than what is inside, as is illustrated by the case
of _hako gyosei_ (governing "the package"): e.g. a new museum is
mandated, budgeted, designed, built and staffed _before_ a
collection is assembled or display plans formulated. In the realm
of Japanese religious practices, this is reminiscent of the way
in which the Grand Shrine of Ise is meticulously rebuilt every 20
years, reconstructing layers upon layers around the goddess
Izanami at an inner sanctum which physically is filled only with
space (Bernard 1994). A related notion is the idea that content
necessarily follows form, something like the English chestnut
"well begun is half done."
     In the example of history representations found in museums,
however, the emphasis on form sometimes comes at the expense of
content (Bunch 1994:67). Icons may eclipse issues. Within the
field of Japanese museology (_hakubutsukan gaku_), discourse
rails against the simple, if elegant display of material as mere
object or "thing" (_mono_). Yet in spite of apparent unanimity in
print, in practice most museums, local and metropolitan, seem to
give abundant detail about the display pieces, but leave a
(foreign) visitor wanting to know the larger picture, not in
terms of numbers, but in terms of historical consequences pointed
to.
     The significance of the presentism and pragmatism found in
Japanese social life may explain the results of the survey
question about threshold ages for acquiring antique value. While
the estimated ages for several classes of item were relatively
close on average from one generation to the next, "gardens,"
"lacquerware" and "writing tools" were exceptions to the pattern.
Because these are valued for their usability, and are not
conventionally considered antiques (_kotohin_) as such, the fact
that respondents did not agree on their threshold estimates shows
the Japanese ethic of presentism. The same argument about present
"use-value" can be made for the next survey question asking about
objects used in one's own home decoration. "Lacquerware,"
"writing tools" and furniture" may be found in people's homes or
sometimes family storage buildings (_kura_), but were not
included among the examples of home decorations.



CARING FOR ANCESTORS AND REGARD FOR THE PAST

Being present oriented has implications for attitudes to the
connection between ancestors and living descendants. Kiefer,
writing about Japanese Americans uses the images of a continuous
thread connecting the generations (1974:185). Nakane
characterizes lineage reckoning as not very deep, rarely
extending beyond living memory, and being concerned with the
collective family body in contrast to the apical lineal founders
singled out in Chinese society (1970:40). Lebra also remarks on
the overall shallowness of genealogical reckoning among non-
aristocratic Japanese (1991:64). After all, upon cremation most
remains join the other ancestors in a single tomb marked by
family name and secondarily, barely noticeably, with the death
name assigned to the dearly departed. Fifty years later, after a
cycle of periodic death anniversaries, the spirit of the ancestor
is considered no longer to be a distinct entity and need no
longer be commemorated. Thus, once out of living memory and
beyond the limits prescribed by religious teaching, the ancestor
normally ceases to be remembered.
     The work of keeping memory alive falls usually to the lineal
(male) household head, who keeps the _ihai_ memorial tablets
inscribed with the individual names of often just one or two
generations of ancestors. The finding in the present survey that
genealogical depth increases with age is supported by personal
communication with Murakami Norihiko, a curator and scholar of
Japanese museology. He wrote anecdotally saying that many
Japanese sometime in their mid 50s begin to take increased
interest in ancestors and Buddhism, the single most important
provider of funeral service. And while the historicity survey
showed men to know an ancestor by name one generation further
back than women, this reflected an average of all responses. In
fact, the distribution for both sexes clustered around 2-3
generations, with half again as many reporting 4-5 generations.
But only the men had another subset equal to this last who knew
an ancestor by name 6-29 generations. As an unexpected twist in
the male and female interests, Lebra (1991:70) observed that
women predominate in the field of autobiographical and ancestral
history books. Figal (1993) also noted a number of women authors
in his ongoing research into the _jibunshi_ genre of amateur
histories written from personal experience in an ethnographic
vein.
     In the event of there being no male lineal descendant to
carry on the work of remembering (a daily function often
performed by his wife) the ancestors and parents may urge their
daughter to seek a spouse willing to give up his own family name
and adopt that of the woman's household: the so-called adopted
son (_yoshi_). When there is no offspring whatsoever, or a
daughter can not or will not comply, an adopted (grown up)
"child" may be sought out expressly for the purpose of continuing
the family name and to serve to remember the family's
predecessors (Imai-Thurn 1995:325-330). The continuation of the
household, particularly for ones connected to a business,
supersedes the importance of lineage found in China and other
strictly patrilineal societies (Bachnik 1983). Gotoda reiterates
the practical emphasis on the present and future when he tells
how in the early modern period clan loyalty was held to be more
valuable in a successor than simply maintaining genetic
continuity (1985:137, cf. Lebra 1989).
     Lebra (1976a, 1982), Plath (1964) and R. Smith (1974) have
recorded the ways that the ancestors still within memory (and
thus cared for) may continue to play a part in the lives of
descendants. The way that one of the few Christians among Japan's
intellectuals, Eto Jun, puts it, "Japanese live with the dead"
(in Buruma 1994:220). In other words, one's continued well-being
depends instrumentally upon remembering the dearly departed. A
1984 survey by the NHK national broadcast corporation found that
ancestors participate in the construction of identity of
descendants (in Lebra 1991:60). At the superorganic level of the
national state, too, the past may actively play a part in the
direction of unfolding events and intentions. Robertson
(1991:201) quotes Maruyama Masao, as saying for the wartime
leaders their [then present] reality was a "blind inevitability
flowing from a determined past."



TIME CULTURE IN JAPANESE LIFE

An investigation of Japanese historical consciousness would not
be complete without sampling the miscellaneous practices and
conventional beliefs concerning the perception of time and the
ways of marking its passing which collectively make Japanese time
culture. Compared to the nested cycles of hours, days, weeks,
months, seasons, years, decades and centuries familiar in Western
countries, Japanese time culture is more diverse, with several
calendrical codes running in parallel, and at points
intersecting. An analogy can be found in the Japanese writing
system. While English has 26 upper and 26 lower case letters,
Japanese uses alphabet, two syllabaries, and the Chinese derived
_kanji_ characters. Just as the visual effect of English is one
of uniformity and that of Japanese of variety, so too of time
culture, the Japanese resources are more varied.
     As a rule the calendrical conventions known to Westerners
are most common in Japanese commercial and public life. But
government matters and very often personal affairs, too, use the
_nengo_ (reign name) system. For example 1996 would be calculated
from Emperor Akihito's installation and the first year of the
Heisei era, as it is called, arriving at Heisei 8. At the time of
changing from the lunar to the solar calendar in the 1860s, the
dates for celebrations like New Years, the return of ancestors at
Obon, and various festivals were translated, in effect
rationalizing the previous dates to the new regime, but in the
process moving the event about 30 days earlier. Things like the
traditional date for the coming of spring or the auspicious time
for transplanting rice seedlings into the paddies no longer match
the climatological realities. As a result of both dates being
used, people are forced to distinguish "old" New Year from "new,"
"old" Obon from "new," and so forth.
     Another dimension of the calendar is a rating of "lucky" and
"unlucky" days. The _rokuyobi_ [the six (categories of) days],
are much more systematic than the caution some Westerners have of
Fridays falling on the 13th, or times of the full moon, for
example. Japanese about to conduct important business, break
ground, or arrange a wedding or funeral ceremony, along with the
merchants concerned, commonly consult the codes printed on
calendars which indicate the grades of auspicious (e.g. _daian_)
and inauspicious (e.g. _tomobiki_) days. These come from the
_koyomi_, a reference calendar of Shinto, available today as a
thin booklet published annually __which in many ways serves as a
household analogue to The Farmer's Almanac in the U.S.A.
     Some premodern names of the months are still widely
recognized, usually for their imagistic value. Two examples are
_satsuki_ for what is May, and _shiwasu_ for the busy time at
year end (Webb 1983). At the same time a complete schedule of
seasons each about two weeks long still exists, though referred
to sporadically (e.g. _daikan_, winter's deepest phase). Entire
dictionaries of seasonally associated words exist (_saijiki_),
not only for poetry enthusiasts, but for letter writers searching
for an appropriate seasonal salutation.
     A person's life course is also marked according to Japanese
time culture. Along with the changing seasons, nationally
mandated holidays, seasonal activities and dates fixed for the
start and end for everything from swimming in the sea to eating
crabs to changing from summer to winter uniforms at work or
school, individual's physical growth itself is marked as well.
There are the days after being born when one should leave the
hospital, the time to be presented at the neighborhood shrine for
the first time, the celebration of ages 3-5-7 at the shrine,
entering schools and then graduation from each in turn (with
class reunions even for alumni of an elementary school).
     Japanese hold ceremonies to formally recognize the age of
adulthood, as well as entry into a company. Other significant
ages include a set of inauspicious years (_yakudoshi_) which
differ by sex; the age of nominally retiring as head of household
(_inkyo_); upon reaching one's 60th birthday (_kanreki_) and thus
completing one circuit of a sexagenary cycle, and special
observations of the 77th and 88th birthdays. After death the
cycles of significance continue with reading sutras weekly (e.g.
in Fukui-ken's mainly Jodo Shin sect of Buddhism, five weeks for
women, seven for men), then annually in years 1, 3, 7, 13, 17,
33, and 50, but with calculation of anniversaries from date of
death beginning at one, not zero. A person's character is
supposed to bear the imprint of the East Asian zodiac, not of
months, but years. The cycle of 12 signs means that people born
in the same sign will share certain traits, even if separated by
one or more cycles of the zodiac. They are said to have aptitudes
for particular kinds of work. And they are thought to have either
affinity, incompatibility, or neither in marriage partners of the
adjacent zodiac signs.
     The significance of the Japanese variegated time culture is
expressed most simply perhaps in E.T. Hall's notion of "high
context" culture (1987). His interest in nonverbal communication
and proxemics led him to categorize life in various societies on
a continuum of high to low context cultures. The content of any
communication depends most on visual and physical clues of
context in the former and least in the later. Consequently, when
as much of the message depends on context as it does in Japan,
the verbal channel needs carry less weight. With such a rich
vocabulary of time referents as the Japanese have, social context
is often adorned with temporal meanings. The practical result is
that while it may take a while to create an organization or break
with precedent, once established, Japanese actions can be made
split second. The implication for the present examination of
Japanese historicity is simply the idea that the arena of social
life in Japan is layered with a dense web of time culture which
affects present or future actions. Unlike the autonomous reality
accorded the past in the U.S.A. at the popular level, among
Japanese people the past seems at best to be derivative and in
the service of the present. That is to say, without continuing
significance in the present, the past, like the ancestor, loses
its meaning and even its existence. In sum, Japanese time
culture, like genealogical matters, gains its significance above
all from the present-oriented worldview learned in social life.



MORE CLUES TO HISTORICITY IN JAPAN

The Takefu survey helps to pinpoint the objects and aspects of
individuals' lives that are acknowledged for having links to the
past. The question about home furnishings and decorations found
considerable concentration of responses, with five categories
alone accounting for 73% of the replies (hanging scrolls,
ceramics, knickknacks, weapons and armor, folding screens). The
notable absence of "furniture," "lacquerware," and "writing
tools" from the responses to "what old things do you have to
decorate your home with" can be understood from the normally
utilitarian classification of these objects. In other words,
these things were usually valued according to the present utility
rather than their value as obj�t d'art or decoration.
     Another survey question asked for the aspects of people's
lives in which they were conscious of a historical character. As
in the previous question, results concentrated in a few
categories. Among these, 54% of replies fell into categories of
the material culture like foodways, certain articles of clothing,
and equipment still used. Opening the field of possible history
related objects and aspects still wider, people were asked in
another question for the specific places, objects or events that
made them think of the past. Replies in the categories of
"places" and "objects" together accounted for 77% of the examples
given. In particular almost one third of the places identified
were Buddhist temples or Shinto shrines. In the "objects"
category, 18% of the examples were of agricultural tools,
associated closely, as they must be, with the flesh of those who
lived in a thoroughly agricultural society (cf. Kizaki 1994:133
on artifacts "born" of a place). Although objects can be
ultimately linked to a time or place, significant features of
Japanese historicity seem to involve attachment to a place; not
merely to conjecture some past event, but of more fundamental,
organic concern for one's personal origins.
     What Kramer (1995:58) writes about nationality in Germany
residing primarily in race rather than primarily in citizenship
rights found in the cases of Italy, France and Great Britain, can
also be said of being Japanese, only more so. Buruma (1994:51)
tells how much more problematic it has been therefore to root out
the elements leading to the disaster of WWII. In his comparison
of the meaning and persistence of the war's reverberations among
the Germans and the Japanese today, he points out how Hitler's
National Socialism could be decapitated, but that the protocols
of authority and hierarchies of social institutions supporting
the military order in Japanese society ran through the core of
Japanese social relations. With the identity politics of
nationalism so infused with organic substance in both these
societies, it is easy to understand the special meaning of
attachment and identity that resides in the very soil of a local.
Applegate (1990) studied the Heimat [hometown] movement of early
20th century Germany, and pointed out "the relation with the soil
that Heimat museums cultivated above all else..." (p.95, cf.
Eidson 1993).
     There are many examples of the special sentiment that the
soil has in a society as dominated by agricultural village life
as Japan once was. The significance of the soil is amplified by a
worldview of proximate causes, mistakenly called "animistic."
Buruma (1994:129) quotes a young Japanese woman visiting the
place in China where her father was put to death during the war,
believing that the earth she was collecting somehow contained the
traces of her father's time spent there. Elsewhere, in a novel, a
character remarks of a historical home museum that the "air
inside still contained traces of..." (Kizaki 1994:131; cf.
Y.Kawabata 1968 on the living aura of antiques still in use).     
The attachment to a piece of land rather than buildings can been
seen in the relative ease with which people in the countryside
will have their dwelling rebuilt (50 years would not be unusual
for the houses made of wood so common previously). The same
individuals, however, would be reluctant to leave their piece of
land for another location. The attachment to the soil of one's
ancestors includes a sense of stewardship, as well. People who
have inherited fields or wood stands of their family feel
obligated not just to refrain from cashing in the property, but
to see that the land continues to be worked, either leased out,
or when possible worked by (extended) family members themselves,
even when there is little profit or joy in it. The land itself
plays a part in constituting individual and familial identity in
these cases by permitting the living to take their places in what
is perceived to be an unbroken link with the past; but more
practically speaking, with the generations to come. In addition
to the organic, almost osmosis-like process of linking subject to
soil and physical conditions, the notion of "nature," too, tells
something about Japanese historicity.
     While the changability of the weather and the sense of
mutability brought with the passing seasons is a common source
for poetry in probably every society, in Japan these changes are
relatively great, even volatile, thus amplifying the intensity of
temporal awareness among people living there. Earthquakes, snow
and mudslides, volcanoes, typhoons and the formerly more common
outbreak of fires all have deeply impressed on people here how
small their efforts are against the energy and intensity of
natural forces. Various national symbols have associations with
the past some of which are very specific, like the turtle (10,000
years) or Japanese crane (1,000 years). The video leader
appearing at the start of a weekly television series about
Japanese history (NHK 1989), "rekishi tanjo" (Birth of History),
used the following stream of images for evoking the past. These
came from Japanese creation stories and from folk sources.
     Through special effects and backed by an up-beat synthesizer
tune, the quickly moving images shifted in sequence from an
airborne perspective, flying above peaks and down valleys, then
straight into a wall of rock. It splits and blinding light
streams through. Next comes a whirlpool tinged in gold. A crane,
symbol of 1,000 years of life and happiness, flies away. The
camera shows a backlit clay haniwa figurine (pre 600 A.D.) before
cutting to a Medieval period mask. The screen fills with bursting
fireworks (associated with the time of O-bon, in summer, when
ancestors return). Next comes the stillness of space, dotted by
stars. Reminiscent of Kubrick's _2001: a Space Odyssey_, the
viewer sees a baby become a bald, old man. The sequence ends with
cherry blossom petals floating into the golden whirlpool. The
reporter for the week's particular segment is introduced, along
with the scene of the historic event and its dramatization. Aside
from the individual images presented, the overall message seems
to be 1) the vastness of known history in Japan, 2) the fantastic
changability of form, reminiscent of the changeling _bakemono_
monsters of folktales (mountains, rocks splitting open,
whirlpools), and 3) the mutability of this life.
     Kizaki, in her novel _The Sunken Temple_, evokes the past by
the quality of light, shadow, and sound features in the natural
landscape. Memories are triggered by glances at the massive roots
of a tree old enough to have witnessed the events that preoccupy
the protagonist. The roots seem able to change into some other
form (_bakeru_). They are the place whence something ominous
seems about to emerge (1994:49). Recognizing nature's generative
force in events past and present is nothing new, but a term for
the all encompassing concept of nature in Japanese (_shizen_) is
relatively new, dating only to the late 1800s (Imamichi
1983:352). Before this the geographic features and natural
processes were defined in relation to the person or persons in
question. Those places affecting one's life would be taken care
of. Those outside the scope of personal concern would not.
     In spite of the creation of a general term for "nature" more
than one hundred years ago, the ethic to care about the
undifferentiated, "everybody's" environment is only weakly
developed. The scale and imperatives of the industrial economy
caused the destruction of many cultural and natural resources.
This fact and the conceptual overlap of "nature" with "culture"
and "history" explains the 1950 (revision in 1976) national law
for the preservation of Japanese treasures in each of these three
categories (_bunkazai hogoho_, Thornbury 1994). According to this
law, individual trees, rocky outcrops, bodies of water and scenic
vistas may be designated for protection as part of the nation's
heritage. What is important to note here in relation to Japanese
historicity is that the (numinous) creative power of natural
force is highly regarded. Also nature as a categoric, collective
entity is weakly defined. But particular natural entities may be
singled out as designated treasures, classified on a par with the
cultural and historical ornaments of a place.
     The final avenue through nature leads back to the discussion
of present day orientation and preoccupation with presentation.
Both Hendry (1996) and Yamaguchi (1991) describe how plain,
unfashioned natural elements have no human meaning. Hendry says
the relationship of nature to culture is not one of equals.
Rather, everything is defined contingent to cultural purpose. Not
to be mediated culturally is to fail to register significance. In
a word, unhandled makes for existential invisibility. Thus
cultivating trays of bonsai, practicing the art of arranging
flowers (_kado_), and the viewing of (rock) gardens all connect
people to nature. However without this human touch, the exercise
loses meaning. Nature in other words, can have no independent
significance. It can be thought of as being overdetermined.     
Natural elements, much like the (seasonal) code words of a haiku,
can function in a commodity-like way. Or, using a wordprocessing
metaphor, the bits of nature may be "cut and pasted" as desired.
They are discrete items of known value which can be used as
citations, both scholarly and popular. Hendry (1996) takes the
notion of _shakkei_ ("borrowed" landscape) to illustrate the way
natural subjects are manipulated to domesticate nature, making it
fit for incorporation into human life. The term refers to the
arrangement of foreground (e.g. physically part of one's
premises) and background (e.g. the curve of a temple roof in the
middle distance or conjunction with a mountain's shape beyond) to
compose a pleasing effect.
     Yamaguchi sheds light on the tendency toward
overdetermination of nature and culture in Japanese society with
his piece on the poetics of exhibiting Japanese culture (1991).
While Hendry argues that "nature" exists only to the extent that
it is manipulated with cultural purpose, Yamaguchi identifies the
elaborate treatment of nature and culture with primordial
precedent. He points to the religious belief behind this urge to
(over)arrange matters. According to Japanese tradition, it is
often the mask rather than the actor that has meaning; the
container rather than the contents, the act of giving rather than
the gift. In his example from Japanese mythology, the pseudo-gods
appeared originally. The true gods came only later (p.66-7). Much
in the same way that commemorative photos can take on a reality
superordinate to the actual occasion, so too are Japanese gods
said to prefer the derived representation to its source material
(p.64).
     In sum, it is difficult to identify any one source for the
presentist aspect of Japanese historicity. It is not clear
whether a volatile natural environment has given impetus for the
finely tuned awareness of change in human affairs, or whether
heightened attention to appearances and the impression being made
comes from the nature of social relations during 10 generations
of Tokugawa rule, or whether the tendency to carefully process
and present matters is rooted in religious aesthetics. Yet
present day orientation, the importance of presents and their
proper presentation do seem to be overlapping aspects of people's
attitude to their past and their understanding of the past-
present relationship.



SUMMARY OF CHAPTER SEVEN: JAPANESE HISTORY AND THE KOKAIDO MUSEUM

This chapter began with a review of scholarly interest in history
representation, and in particular, the specific stylistic
conventions and meanings which make up a people's historicity.
The first clues to Japanese historicity indicated the abiding
connection between ancestors and descendants (Lebra 1991, Plath
1964, R. Smith 1974), the agrarian imagery of the past several
generations, and a certain ease in cloaking a practice in an air
of age-old tradition (Bestor 1989, Fujitani 1993). In addition to
their qualitative characteristics, Kelly (1986, 1990a) and Kitada
(1994) described the high degree of popularity in the (premodern)
past these days. A small survey of historicity yielded more
specific results, according to age group and sex.
     The survey tended to confirm commonly held stereotypes about
the different experiences and interests of men and women. For
example, in their word associations, men referred to political
matters in disproportionately high numbers. Deeper knowledge of
one's genealogy and the appeal of history's heroic aspect applies
to men rather than women. The survey also generally supported
stereotypes about people in the various age groups. Those in
their 20s and 30s seemed most sensitive to the historical
inequalities continuing today. Their historical interests
extended back in time the least, as did their genealogical
knowledge. Among the age groups, the collective representations
of being Japanese made by young people used historical references
most frequently. Most of the images were of Japanese material
culture. One inference that follows is that people in this phase
of life are most susceptible to the appeals of national identity
made by the state; i.e., since they are still young enough to be
searching for clues to their social identity, their ethnic
identity is coterminous with the image the state cultivates from
history, as taught in school, for example.
     Group IV's sense of historicity stood at the opposite end
from group II's. The people in group IV failed to acknowledge the
old-fashioned and feudal character of affairs nowadays. Yet their
knowledge of genealogy and interest in historical periods
extended back furthest of the age groups. In keeping with their
identification of Japaneseness in the "attitudes and concepts"
category, people of group IV associated abstract images with
their favorite eras, too. Among these images, "atmosphere of the
times" was most common.
     Along each of these dimensions group III was generally
intermediate to II and IV. Thus they identified their
Japaneseness not in objects or attitudes, but rather in
"practices and pursuits." Genealogical knowledge and historical
interests, too, proved to fall halfway between that of group II
and IV. However, their recognition of the feudal nature of the
workplace, and the old-fashioned nature of the political world
came closer to that of group IV than it did to group II. With the
outlines of Japanese historicity synthesized from the survey
data, the chapter probed the characteristics of Japanese style
historical understanding.
     Four major topics came out of the subsequent discussion of
Japanese historicity. The first was the great popular interest in
the (premodern) past and the observation how nostalgia evolved
from a narrowly defined feeling of (lack of) attachment to a
particular place, to a generic desire for bygone days or even a
craving for "nature" more generally. The second topic that came
up was the pragmatic and presentist worldview that prevails in
Japan. The integral role of ancestors in daily life among many
Japanese today was given as one example of this often times
instrumental attitude to affairs. As another example, much of the
meaning and pleasure in Japanese time culture comes from its
present day prescriptive (when to do/say what), proprietary
(which reference is appropriate to a context), or poetic
(aesthetic pleasure) character.
     The concept of "nature" was the third topic brought up in
connection with Japanese historicity. Nature's existential
subordination to social life and cultural meanings was pointed
out, along with the special generative powers attributed to
nature. For example, part of a person, place or thing's character
can be credited to the geographic particulars of origin. Based on
the same reasoning, the special properties of a place, natural,
cultural and historical, are often equated under the rubric of
the outstanding features of a place.
     The fourth topic followed from the second and third. Given
the presentist outlook and the fact that nature's significance
depends on its cultural manipulation, it is not surprising that
surface appearance and preoccupation with the visual aspect of
presentation are also part of Japanese attitudes to the past-
present relationship. Rendering the past appropriately into
conventional patterns and stories that make sense to people today
is not unique to Japanese, but the great attention to detail and
high degree of polishing is remarkable.
     Returning briefly to the KKD Museum plan proposed by TR to
the Takefu City Council in June, 1993, it is evident that the
plan fits within the definition of Japanese historicity drawn out
in this chapter. For example, there is the attention to detailed
visual presentation which Mr. Kasamatsu pointed out in his
closing comment: "if this one's just going to be a box [for
pretty things], then the townspeople don't need it." And in the
other document that was part of the proposal, the museum purpose
includes showcasing the (emblematic) _bunkazai_ treasures of the
town. The highly precise dimensions quoted for the museum is
another instance of the attention to detail.
     The presentist-pragmatic orientation that figures into
Japanese historicity is also evident in the KKD Museum plan.
There is to be provision for the latest excavated finds or newly
designated _bunkazai_ treasures. The facility should combine
functions of tourist service, local history self-study, and
period conference room use. A curator should be accessible to
members of the public. A negative instance of this practical
propensity which Mr. Kasamatsu cautions against in his notes is
to collapse town information into town boosterism or simple
advertisement for local industry.
     One part of the present day orientation is to judge an
institution by the (sensory, perhaps above all visual) pleasure
it gives. Thus the KKD Museum proposal says it is for everyone's
enjoyment. It is to be a place where people can "rediscover"
their own heritage. Its name accordingly is suggested to be the
_fureai_ (touch and meet) _rekishikan_ (hall of history). And
there should be provision for display of the creative works of
today's residents here, too. As for the content of the historical
display itself, Mr. Kasamatsu's iconoclastic conception is to
favor a social historical view whereby the standard list of
political events and personages are subordinated to the common
person's point of view through the ages. Yet even in breaking
with the conventional poses of museum presentation, this
foregrounding of concrete, material consequence still is
consistent with the detail, surface and sensuous (vs. analytical,
comparative or synthesizing aim) aspect of the worldview which is
prized widely in Japan.
     Finally, the KKD Museum proposal hints at the belief in the
direct generative powers of geographic setting or qualities of
the raw materials in an artifact. Mr. Kasamatsu's notes advise
the heavy reliance on economic and social context in telling the
town's history so as to avoid the simple juxtaposition of event
and location which does nothing to stop visitors from making this
kind of simple attribution of organic (it is in the air, water,
light, etc) causality. The choice of _fureai rekishikan_ for the
museum's name also plays on the possibility of present day
visitors "coming into direct contact" (with instrumental benefit,
practical or pleasurable) with the town's heritage.
     The proposal also mentions the role of the facility in
presenting and enhancing the town in its role as "hometown"
(_furusato_). This word is connected to Japanese historicity
through the ideas of one's origins somehow directly and
organically tied to an identifiable geographic location. The
feelings of nostalgia that are stimulated also reflect Japanese
meanings which have been shaped by worldview as well as the
conditions of 20th century life in an advanced industrial
society. As chapter seven has shown, the term _furusato_ in its
current incarnation is a postwar phenomenon and is tied up with
the forces of urbanization, the imperative to make a pilgrimage
to family origins, and the municipal promotions (and national
policies) of "cultivating community" (_machi zukuri_). The larger
trend to brake the nation-state's centralizing tendencies (_chiho
no jidai_, "age of the provinces") and the at once more
overarching and personal impact of "internationalization"
processes (_kokusaika_) and growth of the "information age"
(_joho shakai_) are other aspects connected to the idea of
_furusato_, which the KKD museum incorporates. In the following
chapter, some of the economic and political conditions
surrounding the museum and the maneuvers leading to its
realization will be taken up. But even here worldview and
rhetorical strategies of Japanese language and society will not
be left out of the discussion.


=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Appendix B:  English Gloss of Japanese Historicity Survey

==========================================
  2/1995 Witteveen's

SURVEY QUESTIONS TO THE PEOPLE OF TAKEFU Please circle or write
your thoughts, then return this to me at the 3/11 meeting, or
hand to one of the Tachiaoi Kai [local history organization]
officers. If you prefer, you may send it to me directly at...


1. Which eras of Japan's long history do you find appealing?  
Jomon   Yayoi   Kofun   ...[elipsis] Showa   wartime   postwar

2. The appealing eras above, what images do they hold?

3. Which eras above do you dislike? Why do you dislike them?

4. During the history lessons of your school days, what did you
find interesting? What things did you find boring?

5. What sorts of things give you a feeling of history or
awareness of the past? Please give specific examples such as a
certain place, object, poem, song or picture.

6. Within your own life what sorts of things remind you of
history or make you think of the past? For example home
decorations, clothing, the foods you eat, way of speaking,
hobbies.

7. When you hear the words _furukusai_ [old-fashioned] or
_okurete iru_ [behind the times], what comes to mind? Please give
specific examples (e.g. politics, persons, things, way of
thinking, way of living, a certain place).

8. Please give specific examples for the expression _hoken teki_
[feudalistic].

9. What do you think of as being especially Japanese [pertaining
to people, actions, things]. Please give specific examples.

10. There are all kinds of expressions like _furusato no aji_
[hometown taste], _Edo mae_ [old Edo period style], _kamigata fu_
(old Kyoto-Osaka type], _dento teki_ [traditional] which refer to
the past. If there are other expressions or advertisements that
make use of history's positive image, please give the specific
examples that come to mind.

11. What sorts of things do you (or your friends) keep in the
_kura_ [home storehouse]? For example, pottery, scrolls, tea
equipment, furniture.

12. Usually new things are preferred in home decorating, but in
some cases old things are superior. What old things do you have
to decorate your home with?

13. The value of an item increases with age. In the following
examples when would you say each takes on antique or historical
worth?
   houses                                 gardens
   ceramics                               lacquerware
   desks, chairs                          Japanese swords
   decorative knickknacks                 writing tools
   hanging scrolls                        other

14. Whether from heirlooms (equipment, records, photos, etc),
stories, or personal memory, how many generations back do you
know?
For example, 4 generations, household documents.

15. In Japanese life what sorts of things have specific seasonal
schedules associated with them? For example changing summer to
winter clothing [uniforms], start of crab season, swimming in the
sea (from when the rainy season lifts until the old-calendar Obon
holiday), special dishes eaten on particular days, changing home
decoration with each season. What practices? When?

16. Similar to #15, in Japanese life what things make a seasonal
reference? For example, the salutation in a letter or
conversation, particular foods served, Japanese style cakes,
floor covering, home life and customs, and so on.

17. Probably your awareness and interest in history differs to
that of your parents, and grandparents, to your children and
grandchildren. Please describe these differences.

   grandparents
   parents
   chilren
   grandchildren

Thank you for your cooperation. If you do not mind, please fill
in the details below.

Years since you have come to live in Takefu_____, and [present]
age:

     male_____ female_____                 name ____________ =-=-
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= APPENDIX
C:  Gloss of Survey Replies (word association questions)

Question 8: Examples of being "feudalistic" (hokenteki)
  (past-pejorative reference) n=69 persons, 83 total replies      
        

� referring to character of interrelations (17% of total)
         among neighbors, envy of other's successes, seating
order, persons lower than oneself are "invisible," mindful of
relatives' and neighbors' opinions, act reserved or keep silent,
privilege locals over outsiders (connections count more than the
content of one's views), "village society" (ostracism, damaging
rumor, envy, fixed status according to family name, petty one-
upmanship), fastidious about preserving formalities, superior
attitude of being a "chosen people."

� about rigidity of one's status (12% of total)
         antithetical to democratic spirit, one's life chances
are decided by birth, no possibility of social mobility (like a
"village society"), a paranoid witch hunt mentality to expose and
exclude whoever does not conform, envy, tolerance of cruelty and
suffering, ritual suicide (_seppuku_), rigid in speech ways and
acceptable thoughts, social order resembling the grid of a go
board, derived from and suited to a samurai manner of life.

� from politics, politicians (10% of total)
         pertains to bureaucratic organization and manner, might
is right and the acceptability of using force as required,
virtual exclusion of women, election results based first on money
and connections rather than on experience or ideas, the example
of city hall, deference among politicians based on longevity in
office rather than practical abilities.

� workplace or school examples (10% of total)
         relations between status inferiors and superiors,
recognitions and deference shown to superiors, promotion by
seniority rather than ability, the shape of organizational trees,
relations in the world of sumo.

� from within the household (16% of total)
         genealogical fascination (especially among men),
paradigmatic authority of parent over child and older over
younger, privilege of the household head, traditional
relationship of mother-in-law to daughter-in-law, (male)
household head playing the role of Lord or tyrant (_kanpaku_, or
_tono sama_), vocations running in family lines (politicians,
doctors, dentists, lawyers, craftspeople in particular), the
ratchet-like educational expectation that each succeeding brother
or sister will enter at least equal if not higher rated schools
than the oldest child.

� female:male relations (18% of total)
         "respect for men, contempt for women" (proverbially,
_danson  johi_), justification based on gender ("naturally,
because you're a..."), women's life chances and roles more
closely circumscribed than men's, the idealized image of a
"Japanese Woman" (_nadeshiko_), men bathe before women, a
mistress kept more or less openly.

� other (17% of total)




Question 7: Examples for "old-fashioned" (_okurete iru_,
_furukusai_)

n=80  persons (48 male, 32 female), 97 total replies

� pertaining to a way of thinking (17.5%)
         uncritical thinking preoccupied with details rather than
any larger synthesis, confucian and hierarchical, disinclined to
question those in roles of authority, attitude that a bride must
be "obtained" for the household (_yome tori_), concept of
auspicious/inauspicious days, predisposed to conformity (_kaku
itsu teki_, _yoko narabi_).

� concerning old people's ways (10%)
         ethic of frugality (repair rather than discard, _mottai
nai_), centrality of Emperor and prewar education teachings, men
do not belong in the kitchen, household head deserves special
privilege, preserve main vs. branch household status distinctions
(_honke bunke_), money connotes political privilege.

� regarding politics, politicians (7%)
         elected officials coming from succeeding generations of
one family, disregard (disdain) individual citizen concerns,
results arranged beforehand, vote along lines of obligation, the
ways of city hall in toto.

� social relations (6%)
         person with new ideas discounted as a matter of course,
sensitive to the art of balancing _giri_ [duty bound obligation
of role] and _ninjo_ [personal feelings of empathy], over
reliance for evaluation on transcripts, predominance of
circumspection (spurs as well as hinders certain behavior),
characteristic neighborhood organizations (certain ceremonial
formulas, including obligatory funeral and wedding responses) and
fixed manner of relating to one's nextdoor neighbors.

� unequal status of women and men (9%)
         "respect males, despise females" (_danson johi_) 19th
century chestnut lives on, fixed order of bathing by age and sex,
men banned from kitchen, men belong at work and women at home, a
woman's role fulfillment derives from child rearing,
rationalizing outcomes and intentions by reference to sex (_otoko
dakara_).

� other (49.5%)
         wedding and other ceremonies, words and way of speaking
(including regional dialect), one's own habits, clothing and
fashions, home designs and decoration, shrine and temple affairs.




Question 10: Expressions of the past with favorable meaning n=56 
persons, 95 total replies

� (12%) Place names or ones associated with a locale
         castle town (_joka machi_), the former domain of xyz
rice tonnage (..._man koku_; feudal reference), the former
regional name (e.g. _kaga_, _echizen_; also used as an
adjective), countrified (_hinabita_), plain/rustic (_soboku na_),
"snow country" (_yukiguni_), home ground (_kokyo_).

� (23%) Aesthetic concepts
         elegance (_furyu_), proverbial wisdom, _wabi_�_sabi_
(desolateness�d�sol�), taste for regional speech styles, "taking
a lesson from the past" (_onko chishin_), "good wife, wise
mother" (_ryosai kenbo_), warrior spirit (_bushido_), shyness,
pioneer spirit, verve (_IKI na_), Kyoto posh speech ways and
cryptic smile, Japanese spirit of yore (_yamato damashi_).

� (22%) Kinesthetic examples
         flavor from days gone by, mom's home cooked taste,
hometown taste, "smell" (_kaori_) of an old poem, unbroken links,
characteristic craftsmanship, blood boiling up, ancient memories
reborn, graceful, elegant, fresh (produce, rice, seafood),
cooking style.

� (15%) Time terms
         abundant in classicalness (_koten yutaka na_), like it
used to be made (_mukashi katagi_, quality), old type, ancient-
period style, historical, just like it was long ago (_mukashi
nagara_), from one generation to generation, ageless/eternal,
good old days, old style, old character, product or company name
incorporating reign-era name (e.g. Showa --         1925 to 1988-
- Shell), historical thread, connected to Lady Murasaki (11th
century author associated with Takefu), advertisement copy:
_dento ga owari, rekishi ga hajimaru_ (the end of traditions and
the start of making history).

� (15%) Examples of tradition, practices
         traditional arts, traditional culture, traditional,
customary, craftsmanship, use of (parodic banter) manzai genre or
folksong style to produce an advertisement, xyz _matsuri_
(festival), the practice of an extended period of infancy,
village annual cycle, neighborhood shrine induction (_uji ko_),
"dyed in the ways of a household (or school)," period drama
(_nendai mono_), conventional closing in a letter (_kashiko_),
arts and crafts forms, shrine events.


Question 9: What "Japanese" brings to mind
n=91  persons, 99 total replies

� (33%) Attitudes
         narrow minded (islander outlook), heightened (poetic)
temporality (you only pass this way once, _ichigo ichie_),
Confucian ethic, distinguish "true feelings" (_honne_) from
superficial or obligatory remarks, predisposed toward uniformity,
frugality, reservedness, _yamato_ ancient spirit [connotes vast,
heroic, mists of time], circumspect, hard working and serious,
exclusionary, formalistic (ritual-like), concept of karma and
one's good works reckoned at the end of one's life, shy or
deferential aspect, a person should work within the limits of a
role's definition, ethnicly self-conscious, dim awareness of
internationally acceptable limits, elements (citations) of nature
should figure in to one's daily life and environment,
perfectionism and attention to detail, assumption of Tokyo-
centrism, attention to appearances (_hyomen_), bankrupt of
substantive synthesizing thought, patient endurance, well behaved
within social order, all importance of one's school credentials.

� (27%) Social relations
         feelings first, finely tuned awareness (perhaps over
attention) of the perspective of the one you are dealing with,
prominence of established forms of etiquette, cultivated speech
ways to one's elders and social betters, salience of "vertical"
status (_tate shakai_), former status lives on (e.g. legally
erased status of aristocrat, or the names of previous great land
owners not forgotten), avoidance of skirmishes in public,
disagreeable or uncooperative in the general public interest,
lingering prejudices and attitudes of contempt too quickly
adopted, preserve semblance of civil order even in times of
emergency (e.g. no looting), avoid making an opinion in one's own
name, group oriented ---success seldom comes to solitary
individuals, lack of accountability with leaders little more than
pro forma, useful division of labors, coercive force of
collective effort (e.g. _gonin gumi_ brigades), little self-
expression, vague or indirect expression instead of explicit
reasoning.

� (25%) Objects
         clothing articles, cherry blossoms, kofun tumuli,
Buddhist priests, Japanese style dolls and gardens and
architecture, tatami [rush mat] floor covering, Japanese games,
sport and amusements, Japanese foods, under-floor or table
brazier (_kotatsu_), _sento_ public baths, sense of home
decoration.

� (14%) Practices and pursuits
         tea ceremony, foreign trade strategies tried, obligatory
(coerced) gift giving occasions, self deprecation, political
style, uttering _itadakimasu_ before eating or accepting a gift
["I humbly (or thankfully) receive"], the Buddhist supplication
_namu amida butsu_, the commanding vantage of bureaucrats, child
rearing practices, clever craftsmanship, ways of solving
problems.

=-=-=-=COPYRIGHT 1997 Guven Peter Witteveen, gpwitt@bigfoot.com



        =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=



     [Witteveen, chapter 9, first half, civil society in Japan]   
  [http://www.msu.edu/user/wittevee/publications/ch9civil.txt]

Chapter Nine:  THE SIGNIFICANCE OF JAPANESE CIVIL SOCIETY
  [opening words]
In the following discussion of the Kokaido Hall (KKD) affair,
observations and comments combed from fieldnotes and the public
record will be brought together with the observations of other
researchers to form a picture of the public space occupied by
Takefu Renaissance (TR), the elected officials, civil servants,
news media and townspeople. But before proceeding, it is helpful
to gain an overview of this public space and thus frame the
remarks that follow. This chapter will begin by asking how the
following terms relate to each other: public sphere, civil
society, democracy, public discourse, and social order. Next, the
signature elements of Japanese civil society gleaned from
fieldnotes and as noted by scholars will be reviewed under the
rubric of "First Impressions." Of these, the most significant
practices will be examined in the section that follows, "Further
Characteristics of Civil Society in Japan." Finally, the roots
and ramifications of the civil society concept will be explored
comparatively before summing up with a definition of Japanese
civil society and its practical consequences for TR's involvement
in the KKD affair. The result should be a wide ranging study of
the ways in which public discourse is shaped not only by the
rhetorical skills of the principals, but also by the assumptions
about what "public" signifies and the expectations each player
brings to the discussion.

  [elipsis to ethnographic details of civil society]

First impressions of civil society in Japan__________________

The notion of a civil society and the associated ideas of
democracy, the Public, community and volunteerism do not have a
long history in Japan. McVeigh gives a brief resume of the term.

        Williams writes that the term "civil society"
    (shimin shakai) "translates only poorly into the
    Japanese language" (1994:165). Indeed, Japanese and
    non-Japanese alike lament on the lack of "public spirit"
    in Japan. Nevertheless, starting in the prewar period,
    some Japanese scholars, belonging to the Marxist-
    influenced "civil society school" (shimin shakai-ron),
    have argued that Japan lacks a civil society. Associating
    the latter with liberation from feudalistic socio-economic
    relations, ...[they] have often used "civil society" to
    mean democracy and equality. They asserted that
    capitalism developed in Japan without a healthy civil
    society. The most famous representative of this thinking
    was Maruyama Masao (1964). Though scholars such as Uchida
    Yoshihiko argued that postwar American-instituted reforms
    did spur the development of civil society to some degree,
    its underdeveloped nature paradoxically allowed Japan's
    exceptionally rapid economic development (cf. Uchida 1981,
    1985 and Hirata 1987).
                                                  McVeigh 1995a


Looking at the character of civil society in Japan from a more
ethnographic point of view, the subject can be seen in closer
detail. To begin with, the field in which public discourse takes
place can be divided into the physical media of discussion on the
one hand and the actors who are in that field, and what they have
to say on the other hand. Examples of the first are print (and
broadcast) media, circulars issued by a town like the shigikai
dayori (From Your City Council) or koho takefu (Takefu Circular).
Then there are occasions like the city council assemblies, and
statements made at public gatherings such as the fall culture
symposium TR convenes. Finally, there is the small talk and
informal exchanges between individuals (seken banashi) by
telephone, fax, or in person (wadai --current events, and uwasa -
-gossip). The inspirational placards (gaku), charters (kensho)
and mission statements (mokuhyo) found in government, corporate,
educational, cultural and household settings also enter in to the
public spaces of commentary and criticism, alongside the
advertisements of commercial and popular culture vying for public
attention. Examples of the actors found in the field of public
discourse include the local news media, subject experts
(academic, industry representatives, staff of a town's education
board), public servants of city hall, and elected officials (city
councilors, the mayor and his cadre). The national news media's
coverage of the town of Takefu as well as the portrayal of
faraway current events they bring to townspeople also belong to
the town's field of public discourse.
     In contrast to the many interest groups that are a part of
U.S. public discourse, in Japan the public arena is practically
monopolized by three elites: politicians, media, and academic
people (Gotoda 1985:12, cf. Miyamoto 1994:22). A review of
Takefu's annual calendar of festivities, conferences, trade fairs
and so forth shows that public events are largely organized and
sponsored by the city hall and Chamber of Commerce and Industry.
The position statements, refutations and rebuttals that make up
public commentary in the U.S. are much less vigorous in Japan.
Gotoda writes that the free exchange of ideas, even among left
wing academics, is discouraged (1985:100). And aside from
opinion-editorial pieces, gossip between friends or discussion
within the confines of a group's own members, citizens seldom
venture into the space of public discourse. Miyoshi suggests that
the shortage of free public venues is one of the things that
discourages lively public discourse (1989:40-41). He points out
that the places for public gathering are limited in Japan to
halls that must first be reserved and rented. Whether this
restricted physical space is a contributing cause or consequence
of public discursive space in Japan is not clear.
     There are differences in the participation of the sexes in
the public sphere. Working at home or away, unpaid or wage
earning, it is women who are most active in cultural pursuits.
Traditional practices like flower arranging or kimono dressing
are considered to be both practical adornments, and aesthetic and
even spiritual disciplines. But subjects such as cooking, foreign
language conversation (English), and knitting also bring women of
all ages together. While the class may have been the initial
attraction, the social links that may form often sustain the
gatherings beyond the term of the course itself. Anecdotally, the
case of a woman in her late 40s illustrates this ethic of self-
edification and the function of extending personal networks which
results from these cultural pursuits.
     In addition to practicing modern flower arrangement, the tea
ceremony (and kimono dressing) and noh chorus chants, this woman
was active in the Parent Teacher Organization and housewives'
union. She tutored junior high school students in English, was
active in Takefu's international committee and foreign visitor's
bureau, participated in the Genji Academy Study Circle and the
Society for Trees and Buildings [Ki to kenchiku kai, qv. chapter
four]. What is pertinent is the collection of personal
connections made in these private and semi-public spheres of
cultural pursuits. Nevertheless, in the more visible spaces of
public discussion, this large reserve of women participating in
organizations is not apparent.
     Miyamoto points out that women rarely enter politics,
whether elective office or civil service (1994:64). They also
hold few academic posts. Only in journalism, one of the three
elites of the public arena, are there any number of women (Herzog
1993:262). And here, too, the men are disproportionately many. On
the other hand, both Maruyama (in Miyoshi 1996:35) and Tsurutani
(1977:195) have pointed out the particular role women play in
Japanese intellectual life. Critical thinking is mainly the
preserve of middle-class housewives, whose children have entered
school, and who have the time, wherewithal, and network of
friends to take up various issues and think them through.
     None of the main players taking up space in Japanese civil
society are able to explore ideas freely and vigorously.
Academics are on the defensive against challenges to their
credibility (cf. bureaucrats, Miyamoto 1994:84), journalists are
careful not to take any one position, and politicians tend to
care most about the perceived consequences rather than substance
of an issue. By contrast, housewives may engage in critical
discussion of public affairs relatively free of personal stakes.
However, this nascent public discourse, like that located
internally in other groups of citizens, seldom enters the wider
arena of public discourse. A study group may research a problem
and produce a summary of its findings, but it would not likely be
for general distribution. And as for the case of the shimin undo
groups of citizen activists which McKean (1981) wrote about, most
are single issue movements. Their criticism would be directed at
the named organization or agencies involved, rather than to be
addressed to any putative "community" or body politic generally.


Taking things personally______________________________

In a "particularistic" society like Japan's (cf. the "multi-
stranded" relations in Redfield's folk-urban continuum, 1941),
private initiatives into a public sphere dominated by
politicians, academics and the media are problematic. Aside from
a lack of public creditials, the statements, counter claims, and
rebuttals that follow may too easily become confused with the
personality of the speaker. Since a message is so liable to be
confounded with the messenger, the stakes seem too high to risk
offending someone else, much less to take the chance of one's own
remarks to be found wanting by peers in the full light of the
public eye.
     It is hard to find any neutral space for discussion of
public matters. In the world of museum curators, for example, Mr.
Kasamatsu of the Fukui Prefectural Museum said that to go beyond
technical matters and comment on the interpretive style of a
colleague could prove very difficult. Critical remarks equate
with (negative) criticism, as McKean showed in her description of
the way a citizen movement divided a town. Whatever middle ground
there might once have been collapsed, making residents either
necessarily for the movement and thus opposed to the town
leaders, or vice versa (1981:85). In the sense that argumentation
easily collapses into ad hominem attacks, the free exchange of
ideas will be hampered. For this reason, TR took pains to keep
their lines of communication open with the people at city hall.
Asked of the risk that the mayor would take personal offense at
the persistent probes by the citizen's group, TR's Inoue Kazuharu
said not to fear, he for one meant no harm, and was proceeding
calmly and coolly (reisei).
     In consideration of the personalistic nature of critical
remarks, there are certain strategies to protect the interests of
people involved. One is to subordinate the content of an issue to
its presentation. The result is that appropriate remarks have a
ritualistic quality to them; routinized and significant not for
what they say so much as for the simple fact that they are
uttered. The absence of neutral space in the public arena
accounts for the emphasis on appearances, according to McVeigh's
thesis.


       Put simply, my contention is that in Japan, rituality
    and staged formalities take the place of a neutral
    public space. The lack of a clearly defined public space
    encourages a social theatrics of formalized etiquette in
    Japan which mediates personal encounters and defines
    identities. If simply stated, rituality in Japan results
    from the confluence of core values that encourage group
    dependency rather than self-autonomy, empathy rather
    than impartiality, and hierarchy rather than egalitarianism.  
                                              McVeigh 1995a


Another way to sheathe possibly sharp remarks is for the
declarations to come in the name of a group rather than an
individual. An individual alone, regardless of the strength of
his or her logic, occupies little social space and receives
correspondingly little attention in the public sphere (Miyamoto
1994:125). For the larger space it occupies and the safety it
affords its members, a group is the only way to express criticism
openly (ibid:22). The predominance of groups in public discourse,
however, has detractions. Miyamoto points out that accountability
becomes dispersed. Credit may be taken (albeit by figureheads),
but blame simply accrues to the role, not to the person occupying
it. Therefore, when things go wrong, personnel may be reshuffled,
but the earlier practice may continue to be perpetuated
(ibid:122).
     The character of the Japanese language itself figures in to
the quality of public discourse in Japan, both reflecting and
creating the personalizing, particularistic nature of social
relations among people who conduct their lives in Japanese. A
feature of interpersonal relations is the frequent construction
of compound predicates to add an emotive as well as status aspect
to an expression. Thus yonde kudasatta [(status superior) did me
the kindness of reading it], while archaic sounding in English,
is not uncommon in Japanese; nor is kashite ageru [I'll do you
(status superior, yet familiar) the kindness of lending it to
you]. By marking the benefit received or given (or conversely,
loss suffered by way of the suffixing verb shimau), daily
relations are habitually laden with personalistic aspect. Things
do not merely happen. They happen and somebody gains or loses by
it. In the same way, arguments are not simply made, but once made
are likely to be given personalistic interpretation, easily
collapsing into attacks ad hominem.
     Added to the convention of personalized descriptions is the
low value placed on crisp syllogism and clear exposition. Instead
of critical thinking, the rhetorical power of arguments relies on
emotional appeal (cf. Field 1983, Moeran 1989 regarding Japanese
advertisements). This approach may come from a desire to elicit
empathy by wrapping the person addressed in layers of
implicature. To be labelled rikutsuppoi (smacking of logic)
signifies a certain unfeeling coldness and distance from the
person addressed. Furthermore it signifies a single, one-
dimensional line of thought, not fitting a mature socially
sophisticated person.


     In the most recent gubernatorial election in Tokyo...
     business consultant Omae Ken'ichi... outside the
     political power structure... could not rely on party
     structure or an extended labyrinth of alliances. The
     campaign was not "Omae, Your Neighbor," but rather
     "Omae on the Issues." Interestingly, not only did he
     not win, he didn't even come close.
        This preference for context over content extends
     beyond political advertising... [Japanese and American 
     advertising styles compared] some observers conclude
     that "Japan's 'high context culture' promotes
     advertisements designed to convey the familiarity and
     trustworthiness of the producer, while American's 'low 
     context culture' privileges advertisements featuring
     explicitly coded and transmitted scripts that reel off 
     the benefits of the product." (Hanes 1996:10).
                                                 Rosen 1996:14.



In addition to the distaste for barrages of explicit logic, there
may be a more instrumental reason for arguments in Japanese
proceeding recursively. In a conversation with a Japanese man who
had studied at a U.S. college, the subject of highly polished yet
somehow hollow debate came up. He pointed out the connection
between careful writing an clear thinking. He had been impressed
by the techniques taught to U.S. college students to structure
their writing with a topic sentence, paragraphing, and
hierarchical outlines. By comparison, he said, Japanese students
were left to their own devices, with the more motivated ones
(rote) learning by example rather than by explicit direction. No
matter where the source may be located --in the grammar,
stylistic tastes, or in the interpersonal relations of the dango
mode of political life (chapter eight), the result is the same.
From the conversations with members of TR, and later reading
through the observation of other scholars, it seems that public
discourse in Japanese society thoughtfully articulated and
impassioned though it may be, is seldom thorough going; nor is it
guided by a larger plan, nor is it coldly critical.
     Some of the ways in which language usage works against
critical public discourse may be suggested. Like many languages,
the stylistic conventions of written Japanese diverge from its
spoken forms. It is not that sophisticated ideas cannot be
discussed in oral form, but that the demands of a conversational
setting usually result in something shallower, less ambitions,
and concerned mainly with the social posturings of the principals
(Miyoshi 1989:31). Such is the case with the popular form of
presenting ideas called zadankai. Something short of a panel
discussion, it is usually a conversational meeting of expert
minds which has been a hugely popular way to bring sometimes
complicated ideas before the readers, listeners and viewers of
Japan.
      To its credit, the zadankai succeeds in making critical
texts into mass artifacts; that is, ideas with wide recognition
value. Ivy describes more generally the way that the terms and
writings on semiotics, structuralism, or poststructuralism were
able to gain a popular readership (1988:423). Some of these words
become objects of fascination in the mass media, however briefly.
In certain cases they may even become incorporated into popular
usage just like so many other foreign words (fieldwork sample is
given in appendix D). Ivy stresses that the success or failure of
a critical text in becoming a mass artifact is contingent on the
item being presented in an "enjoyable" form (ibid:433, cf.
"edutainment," Creighton 1994). The zadankai is ideally suited to
this purpose. Famous experts are invited to talk about their
ideas in a relaxed forum, giving readers or an audience the
impression of being privileged to eavesdrop on the banter of
great minds.

     [It involves] ...hand-picked participants sitting
     around a table discussing the designated topic, which
     is recorded. The participants then have the opportunity 
     to edit their own remarks, and the transcribed
     discussions are usually edited by the publisher as well. 
     The style of debate is also 'unacademic' in Western
     terms, with vague terminology, a sense of academic
     hierarchy amongst the participants and the artificial
     structure of discussion frustrating the in medias res
     value of the exercise. This is partly due also to the
     nature of the Japanese language, which relies on
     connotation rather than more explicitly analytical
     discourse.
                                           Kersten 1996:6.

The zadankai form also has its drawbacks. Beyond the social
posturing of conversation that can get in the way of serious
discussion, there is also a certain vagueness inherent in
artfully spoken Japanese. A conversation in Japanese is more
cooperative than one in English. Conversational "fillers"
(aizuchi) occur more frequently, and a speaker may stop in mid-
sentence, expecting the listener to understand the rest or
perhaps to supply the rest of the phrase. The course of an
argument often proceeds recursively rather than as a nested set
of subordinate ideas extending from a thesis statement (Moeran
1985:44). Kuroda describes the limitations of Japanese language
the most directly, saying it is better suited to indirect
suggestion than it is to making clear, precise statements
(1974:183). E. Hall observed that Japanese is a "high context"
medium, one in which contextual clues shape verbal possibilities
and may even obviate some of the need to verbalize. One
implication is that discourse is of comparatively lesser
importance than actions and context.
     Whether at the level of single phrases (Kuroda), entire
lines of reasoning (Moeran), or the oral channel itself
(Miyoshi), the conventions of the Japanese language result in a
paucity of thoughtful public discourse. The frenetic pace of
publishing zadankai transcripts and the speed with which foreign
thinkers are translated obscures the dull vision of originally
Japanese public discourse (Miyoshi 1991:217-232).



Further characteristics of civil society in Japan: 
  (1) Government leads, voters follow_________________

This section will explore in greater detail the salient features
of civil society in Japan pointed out, beginning with the
dominance of government authorities in discussing matters of
public concern.




     Mayor Koizumi... "There are valuable resources in Takefu 
     that can only be found here. We'd like to use these to 
     cultivate our community [machi zukuri], but the most
     important thing is for the people who live here to know 
     the treasures and special character of their own town. 
     Granted this, it will be possible to cultivate our community
     with townspeople's participation." He calls for citizen 
     participation, cooperation, and ideas. Townspeople
     themselves occupy the leading role.
     ---Fukui Newspaper on the eve of TR's townhall meeting
       on municipal irregularities, 21 December 1994.

This quote illustrates some of the properties of the town
government's standard operating procedure. First, there is the
false humbleness that cloaks a paternalistic core; the pretense
that the government serves the people instead of the reverse.
Second, there is the belief that the declared, publicly
enunciated record serves as the agreed upon perception and
therefore is what ultimately matters. It may also be a matter of
convenience [katachi dake], sometimes only tenuously related to
actual conditions. Third, the kindly tone of the quote is a good
example of the symbiotic relationship between the mass media and
the ruling powers. Despite certain ambivalences on the two sides,
the presentation of government positions in the public record may
take on a higher gloss than it originally had, thanks to the
journalist's polishing skill. None of these characteristics are
special to Japanese society, but in combination with a set of
beliefs and the elements described throughout this chapter, they
do add up to a manner of civil society that may be called
Japanese.
     Regarding the first point, the top-down, command style of
government prefaced "for the People's own good" (shimin no tame),
it can be found at the earliest moments in classroom culture and
in the lingering traces of Confucianism found across the East
Asian cultural sphere. By the time people reach the Coming of Age
Ceremony at 20, most seem perfectly accustomed to this archetype
for relating to authority figures. One consequence is the
"package tour mentality" of omakase gyosei, (blindly) leaving
matters in the hands of those in charge.
     One example of government omniscience cited in chapter six
was in the prefectural office of cultural affairs. Here the
relationship of capital city to villages and towns was posed
delicately between the attitudes of paternalism and humble
service. The civil servants felt a sense of service and duty to
provide superior cultural opportunities to the hinterland; that
is, what they felt themselves in a privileged position to know to
be best for the outlying citizens. Another example of the top-
down approach to administrative matters is the concept of hako
gyosei [govern the container, never mind the contents] pointed
out in interview by curators and librarians in chapter three. A
trivial case of this approach to decision making which works well
is that of restaurants providing set menus (teishoku). Too busy
to compose their own plates, diners may request set A, B or C,
for example. If their friends are with them, they may take the
same. If the fellow diners are junior to the first person,
according to stereotype and especially if the senior is paying,
it would not be strange for the subordinates to follow the
leader's choice. On the other hand, a potentially disastrous
example of the hako gyosei mentality at work would be a case like
the KKD during certain stages, such as when budgets were adopted
in advance of the particulars of the facility being worked out.
The outcome could have been something overdone or, on the
contrary, inadequate to its purpose.
     A final example of the government's characteristically heavy
handed way comes in the matter of designating certain artifacts,
sites, or natural features "important cultural properties." The
designation binds object and owner to a set of expectations and
regulations. Declaring a tree, for example, to be in the mutual
interest of all citizens now and into the future seems to mean in
practice that it belongs now instead in the government's control.
"Public" interest does go beyond private interests, but in this
example, it refers not to the public, as in the English language
usage of "everyone." Rather it seems to mean the public
authorities; i.e. city hall, in this case. As one man said of his
fellow townspeople's reluctance to allow their oldest trees to be
surveyed as potential city-designated treasures, the perception
is that they the owners will no longer be able to freely dispose
of the tree as they would do. And after all, he said, a massive
old keyaki [paulownia] does sell for a tidy sum these days.


(2) Polishing the public record_______________________

An edition of the biweekly circular from city hall, koho takefu,
nicely illustrates the city government's preoccupation with the
public record, even at the expense of what may be closer to the
truth. In number 663 (15 December 1995) the city gives its
reckoning of the KKD affair. Despite TR's bold entry into the
public sphere, there is no mention of the group's existence, let
alone any acknowledgement of the role it played. There is no
record of the disruption the affair caused. Instead a tidy
chronology is presented in such a way as to give the impression
that events came about as discrete episodic responses to
circumstances, rather than as the result of any possible larger
designs or intentions. In other words, there is no recognition of
individual ambition or culpability. Nor is there any hint of
personal stakes being involved. Finally, there is no admission of
procedural infelicities or poor judgment. The next issue, number
664 (16 January 1996), publishes the year in review. Needless to
say, the KKD appears only by virtue of its official opening to
the public in November. There is no indication of the troubles
caused by the affair. In another part of number 664 the mayor
holds an audience with members who perform in The Society for the
Preservation of Echizen-style Manzai, a sometimes parodic banter
and dance accompanied by hand drums; a sort of medieval rap song.
The mayor's words (below) seem to show him a chastened man left
with less hubris now that the KKD affair had been concluded.




     When we say machi zukuri [cultivating "community"], it 
     means getting local residents to participate. I believe 
     the government and townspeople have got to join as one 
     and go forward.
     ---Mayor Koizumi, koho takefu, 16 January 1996, p.3


The concern of groups, and above all government, with the public
record has to do not only with the primacy of proper appearances.
It also has to do with circumspection and sensitivity to the
impression that results. An example of the first aspect is the
orderly appearance made of consensus in the official minutes of a
city council assembly (Kuroda 1974:181) or the impression of
decorum made by a government official's regal diction echoing in
a sympathetic newspaper article. An example of the second aspect
is a conversation with a civil servant who asked me in an aside
to give the town "good PI ARU" [PR, public relations]. Or in a
city council assembly, a councilor who was arguing for elevators
to be put in public facilities told how the town of Obama, with
just half the population of Takefu had been able to invest in
their infrastructure in this way. He implied shame on Takefu for
not doing the same for its own aging population.
      The public record may be manipulated not only retroactively
(e.g. city council minutes), but also before the fact. The
November, 1994 edition of shigikai dayori [From Your City
Council] introduced the mayor's plan to make the KKD into the
Saeki Yuzo Bijutsukan. The illustrated, glossy presentation gave
the effect that the matter was all but complete. There was no
mention of the forgery suspicions, the shady nature of
negotiations, the anemic challenges made by councilors at the
assembly, the circumventing of normal democratic consultative
process, much less the initiatives of TR. In this way, all
households registered with city hall were delivered a story meant
favorably to predispose them to the mayor's project. Whatever
criticisms might be raised could therefore be obviated since (it
would appear to be the case that) the matter already had been
decided and the facility was now virtually a reality. Even after
the Saeki Yuzo Bijutsukan had been repeatedly torpedoed by the
results of investigations by TR and others, and even after it had
been withered under the scrutiny of national media, the city hall
persisted in its wishful vision of the Saeki Yuzo Bijutsukan. The
March, 1995 shigikai dayori showed the KKD rechristened as the
Saeki Yuzo Bijutsukan, complete with the giant headline,
"atarashii machi zukuri no tane" (the start of new community
building).
     This collective circumspection is not limited to corporate
or town officials, though. In a conversation with a member of TR,
the mishandling of the KKD affair was recognized for the negative
example it gave to the national policy of subsidiarity [chiho
bunken], in which local officials were encouraged to take over
ever more administrative responsibilities from the central
government. Another TR member, though, was conscious of the fact
that the experiences of their citizen group could serve as a
positive national model, a prototype. In a society as centralized
and riven with mass media as Japan's, local practices can easily
be conveyed and copied across the nation.
      The causal connection perceived between appearances and
actuality is strong indeed. At the October, 1994 cultural
symposium sponsored by TR, the mayor attributed the town's past
fortunes and its current prospects to its overall appearance. The
many dark-tile roofed, wood sided weathered buildings and the
narrow streets that ipso facto give the town its character are
also what supposedly give visitors the unflattering impression of
a backwater town; of stagnation. The mayor said the town, like
the people of Takefu and wider Hokuriku region of the western
seaboard, has done a poor job of APIRU [appealing, presenting
itself attractively]. In his mind the mayor thought that the way
to rid the homely, sad and lonesome (sabishii) image which people
got when they step outside of the train station was for the
townspeople to discard their brooding nature. Since he spoke as
an honored guest at a symposium celebrating the town's heritage,
he did not complete his line of reasoning, but the implied next
step would be to get rid of parts of the physical fabric of the
townscape, at least around the train station.
      One expression of the city government's sensitivity to the
impression it makes and its concern with the public record has
been the creation of certain "feel good" events. IBENTO (events)
like the Winterfest and Summerfest draw tourists, demonstrate the
city government's organizational powers and deep pockets. The
events are designed above all to please residents. Being
politically motivated, and to a lesser extent commercially
driven, these IBENTO are top-down, command style examples of
machi zukuri (community cultivating). Instead, as someone in TR
pointed out, these sizable budgets and organizational energies
could be better spent on smaller scale, neighborhood-level civic
productions. Activities intended to truly "cultivate community"
(machi zukuri) across social networks might include, for example,
symposia, panel discussions, and publications of research into
local lore. As it is, the city government's neighborhood-level
efforts are normally confined to courses offered in the kominkan
(community halls) around the town.


(3) Proper form leads to social order: the news media_________

Stepping outside the bounds of municipally edited publications,
the public record is not quite as glossy. What biting words that
do exist in public discourse may be found in the investigative
articles of weekly variety magazines like Playboy [unrelated to
the U.S. publication] (Fulford 1994). But these are self-
contained flares which do not by themselves enter the wider arena
of public opinion. So completely do the newspapers and broadcast
media own the space of discourse, that only commercial
advertisements, political pronouncements and scholars'
observations are admitted. Hence the heightened importance of the
news media in Japan and the perceptions they create. Lee (1985)
has documented the news making process in Japan and observed that
writers are extremely scrupulous about giving the many sides of
an issue. In the end, in the name of objectivity, they give the
effect of having no single standpoint, no way to offer an
assessment or conclusion.
     Despite their aim of being gadfly for citizen interests,
journalists are mindful of the relationship of trust cultivated
with politicians. Often the result is sympathetic coverage. In
the case of the KKD affair, the Fukui Newspaper did pick up the
rumor that Takefu's mayor might escape the apparent improprieties
of the KKD affair by accepting the offer to represent his
district as a National Dietman (3 February 1995). The journalist
criticized any such attempt, hypothetical though it might be. But
on the whole, several members of TR seemed to be in agreement
that the local press was parochial and that it loyally (blindly)
supported the status quo. One example they gave was the
afterthought of an article with which the Fukui Newspaper (4
March 1995) reported the petition of "The Citizens' Group for the
Consideration of the Fundamental Problems of the Saeki Yuzo Art
Museum" (Saeki Yuzo bijutsukan koso mondai o kangaeru shimin no
kai) being delivered to city hall. Other newspapers, by
comparison, had reported the reason for the petition and
something of its contents.
     A more serious example of journalistic myopia is the
January, 1995 series which the Fukui Newspaper ran about the KKD,
Saeki Yuzo, and the steps leading up to the affair. At the
January TR meeting it was pointed out that the headline of
January 19th was peculiar and symptomatic of the newspaper's
stance. Instead of saying the mayor had acted in an irregular
manner, the newspaper said that his mistake was in being caught,
thus implying that the short circuit of democratic process was
within the prerogatives of the powerful; a trifling peccadillo.
      As a nation Japanese are great readers of newspapers, often
taking one or more subscriptions. Comparing circulation to
population, there is one (mainly national) daily newspaper for
every two Japanese, well above the 1:3 ratio for the U.K., U.S.,
or former Soviet Union (Tanaka 1985:110). With the great
importance of public perceptions, and the central role that news
media occupy, it is easy to see why Japanese are so news hungry.
The power of making impressions on readers, for better or for
worse, became apparent to me at an interview with the newspaper
journalists (cf. Van Wolferen 1989:96-8, 231-5). After the
December, 1994 city council meeting recessed, TR's Miki Yoshimi
invited me to come along while she was questioned by the
journalists in their office one floor below the council chamber.
They wanted to know the origin and aims of the newly launched
mihariban citizen's watchdog group, and its connection to TR.
Although I had seen her poised and articulate on all occasions, I
was aware of the extra effort she made at this time to avoid any
mistaken impression on the part of the journalists (photo H).
When they asked her reaction to the mayor's hard headed
insistence on pressing on with the KKD affair, despite increasing
doubts, she did not offer the writer anything definite. Instead
she let the facts speak for her: that more than a dozen
townspeople had been interested enough to fill the visitor
gallery of the council chamber. In the end, what seemed to matter
most in public discourse, as indeed it does between individuals,
is appearances. Even when the facts are at variance with the
words, these words must be ones suitable for the occasion. The
social order (chitsujo) in civil society is defined by the
semblance of social order. In a word, appearance is all.


(4) Making social order look tidy_____________________

     mizaru, kikazaru, iwazaru [see no, hear no, speak no evil]

     ---tableau of three monkeys, Shogun's dynastic tomb, Nikko


     "They think that if you straighten out your appearance, 
     then every problem will be solved," said Hiromasa Oyama, 
     46, a sixth-grade teacher. "But this will solve nothing. 
     This is just belittling us."
     ...[mayor] rejects their argument that [proposed teacher] 
     uniforms stifle creative thinking and individual expression.

---Kevin Sullivan reporting from Habikino, suburb of Osaka (1996)


Political scientists have compared the extent to which divergent
rhetoric and reality are tolerated in various societies. That is,
at different points in history and from one society to the next,
the distance between authorities' declared interpretation of
events and the way things look to everybody else can differ
widely. The case of the KKD affair has shown how skillfully
Takefu's city hall was able to manipulate its presentation of the
proposed KKD conversion into an art gallery, as if it were
already after the fact. One lesson that can be drawn is that so
long as the publicized words and imagined social order match,
even when these do not necessarily correspond to objective
reality, the look of social order is preserved.
     What is peculiar to an outside observer is not just the
ability to adjust the facts circulating publicly for political
convenience, but moreover, the uniformity of appearances (or low
tolerance of contradiction) and the monologic nature of the
discourse (a low number of voices, little variation among them).
By contrast, the process of government in the U.S. is less tidy,
the opinions more varied, and the latitude for issuing
interpretations linked tenuously to the facts much more limited.
There is room for misrepresentation, but this is counterbalanced
by the possibility of challenge, sometimes accompanied by legal
redress.
     The degree of tolerance in the fit between what is said and
what is meant varies from one society to another and can be seen
as a comparative political phenomenon. In the U.S. there is a
certain fresh faced earnestness about civil society. People
expect there to be a close connection between what they are told,
what is meant and the actions that follow from it. While nobody
in any society likes public embarrassment or undue scrutiny, as a
motivating principle in the U.S., "saving face," is subordinated
to truth, defined as the close fit of words and intent. The
presence of hypocracy is regarded as a serious flaw, not as a
normal condition of public affairs.
     Keeping civil society tidy in any nation depends on
particular standards of polite behavior.

     Consider the assumption that being in public precludes 
  staring at or touching strangers. This is "common sense." 
  But it is a culture-specific "common sense" people must
  learn. Goffman's "civil inattention" (politely ignoring
  others and avoiding facial expressions that are threatening 
  to strangers) and the act of positioning one's body in a
  "morally neutral" way when in public (1963) are not
  explicitly taught, but their socialization is vital to
  cosmopolitan life.
                                                 McVeigh 1995a


Simmel's (1988:329) observation also touches on the intersection
of the proprieties of civil society and what are considered
civilized manners, in this case linked to urban living: "There is
perhaps no psychic phenomenon which is so unconditionally
reserved to the city as the blas� outlook" (cf. R.Williams 1976
on the trajectory of the notion of "Private," also Elias 1978 in
The Civilizing Process). The connection between polite
proprieties and civil society does not uniquely coincide in
Japanese life (e.g. Barthes 1982, cf. Barthes 1974; Bourdieu
1984). But the attribution of instrumental power to carefully
observed (ritualistic) decorum does seem to be especially
elaborated in Japanese thinking (Hendry 1996).
     Civil society implies good social manners. To the extent
that it requires a culturally specific set of manners, a
definition of civil society must go beyond the content of
rational-critical arguments to include the standards for polite
interaction found in a certain segment of the society. Thus, in a
curious convolution, civil society is both the location where
people hammer out cultural politics in debate, and is itself the
product of cultural politics. The manner in which civil society
is conducted reflects the tastes of a particular echelon of
people. The distinctions made by prominent social figures in the
public sphere do not come from a conspiracy to defend their
status, but nevertheless do mark a certain set of standards and
expectations as the preferred ones, and coincidentally are the
ones most familiar to this same stratum of people.
     In Western countries it is undoubtedly the tastes of the
bourgeoisie that dictate the boundaries and standards of civil
society. Victorian England, a self-declared nation of
shopkeepers, exhibited a particularly vigorous florescence of
civil society. Himmelfarb writes how the home was central to
life, making the family to be "something like a civic religion"
(1995). By extension the same sense of communal morality was
applied to society as a whole, with this projected image reaching
as far away as the administration of colonies and plantations
abroad. In the U.S., most of the youth (e.g. Boy Scouts,
originally of England) and community service organizations (e.g.
Rotary, later Rotary International) coincided with the waves of
immigration between 1900 and 1930. Along with the homogenizing
effect of comprehensive compulsory education, military service
and popular culture, these newly arisen organizations helped to
bring people together in the common cause of building civic pride
and promoting civic mindedness with the aim of making good
citizens (Putnam 1995).
     In Japan, on the other hand, matters of public concern are
dominated by the government. Instead of the bourgeoisie it is the
bureaucratic culture and social descendants of the samurai
warrior-scholar class, and possibly elements of the former
nobility and aristocratic class, who dictate the proper
ritualistic forms of civil society (cf. Edwards 1989 on the
evolution of wedding forms in Japan, emulating this samurai
class). Civil society in Japan consists of little debate that
could be considered neutral, effectively detached from either
government stances or family-like loyalties; neutral in the sense
of being issue oriented rather than outcome oriented.
Furthermore, there are few neutral spaces where public discourse
can take place. This lack of neutrality in public discourse may
account for the great attention on appearances, concern with
ceremony and ritualistic public presentation. These
characteristics are what Van Wolferen objects to in his piercing
analysis of public authority in Japanese society:


     Thanks to the tradition of managing reality, social
  conflict can be defused without any attempt to resolve
  contradictions. Logical reasoning is seldom allowed to
  disturb the all-important wa [harmony]. In the West
  arguments appealing to logic are an accepted (and
  expected) part of reconciling differences of opinion.
  In Japan such argument is associated with conflict itself, 
  and, since all conflict is defined as bad, arguing and
  debating are not usually recognised as healthy ways to
  settle disputes. There is practically no scholarly debate, 
  and most Japanese scholars would not know how to carry on 
  such a debate. Visiting foreign academics and intellectuals 
  are nearly always praised, rarely argued with. The risks of
  losing face are thereby minimised.
                                          Van Wolferen 1989:333


Given that the space for civil society is not neutral and what
can be found there is also not neutral, it seems that the
preoccupation with formal (and visual) aspects of a matter leads
to objectification, thereby creating a certain distancing of
politeness. This objectifying effect allows some of the same
things that the more neutral public discourse of civil society in
Western countries does. Namely, the formalism, politeness and
concern with presentation in Japanese public discourse gives a
sense of detachment between a person and his or her words. In the
rhetoric of social relations among Japanese, this concern with
form (and visual appearances generally) works like the rational-
critical debate in the "neutral" public spaces of Western
societies. That is, it creates a buffer between a speaker, hemmed
in by immediate needs and intentions, and a topic, open to
multiple meanings. McVeigh (1995a) goes further, suggesting that
it is not the concern with appearances and visual objectification
that permits a functional equivalent to civil society. It is
moreover the ritualistic and formulaic patterns of social
relations that make for something similar to civil society in
Japanese life.
     In Japan the often used and well known pair of complementary
terms honne [literally, ringing true] and tatemae [fa�ade, or
scaffolding for use in building a front] attest to the prevalence
and conventionality of this distinction in the social life of
Japanese (cf. Lebra 1976c:136). While people everywhere are aware
of times when the nominal and the actual diverge, the tolerance
for discrepancy varies from one society to another. In Goffman's
terminology, it is "working consensus" that corresponds to the
notion of tatemae.

    [a person] is expected to suppress his immediate
  heartfelt feelings, conveying a view of the situation
  which he feels the others will be able to find at least
  temporarily acceptable. The maintenance of this surface
  of agreement, this veneer of consensus, is facilitated
  by each participant concealing his own wants behind
  statements which assert values to which everyone
  present feels obliged to give lip service (1959:9). 


The same awareness of duplicity a Westerner would label as
untruth, a Japanese might regard as the consciousness gained with
maturity. After all, the reasoning goes, social affairs are
delicate things and to fail to distinguish honne and tatemae is
plainly unsophisticated. Without the separation of feelings and
words made possible by the honne and tatemae distinction, social
life could not be conducted as smoothly as it is in practice. And
so, the space of public discourse in Japanese life can be
characterized both by the uniformity of appearances in the public
sphere and the tolerance for words to diverge from intentions.
While appearances are supposed to predicate the social order
(chitsujo), what is publicly declared may well diverge from what
is actually intended.
      Several corollaries follow from the belief in the primacy
of public perceptions. The first is that actual appearance must
mirror desired reality; that the care which is taken in the
decorum of civil society will effectively translate to the same
desired orderliness in all departments of social life. Rohlen
takes Japanese high school as his social microcosm, writing "that
orderliness in a Japanese school does not evoke an authoritarian
image in the eyes of most, but rather is pleasant evidence of
benevolence, high morale, and successful instruction" (Rohlen
1983:201). Furthermore, "Precision in school wide events is
another sign of a school's moral state" (ibid:201). Elsewhere he
describes students as being politically apathetic (ibid:210).
Indeed, one of the lessons of high school in Japan moreso than
elsewhere seems to be that a person should conform to a precisely
prescribed manner of presenting one's self and one's ideas (cf.
Hall's "high context" culture).
     By extension, social order resides not in the school as an
anonymous body, but in the series of smaller groups to which one
belongs, such as one's homeroom and afterschool activity groups.
Participation in groups "is assumed to be natural, healthy, and
proper. Nonparticipation, it is assumed, is accompanied by loss
of self-confidence and self-worth" (ibid:203). Later Rohlen
identifies recognition of social interdependence as the basis for
social order in Japanese schools. "Neither ideology nor law is
emphasized as the foundation of social order or meaning...
Morality is based on a consciousness of social relations, an
awareness of being interdependent" (p.256).
      A second corollary relating to the primacy of public
perceptions is that form and content are linked in such a way
that maintaining proper appearances (in public discourse) is not
simply a matter of decorum, or "saving (collective) face," but
will actually cause the desired social order (chitsujo) to
result. In McVeigh's section "Being Observed and Making Morality
Visible," he writes,

     Rules about uniforms, hair length and style, posture,
  and positioning of the body should be carefully observed. 
  In particular, complex sociolinguistic practices (aisatsu) 
  receive a considerable amount of attention, and
  publications entitled Greetings and Language (Aisatsu to
  kotoba), Honorific Language (Keigo), Language Training
  (Kotoba no shitsuke), and Speech (Kotobazukai) are written 
  for pedagogical purposes.
                                                  McVeigh 1995a


Needless to say, disturbances like public demonstrations threaten
to upset the surface and therefore central being of social order.
One indicator of the all importance of appearances is that
foreign recipients of research scholarships from the Japanese
Ministry of Education, Science and Culture (Monbusho shogakkin)
are required to sign a pledge. In it they foreswear protests and
similar acts against the chitsujo (public order). In bureaucratic
circles, too, the safety that comes with conforming is a dominant
theme. Miyamoto says that appearance is paramount. The formula
for a successful career in the civil service is not to be late,
not to ask for time off work, and not to do any real work,
rather, just to give the impression of working (1994:157).
     Coming from another direction, Bourdieu's analysis seems
congruent with the close connection Japanese recognize between
form and content, practices and significance. His notion of the
physical and therefore mental routines of daily life, called
habitus, concerns among other things the way people learn to
respect authority. He writes,

     The whole trick of pedagogic reason lies precisely
  in the way it extorts the essential while seeming to demand 
  the insignificant: in obtaining the respect for form and
  forms of respect which constitute the most visible and at 
  the same time the best-hidden (because most "natural")
  manifestation of submission to the established order...

   Bourdieu 1977:94-5, original parentheses and quotation marks



Anecdotally there is abundant evidence of the great attention put
on correct forms. Protocol and etiquette books for business and
home life are numerous (e.g. Obunsha 1989), with abridged
versions sometimes appended to telephone books or dictionaries
(e.g. Sanseido 1993). In addition to the supercharged
circumspection and care put into one's comportment and the
presentation of one's products or services, there is the
attention to form practiced in the traditional disciplines. In
Japanese-style fencing, kendo, one area for evaluating a person's
ranking is the stylized display of forms (kata) which
incorporates the fundamental subskills necessary for the sport.
Judo, kyudo (archery), kado (flower arranging), sado (tea
ceremony), shodo (calligraphy) are other popular disciplines
which begin with an emphasis on correct form, both physically and
attitudinally. The -do suffix translates as "way" or "path" and
the rigor demanded by the term is conveyed in the Japanese
version of "well begun is half done." This belief in the
instrumental power of proper form is one reason Japanese new to
an avocation are willing to make a big initial investment to
equip themselves to look the part they are undertaking.
      The compelling force of proper routines, appropriate
appearances and ceremony-like proceedings in an organization's
life relate to the "high context" nature of Japanese social
relations. While routinization is associated with stable social
order in most societies, among Japanese people this routinization
extends as far as the specific appearances and wording of public
matters. E.T. Hall (1987) uses the term "high context culture" to
contrast the communication styles of people from differing
societies. In the Japanese case, the reliance on situational,
visual cues divides interaction into a predictable set of
alternatives requiring relatively little verbal variation. This
may damper public discourse, but it also testifies to the primacy
of appearances and situational clues. The belief that content
follows from form is preserved even when something ostensibly
declared (the tatemae) strays from what is truly meant (honne).
To the extent that social order comes out of visual order, the
two are inextricably bound, with the whole underlined by moral
order. In other words social, aesthetic and moral order coincide.
Stated in the negative, apparent disorder is not only
aesthetically bad, but morally wrong and thought to result in
social disorder. Thus the same overdetermination of bonsai
plants, temple gardens, school dress codes, or restored
historical homes seems also to go into the top-down, micro-
management of public affairs (cf. "wrapping," Hendry 1986).
      In an equation suggested in McVeigh's work, proper
appearances have both moral and ethnic resonance, in addition to
their instrumental effects on maintaining social order. He writes
that adherence to decorum and manners are emblems of being a good
Japanese, or at least that poor form and inattention to detail
are not signs of a good Japanese. Thus knowing the proper
comportment and channels for pursuing a matter affirms ethnic
identity. Furthermore, because of the practically monocultural
state of the Japanese archipelago, what is ethnicly resonant may
easily take on the proportions of national identity.
     ...the content, goals, and methods of moral instruction 
   are disputed. Indeed, the postwar contention between the 
   Ministry of Education and the Japan Teachers Union over
   moral education reflects its highly contested nature. The 
   former views moral education as a humanistic endeavor
   designed to foster good citizens, while the latter has
   often associated it with a return to prewar nationalistic 
   indoctrination.
     ...The roots of moral education can be traced to prewar 
    courses in shushin, a type of moral training which stressed 
    values that supported nationalism and an imperialistic
    ideology. Shushin was originally a Confucian expression 
    that encapsulated an entire political philosophy: proper 
    self-cultivation results in family harmony, which leads 
    to effective governing of the nation and ultimately the 
    world.
      ...values of patience, perseverance, diligence,
    orderliness, and hard work appear [but]... Ancestor worship,
    loyalty to the emperor and state, Shintoism, stories about
    war heroes, and unconditional obedience to one's father
    are no longer part of moral education.
                                                  McVeigh 1995a


That moral goodness underlies visual and social order is the
third corollary relating to the primacy of public perceptions.
McVeigh goes on to write, "bureaucrats often act as if they were
responsible for the ethical fiber of the average Japanese." The
state not only takes credit for the maintenance of law and order,
but takes blame for social deviance. When the public sphere
"belongs" to government authorities, this sense of ownership is
understandable. The Japanese government considers the hours spent
by students in morals classes to be very important. McVeigh
writes, "Moral education is inextricably bound up with state
control and images of civil society, and all the [ethics]
guidebooks have prefaces warning about problems among today's
misbehaving youth." Elsewhere he describes the literal, concrete
referents for good morality found in guidebooks used in the
morals classes of Japanese junior and senior high schools. These
tracts convey the connection between correct morality, correct
appearances and proper forms, and correct social order.

     The guidebooks repeatedly emphasize that there is
  nothing abstract about moral education... Morality should 
  be an everyday, observable practice, acquired through
  "training" (kenshu), and related to "concrete life habits" 
  (gutaiteki na seikatsu shukan). Indeed, the term "to embody" 
  or "make [values] concrete" (gutaika suru) is commonly used.    
                                           McVeigh 1995a

Taken all together, these three corollaries underlie the Japanese
preoccupation with uniform, well regulated, monologic
appearances. First there is the idea that public appearances
should match the desired public perception. Second there is the
idea that creating the likeness of social order will somehow
induce the actual realization of that order. And third there is
the idea that moral goodness and collective identity reside in
proper appearances. Thus, given the great importance of proper
forms, the public spaces of Japanese civil society seem to have
an especially instrumental and literal significance. By contrast,
the busy spaces of American civil society crowded with many
interest groups and multiple forms, would seem to have no order
to them. And whatever pronouncements that do manage to attract
attention will not have the same literal, iconic or emblematic
significance that the Japanese statements normally do. With
public spaces as divergent as the American and Japanese, it is
worth looking at the roots of the civil society concept and the
subsumed ideas of civilization, democracy, the Common Good, and
volunteerism.

        =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=



     [Witteveen, chapter 9, last half, civil society in Japan]    
 [http://www.msu.edu/user/wittevee/publications/ch9democ.txt]


  [elipsis to interpretation of civil society in Japan]



Democracy_________________________________________

Like other ideas and artifacts which cross great cultural
distances, the translation of the term "democracy" into the
Japanese context has been incomplete. The institutions and ideas
present in Japan subsumed by democracy "have no prior or higher
moral weight" (Rohlen 1983:264). Minshu shugi, the Japanese term
for "democracy," literally means a system of thought derived from
and concerned with "the people." But in practice, the observable
structures put in place after WWII and the doxa of democracy that
is nominally evident do not convey the interpretations which
Americans are accustomed to. In Japanese classrooms, "the basic
democratic values as Americans understand them --individual
rights, grass roots initiative, freedom, and social justice" are
not emphasized (ibid:265). As a result, minshu shugi or
DEMOKURASHI has the opaque, abstract quality of other foreign
words. "Students learn to be cooperative and polite with others,
but not to sacrifice for them. They learn to recite the
achievements of great men, but not to emulate them" (ibid:320).   
   The translation problem may originate in the circumstances of
the word's importation. Following the favorable settlements from
hostilities in China (1895) and Russia (1905), and after WW I,
but before the devastation of the Great Tokyo Earthquake (1923),
there was a flourish of economic confidence, with cultural
expressions inspired by Western practices. These optimistic years
are now called the period of Taisho [reign name] Democracy. A
1919 Japanese translation of the U.S. president Lincoln's 1863
Gettysburg Address was thought to epitomize democracy. Lincoln
had characterized this form of government as being "of the
people, by the people, and for the people." But in the back
translation from the Japanese to English, the drift of the
Japanese version can be seen to have veered to the side of the
governing authorities. Accordingly, Tanaka quotes the 1919
translation's "reading of Lincoln's phrase as, in essence,
'government based on the people, government for the sake of the
people, and government of the people'" (1993:145). Elaborating on
this idea, a just society should rest on top of the people in a
"natural order" of ranked social statuses. It should be
paternalistically inclined to the members of the society. And it
should be about governance of, not government by, the people. "At
best, the Confucian bureaucratic tradition is about paternalistic
benevolence, not power-sharing with the masses," wrote Williams.
"Whatever hopeful resonance the word 'public' may evoke in the
English ear, it must be stressed that 'government of the people,
by the people, and for the people' is not a Japanese
administrative tradition" (Williams 1994:111).
     Since the depth as well as texture of ideas resides in the
small details of word image and connotation, and precisely these
aspects of words are stripped in the translation to a new
language, it is not surprising that minshu shugi diverges from
"democracy," as do the many other terms rapidly imported during
the first generations after the end of feudal rule in 1868.
Furthermore, it is natural that the aspects of a foreign idea
which have native parallels should be readily included in the
imported term, but that the alien parts be ignored or excluded.
This was the case with "freedom" (jiyu). TR's Saito Kazo lamented
the losses that followed from lifting the Confucian yoke at the
end of WWII. In principle, the cardinal relationships of superior
to junior (e.g. ego to sibling, spouse, state, etc) were replaced
by the virtues of "freedom" for all. Yet, as it is popularly
interpreted, jiyu means the freedom from earlier strictures. But
the concomitant responsibilities of maintaining civil society and
engaging in individual initiative somehow did not translate. As a
result "freedom" amounts to unbridled personal pleasure and very
little consciousness of the overall social order (cf. Abe
1994:206).
     It is not that Japanese citizens are not permitted to
participate in civil society. Rather, it is the customary
expectation that the government by itself should be concerned
with collective interests (omakase gyosei), stanching any wider
participation in Japanese civil society. Additionally, the
circumspect citizens are reluctant to take a stand on anything
straying from their own particularistic and pragmatic interests.
By this reckoning, the actions and words of Takefu Renaissance
take on even more significance. For it is a rare thing for a
group to participate in civil society. Indeed it is rarer still
to take the democratic spirit and processes of government as the
subject of discussion; going further still, to petition that
government to make specific changes to its operating procedures.  
   The most effective kind of democracy permits and even
stimulates the voices of diverse members of the society to be
heard. The folk wisdom in the U.S. that apparent confusion is one
sign of a healthy democracy would seem anathema to the leaders of
orderly Japanese society. Regardless of the existence of neutral
space, rational-critical debate, or consciousness of a Common
Good (including awareness of superordinate "community" and a
spirit of volunteerism), what would seem to be essential to a
democratic spirit is for citizens to be able and willing to take
part in the processes and the discussions of their civil life.
People in Japan can do both of these things, but in practice they
are not accustomed to adopting any abstract collective interest,
unless it coincides with what they identify in and take to be
their own interests. There are, for example, legislative and
judicial institutions, "a media with a large readership; a
relatively open market of ideas and commodities; residents'
movements (jumin undo), citizens' movements (shimin undo), and
other collectively-organized activities and groups" (McVeigh
1995a). These institutions are evidence that the attributes of
democratic society are apparent in Japan, but what they mean in
practice is something different from what Americans might think.
Van Wolferen makes the same point another way,

     The Japanese prime minister is not expected to show
     much leadership; labour unions organise strikes to be
     held during lunch breaks; the legislature does not in
     fact legislate; stockholders never demand dividends;
     consumer interest groups advocate protectionism.     1989:24


And again, a foreign schooled Japanese who writes under a
Euroamerican name makes a similar observation about the meaning
of democracy in Japanese life.

     The reforms initiated by the Occupation and the
     implementation of the post-war constitution have
     created a number of democratic institutions but these
     alone do not necessarily impart the convictions and
     attitudes from which they originated.
        ...In Western countries with a strong democratic
     tradition, democracy is not just a political system but 
     a way of life. The people are familiar with the
     institutions, values and preferences peculiar to a
     democratic system. Japan is not without democratic
     traditions but these never affected the political life 
     of the nation as a whole.
                                                    Herzog 1993:9



Against these sharp assessments, there is some evidence of
Japanese exploring the wider possibilities of democracy. McKean's
study of environmental protest in Japan focuses on citizen
movements (shimin undo) in the late 1970s (cf. McNeil 1994:210-
213). Although far from prominent, the efforts of people she
studied included examples of democratic practice: litigation,
legislative lobbying, and various election tactics (1981:107).
She draws a line between movements before and after 1980, because
this is around the time when the formerly particularistic
boundaries of protest movements were broken (p.34). Previously, a
movement attracted followers who above all held the prospect of
personal gain (p.82, cf. Pharr 1984:217). By 1990 a national
directory of citizens and social movements listed 93 subjects
(Nichigai Associates 1990). Those registering the most groups
included the following movements, by approximate number:

Anti-nuclear, Peace           225
International Exchange        200
Women's Rights                180
Nature Protection             125
Regional Residents'           90
International Cooperation     75
Consumer Interests            65
Environmental Protection      50
Animal Rights                 50
Anti-Pollution                50
Sino-Japanese Friendship      50
A-bomb Victims                50
Education Reform/Support      45
 
Table 9-1 Types of citizens movement in Japan by number of
organizations.


In spite of the increase in citizen movements, many are still
single issue groups, especially those classified as regional
residents' movements. Once their goal has been met they will
dissolve themselves.
     The notion of striving for the general benefit of all
citizens is still not readily appreciated. Miyamoto writes of the
mix of puzzlement and admiration he received within his
bureaucratic confines for his iconoclastic practices (1994:58).
Likewise, the initiatives of TR have been received with
encouragement as well as incredulity. For example, following the
television broadcast of the townhall meeting about the KKD affair
which TR led on December 23, 1994, the leaders received a lot of
positive feedback, from both in and outside the town. But many
other townspeople could not comprehend why the group should be
motivated when there was no apparent reward. The TR newsletter
describes TR's wide ranging investigation like this,


     Going from near to far and back again, we've expressed
     ourselves here and poked our heads in there; unashamed,
     we bear the nickname "nosey Renaissance."
                                       January 1995 TR Newsletter


Truly unusual among the various citizen movements, TR is neither
defined by a single issue, nor meant to be a temporary
association of like minded individuals. Mr. Matsui Toru said that
when they joined the group it was with the understanding that it
would be a RAIFU WAKU (life work, a calling). Takefu Renaissance
was born, charging itself with the mission of instituting more
careful control of the historical townscape, revitalizing the
economy and civil society of the town center, and ultimately
stimulating widespread interest among their fellow townspeople in
the town's direction and its administration. Through well
informed and sophisticated comments, writings and events, TR has
broken through the prevailing mentality of "village-like,"
particularistic social relations (mura shakai) to get a taste of
the Common Good. Under conditions of "village-like" relations,
pragmatic reductionism, the mighty weight of government
pronouncements, and concern with appearances, the democratic
forms in Japan have been perpetuated with varying degrees of
success.


The idea of "the public"______________________________

In Japanese civil society the government and journalists are the
special arbiters of truth. The interest groups and associations
which vie for editorial space or broadcast time in the U.S. are
relatively scarce in Japan. If the U.S. is the empire of
broadcasting, then Japan is the land of narrowcasting. Rather
than enter an all purpose, general "public" space, Japanese
social critics or activists might address only those who are
specifically implicated or intended for a message. Accordingly,
any sense of superordinate community or putative "public good" is
hard to find in Japan. Instead, an ethos of village society often
prevails from one group to the next, making intergroup
cooperation infrequent and any abstract collective interest
anathema (Ueda 1994a). These two aspects then, the dominance of
public space by the government and media, and the particularistic
quality of social relations are what characterize Japanese civil
society.
     In the West, civil society is associated with the ideas of a
common good, the benefit of the public or collective community,
democracy (or at least the expression of diverse citizens'
ideas), and volunteer spirit. But in Japan, these ideas take
different forms, and in the absence of popular expression, the
government, educators and journalists fill the public sphere with
their ideas and values. Some indication of the equation of public
sphere with government prerogative can be found in the overlap of
words "public" (oyake, not private sector, thus "of the
government") and "public" (ko, concern to all persons). These
words are different pronunciations for the same written kanji
character.


                    [ graphic image of kanji for oyake ]

     Oyake.
     Significantly, this word originally referred to the
     Imperial family. It could also denote official
     authority or governmental powers, and has associations 
     of high-sounding purpose, order, fairness, and the
     collective good. Oyake did not mean public in the
     sense of a social space that protected the individual
     from civil disturbance or state authority. In the
     words of Doi, it represented a "primary fraction"
     (i.e., the Imperial family) among a group of
     competing political powers and institutions. Though
     oyake has lost its original meaning of Imperial family 
     and acquired the sense of "public" since the war, "the 
     old 'oyake spirit' still pervades the Japanese
     mentality" because the government is afforded much
     power vis-�-vis the people (1986:44).

          Ko. This word... is a prefix for dozens of
     compounds, conveying "public," "communal," "open,"
     "official," "legal," "governmental," or anything or
     anyone exposed to the collectivity. "The word 'ko'
     conveys a specifically illiberal weight which is untrue 
     of the English word 'public'" (Williams 1994:111). Ko
     is part of the commonly used koshu (the public;
     literally, "public multitude"), which is used to
     describe anything available to public use, such as
     koshu denwa (public phone)... Koyo (public use) means
     "for official use" in a business setting, as opposed to 
     "private use" (shiyo). Here it is pertinent to point
     out that "public spirit" is kotokushin (literally,
     "heart of civic virtues") or kokyoshin. These words are 
     rarely heard in everyday speech and for many Japanese
     possess an abstract feel, though they do appear in
     moral education materials. 
                                                    McVeigh 1995a



With the historical intrusiveness of the state in people's lives
and the blur of boundaries between collective, communal interests
and the government's prerogatives, it is no wonder that little
consciousness of the "common good" has developed. McVeigh
describes the collapse of whatever private space might separate
individuals from authorities or status superiors.

     ...the lines between private and public, individual and 
      government, and society and state, are constantly
     shifting. My point is that relative to Japan,
     Euroamerican societies work harder to minimize any gray 
      areas between private and public spheres.
                                                    McVeigh 1995a


The ease with which the government dominates matters of social
concern in the public sphere depends on a weakly developed notion
of a "common good." Doi writes of a "serious dearth of the type
of public spirit that transcends both individual and group"
(1986:42). In Herzog's words (1993):

     The common good is disregarded and all government
     organizations operate for the benefit of special
     interests. The system seems to assume that the common
     good is the sum of all particular concerns.(p.15)

     Japanese society is based on status and human
     relations; the consciousness of universal principles
     which should guide social relations and social conduct 
      belongs to a sphere alien to the traditional way of
     thinking which directs people's conduct in everyday
     life. (p.16)




In an article about the rising cultural nationalism among the
East Asian countries, Reid (1995) quotes a Japanese academic
named Katsuta Kichitaro on the essential difference in the moral
code of social relations of Confucianism and Judeo-Christianity.
The Judeo-Christian Golden Rule exhorts people to "do unto others
as you would have done unto you." In contrast to this proactive
philosophy, Confucianism teaches people not to act in ways that
would distress others. Katsuta suggests that the debate and
initiatives practiced by Westerners in the name of improving
their society is alien to East Asian traditions (e.g. in
Singapore, Mahbubani 1994). Yet Japanese companies built overseas
have come to be sensible to the idea of being good "corporate
citizens." Asao Shin'ichiro, President of The Japan Foundation
reports these developments as a mark of progress: companies
giving something besides wages to their host communities (in
Gupta 1995:18). But fundamentally this idea is not a familiar
one. Whereas Westerners strive to make their resolutions for an
improved social life a reality, for East Asians the lineaments of
social order are contained in the Confucian code. Everyone has a
proper place to occupy so as to ensure the maintenance of social
and moral order. What is most important in Japanese society
therefore is that the proper forms be observed. Concern with
community may indeed stem from the nature of each society's
religion, East or West.
     Christianity is a religion of strangers. From its beginning
it has consisted of people bound together not by blood,
ethnicity, language, or territory, but by something as abstract
as beliefs. As such, the metaphor of "brothers" and "sisters"
(fellow believers) laid lateral connections. The metaphors of
"the father" (divine being; God) and "mother" (the church as an
institution in its entirety, leadership and laity) added
hierarchical aspects. But it is the lateral dimension that has
crucially affected the spirit of democracy, community,
volunteerism, and the Public in the West.
     The collective manner of worship in the semitic religions
(Christianity, Islam, Judaism) is also significant to the making
of civil society in places where these institutions have
flourished. In contrast, worship according to the fundamental
religion of Japan, Shinto, largely consists of private
expressions of gratitude and prayers for desired outcomes made by
individual supplicants as they face the shrine. The semitic
religions include the practice of worshipping together as a
group. In the act of gathering, people affirm their belonging and
belief once more. One consequence is the effect of "public
witness," whereby collectively held standards of community
behavior can be reaffirmed: those that stray may feel the
pressure of their peers, those that are exemplars may enjoy the
praise of their fellows. Another effect of collective worship is
to generate a self-sustaining institutional inertia. When worship
is private, as in Shinto, believers may be remiss in their
practices. But when organized into a periodic gathering, members
may make a greater effort to participate. Finally, public worship
creates an archetype for civil society. As a body of believers
bound together voluntarily, the worshippers form a community, but
one not as enveloping as a village; nor one as comprehensive as
the state. Thus a congregation is an intermediate form, a
precursor to the fully formed notion of the Public.
     Confucianism, on the other hand, dictates that relationships
take the form of short peer, rather than the more extensive and
less knotted social connections of Euroamerican societies which
constitute a groundwork for civil society. Confucianism dictates
the concentric circles of ancient obligations between self,
siblings, parents, spouse, friend, and governing authority which
results in sets of dyads. There is little room for strangers,
those people who are neither kin nor acquaintance, or have no
social introductions. Together with the "village-like" ethos in
social life, this cone (not blanket) of connections explains the
highly particularistic relationships among Japanese people.      
The example TR has set may not be easy to imitate. And while the
details vary from one society to another, at the most basic
level, the function of civil society is similar in the U.S. and
Japan. Getting more people to take part in the civil society and
to get the government and schools to allow and encourage more
citizen participation in civil society will not be an easy or
obvious thing to do.
     In both societies diverse communities of interest have to
enter a common arena to define themselves and to discuss their
society. The difference is that the U.S. is composed of cross-
cutting business, professional, ethnic, religious, and regional
interest groups, along with individuals, both pundit and
pedestrian, who enter the debate. In Japan's largely monoethnic
society these groupings exist too, but what is more salient are
the village-like networks of obligation. It is these reference
groups that make up the community of interests that enter a
common arena in Japan. Another difference between East and West
is that the many groups that participate in U.S. civil society
have a direct stake in a putative "common good," whereas the
Japanese groups by and large have a stake only in their own
immediate sphere. It is up to the ruling government to concern
itself with the sum of these many individual spheres, rather than
to concern itself with an abstract notion of Public Interest.
      Foreign and domestic tourism, as well as study and work
assignments overseas have given increasing numbers of Japanese
direct personal experience of life away from Japan (Goodman 1993;
Graburn 1983, 1988). More importantly, upon returning their
experiences have allowed them to become self-aware of their
Japaneseness and given them some points of comparison to judge
the merits and faults of the wider society of Japan. At worst
this has led to the kikoku shijo mondai, or Problems of [and
with] Returnees. School age children in particular who have
acclimated well to the foreign country of residence have trouble
fitting into the routines and expectations of the classrooms in
Japan; resulting in hurtful bullying sometimes.
     At best this annual transfer of people and ideas with the
outside world may lead to awareness of something like a Common
Good, or at least the consciousness of something superordinate to
their own personal universe of social connections. Certainly this
has been the case of two of TR's most opinionated leaders, Ms.
Miki and Mr. Inoue. Their extensive experiences away from Takefu
led to their heightened self-awareness of the town's special
character. They became sensible of the idea to take personal
interest in the town's future, almost as an obligatioin of being
a townsperson. The efforts of other citizen groups (shimin undo,
jumin undo) around the country probably come from a vision and
awareness similar to that of TR's leaders. And the vigor of all
of these groups, regardless of their objects, will likely result
in a heightened sense of community and Public Interest across the
society.
     While increasing numbers of Japanese learn about civil
society abroad, the emergence of a new technology at home may
also contribute to expanded Japanese civil society. Personal
computers, despite a diffusion rate far below that of the U.S.
may in time affect public discourse by offering a forum for
discussion where content does count for more than form. In
addition to being cheap, quick, asynchronous and unmoored from
physical place, bulletin boards, electronic lists, and discussion
groups have the virtue of masking the sender's social status as
desired. This anonymity permits the (semi) broadcast exchange of
opinions. The voices of government, media, and subject area
experts (e.g. academics) all weigh in equally with those of
citizens of all ages and socio-economic-educational profiles.
Regional differences, rural-urban horizons, loyalties to
corporate, religious or political positions need no longer
categorize and thus discount or elevate the person's ideas (cf.
Jabs 1996).
     By contrast, the same technology may have less desirable
effects among Americans. The popularity of virtual spaces for
public discourse may drive the already individualistic Americans
even further away from social interaction and lead to even more
privatized lives (cf. Putnam 1993, 1995). Far from eroding civil
society in Japan, however, this technology may work like a deus
ex machina, removing the confining public pressures that come
from the ethos of village-like, particularistic relations.
     It is too early to know how readily this development may
fracture the monologic (single) and monolithic (big) public voice
of Japanese civil society into several slivers. But the
significance of this media to business, education and
entertainment already does portend an unavoidable impact,
particularly in a land as favorably disposed to adapting new
technology and dedicated to personal gain through learning as
Japan (cf. Guersey 1996, Sclove 1995). If not itself a formal
arena for civil society of towns, the country, or transnational
communities of interest, then the communication made possible by
personal computers may at least function as a seed bed for
movements which later convene at a physical place and time.


Volunteerism__________________________________________

In Japan the term 'democracy' (minshu shugi) and the term
'volunteer' (BORANCHIYA) have both been compromised by the
translation process. The term jihatsu teki (literally, in a self-
emerging manner) is sometimes used to mean "voluntarily," as in
"raise your hands jihatsu teki ni." But to mean a person who
donates their service to a (communal) goal, the term BORANCHIYA
is commonly used. In practice, however, this word conjures up
things like neighborhood litter patrols in which each household
is expected to supply one "volunteer" (unpaid, but not
necessarily of the person's own will).
     The show of aid in the January 1995 Great Kobe Earthquake
gave new meaning to the term BORANCHIYA. This city has long been
home to a large and diverse population of residential foreigners.
Soon after the event, numerous foreigners from around the country
and abroad offered their labor, expertise, along with material
and money. Japanese too, and college students in particular,
joined this army of helpers. This spontaneous show of support for
people in need, who occupied no place in the volunteers'
immediate social universe, caused a mixture of admiration and
surprise among Japanese elsewhere.
     To find a functional equivalent to the term which
approximates the altruistic spirit of the English term
"volunteer," I asked TR's Inoue Kazuharu, who, like Alexis De
Tocqueville 150 years before him, had found the concept central
to understanding the social life he knew of the U.S. (cf. Van
Buren 1990). Tebento was the meaning he said Japanese should
relearn for the full meaning of "volunteer." It refers to taking
part in a project by paying one's own way (literally, "sack
lunch" or "Bring Your Own Booze"); not to begin with the
expectation of material recompense or social gain. Yet in spite
of having an amenable Japanese source concept for "volunteer,"
and the spectacle of volunteerism after the Great Kobe
Earthquake, the term BORANCHIYA continues to be a partial
translation (cf. McNeil 1994:213).
     The idea of volunteerism relates to the spirit of democracy
in two ways. First, voluntary cooperation of the members of a
democratic society is needed because coercive force alone cannot
ensure social order. Second, everyone benefits most when the
members of the society go beyond the minimalist requirements of
civil life legislated by the government and display a volunteer's
readiness to participate in public affairs, taking a personal
stake in the social order.
     In Japan the notions of community, volunteerism, donation,
et cetera are not the ones found in Christian dominated
societies, where the beneficiary may be anonymous. Such an
imagined, yet seemingly tangible entity and sense of belonging
would seem hollow to most Japanese. Instead the matter becomes
"volunteer for whom," or "donation to whom." Moen's study of the
Japanese organic farming movement points out this preoccupation
with substantive personal implication. He found that 186 of the
200 organic produce consumer group members joined out of concern
for their own family's health, but that for those belonging for
over two years, what was uppermost in their minds had become
fulfilling the obligation of their social relationships with
growers (1995:159).
     Reduced to simple dichotomy, the notion of acting in a
responsible, good and proper way among Japanese grows from the
need to fulfill social obligations, including the effects of
acute sensitivity to peer opinion and the possibility of falling
outside of relatively narrowly defined explicit expectations of
preferred behavior. By contrast, Americans' notion of acting in a
responsible, proper way contains not only the urge to repay
interpersonal social debts (among strangers as often as
acquaintances), but may also go beyond personal interest or
social relationships to include a desire to do one's part in the
wider, collective community. So while both Japanese and Americans
may participate in voluntary associations for personal reasons,
it seems as though it is more common among the latter to be
motivated by the approbation earned by giving of themselves to
some greater, non-exclusive, public good.
     In a review of Kaneko's 1992 book about volunteerism in
Japan, Kiyohara points to another aspect of the highly
particularistic social relationships among Japanese speakers
which works against any wider embrace of volunteerism. In
addition to the meager value attached to unbounded, anonymous
altruism, volunteers readily develop an empathy that implicates
them with the subject, leaving the would-be volunteer feeling
vulnerable and obligated to take the subject's problems as his or
her own (in Kiyohara, 1996:18).
     According to the Judeo-Christian teachings, one's deeds can
be a sign of one's moral goodness. Deeds can even be the
instrument leading to one's moral goodness. The Protestant Work
Ethic is one example (Weber 1930). Another example is the Golden
Rule found in the Bible, which exhorts followers to "do unto
others as they would have done unto themselves" (Matthew chapter
7, verse 12). The result of this spiritually diagnostic work is
that believers as well as those non-believers pulled along in the
cultural slipstream of these religions would try to make the good
society a reality on earth (Katsuta, in Reid 1995). Social
practice should approximate to what is preached. Hypocracy,
falsehoods and contradictions cannot be abided.
     The religious underpinning of civil society in the West is
largely without support in Japan. Jewish and Christian Japanese
are few indeed (cf. the significant numbers of converts in South
Korea). Service organizations, like other legacies of form more
than substance from the U.S. military occupation of Japan between
1945 and 1952, while numerous, are the exception (rather than
part of a normative ideal) in their society (McNeil 1994:213).
Similarly, the cultural institutions of charities and benevolent
foundations which developed long ago in Japanese society in the
form of mutual aid societies were restricted to neighborhood
residents, (temple) parishioners, guild members, and so on. The
notion of anonymous, collective benefit assumed in the related
ideas of democracy, volunteerism, and the Common Good has little
significance in Japan. To donate anonymously to an abstract,
cause was and is still not a familiar idea today. Unlike the
Western concept of the martyr, with its religious associations,
Japanese people who sacrificed their lives did so for a certain
person or some group; e.g., kamikaze pilots for the Emperor,
peasant leaders for their villages (Walthall 1986). Further
examples come anecdotally from conversations and observations in
the field. For example, anonymous child adoptions are far
outnumbered by those involving blood-relatives. And any sense of
stewardship of an anonymous, collective space such as a national
park seems weakly developed as evidenced by the volume of litter. 
    In U.S. society the consequences of Judeo-Christian values to
civil society are amplified by additional cultural imperatives
that stress (good) deeds. The success of one's enterprises are
not only a possible mark of godliness and a medium for channeling
one's commitment to good works. Nor are they simply a practical
way to accrue secular status in the world. A person's identity is
also based on what he or she does for a living, as well as what
they do avocationally. As a country filled with people who came
from someplace else, people in the United States are more often
defined by what they do than by who they are (e.g. name,
relatives, place of origin). When strangers meet it is "doing"
rather than "being" that is brought forward in the customary
remark, "So, what do you do?" A relationship may develop before
the individuals introduce themselves by name, and even then
people who work together closely might not know the surnames of
their workmates or neighbors. Although traces of the older
("being") identity remain important in the conservative contexts
where power or wealth are concentrated, by and large one's
identity in the U.S. comes from achieved rather than ascribed
status.
     The identity imperative that supports civil society in the
U.S. is not the same in Japan. Instead of identity that is
emergent in the actions, intentions and imagination of the
person, one's identity resides in the roles occupied from one
moment to the next, along with the characteristics defined by
one's birth. One is still known in life and in death primarily by
one's surname. Although affiliation (company name) or generic
function (job name) may substitute for family name in many public
contexts, the identity of a person in Japan comes mainly from who
they are (socially), rather than from what they do at work or
play. Since meritocracy does exist, one may be judged by
performance. But to an extent greater than in the U.S., a
Japanese person's life chances are determined by who he or she is
rather than how well he or she does.
     A preference for particularistic ties over generic ones can
be seen in the creation of Japan's national state. As a
sophisticated apparatus of collective identity, the nation-state
came about by exploiting the genealogy of the imperial line. Each
soldier, civil servant, fisherman and mother and newborn was
supposed to be a blood relative of the present Emperor, whose own
line was counted back some 125 generations to the times of the
first gods, their creation of the archipelago and descent
thereupon. Thus the pre-WWII ideology of kazoku kokka [family
nation] made all citizens kin who, by way of the Emperor's semi-
divine emergence on the islands, were also attached to the
nation's soil. This persuasive appeal of particularistic ties can
be seen in a phenomenon associated with national consciousness,
the novel.

         The truth is that Japanese novelists were unable to 
      create a modern literature on the European model
     because they have historically viewed their art as
     something personal, an expression of an inner world of 
     turmoil and resignation. Although the Japanese
     mainstream in fiction, poetry, and drama has been a
     romantic one, it has been intimate-romantic rather than 
     national-romantic.
         In short, if Japanese authors of the modern era
     failed to create a heroic "modern" literature, it was
     because they failed to be spokesmen for anything larger
     than their own hearts.
                                                  Pulvers 1996:22



Civilization, civility, city, civil society___________

The shape of civil society, like that of democracy, differs in
the U.S. and Japan. Bringing together a set of words related to
the term civil society sheds light on the source and significance
of the word. Unlike the East Asian term bunmei (civilization,
literally the union of the words for writing and brightness), the
Latin based word 'civilization' makes explicit etymological
reference to city life and, by extension, to residents with the
special rights conferred by citizenship (e.g. belonging to the
empire of Rome). The grid of archetypic Roman urban design
inevitably included a square near the city heart called a forum.
In this public space vendors might assemble, festivities take
place, friends or enemies gather, and opinionated individuals
mount a speaker's podium. In a literal sense, civil society was
coterminous with the sum of public opinion heard in the forum,
theater and other places of gathering in the city. Without the
infrastructure and the institutions of the city, its strangers
and its tapestry of personal connections, there could be no
Public Benefit, Common Good, or indeed Civil Society.
     After the Roman Empire expired, the Roman Catholic church
inherited the spaces urban and rural. The universal, law-like
teachings of the church possibly enhanced the logocentric,
rational-critical element of civil society. But it was only with
the Protestant Reformation and spread of science along with
commerce, colonies, warfare and technology that the civil society
of Western civilization permitted a wider social spectrum of
participants. Whether or not the civil society amounted to a
neutral space (midway between the familial and the state
interests) for public discourse is difficult to know. A document
of the time evinces today's meanings in the use of 'civil,' and
'general good.'

     Having undertaken, for the Glory of God and advancement 
     of the Christian Faith and honour of our King and
     Country, a Voyage to plant the First Colony in the
     Northern Parts of Virginia, do by these presents
     solemnly and mutually in the presence of God and one of
     another, Covenant and Combine ourselves together into a
     Civil Body Politic, for our better ordering and
     preservation and furtherance of the ends aforesaid; and
     by virtue hereof enact, constitute and frame such just
     and equal Laws, Ordinances, Acts, Constitutions and
     Offices from time to time, as shall be thought most
     meet and convenient for the general good of the Colony, 
     unto which we promise all due submission and obedience.      
                           from the Mayflower Compact, 1620


As literacy spread in the wake vernacular translations of the
Bible first, and with the emergence of nation-states later, the
literary forms of novels and newspapers added new voices to civil
society. Later, the media of radio and television expanded the
informed public beyond what previously had been a predominately
middle class readership.
     The purpose of this brief recitation is that the idea of
civil society evolved from the specific conditions of cities
which were occupied by citizens (holders of special rights with
regard to the government) and strangers. The same desire for
certainty, trust and stability which migrants to cities felt must
have been duplicated on a grand scale in the newly founded,
immigrant filled United States of America. In his travels there
in 1831 and 1832, De Tocqueville set out to gain a close up view
of democracy. He concluded the will of the masses would
inevitably smother any individual greatness. But he also was
impressed by the variety of voluntary associations established,
which he viewed as resulting from the influx of diverse peoples
(De Tocqueville 1988). Both for enterprise and social pleasure
communities of trust, authority and propriety had to be built
rather than be inherited ready made. The idea of the Public in
Euroamerican life is tied to cities, both with physical reference
to the people found in a town, and later more imaginatively to a
putative group of, say, readers. Thus the trajectory of the term
'civil society' from a very early time must have contained the
aspects of neutrality and rational-critical discourse emphasized
previously.
     Civilization further intersects with ideas of propriety. In
the courts, civil law regulates things like contracts, while
criminal concerns infractions of "civilized behavior," in a loose
sense. "Being civil" to one another means behaving in a reserved
and possibly dispassionate way, free of the emotion and motives
of particularistically inclined social relations. Similarly, to
identify a place or practice as "civilized" calls up specific
images associated with a middle-class or learned stratum of
society. Today "civilized," at least after having passed through
19th century British imperial usages, equates with bourgeois,
court and noble appearances, actual or imagined. It means (self-
consciously) refined, educated; recognized to be the classic or
standard form.
     With these two major roots, the urban and the privileged, it
is not surprising that the space of public discourse for civil
society in Western society should have a very different shape
from the one in Japan. Despite the many words, artifacts and
practices imported and adapted to Japanese uses, it is rare for
the complete implications and associated ideas of the source
language to translate into Japanese life. Thus the conclusion in
Democracy in Japan (Ishida and Krauss 1989) that the essential
qualities of democracy have prevailed is overly optimistic, at
least at the level of Takefu's affairs. The case of the citizen's
group Takefu Renaissance and the KKD scandal demonstrates the
importance of civil society to democratic practice; and what is
more, to the associated ideas of community, the Public, and the
traditions of open debate and volunteer spirit assumed in the
English language term "civil society."


Concluding definition of civil society in Japan_______

The eruption of the KKD affair presented a helpful opportunity to
observe the interactions of the government, media, and
townspeople in Takefu's public spaces and to consider the
assumptions of civil society in Japan. Before reviewing the
observations and arguments made about the terrain of civil
society in Japanese life, it is worth returning to the most
concrete aspects of public discourse and recounting exactly who
said what where. Although civil society is an analytic term which
covers a variety of media and messages, and is probably not a
familiar term to the average person, the subject it refers to is
not vague or abstract. The discussion and commentary,
declarations and refutations made in public spaces of a society
are real enough. The significance of discourse and actions
extends beyond the political splitting of hairs and the economic
consequences of whoever's interpretation of a matter may come to
prevail: law makers', a commercial entity's, or the views held
widely by individuals.
     Like the idea of civil society itself, the topics found
there often have about them an amorphous quality. They might
concern the intangible realm of collective representation and
identity, for example. As Karp wrote of museums, the labels and
categories deployed not only define whole segments of a society
and periods of history, but these terms and connected discourse
carry an additional significance. Collective identity implies
boundaries, rights, proprieties and expectations both within the
group and of the group as seen by outsiders. Thus, to study the
shape of a civil society takes one to the center of what is
important to the people in question. It is a research object no
less fundamental than the knowledge of a society's economic
supports: the technology, mode of production, and manner of
distribution that makes everything else possible.
     The definition for civil society used in this chapter comes
from Gramsci, who distinguished the coercive action of the state
from the initiative of the populace. Karp put the idea this way:
political society concerns enforcement of the social order, while
civil society involves discussion of the social order. Calhoun
singled out the rational-critical nature of discourse as a
defining feature of civil society. Perhaps most importantly
though, civil society is a neutral space, "It involves all those
relationships which go beyond the purely familial and yet are not
of the state" (Tester 1992:8). Understood in this way, Japanese
civil society seems to consist of the family-like and the state,
with little in-between. Indeed the question arises, whether this
narrow space is neutral and, if so, whether arguments there are
rational-critical.
     Civil society is the intersection of political interests,
group identities and the persuasive properties of the language in
use itself. The initiatives of Takefu Renaissance to see the KKD
be made into a town museum, and their efforts to redefine the
prevailing roles of citizens, elected officials, and municipal
bureaucrats took place in a variety of contexts. Their probing
questions began in planning committee meetings, were then aired
at the TR monthly meetings, and were later summed up in the
monthly newsletter. Their resolutions then took a multitude of
final forms: petitions to the city council and mayor, townhall
meetings, media appearances such as newspaper interviews,
syndicated columns (Mr. Uesaka Norio), television programs
(regarding the Oi-ke historical house), invitations to speak
before professional associations, publications produced for sale,
and the cross-fertilizing contribution made by TR members in the
other organization they belonged to. Beyond the KKD affair, civil
society in Takefu includes the local and national (and via
satellite broadcasts and video rentals, international) news,
entertainment and educational media. Perhaps most prominently
though, government at all levels --municipal, prefectural and
national-- sets the terms of debate on a given matter. This takes
the form of pronouncements, publications, meetings and
appearances of officials at public events.
     In the end, two questions remain. First, what does civil
society in Japan's democratic society consist of. Second, what
consequence might this have had on the KKD proposal and the
efforts of TR. Taking the first question, both general East Asian
characteristics and specifically Japanese features contribute to
the arena where social matters are discussed. The teachings of
Confucianism with its core of five cardinal relationships have
permeated all societies of the East Asian region, with several
consequences. In Japan one has been the unchallenged prerogative
of top-down authority, with its command-style, yet
paternalistically obligated aspect. Another consequence has been
the vertical hierarchy of social relations, beginning with ties
to one's household and reaching all the way to one's allegiance
to the state. Accordingly, the cross-cutting lateral linkages
that might allow consciousness of a Common Good are very rare
indeed. Coupled with the Confucian hierarchies of social
relations, life in the East Asian sphere is further fragmented
into compartments which are governed by village-like,
particularistic relations. Added to this shared East Asian
heritage are some features of civil society particular to Japan.
      The actions of the city administrators, along with the
interviews I conducted with civil servants at city hall and the
comments of TR members shed light on the nature of Japanese civil
society. Using the English language concept of civil society, one
cannot see very far beyond the surface of the meager spectacle
that the Japanese case presents. Public discourse is dominated by
the government, mass media and (academic) subject experts, and
what they have to say seems of one voice. The interpretations of
citizens and nongovernmental organizations seldom carries beyond
opinion-editorial pages or discussions confined to the group
internally. It does not contribute to a mosaic public forum.      
The main features of the space for public discourse in Japan
include bureaucrats who have inherited the elitist ways of their
19th century samurai predecessors. Officials, both career track
and elected, who are in their 50s and 60s are a demographic
sandwich generation. What is significant about this is that they
occupy management or leadership roles and, compared with
colleagues both younger and older, they have a more restricted
scope of experience with matters beyond Takefu. Few were able to
live outside their own valley during their formative years. The
older generation is now no longer a big part of public office
today; and the younger generation, while more liberal minded and
having wider horizons figuratively, is still not in leadership
roles by simple reason of the seniority system of promotion.      
As for the city council, little real debate seems to occur in the
open waters of a general assembly meeting. Instead, substantive
negotiations take place in smaller, face to face meetings of a
highly personalistic nature. The webs of personal,
particularistic ties among councilors and with constituents
determine what decision will be adopted or rejected. Persuasion
by force of reason is not unknown, but it is not the most
compelling approach to argument. The importance of orderly public
appearances leads to lifeless "debates" in city council, a
stylistic feature that is congruent with the "received" nature of
pronouncements by authorities, whether they be school masters or
mayors. Another reason for the staged nature of city council
debates is the prearrangement of decisions (dango) and the
practice of feeling out of political support ahead of time
(nemawashi).
     The town government as a whole can be characterized by its
institutionally short term vision and a village-like mutual
ignorance between the various offices and agencies which hinders
any cooperative efforts (cf. Herzog 1993:262). Another
characteristic is the village-like (particularistic) relations
between individual civil servants and with the public, including
the prevalence of privileged cliques who devise the government's
legislation and direction by dango (collusion). The news media,
too, play a part in civil society. But aside from sometimes
scolding civic leaders, the journalists more often than not
support and convey the government's positions.
     Other features of the government employees are legacies of
the feudal life way. This style of bureaucracy has been shaped by
a disciplined, paternalistic ethic and a byzantine system of the
many samurai who entered the civil service at its inception. The
interpersonal characteristics found in public life also seem to
be historically based in the formerly village mode of living:
concern with appearances, circumspection (as a spur to keeping
abreast, as a limiter to novel initiatives), pragmatic outlook
and particularistic social relations that create an economy of
mutual obligations. There are three practical consequences of
these inherited practices. First there is the dango system of
personal connections and prearranged outcomes. Second there is
the attenuation of any wide vision due to preoccupation with
immediate consequences. And third, there is the defensive posture
of officials in the public arena: quick to answer complaints, but
cautious about proposing anything new or strictly beyond the
minimum requirements of status quo.
     The other half of civil society is the general public.
Except for the special case of TR, the townspeople of Takefu in
general are important not for their adventures into civil
society, but for being the audiences to which the government and
media play. In addition to being the ones who buy the newspapers
and pay taxes, the people not actively taking part in civil
society are nevertheless important. If silence means consent,
then their normally mute witnessing of government pronouncements,
journalists interpretations, and the received knowledge of people
in authority roles generally is an indispensable part of civil
society.
     Townspeople can be characterized in the following way. They
share an ambivalence about government: it is something best to
avoid, but also an ample source for subsidies and services,
especially when personal connections can be exploited. In general
the same village-like interpersonal characteristics found within
city hall also typify life outside the civil service. Thus people
are pragmatic (goriteki), rather than philosophical or
preoccupied with principle. Relationships are long term and
particularistic rather than purely utilitarian and short term.
Finally, circumspection spurs townspeople to keep up with peer's
actions and words. But it also bridles any initiative or
divergence from what is considered proper and normal. A related
idea is the primacy of appearances. So important is it to
maintain appropriate personal comportment, social decorum, and
protocol, that social order would seem to follow instrumentally
from adherence to proper form. This importance extends to
language use, too.
     Deep seated attitudes to language usage contribute to the
value put on appearances among Japanese people and organizations
more generally. For example, the importance of appearances is
emphasized in a society where what is not said may be as
significant as what is articulated. E.T. Hall (1987) calls
Japanese a high context culture, a way of living where standard
routines, a uniform range of expectations and nonverbal cues
predispose conversations and upon which the talk may even depend
for its full effect. Added to this is the complementary, low
value placed on making lengthy arguments of explicit logic. The
result is that very little rational-critical content in public
discourse is apparent. Thus by the definition of civil society
used in this chapter of rational-critical discourse in a
"neutral" space, the display that civil society in Japan makes
seems meager. What discourse there is can be understood according
to the village-like social relations that prevail overall, the
attention to appearance, the attitude to verbalization generally,
and the particular position enjoyed by authority figures.
     In sum, the most original part of civil society in Japan is
the great attention put on preserving appearances. Decorum seems
to be a sign of social order, and perhaps the means of defining
social order at the same time. Far from taking social issues as
the objects of debate, instead they are regarded as obj�ts to be
treated as received knowledge, something inert and dictated by
authorities; not subject to discussion. While people may tolerate
a considerable gap between what is said and what is meant
(tatemae and honne, respectively), the same is not true of
actions. Individuals, but above all the government, will tolerate
little deviance from visual decorum and (the appearance of)
proper procedure. Whether the ritualization of public arenas
accounts for the otherwise highly particularistic space of
discourse as McVeigh wrote, or whether it is simply another
example of a delight in formalism that has run through the
society from the days of samurai is not clear. What is
unmistakable, however, is that civil society in Japan is
characterized by a preoccupation with appearances, both literal
surfaces and figurative impressions.
     The other specifically Japanese aspect of civil society has
to do with the circumstances in which democracy was implanted in
the government following WWII. Other societies in the orbit of
East Asia have recognizably democratic forms and ideas (Ding
1994), but the circumstances in which they came about and the
preexistence of amenable institutions varied by country (Ishida
and Krauss 1989). Ever since delegations of Japanese began
touring the industrialized nations in the early 1870s, practices
thought to be useful to Japan's own development were tried and
adapted to suit Japanese ways. These included a constitution,
houses of legislation, and a system of courts. But it was not
until the seven years of Allied (but in practical terms,
American) occupation that democratic institutions were
comprehensively introduced, along with land (redistribution)
reforms, compulsory education, revised textbooks and curricula,
universal suffrage and popular elections.
     What is more, however, the ideology of democracy began to be
propagated. When the occupation ended in 1952, the culture of
cash spending and increasingly urbanized consumers had budded,
nourished by a diet of American feature films. The same exercise
of choice which shoppers could expect, they would now also have
in decision making in local and national elections. The very high
rates of election turnout in later years which Kuroda noted may
be related to this conjunction of shopping and voting (1974:83).
But without the associated cultural meanings found in Western
societies, the Japanese interpretation of the democratic forms
has not carried any of the implications for volunteering, citizen
participation in political matters or the notion of a Common Good
or Public Interest.
     Democracy in Japan undoubtedly has led to wider political
participation and empowerment to members of the society. But
built upon the earlier political strategies and values, it has
approximated to those earlier patterns: leaders unfettered in
their exercise of power, but obliged by paternalism to seek at
least demonstrative benefit for the masses. Yet the political
leaders are bound more deeply still by ties to colleagues'
interests above those of constituents. The consequence to civil
society of democratic flesh on a prewar skeleton is that public
space is still dominated by the government, journalists, and
academics.

     The Japanese academic elite and the media in general
     are both marginal because they are unable to generate
     and control vital information leading to wealth, power, 
     and status in society. They function merely as counter 
     elites in Japanese society today. In terms of
     generating and controlling information, the
     administrative elite occupies the most advantageous
     position in Japan whereas the political elite largely
     consists of "imbecile lords." [baka tonosama; i.e.
     puppet-like figures]
                                                   Gotoda 1985:12




Civil society, Takefu Renaissance, and the Kokaido affair_____


This chapter began with a chronology of the KKD affair from the
time the original museum plan was sidetracked in January, 1994.
Over the next 23 months the mayor's office would do its best to
make the KKD into a gallery and research institute for the late
painter Saeki Yuzo. The mass media, municipal civil servants,
elected city councilors, townspeople and members of TR all had
parts to play in this affair. But it was TR's lead in pursuing
the procedural irregularities of the mayor's project which drove
the course of events leading to the city abandoning the project
and returning instead to something closer to the original museum
design.

The nature of Japanese civil society described in this chapter
has had several consequences, both helpful and hindering to the
KKD proposal and investigation which TR pursued. Beginning with
the obstacles to TR's initiatives, the most obvious hinderance
has been the lack of precedence and support for anybody calling
the government's actions into question (cf. McKean 1981:81). Even
when the wrongness of actions was clearly shown, it proved
difficult to extract acknowledgement of errors by the city's
leaders. Secondly, the mentality of village-like relations has
meant that no matter how big the KKD affair would become, except
for townspeople personally implicated, there was little popular
show of solidarity with TR's efforts. Even after it was under the
national media spotlight, there would likely still be townspeople
unaware of the nature of the controversy. Few townspeople got
involved because the KKD was not their own affair, they did not
wish to challenge the government, or wish to enter the public
space and so find themselves subject to scrutiny and feelings of
circumspection. As a practical matter, the village-like relations
meant that TR's mode of operating had to be discrete and their
inquiries had to be prefaced by personal connection whenever
possible to establish rapport.
     Finally, the great stress on decorum affected the government
leaders' course of action. At the same time this value also
influenced the decision of TR to proceed in a calm and tasteful
manner. They had to be careful to preserve their image of being a
comprehensively motivated group, organizer of cultural symposia,
host to visiting speakers, publisher of materials of beauty (e.g.
theme calendars and 19th century illustrated local commercial
atlas) and learning (e.g. the story of the Shoyo-en cultural
salon and garden).
     Counterpoising the hindering aspects of the Japanese meaning
of civil society are those which aided TR in their efforts. The
news media occupy a large part of public discourse and shape
public opinion. Because TR enjoyed a favorable relationship to
journalists, several pieces appeared in newspapers and the
broadcast media concerning TR's various projects. And since
Japanese follow the news closely and have a high rate of
newspaper subscription, it is likely that a large part of the
people in Takefu became favorably disposed to TR.
     Another important source of public discourse is government
agencies. TR members and friends included municipal bureaucrats
past and present. And since civil servants are able to control or
counterbalance the elected political leaders and representatives,
the sympathetic sources TR enjoyed in the city offices,
prefectural positions and national agencies were an asset. In
addition, TR took advantage of the traditional ethos of
government: to compensate for its authoritarian ways with a
measure of (particularistic) benevolence. By persistently drawing
attention to the proposed art gallery's lack of benefit to
ordinary citizens, TR struck a rhetorical chord. In particular,
the creation of the Saeki gallery would preclude using the KKD
for townspeople's organizations or for matters related to the
town itself such as displays, scheduled meetings, or special
events.
     Arguments based on the force of emotion rather than logical
reasoning are another aspect of civil society in Japan. TR's
persuasive appeals to spare the KKD from conversion to a parking
garage included references to the decades of KKD memories held by
townspeople, and the fact that the bulk of the money for its
making was originally donated by large numbers of townspeople.
Accordingly, any proposal for the reuse of the KKD should be
congruent with this background. By this reasoning, the proposal
for the Saeki gallery, with no relevance to Takefu or the
townspeople, should be disqualified. TR's membership cross-cuts
many fields and thus provides a talented pool of people with
masterful rhetorical skills to draw on for its appeals to
townspeople and to government personnel. No less significant than
the ability to make persuasive arguments is knowledge of the
proper format and manner of presenting a petition, news release,
or the best channels for finding out public (government)
information. For although public access to government information
is increasing in principle (in 1990 140 out of roughly 650
municipalities had made provisions), the procedural details have
not yet been established (Abe et.al. 1994:188). So, again, the
knowledge of teachers, managers, civil servants, writers,
craftspeople, merchants, and professionals in TR has been useful
to the group's entry into civil society.
     The progress of TR has also been aided in part by Japanese
features aside from those of the civil society. For example, the
self-consciousness and circumspection found throughout the
society has contributed to TR's sense of mission; or the
awareness that their initiatives and the lessons learned could
serve as a national prototype for culturally and politically
sophisticated citizen's movements. Likewise widespread is the
readiness to adopt new technology and adapt it to present uses.
TR members became adept at making inquiries by fax across the
country, but also among themselves locally. Finally, the general
sense of inquisitiveness cultivated among Japanese in early
childhood and school certainly contributed positively to the
healthy spirit of investigation displayed at TR monthly meetings
and in fieldwork interviews.
     The last aspect of civil society that worked to TR's
advantage relates to the particularistic nature of "village-like"
social relations. The group oriented, cooperative spirit of all
of TR's projects is one example of division of labor in which
tasks were efficiently delegated and members freely consulted
with each other. Also, once resolved to become a TR member,
individuals proved to be extremely loyal, both hardworking and
dedicated to the group's goals and its cooperative spirit. The
wide knowledge base of the membership was useful for the networks
of social and professional connections, as well. Since, as in a
village, personal relationships and informal channels of
information are so important, this experience among TR's
personnel was indispensable to its progress. The village-like
relations that are so conducive to dango decision-making color
the meaning of "personal connections." Whereas in the West one
may expect preferential treatment (e.g. short-cutting procedures,
less formal standards) from people with whom there is an
obligation or ongoing relationship, in Japan there are some added
meanings. Certain personal contacts may be useful for the cach�
of their affiliations, which acts like an emblem to validate
one's own worthiness by the way.
     Personal connections in Japanese society are useful as well
for the information available to a person of high social
standing. For any project requires careful assessment ahead of
time of others' stances to ensure successful acceptance. The most
helpful connections (KONE, short for KONEKUSHON) are able to
discover allies and identify obstructors, and may be able to
assuage potential objectors. In a society less run through with
village-like relations, the emblematic value and the forecasting
powers of personal connections would not be so prominent. One
implication for Japanese civil society of the emblematic and
forecasting functions of personal connections is that individuals
lacking the necessary connections or knowledge might feel
themselves precluded from participating in discussions of public
interest. Takefu Renaissance did not have this problem.
     Looking at the significance of informal channels and the
uses of one's personal connections in another way, the reliance
on central figures may have worked to the advantage of TR.
Substantive deliberations may have been exclusionary, but the
concentration of influence in just a few leading figures in any
one issue presented a more manageable target for TR. Because
government affairs proceeded in practice not through council and
committee meetings, but instead through informal negotiations
(e.g. dango), by first identifying the influential bureaucrats or
politicians, TR could try to find ways to discretely or
indirectly focus pressure there in particular, concentrating the
group's efforts efficiently.
     On balance, the features of Japanese civil society, both
hindrances and helps, seem to have fallen in TR's favor. At least
based on their successful prosecution of the KKD affair to its
end, TR did effectively negotiate the terrain of civil society.
But beyond this example of townspeople taking part in the course
of their town's development, the wider question remains about the
situated nature of the civil society concept, connected as it
must be to social practices of both the time and the place. This
chapter has complemented the more descriptive view in chapter
eight with an analytic tour of civil society in Japan. Although
specific historical roots and particular cultural contingencies
have been pointed out, the main subject has been the shape of
Japanese civil society as it is today. In the concluding chapter
the wider significance of these observations will be offered.

        =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=



     [Witteveen, chapter 10, full text, summary and conclusions]  
   [http://www.msu.edu/user/wittevee/publications/ch10all.txt]


Chapter Ten: THE TAKEFU RENAISSANCE STORY IN SUM

Japanese local history may seem at first to be an unlikely
starting place for studying the efforts of people to renew their
regional town's business and civic life. In fact the original aim
of the dissertation was more narrowly conceived to be an analysis
of a site where local history was exhibited, with a view to
tracing the economic as well as cultural influences of the
historical picture put before the public. With the inception of
Takefu Renaissance and the city's scandalous handling of a
municipal museum project, a much more complicated subject
presented itself, one unfolding over many months and involving
the full gamut of Japanese civil society: national and local
journalists, civil servants and elected officials of Takefu-city,
and a variety of townspeople. What has come from the fieldwork
then is a dissertation in three parts.
     In the first part, chapters one and two, the background to
the research topic, the researcher and the research site are
presented. Drawing on a variety of statistical sources, as well
as anecdotal information, the town of Takefu and surrounding
Hokuriku region of Japan are outlined. The second part of the
dissertation introduces the world of local history in chapters
three through seven. Beginning with a wide angle view, the
locations and topics of historical interest in the Takefu area
are sampled in chapter three. The next chapter focuses on groups
in the town of Takefu itself who are concerned with the local
past. With this background, chapter five portrays Takefu
Renaissance (TR) and some of its members. Chapter six is a record
of this group's efforts to secure the Kokaido Hall's (KKD)
preservation and its reuse as a town museum, while chapter seven
investigates Japanese attitudes to the past.
     After having considered the influence of cultural values and
present-day social conditions on the KKD project, the third part
of the dissertation turns to the significance of public
participation in municipal life, and the conditions of Japanese
civil society more widely that may affect the shape of the
proposed museum for Takefu. Chapter eight resumes the KKD story
by way of an introduction to the players involved in the town's
civil society: the mayor, city councilors, civil servants,
members of the press, and townspeople, including groups like TR.
A more comprehensive discussion of the idea of civil society,
with particular reference to the KKD example in Takefu, occupies
chapter nine. This is where some of the Japanese meanings of the
term are exposed; and by reflection, the culturally situated
character of the English language expression is thrown into
relief, as well.


Summary______________________________________

Taking the title of this dissertation as a guide, "Local History
and the Politics of Renewing a Regional Japanese Town," there are
three topics which may be summarized. Beginning with "...a
Regional Japanese Town," Takefu was described through statistics,
ranking it in relation to the prefecture and country, and in
general terms, internationally. The three prefectures of the
Hokuriku region, Fukui, Ishikawa, and Toyama have historically
shared more than climate, speech ways, religious fervor and an
economic development which has permitted double incomes.
According to statistics, they continue to combine the high rates
of home ownership, emphasis on saving, extensive budgets for
public works and small social welfare appropriations which
together indicate conservative attitudes to their governments. In
the case of Fukui prefecture, and Takefu in particular, the
stereotypic image that Japanese value education and have a strong
work ethic is even more pronounced, as figures show for rates of
further education and double incomes. Conservative attitudes were
suggested by things as diverse as amounts spent on weddings
(high), type of alcohol consumed (sake in above average
proportions), numbers of health professionals (low per capita)
and proportion of multi-generation households (high).
      Chapters three and four added ethnographic description to
the economic and social indicators of chapter two. The panorama
of local history was divided between places and events in Takefu
(numerous temples, Echizen no Sato History Park, Shikibu Park),
the wider Fukui area (museums and tours of history), the
nationwide distribution of televised documentary and period
dramas, along with commercial advertisement, city history and
museums, history theme parks and (amateur) performances of a
historical nature. One observation was that knowledge of the
local past is more likely to reside in persons nearing retirement
age, while young adults are better versed in history as text,
told from the national point of view. The reason for the
difference seems to be the recent experience of history in school
by the younger ones, and the natural interest that develops among
middle aged and older people about their own ancestors and the
places they lived. Another observation in chapter three was the
very likely small number of townspeople interested in their local
(beyond their own genealogical) history. Although television
programs about history might attract passing interest among a
large number of viewers, those actively visiting area facilities,
sites or events of a historical nature are only a small subset of
the first group. And of this smaller group, even fewer would
attend classes or consult the town library's local historical
collection.
     In narrowing the scope from the local history panorama to
the groups within Takefu concerned with the past, several things
became clear in chapter four. Not counting the area villages and
hamlets incorporated within the greater Takefu municipal
boundaries, the number of people involved in history related
organizations totalled perhaps 500. The number could go as high
as 700, though, if the estimate were to include obon and yanshiki
dancers, life long education center classes on history, the
people who find pleasure in singing popular and folk songs on
karaoke, history teachers, readers and writers of local history,
and religious officials Buddhist or Shinto who in ceremony
(especially Shinto priests) or by function (Buddhists priests
perform most funeral and subsequent death anniversary services)
are connected to the local past. There is likely to be some
duplication of personnel in this estimate because people
interested in the local past may very well participate in more
than one activity. Furthermore the groups identified here only
give an indication of the organizational variety rather give a
full catalogue of all potential outlets for historical
expression. But even accepting a figure of 500 people for the
urban kernel of the Takefu municipal area, with its population of
25,000, means that at least 2% of the townspeople take an active
interest in the areas's past. If the figure were to be strictly
scaled to the number of adults who participate in organizations
of any kind, probably the significance of history related groups
would stand out all the more.
     Besides the number of individual residents involved in local
history, another observation of chapter four was the typology of
history related groups. Offices of the town government include
the Board of Education with its administration of archeological
excavations, editing the official town history, and oversight of
Takefu's designated Important Cultural Properties [juyo
bunkazai]. Then there are the city's tourism board, planning
section, bureau of downtown redevelopment, and the control of the
Echizen no Sato history park, as well as design of the annual
Chrysanthemum Exposition, with its historical tableaux. The
groups which are wholly conceived and directed by townspeople
include the Tachiaoi Kai, Takefu RUNESANSU [renaissance], Genji
AKADEMI [academy], Takefu High School Historical Society,
S.A.E.T. (Study group of Amenity of Environment of the Tannan
area), the Mokuseisha, the Ki To Kenchiku Kai [Society for Trees
and Buildings], the Echizen Manzai study, support, and
performance group(s), and the yanshiki style traditional obon
folkdance groups. Occupying a position between the city and the
citizen groups are those instituted by the city but intended for
(or in part for) townspeople to participate in. These include a
group convened to comb the town's public spaces for possible
bunkazai [Cultural Properties], a formal program of study leading
to municipal recognition as "Master of Takefu History" [Takefu no
bunka shi], the Takefu Kataribe corps of volunteer (history)
guides, and a citizen consultative body to vet development and
promotional ideas coming from the City Hall.
      For most of the groups selected the past is treated as
something inert, not necessarily subject to multiple meanings or
something of unknowable significance. Exceptions might include
the performative groups such as the Manzai troupe which charges
its old forms with new life as a matter of course. Likewise, the
Downtown Economic Redevelopment Office is working on the premise
that gentrification will attract shoppers; in other words, that
whether or not the past is inert and uncontroversial, it may be
put to the service of the present to economic and civic gain.
Tachiaoi Kai to a certain extent, but above all Takefu
Renaissance, regards the past as valuable to the present. Their
thesis seems to be that if the study of the local past is not
salutatory in and of itself, then it may lead to insight and even
to lessons for the present. Among all of the types of history-
related organizations mentioned, only Renaissance's extends
beyond specific eras, traditional forms (performance, products or
techniques), or a specific object, site or event. In other words,
Renaissance alone takes the local past comprehensively as
something more that an inert record to be polished or sampled.
Instead, they believe that Takefu's past holds within it the
seeds of the town's present civic vitality and future economic
prosperity.
     Chapter five examines the Takefu Renaissance group in
detail, discussing the group's genesis, organizational structure
and working atmosphere, its goals and how it seems to have been
regarded by the people of Takefu. In particular, the group's
emergence derives from a peculiar intersection of biographical
trajectories, economic trends and technological factors. The news
of the KKD's proposed conversion into a parking structure brought
together kindred spirits of the late 1960s protest years who were
dismayed by the disappearance of the town's characteristic
streestscape, and its civic amenities more generally. Combining
knowledge that comes from living away from one's hometown, with
the zeal of town patriots and the experience of intellectual and
civic elites, TR emerged from its forerunner, the Takefu no Bunka
o Kangaeru Kai [Association for the Discussion of Culture in
Takefu]. What is unusual about the TR group is its combination of
personnel from diverse backgrounds, its multiple issue, long term
mission, its collegial operation among members of various ages
and social statuses, and its crossing over from cultural concerns
alone to the politics of culture and indeed to political process
and philosophy. To illustrate the group's interest in local
history and its uses, the case of the KKD project was presented
in chapter six.
      The chapter serves at least four purposes. It sheds light
on the TR group through practical example, and more generally
serves as an ethnographic record of how a citizen group operates
within municipal life. It also gives the background of the KKD
out of which the intrigue of chapters eight extends. Finally, it
introduces the characteristics of Japanese style historical
exhibition which leads in to chapter seven's survey of attitudes
among Japanese to the past. From the origins of the KKD and the
course of its service to the community it becomes clear how
closely associated it is with the townspeople, and is only
tenuously a part of the town's government. Yet the mayor and city
councilors as nominal governors of the facility acted
unilaterally in their initial proposal to proceed with its
conversion to a parking area. Chapter six begins by sampling the
views of a few (non-elected) civil servants, and townspeople on
the subject of the KKD and town life more generally. Next, the
various options explored by TR were presented before discussing
their eventual museum proposal at length. With reference to
museum design and history exhibits elsewhere in Japan, some of
the same characteristics were pointed out (or, in a self-aware
spirit, were warned against). These conventional practices
include being pedantic, visually rather than textually oriented,
including an emphasis on careful presentation possibly at the
expense of substantive synthesis, the reliance on a conventional
chronology and periodization always keyed to national events and
topics rather than taking a local horizon of significance and
"bottom up," social history perspective.
     In chapter seven the subject of historicity, that is
culturally specific, socially situated attitudes to the past, was
introduced. Then clues to Japanese historicity were gleaned from
the scholarly literature before proceeding with the results of a
survey of historical understanding conducted as part of the
fieldwork. The two page instrument included questions on depth of
genealogical knowledge, word associations, preferred historical
periods and antiquarial knowledge (threshold ages and worth of
various antiques). The results of analysis by generation and sex
showed a number of patterns. For example, the youngest adults
associated the past with inequalities based on one's feudal
classification and gender. Young people's interest in historical
eras was least distant in time. Likewise their genealogical
knowledge (or perhaps interest) was shallowest on average.
Finally, their imagery for the word "Japanese" made most frequent
reference to (nation-state) history and to distinctive elements
of material culture. The oldest age set of respondents contrasted
these findings in every way. Their interest in historical eras
extended back farthest; they made the fewest associations between
the past and status inequality; and the meanings they associated
with "Japanese" were on the order of attitudes, style and
similarly abstract qualities. Men and women also showed different
patterns in their responses, the most outstanding example being
the one generation additional genealogical knowledge of men on
average, and their frequent association of past society with
matters of power and politics.
     These findings were consistent with the remarks in the
scholarly literature which characterized Japanese views of their
past by considerable self-consciousness of the obligations across
the generations, including the abiding presence of ancestors from
beyond the grave. There is also a generalized agrarian imagery
and prominence of the early modern era in popular imagination, as
well as the readiness to label, accept, and regard something as
being traditional, irrespective of its chronological recency.
Other characteristics of beliefs about the past-present
relationship include the element of nostalgia, which in built up
urban areas combines a longing for (rural) "nature."  People seem
to have a pragmatic or presentist orientation to the past, as
well as being accustomed to the many faceted, ritualistic overlay
of time-culture: prescribed times for phases in the annual cycle
(e.g. when to begin swimming in the sea), poetic references to
seasonal changes (e.g. salutations in letters), and clear sense
of proper ways to signal these many time references (i.e.
specific forms in appropriate contexts). Then there are the
blurred boundaries between the ideas of nature, history, and
culture with each of these somehow owing an organic genesis to
the particular geographical location. Finally there is the highly
elaborated aesthetic for proper visual presentation of the past.
This was evident in survey results, in discussion with museum
curators and observations of historical displays and exhibit
publications, and in the descriptions contained in TR's proposal
for the KKD as town museum. Taken together, this exploration of
Japanese historicity yielded a complicated set of observations
which bear not only upon the design of the KKD proposal, but have
to do more generally with the lives of individual households on
the one hand and the collective representations of townspeople in
the public life of the Hokuriku district on the other. It is the
study of this public life which makes up chapters eight and nine. 
    In the penultimate two chapters TR's experience in tracking
the city's handling of the KKD is the starting place for an
investigation of Japanese civil society. The intersection of
townspeople and municipal officials, both elected and career, is
as important an influence on the KKD proposal as the attitudes
people hold toward the past and its uses. Because of the KKD
scandal and the way TR was incrementally drawn into the arena of
public discussion and media perceptions, the KKD case provided an
unexpected opportunity to listen to Takefu's civil society at
full volume. The normally subdued processes of town government,
news media reporting, and citizen reactions were amplified by the
national attention this case attracted.
     Chapter eight looked at the KKD chronology from January,
1994, when the mayor first began to deflect the planned museum
conversion into a research and gallery facility for the works of
the prewar oil-painter, Saeki Yuzo of Osaka. The chapter also
introduced the main players in the discussions that followed:
townspeople, civil servants, city councilors and mayor's office.
The singlemost important characteristic of the space occupied by
government and citizens in a nutshell is the generalized East
Asian legacy of Confucianism: that public matters are the
prerogative of government in which appearances are the operative,
virtual reality. Blemishes in public perceptions cannot be
tolerated, and thus the disorderly confusion of discussion among
the general populous is not valued: those in roles of authority
are expected to dictate. Those outside of official roles should
be seen and not heard.
     Chapter nine goes beyond the KKD case to explore the
contours of civil society in Japan more widely. The rational-
critical public discourse of social consequence normally
associated with the idea of civil society in Western countries is
the background for a look at the Japanese case brought forth in
the KKD example. First impressions of the civil society from
scholarly sources include the general scarcity of critical debate
among the Japanese public, except perhaps among the special
segment of the population with the time, resources and interest
in such matters; namely, women of middle age in Japan, who rarely
export their thoughts to the public sphere outside of their own
study circles no matter how stimulating their conversations might
be. Other characteristics include the tendency to avoid critical
comments, since topics seem not to exist without the implication
of their spokespersons. Thus to attack an idea ipso facto is also
to attack persons associated with it. Finally, the conventions of
Japanese language usage and the popular zadankai [discussion
panel (transcripts)] format for intellectual discussion seem to
militate against incisive commentary.
     Turning to the lessons which the KKD case illustrates, other
features of Japanese civil society become evident. Among these
are the "particularistic," multi-stranded relationships between
people in Japan, the so-called "village social relations" (mura
shakai); the dominance of government, news media (and academics)
in public discussions; the rehearsed manner of city council
exchanges; and the predominance of vertical rather than cross-
cutting consciousness of lateral social solidarity. This last
relates to the wide ranging discussion in chapter nine about the
concepts associated with civil society in its Western guise:
blending democracy, volunteerism, and the existence of a putative
Public Good (cf. the appearance of orderliness in and of itself
defined by the government authorities as "public good").
     When social relations extend first along vertical rather
than horizontal lines as they do in East Asia, it is not
surprising that the arena of civil society should take a
distinctly different outline, with the potential role of public
institutions like museums to be shaped correspondingly. The
observations in these two chapters about the public space for
discussion and action by a group like Takefu Renaissance
complement the previous chapters which describe a statistical
profile of the city and townspeople, the sphere of local history
groups and the meaning of the past.
     In sum, this dissertation discusses the subject of local
history and the politics of renewing a regional Japanese town in
three parts. Chapters one and two describe "...a regional
Japanese town," while chapters three through seven concern "local
history." Finally, chapters eight and nine are about "the
politics of renewing" (Takefu-city). Each part contributes to the
full tale of the Takefu Renaissance citizen group in their
adventure into the town's civil society. What remains now is to
draw conclusions from their experiences and the ideas in this
dissertation made possible with the help of their members.



Significance of the Takefu Renaissance story__________

The initiatives of this organization will serve above all as a
beacon for other citizen groups. In the process they have thrown
light on the civic life of their town.

     Democracy is not working in our unions. It should be,
     but it isn't. It's our job, as leaders, maybe the most 
     important one, to make it work. If democracy cannot
     succeed in the labor unions, it can't succeed anywhere 
     in Japanese society.
       union official at a shoe manufacturer in Japan, 1980       
                                    (Turner 1989:299)


The challenges this man sets for himself is answered in Takefu
Renaissance: in this group at least there is a lively democratic
spirit. Remembering the limitations of dissertation research
conducted by a non-native, free of Japanese expectations and
assumptions, but stripped also of the fluency, social and
linguistic resources to more subtly study the subject, the
question remains about what can be said about local history and
the politics of renewing a regional Japanese town. Combing
through the previous nine chapters, a variety of conclusions can
be made, given here in order of the narrowest to the widest.
Confined to the sphere of social relations in Fukui prefecture
and the Japanese state, the most immediate conclusion is the
success of TR as an enduring form of community group and the
favorable outcome of their initiatives to have the KKD reopened
for use as a town museum. They were able to increase their fellow
townspeople's awareness of the necessity to protect and make
active use of the townscape as a shared asset. This is the
hopeful beginning of their campaign to put Takefu's streetscape
and history in the service of renewing the town' civic and
(downtown) business life.
     Moving from the text of the dissertation to the literature
it draws upon, conclusions can be drawn in three topical areas:
the ethnography of Japan, historicity and specifically the
historicity of the Japanese, and civil society, including
Japanese civil society. Descriptions of Japanese society have
tended to focus on metropolitan areas or else villages in the
northeast and southwest of the main island. According to the
research topics Kelly groups together in his review article, this
dissertation not only brings into English language print a
regional town from the "back," Japan Sea side of the country, but
it also contributes to studies of Heritage and Cultural Tourism,
and to Research on Regional Japan, characterized by Kelly in one
subsection as dominated by farming, fishing, and factories. Other
related topics where Japan research concentrates include the
differences in outlook of family members (e.g. to ancestors and
national ethnicity) according to Generation and Gender, as well
as research associated with Protest and Conflict Resolution
(Kelly 1991).
     The people of Takefu it can be concluded from statistical
measures as well as inferences are generally at least as
conservative as their countrymen, if not moreso. The image of
Japanese nationals valuing education and hard work and being
thrifty are all the more true for the people living in Fukui
prefecture, including the residents of Takefu. To the
ethnographic descriptions of chapters one and two can be added
the contribution this fieldwork makes to the study of historicity
and Japanese historicity in particular. Little has been written
by foreign researchers about the landscape of local history in
Japanese society, and even less about those groups concerned with
the past and its uses in the present. In addition to making these
descriptions, the workings and aims of the TR group are
presented, along with a project bound up closely to the group's
birth and its entry into the town's, indeed nation's civil
society; namely, the case of the KKD.
      One of the contributions this research makes has been to
comb the literature for clues to Japanese attitudes to the past
and to consolidate and substantiate these scattered observations
with a survey of historicity conducted in the field. Then,
following the intellectual thread this time from the particular
to the general, the findings of generational and gender
variations in people's understanding of the past, as well as the
overlap between ideas of nature, history, and culture may suggest
topics for other social scientists to explore in their own
studies of historicity elsewhere.
     Lastly, the study of civil society, and the actions and
discourse of groups in the public life of Japanese society will
be enriched by this case of renewing a regional Japanese town.
Inverting the question Karp (1992) asked in his essay, this
fieldwork sought not the place of a museum in the surrounding
society, but rather, the influences of the surrounding social
conditions and cultural conventions on a town's museum. Part of
the answer lies in the personalities of the principals. Another
part in people's understanding of the value of the traces of the
past that do remain (historicity). And a third part lies in the
nature of Japanese public discourse and civil society.
      Concluding from the record of events in the TR case of the
KKD, the practice and spirit of democracy, with its guarantees of
free speech and popular participation in the welfare of the
general body politic, differs significantly between Japan and the
U.S. (cf. Pharr 1990:19). Both Japanese and Americans share a
present and future orientation: the one comes from valuing
pragmatism and the other from a legacy of immigration in which
the social capital of roots had to be jettisoned for the promise
of a better tomorrow. These different bases explain how the past
is handled, dutifully in the Japanese case, and pietistically in
the American. The different ground on which democracy grows in
the two societies likewise accounts for the different shape of
the public arena in each country. In Democracy in Japan, Ishida
and Krauss (1989) retell the brief course of democracy in Japan,
beginning at the end of the early modern period in 1868. By the
time their anthology reaches its concluding pages, they remark on
the decidedly democratic character of the Japanese people, giving
special mention to the comparatively low income distribution
coefficient, the leading rates of higher education and literacy
(p.330), and the fact that people by and large no longer feel
themselves to be "subjects" of the political leaders, but instead
as agents within the political system (pp.328-329). But the
authors fail to include civil society in Japan as one of the
desirable components of a vigorous, if untidy, democracy like
that practiced in the West.
     Some would take the ability to hear the voices of the
populous as the quintessential feature of the democratic form, as
part of the collective social capital of a place connected
intimately to shared networks of interests which contribute to
the general quality of life and ultimately to economic
productivity there (Putnam 1995). In the U.S. the ideas of city
life, civilization, acting civil, the existence of a Common Good
and conception of "public" as a community, along with the
peculiar properties of Christianity (a community based first on
belief, rather than lineage, ethnicity, or history; extending
credit based on future promise rather than a debt based on past
claim) are interwoven with a value on community, inherited from
what was until the 1940s an agrarian society. While in Japan each
of these ideas may be found in some form, they do not intersect
in the concept of civil society or public interest. The term
community [KOMYUNITEI], for example, appeared in 1958 in a
sociological article (Arakawa 1967:436) and since the 1970s has
been popularly adopted as the object of "cultivating community"
[machi zukuri], contributing a foreign sounding allure through
its transliteration as "komyuniti" (cf. Ben-Ari 1991:279-281, Ivy
1995:103-105, Robertson 1991:166-169).
      Japanese democracy overlies an agricultural past and the
Confucian tenets which accord all authority to status superiors.
As a result, the rhetorical character of Japanese civil society
has more ritualistic verbal display and less logical
argumentativeness about it than the U.S. analogue. In a society
riven with contingent, particularistic relations, in which all
can be reduced to a zero sum game, it is this very rituality in
civil society that by its conventionality creates a small space
and semblance of neutrality, according to McVeigh (1995).
     There seems to be no functional equivalent of rational-
critical public discourse of social consequence in Japan. Matters
of public concern thus belong to public authorities in whom trust
and the entitlements of role have been placed; rather than to
interested members of the public directly. If a segment of the
business world or the public is affected, then their
representatives may be invited into the government's
consultations. But public hearings, government assemblies, or
press briefings are rarely the time for probing questions or
thoughtful expository answers. Instead these resemble scripted
recitals. This iron grip of (central) government does not seem to
have been eroded by the ease of international travel and
information, or by the operations of large multi-national
corporations as has been the case in other parts of the world of
nation-states. The massive presence of the voice of Japanese
Government is all the more surprising considering its relatively
small size. Its bureaucratic payroll was quoted at #23 among OECD
nations for proportion of budget consumed in 1984 (in Pharr
1990:209). What Pharr concludes of conflict resolution among
Japanese is true more generally of the civil society, with or
without the element of conflict; namely, that the nuts and bolts
of social problem solving are privatized. Whenever possible these
matters are out of public view, and ideally, are confined to
small gatherings of only those immediately connected to the
matter.


Final thoughts_____________________________________

     Japanese society suggests an alternative agenda
     which persuades us that aesthetic has an important
     relationship to social theory, that the sociology
     of the emotion, the body and of consumption are
     central to the sociological enterprise and not
     peripheral, that a relational model of society
     provides a powerful alternative to both classes
     and alienation models of industrial society and
     that the economic determinism of Marxism needs
     not to be replaced with cultural determinism...
                                               Clammer 1995:128


Takefu Renaissance's handling of the KKD affair does not
contradict any of these assertions. Nor by itself does the
fieldwork shed light on the other big questions of social theory
like causality or agency, the nature of the language - culture
linkage, the respective ethnographic weight of an outsider's
(foreign, academic) or insider's vision, or the analytic emphasis
given to rhetorical skills (culture) or power (political
economy). What this study does do is to follow the events of one
place and draw on a wide body of scholarly literature, as well as
the interpretations of individuals closely connected to TR and
the town government, to understand the ways in which social
conditions of the town and nation, and beliefs about the nature
of the past have combined to shape a vision of Takefu's
historical patrimony, eventually giving form to a particular
proposal for a museum to be installed in the town's pre-war civic
center, the Kokaido Hall.
      In the end, the significance of the words in this
dissertation lies in suggesting the contours of Japanese
historicity, in probing the nature of the public space for
discourse in Japanese civil society of a regional town, and in
recording the activities of the unusual citizens group Takefu
Renaissance. Each of these subjects have been shown to have been
affected by present-day social conditions as well as to have been
informed by culturally specific beliefs and stylistic
conventions. The significances of the TR group are several. By
its successful results, manner of organization and readiness with
which they translate what they know into print and other mass
media forms, the group may well come to serve as a model for
community based organizations elsewhere in the country. As an
indicator of the distance which citizen movements in Japan have
come, TR stands out for its multi-issue, long-term, diverse
personnel joined in a collegial and creative spirit, and their
shared love of the particularity of their town.
     The prospects of Japanese creating a common forum for public
authorities to interact with the public in a way that functions
as civil society in its Western meaning is a difficult question,
but one which the case of TR gives reason for believing it to be
favorably so. Likewise, this case gives no conclusive answer to
the question of how important local history can be in creating
the imagery of collective representations. But at least for
places such as Takefu, where the past is still physically
palpable here and there, it is true that the residents may locate
their kosei (individual, defining character) in the local past
and look forward to both commercial gain as well as to more
intangible benefits from a newly founded, rediscovered, or
redefined identity.


Now at the end of this project, future directions of study
suggest themselves, both as immediate extensions or follow ups to
this work, and as parallel or comparative work by colleagues.
Almost one year after the KKD has been officially opened to the
public as combination museum and art gallery, it would be worth
going back to gather impressions of the principal players in
hindsight on the subject of government procedural irregularities,
the benefit of citizen movements, the effects of national media
attention at the time and now in consequence of those reports,
for example. Similarly, in the spirit of cooperative and multi-
focal ethnographic description, it would be nice to go back with
translations of parts of this dissertation for reactions
(correctives) to my own, foreign and social scientistic
interpretations of historicity values and the verbal posturing in
public arenas; thus to reposition the rhetorical accents given in
this account of the KKD affair.
      More ambitious follow up projects would be to enlarge the
inquiry into Japanese historicity by sampling for regional and
rural-urban variations, as well as to control for socio-economic
differences. To develop the idea that the ubiquitous televisual
mode of representing the world and telling narratives affects the
way people see themselves and expect to see (local) history
exhibited would be another worthwhile direction to follow. The
notion of invented tradition (pace Hobsbawm and Ranger 1983), not
only in the service of the perpetuation of the Japanese nation-
state, or commercial enterprise, but also at the local level
would appear to be a fruitful area of research since the mantle
of "received" tradition seems to be put on so readily in Japan,
and the line between fact and fiction is both wider and less
distinct that in the West. Finally, the potential impact of the
internet technology on civil society with its great leveling
effect on the social status of message senders and readers is
intriguing, even though a method for sampling and interviewing is
not immediately obvious.
     Experts in the societies of Korea and China could make
productive comparative studies of historicity and/or civil
society with the findings of this dissertation. Similarly, the
variations in these subjects that might be found in the "minimal
pairs" of Western societies such as the U.S., U.K., Netherlands
and Germany (along the lines of Germanic linguistic stock) would
be instructive (cf. Payer 1989). Finally, citizen movements and
the arena of civil society in parts of Japan such as Nagano
prefecture with its strong tradition of peasant martyrs (Walthall
1986), Okinawa with its separatist desires, Tokyo as the center-
most of a centralized society, and the Kobe-Kyoto-Osaka area as a
proud counterpoint to Tokyo-centrism would yield useful examples
to reinforce or to challenge the observations made in the case of
TR and the KKD.
     Perhaps the most ambitious line of research connected to the
present study would be to make the comprehensive argument
connecting collective representations locally to those of the
(ethnic) nation-state, and these in turn to the household and
personal levels. Next, history as a rich vein for received truths
about the earlier society and social order and by implication a
source for normative images of collective identity would be
explored. Finally, the shaping effects of current social
conditions and consequences of cultural conventions for
authoritative history representations would be spelled out to
suggest a semiotic cycle: present-day understandings of the past
inflected by the prevailing social interests in such a way that
the old days are continually revised to partially reflect the
current social order, as well as the imagined and hoped for
social order. In other words, at its boldest, this would be a
study to test the idea that the representations of the past, such
as they may be, are integral to the production and reproduction
of the present social order. But that work is several steps away
from the case of the citizens group Takefu Renaissance and the
KKD.
     The Kokaido Hall name itself has turned out to be especially
apposite to the course of events. The three kanji characters
comprising the word are not ironic by themselves, referring in
turn to "the public [government authorities and/or the
populous]," "gathering," and "hall." But during the most active
phase of its life, 1929-1990, the building was indeed the
gathering place for members of the public and government. In the
next phase, 1990-1993, it was "public" in the sense of its
primary service being of or pertaining to the government
administration. In its third phase, the 23 months from 1994 to
1995, the building was the subject of vigorous contention in
Takefu's fledgling civil society of local newspapermen,
townspeople, and civil servants. Since its rebirth in November,
1995 and rechristening as the Takefu-shi Kokaido Kinenkan [Takefu
City KKD Memorial Hall], the name Kokaido once again took as its
operative meaning "public" in the sense of community members and
other visitors, thus completing a lexicographical circle for the
significance of "public."
      In an era of widening generational differences, spreading
international awareness and experiences, and the effects of
consumer driven hunger for new technology that has enabled long
distance commuting, commerce and communication but has also
disabled and destabilized the social solidarity which derives
from place of residence, Takefu Renaissance has seized upon this
very sense of place as the starting place for reviving civic life
and commercial vitality. Their vision and determination must be
saluted. May Renaissance's love of Takefu help their fellow
townspeople to be reborn into an age where ancient and modern do
not compete, but form a whole.
     At the end of 1996 Dr. Miki Tokio, chairman of the earlier
commitee which investigated the KKD gallery debacle, and spouse
of TR's Miki Yoshimi, announced his candidacy in the May, 1997
mayoral election. The group of citizens formed one year before as
a watchdog for municipal affairs of the city council, the Mihari-
ban, no longer was active. Some participants felt that it was too
dangerous to continue their close monitoring of council meetings.
In the words of one person, interest in this type of group is
abundant elsewhere in the country. But after meeting with
anonymous telephone calls late at night and being detained by
unknown men of uncertain character, maybe the people of Takefu do
not yet enjoy the full rights of citizenship. Instead the older,
passive outlook summed up in the expression "sawaranu kami ni
tatari nashi" [gods left unprovoked will not lash out, or Let
Sleeping Dogs Lie] seems to prevail. However, on a more positive
note, the words of a civil servant in his 30s at Takefu City Hall
speak to the desire to proceed in the town's civic life by making
good use of both ancient and modern elements of Takefu. The
remarks in his letter provide a fitting last word to this
research project, conveying a mixture of pragmatism, hopefulness,
and pride of place, tempered by the ambivalence of his position
as official city employee who writes on municipal stationery, and
is himself a resident of Takefu.

     [ original text in Japanese, here ]


     As for the way that [Takefu] residents think, the
     richness of one's life depends on the greatness
     of the things in it. Their thinking is changing to
     value quality instead of quantity. From here on out
     I think it will be important for townspeople to take
     the pride and deep attachments they have and make
     use of the culture and history that defines Takefu
     to cultivate a sense of community [machi zukuri] in
     which they will be able to feel grace and easiness.
     It is nevertheless necessary to develop the city
     (as a place where young people feel drawn). So
     planning for a balance of development and preservation
     is a challenging matter.
         I myself am one of those who loves the town of
     Takefu I live in. I will be doing my best for the
     future of the town. Please share any suggestions or
     opinions you might have.

--excerpt from a young Takefu City Hall civil servant's letter

        =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=



     [Witteveen, chapter 7, appendices B & C] 

*ADDED ALREADY to "ch7all.txt" separate file

 [http://www.msu.edu/user/wittevee/publications/ch7appnd.txt]



Appendix B:  English Gloss of Japanese Historicity Survey

           ==========================================
                                               2/1995 Witteveen's

            SURVEY QUESTIONS TO THE PEOPLE OF TAKEFU
Please circle or write your thoughts, then return this to me at
the 3/11 meeting, or hand to one of the Tachiaoi Kai [local
history organization] officers. If you prefer, you may send it to
me directly at...

1. Which eras of Japan's long history do you find appealing?

  Jomon   Yayoi   Kofun   ...[elipsis] Showa   wartime   postwar

2. The appealing eras above, what images do they hold?

3. Which eras above do you dislike? Why do you dislike them?

4. During the history lessons of your school days, what did you
find interesting? What things did you find boring?

5. What sorts of things give you a feeling of history or
awareness of the past? Please give specific examples such as a
certain place, object, poem, song or picture.

6. Within your own life what sorts of things remind you of
history or make you think of the past? For example home
decorations, clothing, the foods you eat, way of speaking,
hobbies.

7. When you hear the words furukusai [old-fashioned] or okurete
iru [behind the times], what comes to mind? Please give specific
examples (e.g. politics, persons, things, way of thinking, way of
living, a certain place).

8. Please give specific examples for the expression hoken teki
[feudalistic].

9. What do you think of as being especially Japanese [pertaining
to people, actions, things]. Please give specific examples.

10. There are all kinds of expressions like furusato no aji
[hometown taste], Edo mae [old Edo period style], kamigata fu
(old Kyoto-Osaka type], dento teki [traditional] which refer to
the past. If there are other expressions or advertisements that
make use of history's positive image, please give the specific
examples that come to mind.

11. What sorts of things do you (or your friends) keep in the
kura [home storehouse]? For example, pottery, scrolls, tea
equipment, furniture.

12. Usually new things are preferred in home decorating, but in
some cases old things are superior. What old things do you have
to decorate your home with?

13. The value of an item increases with age. In the following
examples when would you say each takes on antique or historical
worth?
   houses                               gardens
   ceramics                             lacquerware
   desks, chairs                        Japanese swords
   decorative knickknacks               writing tools
   hanging scrolls                      other

14. Whether from heirlooms (equipment, records, photos, etc),
stories, or personal memory, how many generations back do you
know?
For example, 4 generations, household documents.

15. In Japanese life what sorts of things have specific seasonal
schedules associated with them? For example changing summer to
winter clothing [uniforms], start of crab season, swimming in the
sea (from when the rainy season lifts until the old-calendar Obon
holiday), special dishes eaten on particular days, changing home
decoration with each season. What practices? When?

16. Similar to #15, in Japanese life what things make a seasonal
reference? For example, the salutation in a letter or
conversation, particular foods served, Japanese style cakes,
floor covering, home life and customs, and so on.

17. Probably your awareness and interest in history differs to
that of your parents, and grandparents, to your children and
grandchildren. Please describe these differences.

   grandparents
   parents
   chilren
   grandchildren

Thank you for your cooperation. If you do not mind, please fill
in the details below.

Years since you have come to live in Takefu   , and [present]
age:

              male    female                 name                 
       
      =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

APPENDIX C:  Gloss of Survey Replies (word association
questions)

Question 8: Examples of being "feudalistic" (hokenteki)
  (past-pejorative reference) n=69 persons, 83 total replies

� referring to character of interrelations (17% of total)
     among neighbors, envy of other's successes, seating
     order, persons lower than oneself are "invisible,"
     mindful of relatives' and neighbors' opinions, act
     reserved or keep silent, privilege locals over
     outsiders (connections count more than the content of
     one's views), "village society" (ostracism, damaging
     rumor, envy, fixed status according to family name,
     petty one-upmanship), fastidious about preserving
     formalities, superior attitude of being a "chosen
     people."

� about rigidity of one's status (12% of total)
     antithetical to democratic spirit, one's life chances
     are decided by birth, no possibility of social mobility 
     (like a "village society"), a paranoid witch hunt
     mentality to expose and exclude whoever does not
     conform, envy, tolerance of cruelty and suffering,
     ritual suicide (seppuku), rigid in speech ways and
     acceptable thoughts, social order resembling the grid
     of a go board, derived from and suited to a samurai
     manner of life.

� from politics, politicians (10% of total)
     pertains to bureaucratic organization and manner, might 
     is right and the acceptability of using force as
     required, virtual exclusion of women, election results 
     based first on money and connections rather than on
     experience or ideas, the example of city hall,
     deference among politicians based on longevity in
     office rather than practical abilities.

� workplace or school examples (10% of total)
     relations between status inferiors and superiors,
     recognitions and deference shown to superiors,
     promotion by seniority rather than ability, the shape
     of organizational trees, relations in the world of
     sumo.

� from within the household (16% of total)
     genealogical fascination (especially among men),
     paradigmatic authority of parent over child and older
     over younger, privilege of the household head,
     traditional relationship of mother-in-law to daughter-
     in-law, (male) household head playing the role of Lord 
     or tyrant (kanpaku, or tono sama), vocations running in
     family lines (politicians, doctors, dentists, lawyers, 
     craftspeople in particular), the ratchet-like
     educational expectation that each succeeding brother or 
     sister will enter at least equal if not higher rated
     schools than the oldest child.

� female:male relations (18% of total)
     "respect for men, contempt for women" (proverbially,
     danson  johi), justification based on gender
     ("naturally, because you're a..."), women's life
     chances and roles more closely circumscribed than
     men's, the idealized image of a "Japanese Woman"
     (nadeshiko), men bathe before women, a mistress kept
     more or less openly.

� other (17% of total)




Question 7: 
 Examples for "old-fashioned" (okurete iru, furukusai)
     n=80  persons (48 male, 32 female), 97 total replies

� pertaining to a way of thinking (17.5%)
     uncritical thinking preoccupied with details rather
     than any larger synthesis, confucian and hierarchical, 
     disinclined to question those in roles of authority,
     attitude that a bride must be "obtained" for the
     household (yome tori), concept of
     auspicious/inauspicious days, predisposed to conformity 
     (kaku itsu teki, yoko narabi).

� concerning old people's ways (10%)
     ethic of frugality (repair rather than discard, mottai 
     nai), centrality of Emperor and prewar education
     teachings, men do not belong in the kitchen, household 
     head deserves special privilege, preserve main vs.
     branch household status distinctions (honke bunke),
     money connotes political privilege.

� regarding politics, politicians (7%)
     elected officials coming from succeeding
     generations of one family, disregard (disdain)
     individual citizen concerns, results arranged
     beforehand, vote along lines of obligation, the
     ways of city hall in toto.

� social relations (6%)
     person with new ideas discounted as a matter of
     course, sensitive to the art of balancing giri
     [duty bound obligation of role] and ninjo
     [personal feelings of empathy], over reliance for
     evaluation on transcripts, predominance of
     circumspection (spurs as well as hinders certain
     behavior), characteristic neighborhood
     organizations (certain ceremonial formulas,
     including obligatory funeral and wedding
     responses) and fixed manner of relating to one's
     nextdoor neighbors.

� unequal status of women and men (9%)
     "respect males, despise females" (danson johi)
     19th century chestnut lives on, fixed order of
     bathing by age and sex, men banned from kitchen,
     men belong at work and women at home, a woman's
     role fulfillment derives from child rearing,
     rationalizing outcomes and intentions by reference
     to sex (otoko dakara).
� other (49.5%)
     wedding and other ceremonies, words and way of speaking 
     (including regional dialect), one's own habits,
     clothing and fashions, home designs and decoration,
     shrine and temple affairs.




Question 10:
 Expressions of the past with favorable meaning
  n=56  persons, 95 total replies

� (12%) Place names or ones associated with a locale
     castle town (joka machi), the former domain of xyz
     rice tonnage (...man koku; feudal reference), the
     former regional name (e.g. kaga, echizen; also
     used as an adjective), countrified (hinabita),
     plain/rustic (soboku na), "snow country"
     (yukiguni), home ground (kokyo).

� (23%) Aesthetic concepts
     elegance (furyu), proverbial wisdom, wabi�sabi
     (desolateness�d�sol�), taste for regional speech
     styles, "taking a lesson from the past" (onko
     chishin), "good wife, wise mother" (ryosai kenbo),
     warrior spirit (bushido), shyness, pioneer spirit,
     verve (IKI na), Kyoto posh speech ways and cryptic
     smile, Japanese spirit of yore (yamato damashi).

� (22%) Kinesthetic examples
     flavor from days gone by, mom's home cooked taste,
     hometown taste, "smell" (kaori) of an old poem,
     unbroken links, characteristic craftsmanship,
     blood boiling up, ancient memories reborn,
     graceful, elegant, fresh (produce, rice, seafood),
     cooking style.

� (15%) Time terms
     abundant in classicalness (koten yutaka na), like
     it used to be made (mukashi katagi, quality), old
     type, ancient-period style, historical, just like
     it was long ago (mukashi nagara), from one
     generation to generation, ageless/eternal, good
     old days, old style, old character, product or
     company name incorporating reign-era name (e.g.
     Showa --1925 to 1988-- Shell), historical thread,
     connected to Lady Murasaki (11th century author
     associated with Takefu), advertisement copy: dento
     ga owari, rekishi ga hajimaru (the end of
     traditions and the start of making history).

� (15%) Examples of tradition, practices
     traditional arts, traditional culture,
     traditional, customary, craftsmanship, use of
     (parodic banter) manzai genre or folksong style to
     produce an advertisement, xyz matsuri (festival),
     the practice of an extended period of infancy,
     village annual cycle, neighborhood shrine
     induction (uji ko), "dyed in the ways of a
     household (or school)," period drama (nendai
     mono), conventional closing in a letter (kashiko),
     arts and crafts forms, shrine events.




Question 9: What "Japanese" brings to mind
  n=91  persons, 99 total replies

� (33%) Attitudes
     narrow minded (islander outlook), heightened
     (poetic) temporality (you only pass this way once,
     ichigo ichie), Confucian ethic, distinguish "true
     feelings" (honne) from superficial or obligatory
     remarks, predisposed toward uniformity, frugality,
     reservedness, yamato ancient spirit [connotes
     vast, heroic, mists of time], circumspect, hard
     working and serious, exclusionary, formalistic
     (ritual-like), concept of karma and one's good
     works reckoned at the end of one's life, shy or
     deferential aspect, a person should work within
     the limits of a role's definition, ethnicly self-
     conscious, dim awareness of internationally
     acceptable limits, elements (citations) of nature
     should figure in to one's daily life and
     environment, perfectionism and attention to
     detail, assumption of Tokyo-centrism, attention to
     appearances (hyomen), bankrupt of substantive
     synthesizing thought, patient endurance, well
     behaved within social order, all importance of
     one's school credentials.

� (27%) Social relations
     feelings first, finely tuned awareness (perhaps
     over attention) of the perspective of the one you
     are dealing with, prominence of established forms
     of etiquette, cultivated speech ways to one's
     elders and social betters, salience of "vertical"
     status (tate shakai), former status lives on (e.g.
     legally erased status of aristocrat, or the names
     of previous great land owners not forgotten),
     avoidance of skirmishes in public, disagreeable or
     uncooperative in the general public interest,
     lingering prejudices and attitudes of contempt too
     quickly adopted, preserve semblance of civil order
     even in times of emergency (e.g. no looting),
     avoid making an opinion in one's own name, group
     oriented ---success seldom comes to solitary
     individuals, lack of accountability with leaders
     little more than pro forma, useful division of
     labors, coercive force of collective effort (e.g.
     gonin gumi brigades), little self-expression,
     vague or indirect expression instead of explicit
     reasoning.

� (25%) Objects
     clothing articles, cherry blossoms, kofun tumuli,
     Buddhist priests, Japanese style dolls and gardens
     and architecture, tatami [rush mat] floor
     covering, Japanese games, sport and amusements,
     Japanese foods, under-floor or table brazier
     (kotatsu), sento public baths, sense of home
     decoration.

� (14%) Practices and pursuits
     tea ceremony, foreign trade strategies tried,
     obligatory (coerced) gift giving occasions, self
     deprecation, political style, uttering itadakimasu
     before eating or accepting a gift ["I humbly (or
     thankfully) receive"], the Buddhist supplication
     namu amida butsu, the commanding vantage of
     bureaucrats, child rearing practices, clever
     craftsmanship, ways of solving problems.

        =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=



     [Witteveen, appendix G, TIMELINE]
 [http://www.msu.edu/user/wittevee/publications/timeline.txt]


Appendix G: Timeline of the Kokaido affair

This chronology is taken mainly from the list Takefu Renaissance
compiled for the community meeting it convened in December, 1994.


Summary chronology of the Kokaido:  January, 1994 to November,
1995 * KKD =Kokaido, TR =Takefu Renaissance, SYBJK =the Saeki
Yuzo Bijutsukan (art gallery)


6/93  Takefu Renaissance submits to City Council its "Proposal of
Fundamental Concepts for the Reuse of the Kokaido"


==========Phase I: Suspicion aroused, queries, wall of silence  1
9 9 4
1/-   Mayor Koizumi becomes interested in obtaining Saeki's
oeuvre.
2/-   Mayor tells TR there is talk of paintings being donated to
Takefu, Tono, and Miyakonojo.

3/10  Mayor secretly has KKD refurbishment work halted.

3/20  Mayor meets Kawakita (art consultant), Yoshizono (owner of
paintings) and others in Tokyo.

4/27  Mayor meets Yoshizono in Tono city, Iwate prefecture.

4/-   TR tipped off about dubious nature of the negotiations.

5/24  TR goes to city hall about KKD status. No satisfactory
reply.


==========Phase II: The mayor's designs on the KKD made public
6/2   Yoshizono proposes donation to the city of Takefu.

6/8   Mayor tells city council of his unilateral decision to
accept 20 paintings to be displayed in the 2nd floor of the KKD.

7/8   TR petitions mayor, also city council for the formation of
a joint citizen-city council-administration committee to guide
the reuse of the KKD. Later these proposals resurface without
attribution at the 3/95 city council assembly as a proposal
sponsored by the Shin Seiki Party.

9/8   Tono city doubts paintings' authenticity and Yoshizono's
good faith.


==========Phase III: Assembling a case against the mayor's story
9/13  Mayor seeks budget amendment for the KKD project; pledges
to take responsibility if scandal arises.

9/27  TR's July petition suspended while KKD art gallery is under
negotiation.

9/29  Tono city gives up its bid for the paintings.
 Miyakonojo city gives up its bid for the paintings.

11/15 "From Your City Council" (shi gikai dayori, quarterly)
slickly presents KKD as art gallery as if fait accompli.

11/26 Mayor's lieutenant assures townspeople that the Cultural
Trust Fund will not be raided, as suggested in past months. A
special budget appropriation will be proposed instead.

12/5  Mihariban launched (citizen watchdog group for local
government) with TR sponsorship.

12/10 Mayor and the administrators concerned choose Mr. Nishikawa
to direct the SYBJK.
12/19 Mayor establishes SYBJK planning committee.

12/23 TR sponsors townhall meeting (shukai) about improprieties
in the process of appropriating the KKD for use as SYBJK.

12/25 Tokyo Art Ku-Ra-Bu ("club") warns that the 46 pieces held
by Yoshizono are suspect. Tetron traces betray their age.


==========Phase IV: Evidence undermines mayor's stance; national
spotlight

 1 9 9 5
1/-   Rumors that the mayor may flee Takefu to an open National
Diet seat.

1/13  Mayor declares city will not pay for the paintings. First,
townspeople will be shown the works and the councilors be
consulted. Then perhaps the city will consider taking them.

1/13  Mayor's lieutenant announces the paintings delivered 12/18
will not be kept after all.

1/25  Mayor says the authenticity question will never be
conclusively settled; apologizes that he should have introduced
the project to townspeople from its inception.

3/1   "Citizen's Committee for the Consideration of the KKD SYBJK
Problem" (spawned by TR) submits list of questions to mayor.


==========Phase V: Interlude and finale
3/28  Bureau of SYBJK Planning opened at city hall.

3/29  City replies to the list of questions submitted 3/1.

4/20  Pr. Abe speaks at TR April meeting about government that is
open (processes, information).

8/30  "Close in on Current Events" (KUROZU�APPU gendai, NHK tv)
30 minute prime-time broadcast about the SYBJK Problem.

9/8   Mayor says the SYBJK November opening date will be met.

9/11  Mayor recants all. Entire holdings to be returned by 9/30.

9/27  "Citizen's Committee for the Consideration of the KKD SYBJK
Problem"holds summarizing town meeting.