On the Margins of Japanese Society: Volunteers and the Welfare of the Urban Underclass (Nissan Institute Routledge Japanese Studies Series)

On the margins of Japanese society

The Nissan Institute/Routledge Japanese Studies Series

Editorial Board J.A.A.Stockwin, Nissan Professor of Modern Japanese Studies, University of Oxford and Director, Nissan Institute of Japanese Studies Teigo Yoshida, formerly Professor of the University of Tokyo, and now Professor, Obirin University, Tokyo Frank Langdon, Professor, Institute of International Relations, University of British Columbia, Canada Alan Rix, Professor of Japanese, The University of Queensland Junji Banno, Institute of Social Science, University of Tokyo Leonard Schoppa, University of Virginia Other titles in the series include: The Myth of Japanese Uniqueness, Peter Dale A History of Japanese Economic Thought, Tessa Morris-Suzuki The Establishment of the Japanese Constitutional System, Junji Banno, translated by J.A.A.Stockwin Industrial Relations in Japan: the Peripheral Workforce, Norma Chalmers Education Reform in Japan, Leonard Schoppa How the Japanese Learn to Work, Ronald P.Dore and Mari Sako Japanese Economic Development: Theory and Practice, Penelope Francks Britain’s Educational Reform: a Comparison with Japan, Mike Howarth Language and the Modern State: the Reform of Written Japanese, Nanette Twine Industrial Harmony in Modern Japan: the Invention of a Tradition, W.Dean Kinzley The Japanese Numbers Game: the Use and Understanding of Numbers in Modern Japan, Thomas Crump Ideology and Practice in Modern Japan, Roger Goodman and Kirsten Refsing Technology and Industrial Development in Pre-War Japan, Yukiko Fukasaku Japan’s Foreign Aid Challenge, Alan Rix Emperor Hirohito and Showa Japan, Stephen S.Large Japan: Beyond the End of History, David Williams Ceremony and Ritual in Japan: Religious Practices in an Industrialized Society, Jan van Breman and D.P.Martinez Understanding Japanese Society: Second Edition, Joy Hendry Militarization and Demilitarization in Contemporary Japan, Glenn D.Hook Growing a Japanese Science City, James Dearing Democracy in Post-war Japan, Rikki Kersten Architecture and Authority in Japan, William H.Coaldrake

On the margins of Japanese society Volunteers and the welfare of the urban underclass

Carolyn S.Stevens

London and New York

First published 1997 by Routledge 11 New Fetter Lane, London EC4P 4EE This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2006. “To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk.” Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 29 West 35th Street, New York, NY 10001 © 1997 Carolyn S.Stevens All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Stevens. Carolyn S., 1963– On the margins of Japanese society: volunteers and the welfare of the urban underclass/Carolyn S.Stevens. p. cm.—(The Nissan Institute/Routledge Japanese studies series) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Marginality, Social-Japan-Yokohama-shi. 2. VoluntarismJapan-Yokohama-shi. 3. Neighborhood-JapanYokohama-shi. I. Title. II. Series HN730.Z9M267 1997 305.56′0952′ 1364–dc20 96–43246 CIP ISBN 0-203-20869-2 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN 0-203-26704-4 (Adobe eReader Format) ISBN 0-415-14648-8 (Print Edition)

Dedicated to the residents and activists of Kotobuki, who lived the research

For if some…did not feel estranged from the compromise patterns into which their societies have settled down, if some did not force themselves almost against their own wills to insist, at the price of isolation, on finding an original way of meeting our existential problems, societies would lose an essential avenue to rejuvenation and to that rebellious expansion of human consciousness… Erik Erikson

Contents

Series editor’s preface List of figures Acknowledgments 1 A purehabu with a view: anthropological methods and approaches

viii x xi 1

2 Kotobuki, the “land of longevity”: ethnographic and historical discussions

22

3 The economy of welfare: public and private solutions to social problems in the yoseba

51

4 Taking action: profiles of Kotobuki volunteer groups

81

5 The human side: resident and volunteer profiles

116

6 Rituals “organized” and “disorganized”: examples of solidarity and conflict in the volunteer community

167

7 Helping out and holding back: power and decision-making in volunteer groups

206

8 Conclusion: volunteering as a response to marginality of self and others

229

Appendix Glossary of Japanese and Tagalog terms Notes Bibliography Index

246 250 260 267 274

Series editor’s preface

Japan in the latter half of the 1990s is the dominant economic power of the Asia-Pacific, which in turn is the most dynamic economic region of the contemporary world. Japan’s dominance remains in place even though economic growth is sluggish, reform of the political system is needed but slow in coming, and public alienation from the ruling Establishment has become uncomfortably high. Other parts of the region, such as South Korea, Taiwan and Thailand, have borrowed much from the Japanese model and exhibit economic dynamism of a high order, while China, despite its many problems, has moved decisively in the direction of economic growth. Japan, however, remains by far the largest economy in the area, and globally second only to that of the United States. In a world set free from the constraints of the Cold War, Japan seems set to become not only a major national, but also a truly regional power. To ignore Japan, play down her significance in world affairs, or indulge in facile stereotyping would be increasingly unwise. The Nissan Institute/Routledge Japanese Studies Series seeks to foster an informed and balanced, but not uncritical, understanding of Japan. One aim of the series is to show the depth and variety of Japanese institutions, practices and ideas. Another is, by using comparisons, to see what lessons, positive and negative, can be drawn for other countries. The tendency in commentary on Japan to resort to outdated, ill-informed or sensational stereotypes still remains extraordinarily strong, and needs to be combated. One persistent stereotype, widely believed and officially fostered in Japan itself, is that nearly all Japanese people are in essence middle class. This book vividly demonstrates that there are sections of Japan to which the “middle class” label is entirely inappropriate. The area of the Yokohama dockland known as “Kotobuki” is home to a rich assortment of Japanese day labourers, Korean bar owners, visa overstayers from the Philippines and elsewhere, single elderly men sleeping rough, problem families, gangsters, the sick and the handicapped, as

Series editor’s preface

ix

well as volunteer helpers, social and medical workers. Misery, poverty and alcohol abound, but also there is the freedom and colour that comes with marginality—or being part of a society largely decoupled from mainstream Japan. Carolyn Stevens describes with sensitivity and common sense the inhabitants of Kotobuki and analyses expertly the local community which they have created. The question which the book leaves in the mind of the reader is that of how far Japanese society is now capable of coping with the kinds of social diversity that Kotobuki represents. J.A.A.Stockwin

Figures

Figure 2.1 Map of central Yokohama and Kotobuki Figure 2.2 Map of Yokohama, as of 1990

25 27

Acknowledgments

This book represents many years of my professional and personal life, and there are many people who have been involved in both areas. Acknowledging these individuals is a happy task, but putting those feelings of indebtedness and gratitude into words is difficult, for a few words on paper can never fully express the intellectual debts and deep appreciation they are meant to represent. I am indebted to my doctoral dissertation advisor, Theodore C. Bestor. Both Ted and his wife/research partner Vickey were a great influence on me during my graduate career and much of how I operate today as an academic and a teacher is an outcome of this personal and professional relationship. Ted provided steady encouragement to pursue this topic, beginning in late 1989 all the way through to my defense at Columbia University in 1995. His expertise in all matters concerning fieldwork, writing and editing was invaluable. In later stages of the research, John F.Howes came to play a very important role in my academic and spiritual development. I met Professor Howes while he was interim director of the Inter-University Center for Japanese Studies in Yokohama, and for no other reason but an honest interest in my work and the love of teaching, he became my academic advisor in Japan. Professor Howes’ support (and his family’s Christmas parties for disparate foreign students) during the two years of fieldwork made all the difference. Many other people’s lives have also touched this work, from its early stages to its closure. In and around New York City, Karen PetersonMehra and Maxine Weisgrau were the most supportive and understanding senpai (senior classmates). I must also thank Myron Cohen, Hiroshi Ishida, Laurel Kendall, Henry D.Smith II, Joyce Monges and Laura Masone for their intellectual and practical contributions to the successful defense of my dissertation. The two years and ten months I spent in Japan from 1990 to 1994

xii

Acknowledgments

was from one of the most intellectually and emotionally invigorating periods in my life. Louisa Cameron and Elizabeth McLachlan were wonderful kohai (junior classmates) and partners-in-crime, both at Columbia and the Inter-University Center and in our fieldwork. There, we all learned the all-important language skills that make anthropological fieldwork feasible, thanks to the hard work of all our teachers at the Inter-University Center from 1990 to 1991. I also wish to thank the following people who contributed to my understanding of Japan: Amy Borovoy, Alice, Don and Stuart Harrington, Masaki Inaba, Hiroto and Junko Kobayashi, Chorjya (Setsuko) Lee, Yoshihiro and Hideko Matsuoka, Hisako Mimori, Kazuko Miyazaki, Keiko Ohtake, Kazuaki Oi, Yoko Sakurai, Rieko Sasaki, Takashi Sawada, Kaoru Shibata, Takao Takahara, Sister Leny Tolentino and Christine Wilby. My fieldwork from 1992 to 1994 was supported by an individual rather than an academic institution or foundation. The generosity of Toshihiko Takamizawa of Time Spirit, Inc. allowed me the luxury to focus entirely without distraction. I hope that other Japanese will follow his example and remain open to new interpretations of their own society. The work continued after my move to the southern hemisphere, and in Australia I benefited greatly from advice from my colleagues at the University of Melbourne, who re-read and commented on material that my own eyes were too tired to evaluate. I would especially like to thank Bill Coaldrake, Anne De Bono, Michelle Hall, Yoji Hashimoto, David Holm, Eriko Kiuchi, Junko Kumamoto-Healey, Vera Mackie, Toru Miyagi and Liza Tsang for their assistance, ranging from proof-reading, page numbering, bibliographic and translation checks, and contract deciphering to general intellectual support. Other helpful colleagues from overseas include Joy Hendry, Roger Goodman, Tom Gill and Ian Reader, who all provided direct (and indirect) intellectual guidance during various stages of editing and revision. I must also thank Gordon Smith, Victoria Smith, Steven Jarman, Mark Kavanagh and Alison Elks of Routledge, and the anonymous reviewers who supported an earlier and much rougher version of this manuscript. Portions of earlier versions of Chapters 2, 3, 6 and 8 have appeared in the following journal articles: “Whose Etto is it anyway? New Year’s activities in a Yokohama yoseba” (1995) American Asian Review XIII(2): 165–83, and “Day Laborers, Volunteers and the Welfare System in Contemporary Japan” (1995) Urban Anthropology and Studies of Cultural Systems and World Economic Development 24(3–4): 229–53. My appreciation goes to both editors, Laura Miller and Jack Rollwagen,

Acknowledgments

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and all reviewers, for their comments which indirectly contributed to the reworking of the material for this book. The book would have never gotten off the ground without my family, who surrounded me with support despite our being scattered across the world. First, my parents, Phil and Anne, who always believed I could make it to the end (though I probably sorely tested them!); my brother Philip; my “sister” Amy Herot; my cousins and especially Harriet S. Turner (who also has the “white wire”), and Valeria Wolff (who loves Japan as much as I do). Finally, I am indebted to Tomohiro Matsuoka for his untiring criticism of my anthropological “eye” tempered with an understanding of my personal experience in Kotobuki. However, I solely remain responsible for the contents of this book.

1 A purehabu with a view Anthropological methods and approaches

THE METAPHOR “A room with a view”, borrowed from the title of a novel by E.M. Forster, is an apt metaphor for the methods anthropologists use to study culture. They select a field site, meet with informants, learn the language and other ways to communicate, and try to witness and record the events that are interesting and relevant to the broader understanding of the target society. Anthropologists must position themselves to have access to information; they must find rooms with good views of the surroundings to observe a broad range of social life. When looking for a “room” from which to study the margins of Japanese society, I tried to find one with many windows to view as much as possible. There were several “rooms” connected to my research: my apartment in the residential area of Kikuna, Yokohama city; the library at the International House of Japan, Inc. in Tokyo; and the office of the Kotobuki community center located in a low-income area. All were “rooms” with different “views” of Japanese society. In my apartment, I learned to live like a Japanese person, tutored by my lively seventy-three-year-old landlady. In the International House library I read many books on Japanese society written by Japanese and Western scholars which analyzed the customs that my landlady taught me. At the community center I listened to the life stories of those who came and went through the doors, but I found few books in the library that addressed the social life of the contemporary poor in Japan. One room that gave poignant insight into this part of Japan was the space on the second floor of a temporary shelter, or purehabu in Japanese, built in Kotobuki Park at the New Year’s holidays. From that window, I saw homeless day laborers brushing their teeth outside their shelters, middle-class housewives in brightly colored smocks preparing lunch for them, and college students setting up bloodpressure meters in neat

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A purehabu with a view

rows for the day’s free medical check-up. Labor union officials drank barley tea and watched over the crowd while a few grade schoolchildren chased around a soccer ball. Rich and poor people were spending the most important Japanese holiday together. There were moments of bickering between some laborers and volunteers; all was not in perfect harmony, but at least these different groups of people were trying to get along, all together in one space for this one week of the year. This was an unusual view of Japanese society, a social system that I had previously understood to be more rigidly separated and defined. My chosen “view” of Japanese society was colored by my previous experiences in the United States. While doing course work at Columbia University for my doctorate degree, I spent every Saturday afternoon in a New York City soup kitchen. This weekly meal service was held in the basement of a large Catholic church on Sixth Avenue near my apartment in Greenwich Village. My participation in the volunteer group did not come from religious zeal for charity but rather from a lack of financial resources; I didn’t have the spending money to keep up with my investment banker friends who went shopping, out to dinner and to the theater on their days off. Working in the soup kitchen gave me something to do, kept my mind off being left behind, and kept my budget in control. It also showed me the human side of poverty. Men and women who panhandled in subways were formerly faceless “problems” New Yorkers had to deal with; now they were people with names, good and bad personalities, and always interesting life histories. No longer was I a passive observer. Working in the soup kitchen got me involved in one small struggle against poverty in America. Leaving this all behind for three months, I spent the summer of 1989 in the Tokyo area. I stayed with friends, taught English to Japanese businessmen and searched for a dissertation topic. By chance, an American friend who had been living in Japan for thirty years asked me about life in New York. Alice had seen photographs of homeless people in American news magazines; were these grim articles a true representation of the situation in New York, she asked. Times were bad in New York, I replied, but through volunteering at the soup kitchen, I had resolved some of my frustration with life in a large city. Though my weekend efforts may not have changed world poverty, I was an active participant in my local context. Alice thought that was interesting and told me about a group in Kotobuki, an area in downtown Yokohama, that did similar work. She gave my phone number to a member of the Yokohama International Women’s Club who could give me an introduction.

A purehabu with a view

3

A few weeks later, equipped with two years of college-level Japanese, I was on a train to meet Ishii Sachiko,1 a Japanese woman I had never seen before, in the heart of this Yokohama “slum” called Kotobuki. Alice’s friend had contacted Ms Ishii, who worked at Kotobuki’s Christian-sponsored community center. Ms Ishii agreed to spend an afternoon showing me around and thus my research in Kotobuki began. I returned to my final year on campus armed with a field site and a single informant, which was enough to get me through my advanced certification exams. I conscientiously sent Ms Ishii greeting cards during the next year to keep lines of communication open. When I returned to Japan in 1990 to attend language school I began volunteering at Ms Ishii’s office once a week, doing English translations of the center’s newsletter to send to the Yokohama International Women’s Club. After my language training ended, I spent two more years volunteering, socializing there and learning about the people of Kotobuki full time. I originally wanted to do research directly about the social organization of the homeless in Japan. There were many homeless men living around Kotobuki and Ms Ishii had told me about a group called the Thursday Night Patrol, which circulated through the neighborhood assisting homeless men. By participating in this group, I thought I could meet and interview many informants. I soon realized my first project was unrealistic; first of all, most men refused to speak to me. Those who did often laughed off my questions or soon became angry at me for prying. I could barely understand the regional dialects and slang of many of the men who did agree to speak with me. After a few attempts I saw that I could not conduct meaningful interviews at this stage. And why should I be able to? What did these men, having been through the worst life has to offer, have to gain by telling me their life stories? They had experienced the hardship while I had experienced none, and only I was to benefit by their story-telling when I graduated from an Ivy League university with a degree built upon the narratives of their lives. I was discouraged by my lack of success and angry at myself for my naïveté. However, I felt my chance encounter with the people of Kotobuki was still important. The volunteers did talk to me, about their lives, about Japanese society, and about the problems they faced after becoming involved with Kotobuki. I met men and women, some of whom had left behind comfortable lives to live in Kotobuki and work with the elderly, sick, poor and homeless. I met students who, angry because of the political oppression and social discrimination they perceived in their society, had fought bitterly and parted ways with their teachers, family and friends. I met nuns who preferred blue jeans

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and tee shirts to habits and were willing to leave their church’s strict tenets behind when counseling young Asian sex workers about birth control. My experience as a volunteer gave me access to a previously unrecorded section of middle-class, liberal Japanese society. I decided to study the volunteers and the volunteer organizations in Kotobuki. I met with activists, nuns, ministers, housewives, students and medical professionals who donated their time and skills to improving the standard of living of the residents of Kotobuki. I volunteered for two years. Though many of the initial barriers that existed between me and the Kotobuki residents never completely disappeared, there were some residents who took me into their confidence. Volunteering became the lens through which I looked at Kotobuki’s social problems such as poverty, aging and discrimination. It seemed superficial to examine volunteering without considering the social problems that caused the residents’ marginal status, and thus the need for volunteer services. Furthermore, the only way I could build a relationship with a marginalized person was by taking on the volunteer role. The relationship between the volunteer-giver and the client-receiver was unequal, but if not for the volunteer activities, the relationship would probably have not existed at all. Often informants looked at me with a disbelieving expression equivalent of “what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” In Japan, there really is no reason for a “nice”, educated young woman to be in Kotobuki talking to homeless men. My Japanese friends probably thought I should be cultivating myself in other ways in order to improve my marriage and professional prospects, such as taking lessons in sports or the arts, reading the latest best-sellers, traveling to broaden my horizons, and so forth. It was fine to study Japanese culture, but why would one choose to study the most miserable section of society? My association with the lowest classes in Japan appeared strange to many of these Japanese friends because my work stood in contrast to the somewhat high social status I temporarily enjoyed in Japan. As a foreign student from the well-established Columbia University (I was often asked if I had ever studied with the famous Professor Donald Keene, a celebrity in the Japanese public eye), I was an honored guest and was treated with respect by local academics and government officials. Though I would always be an “outsider” and, at most, a temporary guest, Japanese friends and acquaintances were concerned about the impression I would have of their culture. They tried their best to show me the finer aspects of Japanese life. People I had only casually met would often give me valuable gifts and insist on taking me out on

A purehabu with a view

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sightseeing outings. I was invited to dine several times at the home of my landlady’s brother-in-law, a renowned professor of psychiatry at Keio University. My Japanese friends worried I was troubled financially because of the high cost of living in Japan, so they introduced me to potential clients for English tutoring or translation jobs. Because my undergraduate degree was from Harvard, clients paid me high fees, so my income was comfortable. I took a part-time job as an English conversation tutor to a Japanese celebrity who took me to some of the best restaurants in Tokyo, gave me front row seats to concerts at the Tokyo Dome and allowed me the use of his car a few times when we stayed out past the last train back to Yokohama. Quite literally, I saw the best and the worst of Japan during those few years, from the back seat of a Nissan “Presidential” limousine to the front line of the homeless men queued up for a free meal on New Year’s Day. This book is about the best and the worst of Japanese society: the discrimination and the loneliness felt by those marginalized by poverty, ethnicity and disability; the frustration felt by the privileged who do see the suffering, the sacrifices these people make when expressing their opinions and the indifference shown by those who choose not to acknowledge the problems. ETHNOGRAPHIC APPROACHES AND METHODS Over the many years that anthropologists have looked at Japanese society, various approaches and methods have been used to express firsthand fieldwork experiences to the second-hand reader. How does one present the sights, sounds and emotions of time spent in a foreign country to those who have never been there? How does the anthropologist confront a seemingly arbitrary set of data and end up with a coherent picture of the foreign culture’s social, political, economic and religious systems? The following section is a discussion of ethnographic approaches and methods that influenced my fieldwork; it is not meant to serve as a comprehensive survey of anthropological research methods but rather is included to give readers insight regarding the processes of transforming my fieldwork experience into written form. The answer looks simpler on paper than it is in practice: ethnographers must choose an ordered social theory to help make sense of the chaos of the field site, to guide their data collection, and to structure their writing of their findings. At graduate school, students were expected to choose a theoretical “camp” to help shape their studies and direct their research. “Theory” was a badge one wore to identify

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oneself, and in New York in the mid-1980s, we defined ourselves as either cultural materialists, structuralists, neo-Marxists, feminists or postmodernists,2 amongst others. Theory held your work together and kept your research from becoming a laundry list of descriptive attributes that made no contribution to furthering our understanding of the world. Which theory you chose was less of a concern than having a strong theoretical base. With a theoretical foundation, the data could be presented in a manner that not only furthered our understanding of the particular culture but also of the nature of culture in general. When selecting a theory for my research, I wanted to direct the research in such a way that other important data could not be overlooked. For example, if I had chosen an explicitly economic model and found that men were the main breadwinners in the society, I might overlook the contributions that women make to society in other social spheres. I wanted to make sure I did not leave anyone behind in my research; after all, the focus of my work was to study those who had been left behind: the people in the margins. I need to make sure that my theory was suitable to my inquiry, for: the most important consideration regarding the appropriateness of research methods, which are relatively “soft” in the terms of veritability, is the nature of the articulation between the data and the corpus of orienting theory. (Harris, 1968:410)

I needed a theory, or a combination of theories, that best “articulated”, logically and meaningfully, social life in the yoseba (gathering place). I looked through some of the books on Japan that I had collected to try to define my theoretical identity before setting off for Kotobuki. TRADITIONAL ANTHROPOLOGICAL APPROACHES TO JAPAN One of the first ethnographies of Japan, Suye Mura, A Japanese Village, by John F.Embree, was published in 1939 and represents the “structuralfunctionalist” approach to anthropology. Fieldwork was undertaken from 1935 to 1936. Embree was a student at the University of Chicago, under the famous British Professor A.R. Radcliffe-Brown, one of the founders of the British social anthropological school. Radcliffe-Brown and Embree both saw society in terms of a system of pieces that fit together, each piece having a function that tied it to the whole and

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sustained the piece and, therefore, the system. Embree noted organized economic and social cooperative behavior in the small Kyushu village he studied and thought that this cooperation was the key to fitting together all the pieces of religious, political, economic and social phenomena which constituted Japanese rural society. This way of analyzing Japanese society seemed clean, rational and effective in its descriptive and theoretical applications, but Kotobuki was not necessarily a neatly functioning machine; rather, the pieces that made up Kotobuki were the ones that had been rejected from mainstream society. I could not see Kotobuki as a smoothly operating, independently functioning community separated from larger society. Rather, it was an anathema to the social machine, perceived as many of the things that machine was meant not to be. About the same time as Embree was writing about his Kyushu village, an American anthropologist named Ruth Benedict was writing a book that remains one of the most often read works on Japanese society today, The Chrysanthemum and the Sword: Patterns of Japanese Culture (published in 1946). The thrust of her argument is explained in the title: she believed that patterns of human behavior constituted the definition of a particular culture. This idea comes out of the “Culture and Personality” school, a group of anthropologists who believed that culture could be defined as a patterning of emotional, psychological and ethical principles. These principles colored the way members of a particular group interpreted the natural and social phenomena around them, constituting their interpretation of “culture”. These patterns were broad, allowing for individual and regional variation, and explained why certain cultures saw the world in the ways that they did—they had been trained to do so, by the patterning of their personality through culture. Benedict thought that the psychological concepts of on (indebtedness), giri (social obligation) and ninjo (human feeling) were three traditional concepts that best explained Japanese social relations (Benedict, 1946, 1977). These psychological concepts were ingrained in the Japanese personality through emotional training that began when the child was very young, and this “mind set” followed the individual throughout his or her lifetime. The “Culture and Personality” school’s way of thinking can also be found in the more contemporary works of Doi Takeo, whose book The Anatomy of Dependence (1981) identified the concept amae (which can be translated as “passive love”, “dependence” or “seeking indulgence”) as the psychological process underlying most human

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relations in Japan, solidifying the family, and other the social groups such as the company. I found that although the specific notions of on, giri, ninjo or amae were manifested in different ways in Kotobuki, psychological patterning as important to the definition of social relations was a useful notion. As the reader will see, emotional responses to marginality, to being categorized as marginal, to the foreign and to being an “outsider” were crucial to the analysis of the volunteer/resident relationship and volunteer activities in general. I used a variation: one where psychological “key words” gave some explanation for why people behaved the way they did. The word I found in Kotobuki volunteer groups was enryo, or “hesitation”; this concept was connected to notions of in-group and out-group identity, the basis for the next model of Japanese society. The “group model” is a generalized term many scholars of Japan have used, but the work of the Japanese anthropologist Nakane Chie best exemplifies the model’s preference for making the “group” a unit central to the understanding of Japanese behavior. Her book, simply titled Japanese Society (1970), is a short but elegant theoretical statement about the nature of Japanese social relationships. In it, Nakane states that the group is the source of identity for the Japanese, and within it, vertical relationships in a hierarchical structure are more dynamic than horizontal relationships. She uses the Japanese company and the university as examples of a social “group” and submits that the Japanese people’s orientation towards a group identity explains much about their behavior in both the public and private spheres. To the Japanese person, she says, the group comes first, and psychological concepts such as loyalty, paternalism, indebtedness, obligation and dependence act as the emotional glue that holds the group together. It seemed obvious at first to employ Nakane’s work when looking at Kotobuki volunteer groups; these groups were exactly the stuff of what Nakane singled out as primary in Japanese social behavior: the tendency to act and identify oneself in a collective sense. Yet, many of her descriptions of the group as seen in the Japanese business and university context did not fit with the volunteer and activist groups in Kotobuki. For example, these volunteers were never wholly committed to only one group; horizontal relations were extremely important; conflict between group members was common and often acted out; the list of differences went on. After two years in Kotobuki, I could see the value of Nakane’s model in certain Japanese social contexts, but it was not right for the yoseba context. Nakane’s model was too “mainstream”.

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The “group model” has been critiqued by many, most eloquently by Harumi Befu (1980b), who gives several explanations for his doubts about this model. In this line of thinking, there is little room for explanations for competition, conflict, paternalistic neglect, “insubordination” (as illustrated in labor strikes), and differences between social and economic classes. Befu argues further that the model does not encompass an existing concept of the Japanese “individual” within a group and exhibits problems differentiating between ideal forms and the reality of the group. Lastly, Nakane’s model shows a gender bias (almost exclusively using male groups as examples), and gives no explanation for personal motivation (Befu, 1980b: 31–7). Befu points out that the popularity of this model is in part due to the Japanese preference to be portrayed in such a light; that group harmony and identification is an example of “kireigoto, the nice things in Japan which Japanese find comfortable to discuss with outsiders whose approval they seek” (p. 39). Instead, Befu believes the social exchange model, which gives an “adequate motivational mechanism”, better explains Japanese behavior in a non-particularist fashion. Befu’s social exchange model is based on the fundamental idea of reciprocity between individuals, which may include groups as well (1980c: 193). Because Kotobuki is a yoseba, and unarguably an oppressed, workingclass community, Marxist theories cannot be ignored. Befu notes that Japanese Marxist scholars and academic models, though suppressed by the government during the first part of the twentieth century, now hold “important place[s] in the academic and intellectual community” (1980c: 192). Befu notes that the “radically different” histories of Europe (on which these principles are based) and Japan make it difficult to apply directly models espoused by Marxist scholars, but he acknowledges the usefulness of Marxist vocabulary when analyzing Japanese society (ibid.). I too thought that Marxism could not be dismissed in the case of the yoseba, where the boundaries of the stratified class system are so clearly visible and the relationships between them are markedly unequal. The plight of the workers in Kotobuki and their structural inability to change their position in society are not unlike those described in Western capitalist societies. One recent application of Marxist theory to Japanese society focuses on the analysis of empirical data rather than a common history: Rob Steven’s Class in Contemporary Japan (1983). This study includes yoseba day laborers as members of the “floating reserve” (p. 186) or “reserve army” (p. 191) of mass laborers, separated and disenfranchised from the “labor aristocracy” (skilled workers) and places them at the bottom of the reserve army list, as they are socially marginal:

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A purehabu with a view [Day labourers] are…sinking into the latent (insofar as they have some form of subsistence) or, worse still, the stagnant reserve. Day labourers in particular are extremely insecure, since they must somehow find work each day. They tend to congregate in urban slums, such as the Sanya district in Tokyo or Kamagasaki in Osaka, and are herded onto buses employers send into the areas. Large proportions of day labourers are middle-aged men or burakumin who have been excluded from the normal process by which workers are channelled into the “familial” hierarchy. (Steven, 1983:191)

This explains why the Japanese labor union movement has overlooked the day laborers, as they are not members of the mainstream laboring class. Interestingly, Steven lumps these yoseba laborers in the “floating reserve” with other “part-timers”, male workers hired after retirement from another job and part-time female workers (p. 186). This categorization has validity when looking at the instability of reserve job markets and the low wages they receive, but the social identity of these groups of people is quite different. An unskilled housewife working parttime in a factory, though perhaps poor, does not share the same marginalized identity as the yoseba resident. I wanted to focus on social interactions between residents and volunteers, for the volunteers’ attempts at solving problems in the yoseba also might reveal the sources of social marginality, the process that distinguishes between social classes and leads to discrimination. Another way of looking at the changes, achievements and problems of contemporary Japanese society is the “modernization” school, where the understanding of the economic and political developments of the nation is essential to the understanding of the modern culture. This theory arose in the 1960s, primarily as a response to the proliferation of Marxist models to explain Japan’s post-war economic experience, and is defined as “the belief in progress, the belief in rationality and the normative judgement that ‘mechanization’ or industrialization is good” (Kawamura, 1980:52). Befu warns that modernization is not to be confused with “westernization, Europeanization [or, I would add, ‘Americanization’] or industrialization” (Befu:180). He broadly defines modernization as the “preponderant use of inanimate sources of energy converted into productive power” (ibid.) and adds that the modernization process is complete when there is a governmental policy to promote this process. Befu notes that a culture undergoing change must be “modified to bring about a new adjustment with the technology, unless the traditional culture is in certain respects ‘ready’ and

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‘preadapted’ to it”(p. 182). For the most part, Japanese historians and anthropologists have found Japan to be relatively “ready and preadapted” to the process of modernization. As an example of this point of view, one may look at various social and cultural factors that facilitated modernization. Ronald Dore, in his work on the Tokugawa educational system (approximately 1600–1867), says that the relatively high levels of literacy during this period meant that people were ready to rise through social and class ranks to “new opportunities in a more fluid Meiji society”; education was a “mechanism of social ascent” and allowed society to change more quickly and smoothly (Dore, 1965, 1984:293). Because my study of Kotobuki is not one stretched over a long period of time charting long-term changes, but a focused examination of contemporary life there, I was working to a smaller scale of inquiry. However, the modernization theorists’ point that the actions of Japanese government are closely tied to the economy, industry, and society is important. Government policies directly affect the yoseba residents’ lives in two ways: first by dictating the rules for hiring and contracting, the distribution of benefits, medical insurance and unemployment funds in the day labor market, and second by prescribing the distribution of funds through social welfare programs. Though this book is not a progressivist treatise, it picks up the modernizationists’ thread connecting various institutions in Japan. Throughout the text, government policies and their effects on the ordinary lives of yoseba residents are examined critically to help construct the meaning of marginality in the larger Japanese society. Moving away from explicitly economic-based arguments, in my studies I came across a great deal of literature in English and in Japanese on Nihonjinron, translated as “discussions of the Japanese”. This term encompasses everything ever written about the Japanese people, their culture and their history, and can be considered an interdisciplinary area studies approach. Nihonjinron has three basic tenets (Dale, 1990:1): 1 2 3

The Japanese are “culturally and socially homogenous”. They are different not only from Western people but also from other Asian peoples. They are “consciously nationalistic” and will not be analyzed by nonJapanese means.

Nihonjinron presupposes that social theories created in other contexts will not work in Japan because Japan is unique and fundamentally unlike any other culture. Therefore, new theories specially formulated for the

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Japanese context are necessary. This line of thinking is particularistic and isolating, making Japan into a case study that cannot fit into a larger picture of Asia or the world. Nihonjinron theories have been used to explain away idiosyncrasies and justify certain behaviors with the statement: “That’s just how we Japanese people do things—differently than Westerners.” Mouer and Sugimoto have looked into the effects the recent economic recession in Japan has had on the Nihonjinron school. They believe that Japan’s economic successes led many Japanese writers to reconsider Japan’s position in the global context, and that their consciousness of redefining themselves in this context led to a kind of cultural nationalism, both economically and politically (Mouer and Sugimoto, 1995:3–5). Nihonjinron does not stand up to definitions of Japan as “multicultural”, a society that includes “the invisible and second-class type” of Japanese (i.e., not male, not white-collar or upper-class members of society): Korean residents, overseas returnee students, the Ainu, Japanese expatriates, “undocumented foreign workers”, third-generation Japanese born overseas, and children of international marriages, among others (p. 31). Rather than giving a coherent explanation for the society in which large numbers of Japanese participate, Nihonjinron universals come from a “shared culture of the techno-professional élite” (p. 10). These ideas are reinforced by outsiders as well. High yen rates have forced foreign academics to rely on Japanese foundations to support their research, and these groups choose to fund projects which they believe will illuminate “correct understandings of Japan” (p. 16). As my research was not funded by large Japanese corporations, and as the residents of Kotobuki seem to fall into many of the above mentioned categories, I began to think that the Nihonjinron view of Japanese society would have limited applications in the yoseba. Japan is not alone in constructing its own version of knowledge based on cultural predispositions. The Nihonjinron argument is perhaps the native “mirror” version of theories connected to a body of work regarding the definition of Asian scholarship in the West, called “orientalism”. This refers to the book entitled Orientalism by Edward Said (1979) and can be defined simply as a consciousness about ways we write about the “Orient”, or Eastern cultures. More specifically, Said believed that this way of writing about the Orient represented a corporate institution: control over the knowledge, transmission of knowledge and maintenance of knowledge about the East. In his groundbreaking work, Said states that the processes involved with “knowing about the East” in the past have also included a process of domination

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and the re-structuring of the societies studied. This definition takes up Michel Foucault’s paradigm, where knowledge is equated with power.3 Said says that Western knowledge of the Orient, “because generated out of strength, in a sense creates the orient, the oriental, and his world” (1979:40). The power to know, to define and create is also the power that leads to political and economic domination, colonialism and imperialism. This I found to be much more useful than the precepts of Nihonjinron. In terms of my research, I felt that orientalist methodological concerns were quite relevant to my inquiry, as my status as a privileged outsider in the underprivileged community could color the way I gathered, manipulated and transferred the data and knowledge about Kotobuki to the rest of the world. It was clear that I was in a position to take advantage of two of Said’s orientalist tools: strategic location: the author’s position in a text with regard to the oriental material he writes about, and strategic formation…a way of analyzing the relationship between texts and the way in which [they]…acquire mass, density and referential power among themselves and thereafter in the culture at large. (Said, 1979:20)

Because of the unequal relationship between the yoseba residents and myself, I needed to be sensitive to the ways I defined them to a Western, or even outside Japanese, academic world. Wherever I could, I tried to use their own words and definitions; at other places, I used definitions which were created by the support groups who worked with the disadvantaged people. In all cases, I tried to relate the residents’ position back to larger Japanese society rather than my own perceptions, though often this was difficult to do when I was too emotionally close to the resident’s situation. Connecting the incident to mainstream society was a technique that many of the Japanese Kotobuki volunteers used in order to try to understand the yoseba. For example, one volunteer, in attempting to explain certain violent acts in the yoseba (in this case, related to sexual harassment or racial discrimination) claimed that one must not merely think of the act in terms of its “classification” (the content of the act) and its “consequences” (condemnation or punishment) but also of the “place called Kotobuki” and “side” (hitobito no gawa) of the people who committed the act. The strategy of “connecting to mainstream society” does not separate the person from the environment or the social system. An isolated description of an act in the yoseba would invite

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contempt from those who know little of the area, and a misrepresentation of the community, the act and the person who committed it would be likely. Stemming from the orientalist school of thought, I learned that the quality of the informant/researcher relationship essentially defines the research undertaken. In many cases, I encountered “hostile informants”: people who had little interest in sharing information with me and actively despised the process of questioning for they saw it as invasive and manipulative. This type of informant included not only residents but some volunteers as well. I found that informants were hostile to fieldwork inquiries when they could not see the results of the interview or the research as directly related to their political cause, or their social or economic positions. In fact, in the yoseba, the interview is often seen as a discriminatory action, where the interviewer (usually a person in power, i.e. social worker, an intellectual or journalist, etc.) is in a position to judge the interviewee and has the ability to transmit his/her impression as fact to the public—a modern version of the orientalist viewpoint. Overcoming this notion in the field was the most difficult aspect of fieldwork. The only way to over come this was through personal trust; trust that I would not write a piece that was derogatory or misrepresentative. I cannot say whether people truly believed that I was capable of writing in such a manner, or whether after awhile they had merely given up on trying to prevent me from learning more about them. Eventually my years spent in Kotobuki served to legitimate, even if temporarily, my presence there. If I were to spend two years volunteering, working hard at menial jobs, then it was give and take; they let me stay for awhile. If I had come in for a short period of time for a quick, intense study, I would have achieved nothing. After reading all these books, after spending two years in Kotobuki, I began to think about writing, keeping in mind all the precedents in the field. Were they applicable? Like Suye Mura, was Kotobuki a kind of “urban village”? Social structure in the yoseba was more complicated than the descriptions of the 1939 rural ethnography. But not all old theory was to be discarded; like Benedict I saw personality traits both acceptable and out of sync with Japanese culture, and these traits were to shape how people dealt with each other inside the yoseba. Nakane’s “group theory” could contribute to the “outsider” status of the yoseba residents. Marxist thought was seen in the ideology of the local labor union and the student volunteers. My own outsider status colored me as an “orientalist”, for I carried with me intellectual baggage from the

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West, and I was seen as a permanent visitor by those who saw me in a Nihonjinron view. This book not only gathers appropriate elements of various anthropological models to create a yoseba ethnography and an analysis of the social relations within it, but also provides an examination of the informant/researcher relationship, complete with all the difficulties and misunderstandings, and eventual sensitivity, trust and understanding. This relationship is the foundation of research and influences data collected and its analysis; thus the importance of establishing honest and fruitful research alliances. The fieldwork process is re-examined in this context: how a researcher chooses a topic, an approach and a method is affected by where they are and who is studied. Also important is how the individual’s research affects those around him/her and the process of research is then affected by the field. No anthropologist is totally ignored in the field; the impact they have can be enormous. This was apparent whenever I entered a new sphere of the community or witnessed conflict in any area. Knowing what I did about the area, I had to try to disentangle events whilst keeping in mind that my presence affected how these incidents played out. As previously mentioned, my chosen field site was notorious in Yokohama for its dangerous reputation; though I encountered problems with sexual harassment and personal safety, through establishing relationships with prominent residents I became the first foreign woman to do major academic research in a yoseba. However, the freedom I was given to research these people’s lives came in return for respect for their privacy and acknowledgment of their suffering as members of the underclass. KOTOBUKI AS A CASE STUDY IN SOCIAL MARGINALITY This book is not only an examination of theoretical stances but also contains important ethnographic research that documents social life in Kotobuki and thus becomes an important contribution to existing work on the underclass in Japan. In light of the Japanese economic “miracle”, it is important to balance international understanding of Japanese culture with research on low-income sections of society. The “underclass” in Japan is a term usually used to describe ethnic minorities such as the Japanese-Koreans and the Japanese group of “outcasts” called the burakumin. However, migrant day laborers also fall into the “underclass” category because of their unstable financial situation. Day laborers may

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belong to more than one social category, and many Japanese believe that yoseba residents are Japanese-Korean or associated with the burakumin class, though few laborers would admit their affiliation with the latter group. Japanese and American social scientists have examined yoseba and their residents as marginalized members of society (see Caldarola, 1968; Fowler, 1991; Guzewicz, 1993; Hester, 1991; Matsuzawa, 1988 and 1990; Nakane, 1988a and 1988c; Taira, 1968 and 1969) but this research is unique, for it not only examines the yoseba but it also addresses the yoseba volunteer community and relevant social welfare programs. Because of social and economic obstacles, Kotobuki residents are “marginal” members of Japanese society. In Japanese society, group membership is the basis for individual identity; social marginality in this case is defined as belonging to an ambiguous group (Valentine, 1990:38). Ambiguity is categorized as dangerous and socially undesirable (Douglas, 1984; Turner, 1969; van Gennep, 1960). Society functions to protect individuals from the danger of ambiguity; “Culture, in the sense of the public, standardised values of a community …provides in advance some basic categories, a positive pattern in which ideas and values are tidily ordered”. (Douglas, 1984:38–39). Ambiguity challenges the order and “disorder spoils the pattern” (p. 94). Marginal categories are created to label and control the disorder. Japanese society values order; ambiguous and anomalous elements are considered marginal. Clearly defined social groups are characterized by association with kinship and professional groups. A steady job, stable family life and Japanese citizenship are considered necessary for establishing a mainstream identity in Japanese society. Japanese day laborers, due to transient employment patterns, live a migratory, solitary lifestyle. They do not fit into categories; they are marginal. The yoseba becomes their home, but it also accepts many other people considered “outsiders” by the rest of society: traveling gamblers, gangsters, Japanese-Koreans who run the hotels and stores, elderly, disabled men and social activists. Increasingly other Japanese resist or cannot meet established norms for membership in “mainstream society”. They are dissatisfied with the status quo and refuse to conform to the cultural categories of employee, husband, wife, Japanese citizen, etc. Many are volunteers and social activists and their experiences confronting problems in their society are recorded in a later chapter. All Kotobuki residents are considered marginal because of their proximity to day laborer, an ambiguous social category; therefore, committed volunteers lose many

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of their mainstream qualities. Those who are Christian activists have identified themselves with a foreign ideology and are often already considered “outsiders” by other Japanese. Thus, the volunteers and their clients create a liminal social category for those who have “dropped” through traditional family and professional roles. During the period of field study (1992–94), Kotobuki was in the process of transformation. The public employment agency in the center of town defines it as a yoseba, a place where day laborers gather. The neighborhood landscape is dominated by stores and hotels that cater to the day laborer. However, since the recession began, many residents and volunteers have begun to call Kotobuki a“welfare town” (fukushi no machi). This is because residents who are not day laborers but welfare recipients are moving into the yoseba to take advantage of the low rents and anonymity of this section in Japanese society. Handicapped and elderly individuals, low-income families, illegal foreign laborers and volunteers originally from “mainstream” society form a growing section of the population. These middle-class volunteers in Kotobuki are outnumbered by other residents but they form a vocal and distinct section of the population. Their activities in the yoseba constitute a basis for a community in Kotobuki. In looking at the volunteer groups in Kotobuki, many questions about the nature of Japanese social relationships were raised. Most Japanese rely on kinship-based, local and professional groups to which they belong for social and economic support. Group members feel reassurance in times of need and, in return, feel obligation to help fellow members. Socially marginalized people, who are not members of mutually beneficial organizations, have difficulties establishing support networks because they are cut off from social, political and economic resources. Volunteers recognize the needs of marginalized people and step out of preconceived notions of social responsibility and boundaries. The Japanese volunteers with whom I worked were employees of the public welfare system, housewives, members of private religious institutions or local citizens’ groups, or college students. All shared the desire to improve the standard of living for a sector of the underclass in Japan. Volunteering is often thought of as work without pay, but usually involves work to help the troubled (like the poor or elderly) or work to further a cause (such as the conservation of the environment). According to sociologist Sherwood Fox, volunteer activities function to bridge gaps between groups or institutions and reduce tension between them (Smith and Freedman, 1972:3). However, it is important to distinguish between the definitions of “volunteering” and “voluntarism”. Research on

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voluntary associations and voluntarism in Japan focuses mainly on the mutually beneficial and cooperative character of these groups. Edward Norbeck, an anthropologist studying voluntary associations in Japan, calls them “common interest groups” that have their roots in traditional village associations (1966:73). These mutual support groups provide labor exchange, crime and fire prevention, and other social benefits. Norbeck designates these cooperatives “voluntary” though he believes social and economic pressures to participate are so strong that village residents have little choice but to belong. Volunteering in Kotobuki has little do with these voluntary associations. Kotobuki volunteers come from the outside, organize groups into action and provide benefits to residents. One may argue that social and economic obstacles prevent residents of Kotobuki from organizing themselves into mutually supportive voluntary associations. Middle-class volunteers take up this role by organizing volunteer groups to provide services and support to residents. The marginalization process is facilitated by social problems such as poverty, discrimination, illness, alcoholism and aging. Kotobuki is a kind of laboratory for the study of these problems in urban Japan. The basic social unit, the family, is changing. This can be seen in the increase of single elderly and disabled yoseba residents. The average middleclass family is no longer able to support less productive members of society, putting a greater financial and social burden on the government and private institutions. Therefore, Chapter 3 examines the Japanese welfare system and how it is utilized in Kotobuki to record an example of the government’s reaction to poverty and social marginality in the yoseba. I argue that communication with public welfare employees is vital to a successful welfare case, and recipients, accustomed to an independent, mobile and private lifestyle, find it hard to change to a more stable, dependent way of life. I believe this to be a source of failure of the welfare system as utilized in Kotobuki. Chapters 4 to 8 focus on the volunteer groups as organizations and explore concepts of hierarchy, power and social interaction in the volunteer/resident community. The Kotobuki examples challenge accepted notions of Japanese social exchange and the group identity. Identity is based on group membership; in Kotobuki, marginal members of society create new groups to which they can belong. However, these groups do not operate in the same manner as mainstream groups. Nakane’s group model (1970) and Befu’s social exchange model (1977) do not account for ambiguous boundaries between groups and lack of reciprocity in group activities. Social, economic and psychological

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stresses create the kind of friction and conflict between groups that often occurs in problematic situations. The social environment in the yoseba is bound by different rules; ideals of egalitarianism and respect for human rights are held higher than group identity or group success. However, in this community of residents and volunteers, participants come from very different backgrounds. Although ideologies (and subsequently, social rules) are expressed in newsletters and hand-outs that the groups produce during the year and at certain events, misunderstandings between residents and volunteers do occur. More emotional are often the conflicts between volunteers; one party may be more conservative than the other, causing a rift in a group that stalls action. The examination of volunteer groups provides an opportunity to analyze Japanese notions of conflict and methods of decision-making. Because the volunteer groups are not clearly defined, volunteers often work without a structured set of rules. Indecision, personal misunderstanding, disagreement and conflict occur. Decision-making and conflict-resolution are necessary for the volunteer activity’s continuation. However, the ambiguous nature of Kotobuki volunteer groups makes it difficult to apply rules of corporate decision-making set forth by other cultural anthropologists of Japan studying fixed, welldefined groups (Krauss, Rohlen and Steinhoff, 1984; Marshall, 1984). Decision-making volunteers are bound by the cultural norm of enryo (polite hesitation), which I believe to be a key concept of social interaction in Japan. Hesitation prevents some volunteer activities from being effective, but preserves personal relations within a group or between groups and provides a safety net for volunteers when they overstep social and possibly ethical boundaries. THE METAPHOR: REPRISE The yoseba can tell us much about Japanese society. The Japanese have often called themselves a “classless” society, yet the existence of the yoseba contradicts this statement. The affluent, middle-class lifestyle has not reached all parts of Japanese society, and the stories of other Japanese groups are important to create a holistic view of society. Furthermore, the study of the yoseba volunteer community contributes to learning about Japanese society by giving another view of this “group society”. In Kotobuki, volunteers purposefully identify themselves with groups that are not valued in “mainstream” society. Volunteers do so because they cannot or choose not to enter and sustain typical social roles. Because of

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their association with those in the lowest strata of society, volunteers may encounter conflict and criticism from those who are closest to the volunteers, their families. In contrast, volunteers find acceptance and even respect in larger social circles. They fill the gaps left behind by the public welfare system and do the social work that ordinary Japanese do not want to or cannot do, but believe should be done. Volunteering in Kotobuki is not explained by social exchange or reciprocity theories, but is a complex mix of ethical and altruistic motives, based partly on Christian concepts and confrontation with psychological stages in an individual’s lifetime. At the time I chose my “view” of Japanese society, it was not a popular one, but volunteering in Japan is an increasingly important topic. On January 17, 1995, a few weeks after I submitted my manuscript to the dissertation committee, a major earthquake hit western Japan. In the first few days after the tremor, over 5,000 people were dead, 25,000 injured, 46,440 buildings destroyed and 310,000 people left homeless (Van Biema, 1995:26–7). Survivors had no water, heat, food or housing for days before the shocked members of parliament approved emergency funds for relief efforts. In the meantime, volunteers from nearby Osaka and Kyoto rushed food, water and medicine to the worsthit areas. Under the headline “New Tradition in Japan: Volunteers”, The New York Times reported, “In the days after Tuesday’s earthquake, volunteerism has increased greatly in Japan, long considered by its own citizens to have no tradition of social service” (January 22, 1995:10). Volunteering did not have an established image in Japan before the earthquake; volunteers in Kotobuki often operated under the guise of charity work or social activism. The mass media and the grateful Japanese government praised the Osaka and Kyoto volunteers for their contributions to the relief effort and this is sure to change the perception of volunteering and its organization in the future. Volunteer work will not be viewed as a series of hand-outs or an outcome of “left-wing” activism, but as a necessary part of a society’s reaction to disaster and poverty. The purehabu built at New Year are temporary; they are torn down the second week of January. Every year someone suggests that permanent shelters should be built and a communal way of life should continue year round. However, no one can commit the time and money to take on the project of permanently housing and feeding up to 300 laborers. Eventually, laborers and volunteers go back to their daily routines and come together at other times during the year for medical check-ups, meals, meetings, and so on. The purehabu “view” of Japanese society

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is constantly under construction: soon to be dismantled but later rebuilt, only to be torn down again. Each year, the laborers hope the next year will be better, with more jobs, better work conditions and higher salaries. The volunteers hope their efforts will result in an improvement in the standard of living in Kotobuki, and that in the long run, their activities will help combat prejudice against day laborers in mainstream society. The Japanese day laborers and the volunteers look for a room with a view, to give them both space and time to make sense of their world. The anthropologist is a guest in that room. FURTHER READING General Befu, Harumi. (1971) Japan: An Anthropological Introduction. New York: Harper and Row. Hendry, Joy. (1987, 1995) Understanding Japanese Society (second edition). London and New York: Routledge.

(Two general introductions to Japanese society and anthropological methods.) Theory Kabbani. Rana. (1986) Europe’s Myths of Orient: Devise and Rule. London: Macmillan.

(A feminist reinterpretation of orientalism.) Mouer, Ross and Sugimoto Yoshio (eds.). (1980) Social Analysis, 5(6). Adelaide, S. Australia: Dept. of Anthropology, University of Adelaide.

(A special issue on Japan, this collection of essays from Australian, Japanese and American Japan specialists provides alternative views of traditional anthropological models of Japan.)

2 Kotobuki, the “land of longevity” Ethnographic and historical discussions

THE ETHNOGRAPHIC SETTING An important aim of this book is to create an account of Kotobuki as a yoseba and a low-income district located in central Yokohama, Kanagawa Prefecture. Other major Japanese day laborer settlements are Kamagasaki in Osaka, San’ya in Tokyo, Sasajima in Nagoya and Chikko in Fukuoka. Yoseba are often located in doya-gai (“flop-house”, or cheap hotel, districts), a word considered derogatory by those who live and work in these areas. Social activists who wished to do away with the discrimination associated with the word doya-gai use the term yoseba (day laborers’ settlement), though it also carries varied meanings to the general public. A yoseba is defined not by the flophouses or cheap bars in the district but by the presence of both legal and illegal employment markets for day laborers. Laborers come to the office to receive job introductions; thus the literal translation of the word, a “gathering place”. Matsuzawa Tessei gives another contemporary definition of the yoseba: The yoseba is a peculiarly Japanese kind of slum. In the yoseba the contradictions of Japanese imperialism are exposed with the utmost intensity; it is, one could say, the epitome of Japanese society. The majority of its dwellers are day labourers who as Marx put it, form “a disposable industrial reserve army…for the changing needs of the self-expansion; a mass of human material always ready for exploitation”. (Matsuzawa, 1988:147)

Matsuzawa gives three main features of all yoseba: (i)…concentration of flophouses in one quarter of the metropolis (called doya-gai). Their tenants are day labourers employed in manual or physical

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labour, who pay rent by the day and stay on for an indefinite length of time… (ii) The majority of these inhabitants are middle-aged or ageing men who are cut off from family life in one way or another. (iii) The “average citizen” and public officials of all ranks and sectors discriminate against and try to segregate the yoseba and day labourers from “civilian life”. (ibid.: 147)

Matsuzawa notes that, historically, most yoseba developed along similar lines and in his 1988 article “Street labour markets, day labourers and the structure of oppression” he gives a brief history of general yoseba development up to the early 1980s, connecting changes in the yoseba to larger political and economic institutions both inside and outside Japan. In the past, the term ninsoku yoseba (ninsoku is a term for a manual laborer) was used to describe areas where laborers lived and worked (Matsuzawa, 1988:152). Matsuzawa points out that in 1790 peasants who rebelled against local authoritarian structures, 1 along with “vagrants and ex-convicts”, were relocated to these marginal areas by the police and forced to perform manual labor for low wages (ibid.). During the expansion of the capitalist economy in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the yoseba population supplied industrialists with cheap, exploitable labor. From 1885 to 1890, the first yoseba “flophouse quarters” were developed to “keep up with the growing demands for day labour power” (p. 153). The yoseba called “Kotobuki”2 covers an area of 0.06 square kilometers large in central Naka Ward, Yokohama, Kanagawa Prefecture. Not a slang term like some of the other yoseba names, “Kotobuki” appears on maps and postal addresses. Broken down in smaller units, Kotobuki consists of three “cho”, the Japanese word for “town”. They are called Kotobuki-cho, Matsukage-cho, and Ogi-cho. Residents of Kotobuki fall under the jurisdiction of the Naka Ward administration. According to the 1993 Naka Ward Welfare Office survey of Kotobuki, there were 6,476 residents; 6,008 men and 434 women, showing a wide gender gap in the population. There was a total of 6,136 households; it is not inaccurate to say that almost all residents of Kotobuki live alone. Single men made up 5,702 households, and 125 households consisted of single women. There were 282 married couples heading households and four homes led by single mothers. According to this survey, there were only 34 children of Japanese nationality living in Kotobuki. This unbalanced population is distinct from the rest of Yokohama, where in

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1989 children accounted for 18 percent of the population. (Kato, 1990:187). Kotobuki’s population includes many ethnic groups. In the same 1993 survey, at least 1,059 foreigners, mostly Asian, lived in Kotobuki; 770 men, 262 women and 27 children. Over half of the women living in Kotobuki were non-Japanese Asians. One-third of the working population was not of Japanese nationality and 80 percent of the working foreign population were North or South Korean migrants. A 1990 report from the Naka Ward Welfare Department stated that 2,226 people in Kotobuki, or more than a third of the total population, received welfare or financial aid from the government. Most of the welfare recipients are elderly or handicapped. Though Japan has the world’s highest life expectancy rates,3 the average life expectancy for a resident of Kotobuki is thought to be 14 to 15 years shorter than that of the average Japanese citizen (Kotobuki-cho Chiku Senta, 1991b). Although Kotobuki’s population is quite different from the mainstream, the residents live in an area that is close to the center of downtown Yokohama. Kotobuki’s 6,476 people live in 89 buildings located near the shopping and commercial districts of Kannai and Ishikawa-cho, a small area bordered by the Nakamura River (see Figure 2.1). Both the Kannai and Ishikawa-cho districts are considered to be fashionable areas of Yokohama. Many large financial companies have Yokohama branch offices in the Kannai district. The Izezaki-cho shopping mall, with many small shops as well as branches of famous Tokyo department stores, is nearby. The Kannai train station is usually crowded with shoppers during the day and with commuters in the morning and evening hours. North-east of Kotobuki is the Ishikawa-cho train station. To one side is the famous Motomachi shopping district with expensive, Europeanstyle boutiques and restaurants, and on the other side of the train station is Chinatown. Any native of Yokohama would consider a trip to the city incomplete without a visit to Motomachi and Chinatown. Shoppers and tourists visit these well-known entertainment spots. The shopping street from Motomachi leads to the spacious Yamashita Park that overlooks the harbor. Many couples come to the park to enjoy the scenic beauty. At the edges of these areas with stylish dress shops, exotic (and expensive) Chinese restaurants and beautiful harbor views, Kotobuki residents live a different life. Kotobuki wakes early. The laborers must rise from their doya (daily rate hotel) rooms for the construction jobs that are assigned early in the morning. Hundreds of men begin to line up on the streets at 5 a.m. to find construction work through government

Kotobuki, the “land of longevity

Figure 2.1 Map of central Yokohama and Kotobuki

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agencies or illegal labor brokers at or around the Kotobuki Sogo Rodo Fukushi Kaikan (Kotobuki General Labor and Welfare Building). It is a gray, ferro-concrete structure, called the “Senta” (“Center”) by most residents. Opened in September 1974, it is the largest and most imposing structure in Kotobuki, housing employment agencies, a cafeteria and sundries store for the laborers, a government-sponsored medical clinic and government-subsidized apartments. With nine stories, it is the tallest building in Kotobuki and takes up an entire square block of the main street. Architecturally, it is a modern, angular cloister, with many levels of balconies and staircases that look down onto a large, square-shaped space. Here laborers line up for introductions to jobs registered with the municipal employment office. If they get a job, they receive a stamp in their shiro-techo (“white handbooks”), which is one of their employment records. These small handbooks are distributed by the Ministry of Labor. The stamp represents a day’s work, and the employers’ contribution to the unemployment fund. There is another handbook that takes stamps for the injury insurance fund. Some employers are more scrupulous than others in paying the government the unemployment and medical insurance money. If laborers are ill, injured or unable to find work, they are not eligible for unemployment insurance payments or medical benefits unless they are conscientious about collecting stamps. Many laborers do not or cannot use the legal system, because they do not have the proper identification to register with the labor department. Illegal foreign laborers cannot use the handbook system. Many laborers find work though unofficial venues, on nearby street corners, where labor brokers unofficially recruit workers. Brokers drive into Kotobuki in vans, and drive the workers to the construction site. The men are aged 18 to 60, and wear distinctive laborers’ clothing: split-toed cloth workboots (jikatabi), baggy pantaloons (nikkabokka) and hand towels draped around their heads and shoulders. Day labor ranges from laying bricks and painting ships to complicated electrical work. Not all laborers are Japanese; Korean, Filipino, Thai, Malaysian, Pakistani and, more recently, Iranian workers have come from their homelands to try their luck in the once booming Japanese construction industry. In Kotobuki, the foreign workers are primarily Korean and Filipino. They have established support networks, helping each other with language barriers, finding and sharing housing and work. Other Asians and Iranians are living in other areas, in the other yoseba such as San’ya in Tokyo or in hanba (on-site work camps), built by corporations to house temporary workers. Middle Eastern laborers have

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Figure 2.2 Map of Yokohama, as of 1990

settled in other parts of Yokohama: Negishi to the south and Tsunashima to the north. Many of the Japanese workers are from distant parts of the country: Aomori and Hokkaido to the north, and as far as Okinawa to the south. Very few workers can claim to be “Yokohama shusshin” (born and raised in Yokohama); most came from the country as laborers, looking for work in the big city’s job markets.

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Apart from the Center, the other buildings in Kotobuki consist mainly of doya. The linguistic origin of the term is yado, or “inn”. In the Japanese underground world, it is common practice to reverse syllables of words to create a slang term. Doya can be found in other parts of Japan where day laborers gather; in San’ya, Kamagasaki, and Chikko, for example. The word doya-gai invokes images of “dangerous, filthy places where lazy, good-for-nothing people live” (Koyanagi, 1991:192). Here is the home of an “assortment of drunks, perennial gamblers, and vagrants: in short, those who are commonly regarded as the dregs of Japanese society” (Fowler, 1991:141), and “criminals, illegal aliens or those who refuse to conform to the conventional way of life.” (Pelisek, 1993:3). Doya vary widely in price and cleanliness. The oldest and smallest doya rooms cost about 1,200 to 1,300 yen a night and are two tatami mats wide. Small windows let in little light, and the tatami (woven straw mats used for flooring in Japanese houses) have rotted because of mold that grows rapidly in humid Japanese summers. Futon bedding, often moldy like the tatami, is provided without sheets. A cold water tap and toilet are in the hall, along with a gas burner that burns for three minutes if a 10–yen coin is inserted. Other doya are newer and cleaner, but their prices are much higher. A doya favored by Filipina and Thai women is a new facility, with the same small rooms but equipped with small color televisions, refrigerators and air conditioners. These rooms are about 3,000 yen a night. There are mid-priced rooms as well, and these rooms are usually rented on a long-term basis to the elderly and handicapped who are receiving welfare, and have a small but stable income. Their tiny rooms are crammed with little tables, toaster-ovens, photographs of friends, extra blankets and comic books. Other residents travel light, their only luggage a tote bag. It contains a change of clothing, perhaps a bottle of shochu (distilled liquor) and a few hand towels. Sitting at the front desk is the doya manager, or choba, located behind the small window near the entrance. More often than not, the window is shut or opens to an empty room; managers of doya are not the owners, and have varying levels of commitment to their jobs. The managers are responsible for collecting the rents. Often tenants get behind with payments; a resident down on his luck has to convince the manager that the bill will be paid tomorrow and usually the manager is amenable to these arguments, especially if women and children are involved. More often than not, the reason for eviction is not money, but personal friction between a certain tenant and the management or other tenants.

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I often met with doya managers when I worked as a volunteer for the medical team. When a resident was hospitalized, volunteers took care of the patient’s affairs, which included the doya room. Volunteers informed the manager of the individual’s absence, settled his account and were allowed to take a few personal belongings to the patient, like favorite chopsticks or a small radio. In these cases, the patients were welfare recipients with a guaranteed income and steady customers of the doya. The managers gave these residents some leeway, allowing for rooms to be held with either a promise or a token payment. In other cases, after an emergency, we had to clear out rooms quickly and completely. For example, a Filipina woman and her three small children fled their doya room after her husband was arrested on suspicion of drug dealing. She had no visa and feared the investigation of her husband would lead to her own arrest and separation from her children. To avoid this, volunteers found a room for them at a Catholic churchsponsored temporary shelter for foreign women, but getting out of the doya was difficult because they were over a month behind in rent. One of the volunteers was able to talk the choba into allowing them to leave with the understanding that they would not leave the country with their debt unpaid (though in fleeing, that was their intention). After the family was safely in the shelter (and the father was in jail), we negotiated with the manager to release their belongings. In the end, volunteers, using the group’s funds, put up half of the money the family owed. We promised on behalf of the family that the rest would be paid when the father was released. This promise was not kept, but the doya manager most likely knew that getting half the money in cash was better than getting none at all. Therefore, one can say that doya rules are flexible. Walking through the district in the afternoon, Kotobuki’s daytime personality comes forward. This is the part of the day that I spent the most time in Kotobuki, working with the various volunteer groups. The employed laborers are off at work, so the streets are quiet. Kotobuki is often called a “laborers’ town” (rodosha-tachi no machi) but the other residents of the district come out after the laborers have gone to work. The streets are littered with various characters. Those who didn’t overcome last night’s hangover have given in to a nap in the gutter. Elderly Japanese men sit on door steps, smoking cigarettes and speaking in regional Japanese dialects difficult for even a native of Yokohama to understand. A middle-aged woman who manages a doya shouts at a resident, throwing his baggage out the window. Municipal social workers, in their powder-blue smocks, help the physically handicapped across the street to a luncheon at the senior citizens’ club. A pair of

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Thai women in their twenties, emerging from their doya, use a public telephone; they stay in their rooms until evening, when they go to work as hostesses in night clubs. There are some Filipino brothers who have decided to take a day off, figuring they have enough cash to get to Tokyo Disneyland. The yakuza (gangsters) make their presence known. They act as labor brokers, hit up pachinko (Japanese pinball) parlors for protection money, and run cheap Chinese restaurants, snack bars and the highly visible, illegal street-side betting stalls. These stalls have state-of-the-art video equipment transmitting the latest results of horse, bicycle and boat races. The Kotobuki yakuza are rumored to be less ruthless and violent than yakuza in other parts of Japan. The local criminals here are small-time, “old-fashioned” gang members, who consider themselves to be members of benevolent “families” rather than professional criminals. Yakuza from other areas are more closely connected with drug-dealing, gun-running and prostitution, and the gangsters who work as labor brokers in Kotobuki also are from out of town. The local chapter is concerned primarily with the less dangerous but equally illegal gambling racket. Around Kotobuki, it was believed that if you stayed out of the yakuza’s way, they would generally leave you alone. There is animosity at times between laborers and yakuza; for example, fights are common when gangster labor brokers take too large a cut from the laborers’ salaries. The national laborers’ union tries to take a strong stand against the yakuza’s participation in the construction job market, but the Kotobuki branch union is less vocal about condemning illegal activities in the streets. Many laborers in Kotobuki were at one time or another members of gangs; many yakuza were laborers at some point in their lives. There is a certain fluidity between the two groups in Kotobuki and neither group wants to anger or to alienate the other. After new laws were passed in 1991 and 1992 to crack down on organized crime,4 many low-level gangsters were put out of work and came to the yoseba to find work as laborers. Another reason why the Kotobuki labor union is not outspoken against illegal activity is that the union is not confident about their political and physical power when confronting the yakuza. There are chilling precedents. In San’ya, Tokyo, the yakuza are closely involved as labor-brokers, which make the yakuza the laborers’ instant enemy. The more powerful union in San’ya was involved in an out-and-out war against the local yakuza in the early 1990s. Two men were killed in the San’ya union-yakuza dispute.

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Gang members are easily identified. I gave wide clearance on the street to any men with tightly permed hair and flashy clothes loitering by gambling joints or accompanying foreign hostesses who lived in the doya. Most of the hostess bars are not located in Kotobuki; it would be difficult to bring customers into the neighborhood at night, so the clubs are located in the nearby Isezaki-cho mall. There are other markings; it is common practice for gang members to tattoo their arms and shoulders with designs that identify them with a certain gang. Another practice is the amputation of the small finger. The latter custom is easily seen by outsiders, but in Kotobuki I found it not to be a sure indicator of the individual’s status, for many laborers had lost digits in work-related injuries. One respected member of the Kotobuki summer festival committee had only one finger and a thumb remaining on his left hand; rumor had it that both job injuries and mob affiliations were causes. For the most part, the Kotobuki yakuza were oblivious to the volunteers, and sometimes even friendly to me. I would run from one building to another to borrow a piece of equipment, going past a yakuza office. “Hey, sister! You church wives havin’ a bazaar today?” the gangster would yell, grinning. I would reply with the same cheery tone (but never stop to chat): “Nope, lunch for the senior citizens today!” Sometimes a gangster would come to the medical consultation clinic to have their blood pressure taken for free. Some men were ashamed of their once or current gang affiliation and would quickly cover their tattoos, but one gangster tried to shock me by rolling up his sleeves, displaying vivid red and green tattoos of dragons and other monsters. I gritted my teeth and placed the stethoscope inside the forearm, staring straight ahead. I asked him about common symptoms of high blood pressure: “Have you had any dizziness? Headaches?” It was a good-natured battle of nerves; as long as I did not flinch, the gangster would walk away laughing. The ones I feared the most were chinpira (part-time gangsters or flunkeys). These people were not protected by the family-oriented network of the yakuza, but flunkeys temporarily hired by the gang members to wash their cars and also to beat up people and perform other unpleasant duties. These men were the most unstable and most dangerous, for they were not committed to their gang. They had the least to lose when breaking the law. The streets are wide by traditional Japanese standards, easily accommodating cars because today’s Kotobuki was built in the 1960s. The streets are lined with doya, Korean restaurants, small sundry stores, liquor shops, coin showers and laundries. The garbage collectors come sporadically, and when they do, they often do not pick up garbage that

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has not been tossed into the designated pick-up areas. Mountains of green plastic garbage bags pile up on street corners, occasionally spilling their contents on the street. For several years, there was an abandoned van parked on a corner of an intersection that was filled solidly from floor to ceiling with crushed coffee and beer cans, creating a colorful and avant-garde sculpture similar to one that might be found in a gallery in Manhattan’s SoHo. The focus of commercial activity in the district is the street intersection near the Labor Center. On this corner near the Labor Center, there is almost always an open-air market for clothing and other household items. Vans pull up and unload racks of new and used shirts, suits and pants on the sidewalk, to stand flapping in the breeze for a few hours, only to be packed up later and driven off to another site. Rumor has it that most of these items are stolen. Across the street from the Labor Center is the Fukushi Senta, or Welfare Center, and the chonaikaikan (neighborhood association building). The Welfare Center houses a day care center, the senior citizens’ club and the planned site for the Kotobuki ARC (Alcoholics’ Recovery Center). Above the chonaikaikan is the office for the local labor union. Just around the corner to the north of the Labor Center is another focal point in the district: Kotobuki Park and the Seikatsukan, a municipal welfare services building. The park is small and rectangularshaped with little greenery besides a tree or two; it is a gravelled patch with two swings and a jungle gym of steel piping. There is running water in one corner, and sometimes men light fires and boil water for instant ramen noodles there. Someone has left futon bedding piled in one corner, near a yakuza office. That corner of the park is decorated with billboards of the latest standings for the horse races. Blaring voices from radios and television sets keep gamblers abreast of the latest results. There is a cement wall where the park abuts a doya; graffiti is written in spray paint there. Messages like “Kato is a dirty thief” and “No more unemployment” are visible. While Labor Center activities are focused on providing services to the laborers such as employment introductions, unemployment wages and medical care, the offices in the Seikatsukan provide personal counseling. Problems about alcohol and drug abuse, legal rights of the laborers and everyday topics are addressed on the second and fourth floors. It is also a place for the laborers to relax. On the fourth floor is a large room with a television, where there is usually someone sleeping on a row of plastic orange chairs. The television room is especially crowded on rainy days. There are also a few gas burners in the hall, laundry facilities, bathrooms and showers on this floor. The fourth floor’s

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office is a focal point. Here, four employees counsel residents and direct them to the appropriate public and private welfare services available to them as well as manage the television room, kitchen and laundry room. Another of their jobs is to break up fights between laborers on the premises. The television room was no place for female visitors to spend extended periods of time; the office was a good place to go if the conversation got too rough. There was always tea there and often cakes or candy that a volunteer had brought as a souvenir from a trip to the countryside. All employees of the counseling office were also volunteers in other Kotobuki groups; other volunteers were always welcome to sit and relax in the office. Not all residents were privileged to drink tea here; only those who had helped during festivals or other communal activities and had formed personal relationships with the employees came inside the office. The first and third floor of the Seikatsukan have services for the children of the Kotobuki. There is a pre-school on the first floor and an after-school day care center on the third. There are approximately 30 to 40 school-age children living in Kotobuki, most of whom live in the public housing above the Labor Center. Other children live in doya or in the neighboring areas of Ishikawa-cho. During the day, they go to public schools in Naka Ward, but in the afternoons, they roam the streets, dodging cars and drunkards in their search for amusement. Most often children playing outdoors can be found in the park or gathered on an upper level of the Labor Center, looking down on the activity below. Those under the age of 14 play at the Seikatsukan third-floor day care center, called the Gakudo Hoikuen. The children eat lunch at school, and get a free snack at the Gakudo. Sometimes their parents have evening jobs, so that they must buy their own evening meals. If the children get a few hundred yen from their parents in the morning they eat bento (boxed, readymade foods) from the convenience store for dinner. If not, they find someone willing to treat them to a fast-food hamburger or a piece of candy. The laborers indulge the neighborhood children by giving them 100-yen coins. The children are noisy and playful, weaving in and out among groups of yakuza and drunken men, imitating the adults’ language and gestures. Another characteristic of the yoseba is the custom of calling out on the street (koe o kakeru). In mainstream Japanese culture, this practice of greeting neighbors in the street is considered polite; one inquires after the health of a neighbor and wishes them a good day. However, this custom is diminishing as urban Japanese move frequently, and people living in crowded cities establish no permanent ties to their community.

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This custom is preserved in some fashion in the yoseba. In Kotobuki, people call out to anyone, any time and say just about anything; the greetings are sometimes polite, sometimes not. Perhaps the lack of stable relationships in Kotobuki and the high rate of mobility makes it necessary quickly and frequently to “check out” strangers to establish their status and intentions. Another custom in Kotobuki concerns dress: it is acceptable to walk the streets in your underwear or to run out on an errand wearing an undershirt and boxer shorts. Yakuza, macho in their “punchperms” and tattoos, run around the corner for a beer tottering about on highheel sandals they borrowed from wives or girlfriends. A grandfatherly man makes his way down the street, helped by a cane, wearing nothing but long white underpants and an old, faded happi coat thrown over his shoulders. This custom is reminiscent of the practice of guests of ryokan (Japanese inns) who stroll the resort town’s streets in their hotel yukata (light cotton kimono) after a dip in the hotel’s hot springs. Kotobuki has its own brand of curative waters. The public bath near the Labor Center opens at 3:00 p.m., and the mid-afternoon customers are mostly elderly men. Some of these men are former laborers who have lost touch with their families and are living out the rest of their lives on welfare in doya. Others are welfare recipients who are not former laborers but are merely poor or handicapped men who find the yoseba a cheap and anonymous place to live. Female foreign workers also bathe at this time, but favor the privacy of the coin showers. I visited the room of a Filipina worker one day at after five in the evening, but my friend had already left for work in a hurry and her small room was strewn with cosmetics, hair accessories, a chipped mirror and love letters written in romanized Japanese. She would not be home until after one in the morning, when most hostess bars closed for the evening. While the women’s working day is just beginning, the male laborers are winding down. By early evening, laborers are stowing their packs in the bath lockers to spend a few minutes cleaning off the day’s dirt and grime. The bathers walk the afternoon streets, wearing pajamas or old yukata and carrying their toiletries in plastic tubs, their towels hanging around their necks. After a bath, it is now about 7 p.m., and the construction workers settle in for the night. Usually this means spending their day’s wages on food, alcohol and a game of pachinko. Some buy ready-made dishes in small grocery stores: styrofoam packs of rice, vegetables and fish. Others frequent small restaurants and watering holes. Near the chonaikaikan, carts that are shut up tight

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during the day open up every evening as tachigui food stalls, literally translated as “to eat standing up”. These stalls are common all over Japan, but the food, menu and customers of some of Kotobuki’s tachigui are not Japanese. A Korean stall on the corner of the main intersection by the Labor Center has a menu entirely written in Hangul, with Korean popular music cranking out of an old tape recorder. Customers are all native Koreans, and they eat and drink Korean liquor behind canvas curtains that separate them from the Japanese world. I would stand outside the curtains, peek in and wonder what the world was like inside. There were no Japanese voices coming out. In the evening, the streets are filled with voices: shouting, whispering, laughing, Japanese, Korean, Chinese, Tagalog and Thai. People sit on the corner of the Labor Center and drink away the evening, sharing stories. In the winter, the smell of charcoal wafts by; in the summer, someone is setting off firecrackers. Bicycles whiz by; where are they going, at this hour? A yakuza’s Mercedes Benz turns the corner slowly, blowing its horn at pedestrians. Foreign hostesses appear on the street, on their way to work dressed in lycra dresses and costume jewelry. They practice singing the latest Japanese pop songs by listening to tapes on their portable players over and over again, mouthing lyrics that they don’t understand. There is shouting, then laughter in the air. Someone breaks a beer bottle on the concrete pavement near the Labor Center; stern admonishments from the neighbors follow. The above description is a mélange of experiences over a calendar year’s time; but there are also seasonal differences that add to the sense of time passing in Kotobuki. In the winter, the air always smells of burning wood and trash, for bonfires are often lit by the homeless and drinking comrades to keep warm and lift their spirits. Because of the cold, people hole up in their rooms under piles of futon and the streets are much quieter. In the summer months, the air has the rotting smell of garbage, worse than usual because the decaying process is accelerated by the heat. Residents stay out on the street until mid-night, for the doya are hot and stuffy. On weekends, the children play out on the streets all day. On Sundays, the laborers sleep off night-time pursuits, gamble on the street corners or do their laundry. On Saturday nights, the smell of sake and shochu are strong, but on Monday mornings the streets are hosed down clean by members of the senior citizens’ club. During the winter holidays, no one can find work. The streets are so crowded with people that cars cannot pass through. At New Year’s, the Kotobuki Park is transformed into a temporary shelter for the homeless, run by the labor union and other volunteers. At that time, the government

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gives out year-end bonuses to those who receive regular unemployment and disability payments. The money is distributed at the Labor Center, and long lines of men spill out to the otherwise quiet streets during the late morning and noon hours. On this day, the street markets are especially active. Vendors line up along the Center, anxiously awaiting the spending power of the welfare recipients. On the first Friday of every month, there are charity bazaars in the Kotobuki Park, bringing out the few housewives who preside over local restaurants and doya. They pick over used clothing and house wares, and dodge the laborers who didn’t make it to work that day. The men gather for the spectacle, some drinking, others buying a supply of soap and new hand towels. In August, a summer festival lasting three days keeps children, residents and volunteers busy, preparing a small, homemade o-mikoshi (portable shrine) and snacks for the food stalls. These sights, sounds, smells and activities, spaced over the seasons, create the pace of life in Kotobuki, which is different from other areas in Yokohama and elsewhere. Sometimes I would bring my more adventurous mainstream Japanese friends to Kotobuki at night and they would marvel at the atmosphere. “Not like Japan at all!” And “Feels like Hong Kong or Bangkok!” Why is Kotobuki especially seen as “not Japanese”? Kotobuki is not considered a foreign settlement like nearby Chinatown or the Western expatriate community in Yamate-cho. It is not only because of the Koreans and Filipinos who live there; even the Japanese residents appear foreign to other Japanese. It is the difference in lifestyle that makes Kotobuki “foreign” to other Japanese. The smell of garbage, the sound of a man calling out, “Hey, sister! What’s going on?”, the children racing through the gambling stalls: it is Japan, yet not like Japan at all. Unlike most neighborhoods in Japan, the majority of residents are single men; the scarcity of women and children makes the outsider, looking for the mainstream stable family unit, uneasy. For economic and social reasons, residents have much less privacy than in other parts of Japan; partly because they cannot afford private apartments and gardens, and partly because the single residents seek camaraderie on the streets. Here people live their lives out in the open, not behind shoji paper screens or inside modern apartment buildings. Residents are conscious of those around them. Unlike their mainstream counter-parts, greetings are not niceties that reflect social relationships, but a strategy for obtaining information. Strategy is a key word in Kotobuki; how best to survive, get a room, get a bath, get a job.

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There are many ways to survive in Kotobuki. One way is playing it straight and narrow: no drinking, no gambling and no borrowing from the yakuza. These men save their money and make it to work every morning. Most of these serious workers are younger Japanese men in their thirties and forties. Often they come to Kotobuki from the Japanese countryside and regularly send money home to their families. These laborers do not spend much time on the street with the gamblers or drinkers, and generally do not participate in labor union activities. They are too busy following their chosen course of work and little play. Other laborers have found life in Kotobuki less predictable and appear to have given up on working regularly. These laborers, usually in their fifties or older, work in spurts, then live it up for a few days afterwards. They spend their accumulated wages on alcohol, food and sometimes women. The laborers get contracted jobs, sometimes at regional construction sites. In the countryside, laborers stay in quarters provided by the construction company and receive meals. This arrangement often doesn’t work to the advantage of the laborer; room and board are usually inadequate. They manage to endure the poor conditions at the construction site or scrimp while working in town until the contract is over and they can return to Kotobuki with some cash in hand, sometimes up to 200,000 and 300,000 yen. Gamblers follow this pattern, working for a few days so they can put it all on one horse and hit it big. In a few days, most find themselves with no money to their names. Then it is back to the construction site. Others have given up looking for work altogether and live off the streets. These include the injured, disabled and sick. Manual labor is a dangerous profession, and physical injuries on the job are common. Broken bones, burns from electrical equipment, lacerations from machinery, and back injuries are frequent occurrences at the work-place. These men sometimes receive compensation from the company and the government, but the ones who don’t often end up gathering around the Labor Center’s bonfire or sitting in the TV room in the Seikatsukan. These men live off odd jobs, occasional unemployment payments or the kindness of friends. Not all injured or sick unemployed laborers are homeless, nor are all of them alcoholics, but many of the homeless and alcoholic homeless around Kotobuki lost their jobs through injury or sickness. Alcoholism is common in the unemployed population. A group of men have made their home under the stairway of the Labor Center and spend their days drinking, chatting and sleeping. They take turns sleeping so that they can stand guard by their comrades, making sure none of them is

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robbed of what little cash or alcohol they have while asleep. A common street crime is assaulting a sleeping victim; it is called maguro (“tuna”) in Kotobuki slang. If a person was attacked while asleep, he would say, “I got ‘tuna’d’ last night”. This cowardly act is most despised by residents of the doya and the streets alike. The last strategy for survival in Kotobuki is the welfare route. These people qualify for welfare payments for the elderly or the handicapped. The members of the Kotobuki senior citizens’ club don’t have to work, and their meager welfare income is just enough for a doya room and some groceries. Handicapped individuals who work in the nearby workshops folding towels or baking bread also can make ends meet by living in a doya. These are the residents who are most active in the volunteer activities and the community at large. They attend the summer festivals, work to keep the streets clean and share meals at the Fukushi Senta. These were the residents I came to know best. Though not residents, volunteers who worked with them also become part of this residents’ social group. Volunteers share meals with them, work side by side with them and become emotionally involved in their lives. The volunteers’ lives and how their work in Kotobuki affected their personal lives will be discussed in Chapter 5. HISTORICAL BACKGROUND AND THE DEVELOPMENT OF KOTOBUKI How did Kotobuki come to be this mixture of construction workers, foreigners, elderly, handicapped and the like? It is the third largest yoseba in Japan, behind Kamagasaki and San’ya. However, many Yokohama residents are not aware of Kotobuki though the district was first documented in 1667. Kotobuki has had a close association for over 300 years with the construction and waterfront industries. A brief discussion of the establishment and the development of this working community shows that cycles of prosperity and poverty in Kotobuki come from a long reliance on these ever-changing industries for economic livelihood. Yokohama (which means “broad beach”) is located in the Kanto region, the largest plain on the island of Honshu. It is the capital of Kanagawa Prefecture, and today is Japan’s largest port. Though dominated by the political, economic and entertainment capital of Tokyo, Yokohama is neither a satellite city nor a suburb of Tokyo, but has maintained its own distinct history and personality. Before the Meiji

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Restoration, the area today called Yokohama was a cluster of 220 fishing villages. These villages were small and scattered along the seaside. Until 1667, the area that is now Kotobuki was under water as part of the Yokohama bay. The reclaimed land was created over the course of nine years by a lumber dealer named Yoshida Kambei, and the area was called “Yoshida Shinden”. After a commercial area was established, Yoshida Shinden was divided into seven districts, and given the names that still can be seen on street signs in Kotobuki today: Kotobuki-cho, Matsukage-cho, Ogi-cho, Furo-cho, Bandai-cho, Okina-cho and Horaicho. There are many legends from the Edo period about this area, describing the construction of the area: A villager named Kambei was assigned the task of supervising the construction of a breakwater of the coast, but failed to make any headway. In hopes of saving Kambei from trouble, his housemaid Osan offered to be buried alive at the construction site in a self-sacrificial ritual reminiscent of old times. The work was finished in time, and ever since, Osan’s soul has been worshipped at Hieda Shrine, at Sanno-cho, Minami Ward. (Imatani, 1990:27)

Whether this “ritual” is historical fact is unknown, but the association of the construction industry with human sacrifice, literal and metaphorical, remains in the minds of the people in Kotobuki, who often feel their bodies and lives are “used” for the greater good of economic development as they labor at the building sites of modern Japan. Yoshida Kambei, after building this new land, gave the towns auspicious names of good fortune for those beginning their life there. These terms are still used, and these propitious names contrast with reality of life on the streets. “Kotobuki” means “longevity” or “felicitations”, “matsukage” means “the shade of a pine” (evoking the image of a beautiful landscape) and “ogi” is a folding fan, a refined image of leisure. “Furo” means “immortality”, while “bandai” means “everlasting”. “Okina” means “venerable old man” (celebrating the “kotobuki”, or long life, of the residents), and “horai” “isle of eternal youth”, or “fairyland”. The neighborhood names in Kotobuki evoke images of Utopia, where no one ever works too hard, gets sick or hurt. Ironically, this is not the case for most of the area’s inhabitants, whose lives have little comfort and leisure. Kambei’s project was a failure and the land lay in disuse for many years. During the Edo Period, its few residents worked mostly in trade and transport, for the nearby Nakamura River gave the Kotobuki area easy access to the waterfront. The marked development of the Yokohama

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harbor began several hundred years later when Admiral Mat-thew Perry and the United States East Indian Squadron arrived in Edo Bay in 1853. Perry had been sent by the American government to negotiate the opening of trade relations with Japan. Uraga, another bay south of the Edo harbor, was where government officials inspected ships coming into the capital city; here Perry was asked to anchor and wait for the shogun’s reply to the request to open trade relations. Yokohama, located halfway between Edo and Uraga, was deemed the appropriate place for the Americans to meet with Edo officials. In 1854, the United States and Japan signed the Treaty of Kanagawa and the treaty port of Yokohama was established in 1859. In 1889, the city of Yokohama was incorporated with a local government (Kato, 1990:4). With the arrival of open foreign trade, European and American businessmen, their families and missionaries began to settle in the Yokohama area. In accordance with the treaty, foreigners living in Japan were restricted to certain areas and were not allowed to own land. They were subject to the laws of their own land, not the laws of Japan, while living and doing business in the foreign settlements. In Yokohama, the foreign section “Kannai” (which means “within the barriers”) was established. The first foreigners involved in import-export businesses lived and worked in Kannai. The buildings today around Sakuragi-cho and Kannai that survived the 1923 earthquake and World War II fire bombings are Western-style, large brick structures that bring to mind the European presence in Yokohama in the nineteenth century. As international trade flourished, so did Yokohama, and soon the 220 small fishing villages became a major industrial and commercial center of Japan. After the opening of the port, import-export businesses flourished in central Yokohama and Kotobuki. In 1856, the first foreign trading houses and import-export companies were established in Yokohama. As Yokohama emerged as Japan’s largest trade port, many trade companies and wholesalers set up businesses in Kotobuki and it became one of the most active areas. Meanwhile, the rest of Yokohama also developed along international lines. Chinatown, which borders on Kotobuki, was established in the 1860s. The Western settlements expanded through Kannai, Yamate-cho and Yamashita-cho. In 1868, a reorganization of the government ended the 250-year rule of the Tokugawa shogunate. The Meiji Period (1868–1912) is characterized by the transformation of Edo Japan into a “modern” state based on models from the United States and Europe. The slogan for the first part of the period, bunmei kaika, or “Civilization and

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41

Enlightenment”, was an effort on the part of the new government to persuade the citizens to adopt “Western ways”, which included everything from Western-style clothing, food and architecture to modern transportation and industrial development. Because of its foreign settlements, Yokohama was a major link to Western society and a place for much cultural interaction. Kotobuki’s economic activity at this time centered on small businesses and retailers, silk manufacturing for export, packing companies and manual labor (Tanaka, 1991:248). Development of Kotobuki as a trade center continued through the Taisho Period (1913– 26), but the area was destroyed in the 1923 Great Kanto Earthquake. The 1923 earthquake is seen as a turning point in the development of Yokohama and Tokyo as well, for the destruction was unprecedented. In Yokohama alone, it was estimated that over 26,000 people were dead or missing (Kato, 1990:135). In the Kanto region as a whole it is thought that 80,000 died, 50,000 were missing or injured and that a million were left homeless (Weiner, 1989:164–5). The chaos that ensued made it possible for ethnic violence to go unpunished; Japanese nationals who long resented the presence of Chinese and Koreans in Yokohama made these Asians scapegoats for the disaster. The lynching of these Asian foreigners by both Japanese civilians and police is recorded by Kato (ibid.) and Weiner (p. 167). Martial law was declared, and soon after, jikeidan (vigilante groups) were organized. Weiner notes that these bands started out as a relief association but turned into an anti-Korean organization (pp. 174–7). Koreans were accused of poisoning the water supply and starting fires, and vigilantes lynched the supposed perpetrators. The 1923 earthquake was destructive not only to business, industry and homes in Yokohama but also to JapaneseKorean relations. If the opening of Japan to national trade in 1854 was the greatest gain for Yokohama’s economy, the earthquake of 1923 was surely the greatest single loss. The quake damaged Tokyo, Yamanashi, Saitama and Chiba Prefectures, but the epicenter was in Yokohama. Roads connecting the city to Tokyo and beyond were destroyed, delaying the resumption of normal transport and trade for over ten years. In 1927, seven Yokohama banks went bankrupt due to bad loans taken out to pay for disaster relief. Other businesses panicked and returned to Tokyo, the nation’s capital, because relief funds were more readily available and reconstruction had already begun there. The Yokohama municipal government made independent plans for reconstruction, which were approved, but the city only received partial national funding for the

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reconstruction of the harbor area (Kato, 1990:136). The newly rebuilt port had limited success, as the depression in 1929 affected trade worldwide. Yokohama’s residents moved out of the ruined center of the city and set up new homes in outlying areas, instigating the first major expansion of city limits. Railways between Yokohama and Tokyo and other areas were finally completed, which encouraged commercial development in these areas. In 1935, the Grand Yokohama Exhibition was held to mark the progress in rebuilding after the disaster. Earth-quake rubble was used to fill in a portion of the bay, and this landfill area became Yamashita Park, the site for the exhibition. Japan’s increased participation in the war with China in 1937 was another boon for economic development in Yokohama, as the port’s import-export trade volume subsequently jumped 120 percent (Kato, 1990:137). Japan had been fighting in China since the Manchurian Incident in 1932, and declared full war with China in 1937. In 1941, Japan bombed Pearl Harbor, going to war with the United States and Britain. Wartime Japan was focused on mobilization of the military abroad. Domestic industry all over Japan as well as in Yokohama concentrated on the war effort. Yokohama’s harbor was useful for military transport and the surrounding area was developed for defense industries, including heavy and chemical industries (ibid.). The US Air Force bombed Yokohama on May 29, 1945, leaving central Yokohama and all its buildings, parks and factories in ashes. Kato Yuzo notes that 2,569 tons of bombs were dropped on Yokohama (1.5 times more fire power than in the previous attack on Tokyo in March 1945) which totalled “one incendiary bomb for every man, woman and child in the city” (ibid.). Yokohama had been considered a possible nuclear bomb target, but the May attack had been so thoroughly destructive that US authorities determined it was not useful to bomb Yokohama again. The cycle of destruction and renewal is a familiar pattern in Japanese urban development. Earthquakes, fires and typhoons are constant threats to the densely packed wooden structures that made up most pre-war Japanese cities. The city residents’ experiences with rebuilding after the 1923 earthquake probably facilitated post-war reconstruction. The Kotobuki communities were also destroyed, but not permanently. Since many men in Kotobuki were involved in the construction and manual labor industry, their skills and knowledge helped to expedite the reconstruction process.

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After the war, 90 percent of the land around Yokohama’s port was confiscated by the United States’ occupational forces. The owners of Kotobuki’s small businesses and factories who had fled during the war returned to find their land gone. Soldiers’ barracks and storage shacks had been built upon the ruins of trade houses and wholesalers and the American army controlled all the economic activity in the waterfront area. The army gave jobs to the returning soldiers and displaced workers, reportedly hiring up to 1,000 Japanese laborers a day (Tanaka, 1991:245). Work included the transport of grain imports for relief services and the export and storage of confiscated Japanese military supplies. During this time of severe food shortages, much of the food coming into Japan came through Kotobuki and was handled by Kotobuki’s laborers (ibid.). Laborers gathered in the harbor area to work on the docks near Sakuragi-cho and Noge (both areas are a fifteenminute walk north and west of Kotobuki; see Figure 2.1). There were so many people, both working and unemployed, living in this area that many had to sleep out of doors. A newspaper headline in 1952 claimed that there were 3,000 homeless people in the harbor area (p. 246). Some lived on the barges they had built and tied to the riverside. These barges were called suijo-hoteru, or “floating hotels”. Due to crowding and problems with transiency around the port area, the city government decided to move the Yokohama public employment agency and its branch office to Noge. Kotobuki was returned to Japanese control during a three-year period ending in 1955, and the public employment office that had been a fifteenminute walk away was moved to Kotobuki-cho proper. The Japanese local government then began to eradicate the “floating hotels” because they were considered a public sanitation and fire hazard. Sakuragi-cho, the site of the former employment office, was to be redeveloped and the builders wanted the laborers out of the area. There was not enough space to build housing in Noge or Sakuragi-cho, so it was decided that the laborers should move. The government was willing to sell the land formerly used by the American army at a very low price to anyone who would build replacements for the “floating hotels”. The only group of investors willing to take on the project and who had the resources were a group of Japanese-Koreans. They bought the land and built the cheap lodging houses now called doya. In the 1940s, Kotobuki’s population consisted of a melange of laborers: primarily Japanese, Chinese and Korean. The selling of land to Japanese-Koreans in the early 1950s, and their establishment of businesses in Kotobuki, changed the character of the area; it became

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known as a “Korean Town” (zainichi chosenjin [or kankokujin] no machi). There are two words in Japanese referring to Korea: one is chosen, which was the word referring to Korea before the Korean war and now is used to refer to North Korea. Kankoku is the word used now to mean South Korea, though often the two terms are interchangeable to Japanese in the Kotobuki streets. To JapaneseKoreans, however, the distinction between the two ethnic groups is strong in Kotobuki, where there are two doya owners’ unions, one run by owners with North Korean affiliations, the other by South Koreans. Japanese-Koreans are the largest minority in Japanese society. Many of them are descendants of the indentured laborers forcibly brought to Japan after the colonization of Korea in 1910. Japan continued to bring Koreans to work in coal and gold mines through-out the 1930s and 1940s. At the end of World War II the Korean laborers, like most Japanese, were penniless and only some were able to repatriate though US occupation-sponsored programs. The Japanese government, returning to power in 1952, did not endorse programs to repatriate or support the remaining Korean population. Japanese-Koreans (including those born in Japan) were declared aliens. Alien status excludes them from social and economic benefits; as a result, many Japanese-Koreans face discrimination when seeking education, employment and marriage partners. Michael Weiner, in his book The Origins of the Korean Community in Japan, 1910–1923, writes that the colonization of Korea by Japan during this period set up an unequal relationship between the two countries that continues to influence Japanese-Korean relations today. Japan’s “confrontation with the wealth and the power of the West” (Weiner, 1989:1) in the late nineteenth century created a sense of Japanese racial superiority, for the Japanese saw a need for a new industrialized leader in Asia to compete with the West. The Japanese imperial system supported this sense of Japan being “special” in Asia, and made it possible for many Japanese to believe they belonged to a more advanced race. The social problems of Japanese-Koreans are a compelling and complicated set of issues, and continue to plague JapanKorea international relations as well as Japanese domestic relations. I often thought that Kotobuki would be a good field site not only for research in volunteering and social marginality but also in JapaneseKorean social issues. The first doya was built in 1956 (Tanaka, 1991:249), but 90 percent of the hotels were built from 1960–61 (p. 243). By 1965, there were approximately 70 doya in Kotobuki, run by Japanese-Koreans (Koyanagi, 1991:198). Today, there are about 90 doya (Kotobuki

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Rodosha Shienkai, 1993:24). They make up most of the buildings in Kotobuki, with the first floors often used for commercial space as restaurants or small shops. Tanaka (1991) notes that at first doya ownership was concentrated in a select group of people; in 1960, one Japanese-Korean owner ran about ten hotels. The owners of the doya do not live in Kotobuki; they are absentee landlords who let managers do most of the administrative work. The transfer of the employment office to Kotobuki accelerated Kotobuki’s development as a doya-gai, but Tanaka notes that the beginnings of doya construction had already begun in Kotobuki before the office was moved (p. 255). The motive for moving the laborers to Kotobuki was twofold: first, to expedite the creation of a “new Yokohama”, a waterfront that was clean and liveable; second, when building, it was convenient to use facilities that were built and left behind by American troops. Yokohama developers invested in the harbor cleanup project and subsequently, the laborers’ homes and their employment office were relocated to Kotobuki, establishing a doya-gai. Kotobuki did not receive funds for improvement or development in later years, for Yokohama city officials did not feel compelled to spend money to improve an area inhabited by “outsiders”; namely, Japanese-Koreans and transient laborers (p. 256). The Yokohama harbor area experienced an economic revival after the outbreak of the Korean War. American military forces used the port to transport military supplies and troops, and the increase in the number of ships coming in and out of the port resulted in an increase of jobs. Workers from all over Japan came to Kotobuki, to profit from the wartime economic development, and the population of Kotobuki exploded. Tanaka writes that from 1950 to 1951, it was so crowded in Kotobuki that laborers were sleeping two in a single room (p. 250). In the 1960s and early 1970s, the period of “High Economic Growth” in Japan, the population of Kotobuki fluctuated between 8,000 and 10,000 people. The economic policies of the government favored the construction and maritime industries around Kotobuki, and the local economy and population grew. For the first time, Kotobuki was a community of families as well as workers. In 1967, the children in Kotobuki numbered about 1,200 (Kotobuki-cho Chiku Senta, 1991b). The Japanese government then enacted a plan to condense and mechanize much of the national economy, including the engineering, construction and shipping industries, and jobs for the workers in these industries gradually decreased. The “Oil Shocks” (the recession caused by high oil prices) in October of 1973 set off the period of low economic

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growth. The following economic recession caused the number of workers coming into the yoseba to decrease sharply. Many who could not find work left for home or to find work elsewhere. After the oil crisis, the Kotobuki population fell to about 5,200, half of what it was during the 1960s. This figure remained constant through the 1980s, despite the construction boom in the mid- and late 1980s. The current population is thought to be around 6,500, although the transient and illegal alien populations make it difficult to give an accurate figure. KOTOBUKI AS A COMMUNITY The area’s transient quality makes it a difficult place to study, but by no means does Kotobuki’s fluidity threaten its existence as a place where real people live and work (or sometimes, live and not work). Japanese communities, both rural and urban, are focused on the family, the workplace and the home, and there is a plethora of studies about them (Bestor, 1989; Dore, 1958 and 1978; Embree, 1939; Rohlen, 1974 and Vogel, 1963, 1971). However, Kotobuki is unlike any of these communities. Kotobuki’s community is a transient, mixed group of people who often come and go with little warning. Members of this community come from different age groups and various ethnic backgrounds. The primarily single, male population of Kotobuki reproduces itself, buoyed by the employment practices of the construction industry. Other community roles are filled by those who stay in Kotobuki for various lengths of time, such as the yakuza, doya managers, prostitutes, activists, volunteers and so forth. Definitions of community are many and varied. Some scholars see the “community” as a locality with a homogenous population, while others define “community” in economic terms, as a group belonging to a ranked society. However, Kotobuki as a community most fits the sociologist Larry Lyon’s definition: To study a community is to study people living in and identifying with a particular place and to give special attention to the type, quality and the bases of their interaction. (Lyon, 1987:4–7)

The “Japanese community” can also be defined in those terms, for Japanese people have long identified “community” with a particular place (shrines are traditionally the basis for community locale, though in urban Japan one could make the argument that train and subway stations

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are replacing the shrine as the focal point of the community). The “type, quality and bases” for social interaction are important in creating and maintaining a Japanese community. These interactions are another way to define “community”. The modern Japanese community has been defined briefly as “certain expectations [of social behavior] among neighbors” (Hendry, 1987, 1995:57) or, more explicitly, “socially significant and geographically distinguishable divisions of the…landscape…[where] overlapping and inter-twining associations and institutions provide an elaborate and enduring framework for local social life” (Bestor, 1989:1). Shared residence and shared social values are important to members of a community. Localism is also important; this is illustrated in language. Japanese people used different terms of address and various forms of honorifics depending on whether the addressee is a member of their uchi (inside) group or a member of a soto or yoso (outside) group. Differences in language illustrate the physical and psychological boundaries between people at school, the workplace and in the local neighborhood (Nakane, 1970 and Rohlen, 1974). There are many sub-groups within Kotobuki, and thus one could argue many communities within the larger one. In Kotobuki, there are several discrete social groups: the day laborers, the senior citizens’ club members, the Japanese-Koreans, the Filipinos, the gangsters, even volunteers. Though the volunteers often do not live in Kotobuki, their affiliation with the area is strong. Their community is similar to that described by Anne Imamura as a “sphere within the boundaries of which lie the solidarity-producing institutions and the informal primary relationships of the persons who recognized themselves as its members” (1987:7). The member of the volunteer community believes him or herself to be sympathetic to the needs, fears and beliefs of the Kotobuki residents. Feelings of solidarity, rather than geography, are primary. Volunteers strive for solidarity with the residents, though sometimes they are not successful during times of economic stress. “Solidarityproducing institutions” exist in Kotobuki: the labor union, the residents’ association, the senior citizens’ club, for example, but their regular membership may be relatively small. I do not think it important to argue whether the level of the members’ participation in the “community” is proof of the community’s existence or success; it is suffice to say that Kotobuki’s community does exist and two of its characteristics are tolerance of nonparticipation, and nonexclusivity. No one is wholly excluded, even the poorest street person. Residents feel anger and shame at their exclusion from mainstream society; therefore, no one, even those who do not participate or who

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criticize the community, is excluded. A policy of non-exclusion based on class and ethnicity is strongly sanctioned in the social ideology in Kotobuki. No one with a few thousand yen in their pocket is turned away from a vacant doya room. No one without that money is turned away from a sheltered spot under the Labor Center on the street. No volunteer turns away a resident who wants to participate in an activity. Despite this sense of solidarity, yoseba as communities are often not recognized by the rest of Japanese society. Manual labor as profession is devalued: the laborers’ lifestyle, though independent and fulfilling to some, is also considered by those outside the industry to be dirty, violent and unstable. Construction work is often called the “san kei” (or “three K’s”) in Japanese, an abbreviation that stands for the three words that describe the work: kitanai, kiken and kibishii (dirty, dangerous and difficult). Therefore, many Japanese people do not consider the laborers’ settlements such as Kotobuki to be places fit for residence; they are too dangerous and dirty. Life there is unstable. Researchers have also categorized districts like Kotobuki as almost “anti-community”. An inter-yoseba ethnography of the doya-gai written in the late 1960s proclaims, “As far as the social structure is concerned, the doya-gai society is characterized by an almost complete absence of community life” (Caldarola, 1968:518). This is so for the observer who looks for stable families, and secure living and working situations as signs of the existence of a “community”. Districts without these comfortable signs of “community” are seen as dangerous, dirty and “foreign”. What you don’t understand, you fear; the concept of urban danger as a result of sharply separated social boundaries (Merry, 1988:69) aptly describes the mainstream opinion of Kotobuki. Other academics have dismissed yoseba residents as irrelevant; they are “people who because of adversity or personal shortcomings have been unable to achieve normal Japanese standards of life. Their most remarkable feature is their scarcity” (Reischauer, 1988:162). Many Japanese and Western scholars and professionals choose to believe that yoseba residents are not numerous enough to rate serious concern when looking at Japanese society. Kotobuki’s “community life” is distinguished by a sense of sympathy for people whose lives are marred by poverty, illness, handicap and/or loneliness. As I argue in later chapters, the participation in this community fluctuates, but it still exists. In the temporary shelters constructed during the New Year’s holidays, the feeling of community is strong. During the summer festivals, participants hold differing opinions about festival organization and professional ethics; there, the community is in disarray. For the most part, in my fieldwork I found

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solidarity in Kotobuki. I found it in the night-time rounds to distribute soup and kind words to the homeless, in Filipina mothers’ group meetings, and in the senior citizens’ club luncheons. These were the places where residents and volunteers worked together to create a more comfortable and livable atmosphere in a difficult environment. This community’s participants included volunteers, students and young business people who were sometimes as lonely and alienated from Japanese society as the local residents. This volunteer-social activist community was my main source of informants, co-workers and friends. Some people I knew intimately for the two and a half years I worked there; others I met once, never to see them again. Kotobuki’s cast of characters may change and the economic situation may fluctuate, but there are elements in the community that do not change: the transients, semi-transients, elderly, handicapped, foreigners, students and volunteers who gather around the Labor Center (referring to the literal meaning of the word yoseba), recognize it as a symbol of human labor, suffering and spirit. FURTHER READING Japanese history Beasley, W.G. (1963, 1974) The Modern History of Japan (second edition). New York: Praeger. Hall, John W. (1968, 1983) Japan from Prehistory to Modern Times. Rutland, Vermont and Tokyo: Charles Tuttle. Hane, Mikiso. (1982) Peasants, Rebels and Outcastes: the Underside of Modern Japan. New York: Pantheon Books. Lee, Chong-Sik. (1985) Japan and Korea: the Political Dimension. Stanford, Calif., Stanford University Press. Mitchell, Richard H. (1967) The Korean Minority in Japan. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press. Varley, H.Paul. (1984) Japanese Culture. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press.

Kotobuki Nomoto Sankichi. (1972) Inochi no Mure (A group of lives). Tokyo: Shakaihyoronsha. ——. (1977) Kotobuki seikatsukan no noto: shokuba dakkan e no toi michi (Notes from the Kotobuki Seikatsukan: The long road to recovering the workplace). Tokyo: Tabata Shoten.

(The above two volumes are important accounts of life in Kotobuki, written by a Seikatsukan employee during the height of the population boom.)

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Yakuza culture and the yoseba Kaplan, David E. (1993) “Yakuza: the Japanese Mafia” in Japan, An Illustrated Encyclopedia. Tokyo: Kodansha, pp. 1722–3. Saga Junichi (translated by John Bester). (1991) Confessions of a Yakuza: A Life in Japan’s Underworld. Tokyo, New York: Kodansha International.

Yoseba “urban geography” Niwa, Koichi. (1992) “Yoseba Kamagasaki to nojukusha-toshishakai chirigakutekikenkyu (Kamagaseki and the homeless—research on urban social geography)”, Jinbunchiri, 44(5): 545–64.

3 The economy of welfare Public and private solutions to social problems in the yoseba

INTRODUCTION An examination of the Japanese social welfare system is vital to the understanding of Kotobuki volunteer activities, for volunteers work within and outside the social welfare system to address social problems in the yoseba. The care of disabled, elderly and poor in Japan does not rest solely on the family or the government; volunteers, as private individuals, play a large part in many welfare recipients’ lives. One of the volunteers’ most common activities is counseling clients about the welfare system and acting as their advocates. Kotobuki volunteers are mostly amateurs; some have training in social welfare and those who haven’t learn quickly from those who have. All volunteers share a concern for the improvement of life in Kotobuki, and regard the welfare system as an imperfect but exploitable source of funds. Volunteers know which case workers are the most sympathetic, which hospitals treat welfare cases well, and how to apply successfully for the most benefits. This knowledge is vital to establish a successful relationship between a resident and a case worker. Success can give the residents a meager but steady income to stabilize their living situation and get the treatment they need. The study of welfare is significant to anthropological inquiry because these programs represent a systematic set of social values, just as other institutions such as education, business and religions symbolize and reinforce ideas about society, economic exchange and ethics. When looking at welfare and society, critics often see a conflict between two value systems: individualism and collectivism. It is practically impossible to determine the extent of societal responsibility for the underprivileged. How accountable are individuals for their own and others’ well-being?

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Though this dilemma remains unresolved, social welfare continues as an imperfect system. Constantly under review and critiqued, welfare programs are not wholly abandoned for they are, in the Judeo-Christian ethical system, thought to be a “product of morality” (Barry, 1990:16) and are integral part of public life as “obligations owed by citizens to their community” (p. 40). Ford and Chakrabarti (1987) summarize three recent approaches to the analysis of welfare as “compensation for costs of economic growth”, “a capitalist ploy for its own preservation” and “an altruistic activity” (p. ix). In the Japanese case, I acknowledge economic, political and ethical approaches to the analysis of welfare but submit that the social anthropological perspective—one that views welfare as an example of how people order society and judge its members using age, economic productivity, and physical and mental abilities as a value system—is necessary for a fuller understanding of welfare not only in Japan but in other cultures as well. In Kotobuki, over a third of the population receives some form of welfare compensation: monthly payments for the elderly, the disabled, the unemployed, single mothers and children. Kotobuki residents may supplement this income with other government and non-government benefits that are available on a weekly or daily basis. Success depends on their motivations and social connections. The economic recession in the early 1990s has had a visible effect on Kotobuki; laborers and other residents are now more than ever depending on money, goods and services that they receive from the government and/or the welfare services within Kotobuki. Demographic trends are also affecting Kotobuki as Japan’s society ages; more and more public money is spent on longterm care for the elderly. This chapter discusses the welfare system as it applies to Kotobuki residents, and shows how over a third of Kotobuki’s population live. It examines the five different sources from which Kotobuki residents can receive funds and services: fukushi roppo (“Six Laws of welfare”), hogai enjo (“extra-legal assistance”, or emergency help for immediate food and lodging), abure-kin (unemployment insurance), kenko hoken (medical insurance) and finally, various volunteer services. Next is a section on the relationship between Japanese Christianity and social work, as symbolized by two famous Japanese Christians, Uchimura Kanzo and Kagawa Toyohiko, and a politically active Protestant group, the United Church of Christ in Japan. The chapter ends with an examination of social ideologies about the relationships between the

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individual, family, community and state as illustrated in the Japanese welfare system. I argue that the structure of the welfare system and the application process itself demonstrate social values embedded in society at large. A successful welfare case outcome depends on the client’s conformation to certain mainstream social rules: stable residence, moderate lifestyle, dependency on others and forfeit of privacy in exchange for mutual support. In contrast, yoseba lifestyle is mobile; laborers cannot afford to maintain traditional patterns of residence and keep up with the labor market forces. This creates a cheap workforce for the construction industry and at the same time keeps laborers’ social status low. Other residents of Kotobuki share in this low social status because of their proximity. Volunteers are instrumental to the welfare system’s application process because they provide the support that clients need to establish a stable relationship with case workers. Clients then receive back-up from volunteers to maintain their relationship with case workers. The support and back-up offered by volunteers is necessary to help bridge the gap between the values of mainstream Japanese society and reality in the yoseba. Though Oscar Lewis’s “culture of poverty” been has long been disputed as limited in its applications to the study of complex, modern societies (Eames and Goode, 1988:332), the idea of a sub-culture of poverty with different social values and priorities persists. Snow and Anderson, in their 1993 study of homeless people, posit that American welfare policies still represent mainstream social values by constructing an opposition between middle-class and “skid-row life”, “Many welfare agencies encouraged their clients to locate elsewhere in belief that they would thus be saved from the negative influence of the skid-row subculture” (p. 17). Japanese welfare programs also attempt to get the recipient “back on track” with the rest of society. THE STRUCTURE OF WELFARE IN JAPAN The Six Laws of Welfare The structure of the Japanese welfare system is based on the fukushi roppo, (Six Laws of Welfare), which are: 1 2

Seikatsu hogo-ho (Livelihood Protection Law, based on provisions of article 25 of the Constitution; current law enacted 1950). Jido fukushi-ho (Child Welfare Law, enacted 1947).

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3

Boshi oyobi kafu fukushi-ho1 (Mother, Child and Widow’s Welfare Law, current law enacted 1964). Shintai shogaisha fukushi-ho (Physically Handicapped Welfare Law, enacted 1949). Seishin hakujakusha fukushi-ho (officially translated as “Mentally Retarded” Welfare Law, current law enacted 1960). Rojin fukushi-ho (officially translated as “Old Age” Welfare Law, current law enacted 1963). (dates of ratification from Miura, 1990:12)

4 5 6

The laws determine who is eligible for welfare benefits; they tell us who is thought to be weak and unable to cope but deserving of assistance. Each law specifies qualifications for application and the amount of payment. Recipients must apply at the ward welfare office of their residences. Payments are made once a month. Cases are judged not on the individual level, but by household; a household with three or four members qualifies as one unit the same way an unmarried man living alone does, though their payments will differ in amount. Recipients cannot apply for welfare payments separately from those with whom they are living. Before applications are made and accepted or rejected, the office interviews clients in preliminary consultations. The numbers of preapplication and application clients are staggering; from April to November of 1993, a total of 84,681 people came to the Naka Ward Welfare Office for consultation, averaging 10,585 people a month. The contrasting pre-recession figure of an average 1,450 clients a month in 1991 shows the severe effect the recession has on residents (Kotobuki Hiyatoi Rodo Kumiai, 1993:3). The following is a summary of the fukushi roppo as applicable to the majority of welfare cases I encountered. Structurally speaking, I found that the Six Laws of Welfare are not thought of independently in Kotobuki; the first (seikatsu hogo-ho, or Livelihood Protection Law) was the most important, while benefits provided from the other five laws were applied for in addition to seikatsu hogo baseline payments. Seikatsu hogo was the most often received form of welfare payment; funds from the laws for the handicapped and elderly also provided important sources of income for residents, but these funds supplemented rather than replaced the seikatsu hogo payments. Therefore, in order to understand social welfare in the Kotobuki context, I will describe in more detail the first law and subsequent laws as they are applicable to the residents. However, it is important to remember that seikatsu hogo as a welfare program was never intended to be a support system for

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day laborers, though this is increasingly the case. As Fujii Katsuhiko notes in his article based on his work in Sasajima, many yoseba applications to seikatsu hogo today illustrate the downward spiral from work to illness, injury and unemployment, and finally homelessness (1994:119). Seikatsu hogo “Seikatsu hogo” is often used as a synonym in everyday Japanese for “welfare” in Kotobuki because it is the most basic and general form of welfare payments. There are seven kinds of seikatsu hogo provided by official government programs (Koseishodaijin Kanbo Seisakuka Chosashitsu, 1995:252). It is rare that an individual receives all seven forms, but often an individual receives two or three kinds of welfare. Recipients qualify for these payments separately, and receive bulk payment for all they are allowed. All of these articles are listed under Section 3 of the law. 1

2

3

Seikatsu fujo (livelihood assistance; article 12 of the law). These monies are meant for necessary clothing and food for the household. Payments are made on a sliding scale based on the person’s age and amount of other available income. A single adult aged 41 to 59 receives a baseline payment of 36,440 yen plus a single householder’s payment of 40,000 yen. Extras include 2,910 yen in the winter for heating bills and 13,540 yen at the end of the year for “holiday expenses”. For the average middle-aged client, the monthly allowance is somewhere between 76,440 and 79,350 yen, excluding the year-end “bonus”.2 Kyoiku fujo (education assistance; article 13). This law applies to families with children attending compulsory schooling (years 1 to 9), and the money is to be used for textbooks, school supplies, transportation to school and meals taken at school. For elementary shoolchildren in Naka Ward, the allowance is 2,510 yen a month plus 3,200 for meal assistance; junior high school students receive payments of 4,500 yen a month.3 There are no allowances for senior high school students, and most Kotobuki students enter the workforce directly after junior high school. Jutaku fujo (housing assistance; article 14). Funds are to be used for rent or mortgage payments for housing as well as repairs, maintenance and rental security payments. If recipients live in public housing (koei jutaku), the fund pays rents of between 8,000 and 13,000 yen. Supplements for maintenance may go up to 113,000 yen (Koseishodaijin Kanbo Seisakuka Chosashitsu, 1995:256). The total amount of money is calculated by the number of people living together; in Naka Ward, a single person in 1993 usually received 44,300 to 57,600 yen. Families with over seven members receive 69,100 yen for the further dependents.

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4

Iryo fujo (medical assistance, article 15). This law includes six types of assistance: medication, treatment, operations, hospital or examination room costs, nursing and recuperation, and transportation costs. The hospital first pays the welfare patients’ bills and then makes a claim to the welfare office for reimbursement. Iryo fujo can cover the entire cost of treatment, depending on the illness and/or injury, and the severity of the condition.4 Shussan fujo (childbirth expenses assistance, article 16). There are three types of assistance that cover the cost of delivery, prenatal and postnatal treatment, and “sanitary materials” (eisei zairyo: diapers, cotton, gauze, etc.). Hospital delivery payments range from 125,000 yen for a single birth and 250,000 yen for twins and postnatal treatment of up to eight days of hospitalization is provided. A new mother may receive up to 3,900 yen for baby care materials (p. 257). A normal delivery in Japan in a public hospital costs approximately 300,000 yen. Costs are higher if there are complications or if a Caesarean delivery is performed.5 Seigyo fujo (occupational assistance, article 17). This law is designed to assist those who wish to start a business, require technical or occupational training or need funds when looking for a job. From 40,000 to 67,000 yen can be obtained for starting up a business; 53,000 to 89,000 yen is available for training; and 30,000 yen is the maximum for job-seeking expenses.6 This form of welfare is rarely applied for or received in Kotobuki. Sosai fujo (funeral expenses assistance, article 18). This assistance includes funds for autopsy, transportation for the body, cremation and burial, and ceremonial costs. These funds vary according to region and whether the deceased is an adult or a child. Funds range from 119,870 yen for a child to 149,170 yen for an adult.7 When laborers die and their family members cannot be located, this money covers their funeral expenses. Homeless people who perish in the streets are cremated using these funds.

5

6

7

Most common in Kotobuki are those receiving a combination of living assistance, housing and medical payments. The most commonly received form of welfare is medical; between 60 and 70 percent of all welfare cases in Kotobuki involve medical payments. Jido fukushi-ho The second law concerns the welfare of children under the age of 18. The law was established in 1947 to secure the “birth, upbringing and livelihood of children”. There are many different types of assistance available, depending on the needs of the child: programs for physically and mentally handicapped children, as well as those who need other kinds of medical or counseling attention. Specialized funds are available for surgical operations, tuberculosis treatment, children without

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guardians, and so on: the 1995 Ministry of Health and Welfare handbook lists 20 different programs for children that mostly involve support for sick, handicapped or orphaned children (Koseishodaijin Kanbo Seisakuka Chosashitsu, 1995:38–49). Recipients apply for these services at each prefecture’s general welfare office or offices specially handling children’s cases. Miura points out that children’s welfare is not limited to the programs listed in the second structured set of welfare laws, jido fukushi-ho, but programs to help children may also be found in various other laws such as the third of the Six Laws of Welfare, the boshi oyobi kafu fukushiho, and various other social, educational, medical, handicapped and even legal and labor laws (Miura 1990:286–7). The most often applied for benefit under the jido fukushi-ho is the jido teate (child allowances), under which parents receive an allowance of 5,000 yen a month for a first child born after January 2, 1991. Children under the age of 3 also receive 5,000 yen a month, and a third or more children under the age of 4 receives 10,000 yen a month8 (Koseishodaijin Kanbo Seisakuka Chosashitsu, 1995:47). There are other programs that Kotobuki parents of children with handicaps may apply for under sub-set laws of the jido fukushi-ho, such as the tokubetsu jido fuyo teate (special child support allowance). This fund contributes between 33,300 and 50,000 yen a month for support of handicapped children under the age of 20, depending on the severity of the disability (p. 48). There are also funds to compensate for the extra cost of home care for children with serious handicaps and for handicapped orphans or handicapped children without guardians (pp. 48–9). Boshi oyobi kafu fukushi-ho, or boshi fukushi-ho Other programs for children may be found under the third law, which concerns the welfare of single mothers with small children. The program supplies households that consist of a mother and a child, or children, with funds to “secure and advance their livelihood”. This law also serves as a means to measure the conditions of households headed by single women in Japan. Laws and regulations include: personal and telephone counseling and guidance for mothers and their children (tokubetsu sodanjigyo, and boshi kateito denwa sodanjigyo for general problems, also other specialized counseling for the nutrition and health of their children; article 7); money for starting their own businesses and ten different kinds of loans for job training (including kokyo shisetsunai de

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no baiten no secchi; article 10); funds to obtain permission to construct a shop and licensing for opening a specialty store (such as a tobacco store; articles 16–17); special consideration for these families to get into public housing (koei jutaku no yusen nyukyo; article 18); assistance in finding employment for single mothers (article 19); and medical treatment and special facilities for single mothers and their children (article 20). Further funds are available if necessary for single mothers’ and children’s medical treatment and hospitalization.9 In Naka Ward, I was told most mothers received between 22,280 and 24,060 yen a month in 1993 depending on the number of children they had; this corresponds roughly to the jido fuyo teate program, where 1995 figures show a maximum monthly allowance of 41,000 yen and a partial allowance of 27,500 yen (this would be in addition to other welfare benefits) with 3,000 to 5,000 yen increments for second and third children (Koseishodaijin Kanbo Seisaku Chosashitsu, 1995:55).10 Shintai shogaisha fukushi-ho The law protecting the physically handicapped aims to “establish and maintain rehabilitation, to secure a means of living, and to measure the progress of welfare for the handicapped”. Applicants must be over the age of 18 and have an impairment of sight, hearing, balance functions, voice, linguistic functions, use of the body and limbs, or heart and breathing functions. This law allows for financial support as well as special services; the 1995 Ministry of Health and Welfare lists 25 programs that support the physically handicapped (Koseishodaijin Kanbo Seisaku Chosashitsu, 1995:95–109). Recipients may apply for “home helpers”, visitors, money to buy special equipment, rehabilitation and general counseling, job introductions, funds for job training and establishing businesses, short-term and specialized medical care, priority for low-cost housing, discounts for train and air fares, and so on. Funds and services are determined according to need and the level of disability, which are ranked in severity from light (3) to more severe (1). To help meet day-to-day costs, the handicapped may receive payments called shogai nenkin (disability pension). For a level 1 disability, an individual may receive 975,000 yen plus supplements per year; level 2 disabled individuals receive 780,000 yen or more per year from the National Pension Fund (p. 86). Others may receive funds from different pension funds earmarked for employees of certain industries. Recipients can choose the method of payment they receive: yearly lump sums or a monthly allowance, much like the seikatsu hogo. Though the base

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amounts are equal, the difference in the method of payment makes the yearly payment slightly less, so that many handicapped in Kotobuki opt for a seikatsu hogo-type monthly system. The most visible benefit from this set of laws in Kotobuki is the use of the handicapped techo (handbook) which gives holders discounts for public services such as transportation, medical and rehabilitation consultations, rehabilitation treatment and equipment. Recipients may also access special facilities for the handicapped in public places and call for specialized volunteers to provide extra help and therapy at home. The 1993 Naka Ward baseline for handicapped welfare recipients in the monthly system was 67,350 yen a month, but there were allowances for special cases of up to 101,030 yen a month. There were also housing allowances, determined by the severity of the disability; the most severely handicapped received an extra 25,710 yen a month, the less handicapped received 17,140 yen a month. There were also other allowances for hospitalization if required. Seishin hakujakusha fukushi-ho The fifth law provides the mentally ill and handicapped with funds for rehabilitation, while serving as a means to “appraise the welfare of the mentally ill and handicapped”. Funds under this law are the same as payments made to physically handicapped recipients, and are determined by the severity of the person’s condition. There are nine specialized programs for recipients of this law that include various types of foster care, rehabilitative and general training, special home medical examinations, funds for special equipment needed for daily life, assistance in finding appropriate work and transportation to the workplace, and possible introductions to group homes (Koseishodaijin Kanbo Seisakuka Chosashitsu, 1995:110–14). Rojin fukushi-ho The last law seeks to take social responsibility for the “protection and kind treatment” for the elderly. Most elderly people in Japan live on a combination of savings, contributions from their children, and company and national pension programs. For those who do not have such resources, public funds are available for living expenses. There are three main sources of funds for the elderly: the National Pension Program (nenkin hoken), the Elderly Insurance Program (rojin hoken) and the sixth welfare law, the rojin fukushi-ho (Miura,

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1990:100). There are also programs under labor and educational laws that support the elderly by providing training and social services. Most elderly people in Japan take advantage of the first two sources of income, especially the free medical care provided by the rojin hoken program. There are fifteen programs listed by the Ministry of Health and Welfare that provide funds and services to elderly recipients (Koseishodaijin Kanbo Seisakuka Chosashitsu, 1995:278–304), and the Ministry states that the Old Age Welfare Law is meant to provide “good health, medical treatment and a reason for living” (p. 292) rather than fundamental income to meet day-to-day living costs. The definition of “good health, medical treatment and a reason for living” includes provisions for medical treatment, medical examinations, “home helpers” and nurses, special equipment, short-term home care and counseling for bedridden recipients, general counseling and training, access to information centers, social and health promotion programs, public housing introductions, and specialized help for the senile. The day services are often utilized by elderly people all over Japan; in my middle class neighborhood, I often saw white nyuyoku (assistance for bathing) vans making their regular rounds. However, part-time professional care, though at times costly, is a different matter than the economic survival of the elderly individual with no savings, company pension or family support. These individuals apply for seikatsu hogo and then receive extra allowances and services according to their age and any physical and mental disabilities that may accompany their condition. Potential recipients must apply in person and have their cases approved by the welfare office. Often this process is painful and difficult since it involves contacting the individual’s family to inquire about financial circumstances. Those who have no family and those who are deemed “cut off” from family members may receive this form of welfare on top of the basic livelihood assistance. The money allotted for the elderly is determined by age and the state of the recipient’s health. In 1993, Naka Ward elderly over the age of 70, or those over the age of 65 but with handicaps of levels 1 to 3 or other levels of severity, received an extra 17,140 yen a month on top of their regular seikatsu hogo, and another 14,780 yen a month if they were hospitalized in a public hospital or home. For those over the age of 68 who could not live independently, the government allowed an extra 12,860 yen a month, plus 11,130 yen if they needed hospitalization. If an elderly person is unable to live on his or her own, there are four types of facilities for the elderly run by the state: special care homes,

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protective care homes, low-cost homes and welfare homes. The special care homes attend to patients with physical and mental problems as well as bedridden patients over the age of 65. The protective care homes take patients who, for physical, mental or economic reasons, cannot not be cared for at home. The low-cost home is for low-income patients over 60 years of age who, because of their home environment and housing situation, cannot be cared for at home. Costs are determined by the state on a case-by-case basis. The welfare home is for those without resources. At these homes, elderly may also receive medical and general counseling, exercise programs to restore physical functions, cultural programs and recreation. Some programs are free, and others have a low cost. A fictional case Because money distributed by the welfare system is passed out piecemeal, it is difficult to determine exactly how much an average client receives according to the laws and case worker handbooks. The baseline figures for livelihood protection payments depend on region, and number of people in a household and their ages. I include a fictional case based on Naka Ward figures to give the reader a more concrete image of the economics of welfare. The average, single and healthy individual in Kotobuki receives: 34,450 yen base allowance plus 40,230 yen as a household head (seikatsu hogo), plus a rent allowance of 44,300 yen (jutaku fujo) which totals 118,980 yen a month. If the individual is living in a lower-priced doya (1,500 yen a night), the monthly rent is 46,000 yen (an extra 1,000 yen a month is added for electricity) leaving 72,980 yen a month to pay for food, clothing and miscellaneous bills. This excludes any medical and/ or disability payments, which can bring the total monthly figure up to 186,330 yen or higher, depending on the severity of the client’s condition. If clients can find cheap doya rooms and not let alcohol or gambling take up too much of the remaining money, they can make ends meet. However, there is no “free ride” for recipients. They must qualify for the benefits and stabilize their living conditions to continue receiving the payments. Clients cannot simply be poor and expect to receive continuing benefits. They must have specific conditions that prevent them from working: an illness, an injury, a handicap, small children at home, advanced age, for example. If a client recovers from the illness, or a mother’s children grow up and leave home, payments will stop.

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There are other conditions to receiving these benefits to prevent unscrupulous clients from taking advantage of the system. Using a handbook that guides social workers through making decisions about welfare benefits, the case worker follows a flow chart to determine the length of payments. For example, if a recipient receives benefits because of a medical disability but does not follow “medical orders” (kenshin meirei), payment of welfare is to be terminated (article 28, item 4). A common example of this is the termination of benefits or treatment for diseases related to alcohol abuse such as cirrhosis and hepatitis. If it is discovered that the client has not stopped drinking, the case worker may discontinue or delay medical payments. Another cause for welfare payment termination is an improvement of the client’s medical condition. If the able-bodied recipient shows no inclination to work in one to three months after receiving counseling and guidance from the case workers, payments can be terminated (article 62, item 3). Hogai enjo: extra-legal assistance What about those who are not (un)fortunate enough to be elderly, sick or handicapped? For immediate help, there is another system that supports the daily needs of the poor in the Kotobuki area. The hogai enjo (“extralegal assistance”) system was first established in Naka Ward in 1974. The high oil prices that resulted from the 1973 “Oil Shocks” put the import-dependent Japanese economy into recession, leaving many laborers out of work and hungry. The program for temporary and shortterm assistance was specifically created for unemployed laborers, who often do not qualify for other kinds of welfare benefits because they have no fixed address. After a short interview with a case worker at the welfare office, outof-work laborers can receive coupons for food and housing for one night. These coupons, called pan-ken (“bread tickets”) and doya-ken (“room tickets”), are printed on orange paper. The recipient’s name is handwritten by the case worker on each coupon, and the tickets are non-transferable. The coupons are worth 680 yen for the pan-ken (meant for two meals) and 1,400 yen for the doya-ken. The coupons can be redeemed at five stores and twenty-three doya. The pan-ken may not be used for the purchase of tobacco or alcohol; rather, they are exchanged for a bag of groceries that is meant to last for two meals. A typical day’s allotment consists of a bento box of rice and a few side dishes, most often vegetables and natto (fermented beans), a bowl of instant noodles, a can of cold tea and perhaps two or three hard candies.

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This system, though flexible, is highly imperfect. The food supplied by the pan-ken provides barely sufficient nutrition for laborers. Many sell their pan-ken at less than face cost to gangsters and use the cash for alcohol, while the gangsters run a black market for the coupons. Often there is no vacancy in the designated hotels, so the room tickets are useless. In the summer of 1993, a homeless man told me that there were 500 to 650 men a day receiving pan-ken and doya-ken during the week and up to 1,000 over the weekend. Although they could get something to eat with pan-ken, it was impossible for the limited number of doya to house over 500 men, so most of them slept on the streets. During the hot, humid Japanese summer, doya are stuffy and uncomfortable anyway, so many men prefer sleeping outside. Also, the hotels will not accommodate a client with a pet, so those who keep cats and dogs must sleep in the parks, streets and railway stations around Kotobuki. Official figures tell a similar story. In 1993, the average number of men receiving pan-ken per month was 16,625, compared to 1,570 men a month in 1991, before the recession (Kotobuki Hiyatoi Rodo Kumiai, 1993:3). The monthly averages in 1994 were approximately 15,833 pan-ken recipients, and in 1995 there were 18,750 (Ide, 1995: interview). The average number of men receiving doya-ken per month was 6,545, compared to 1991’s figure of 1,090 (ibid.). Monthly averages of 1994 and 1995 doya-ken recipients have leveled off at numbers between 6,000 and 6,600 because of the limited number of doya rooms available (Ide, 1995). The hogai enjo system is perhaps one of the most interesting cases of social welfare in Kotobuki, for it is unique to the area and is the most commonly utilized welfare program in the yoseba. Despite the numbers, the program remains in a limbo state of non-legalization, illustrating the marginal status of day laborers in wider Japanese society and an opposition between different levels of government: municipal, prefectural and national. When the hogai enjo system was first established, city officials saw it as a temporary measure to keep unemployed laborers off the streets; homelessness was not acceptable around the yoseba, as mainstream businessmen worked in the nearby Kannai financial district. Short-term benefits were considered a supplementary measure to welfare laws for those not in need of long-term aid. Program costs were cheaper than building a permanent shelter because budgets could be adjusted to the quickly changing economic climate. In the first few years after inception, the Naka Ward office passed out a few dozen tickets a day and the city

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saw no need to make changes in the program. However, after the “burst of the bubble economy”, hogai enjo recipient numbers have increased exponentially. The system ceased to be a “stop-gap” and began to serve as a way of life for out-of-work and aging laborers. According to a section manager in the Naka office, the reason for the increase of numbers is the influx of clients from other cities such as Tokyo and Kawasaki. Because of loose application restrictions, it is virtually impossible to prevent non-Yokohama residents from collecting benefits. The welfare office near the Tokyo yoseba does not offer interim assistance; Yokohama has been the sole provider of emergency benefits for day laborers in the Tokyo metropolitan area for over 20 years. In July of 1994, Kawasaki began a pan-ken program, but the Naka Ward office was not optimistic that numbers will drop dramatically. Problems with the hogai enjo program illustrate structural problems that arise between different levels of government and different social classes. The program was instigated without any clear policies to guide low-level bureaucrats and case workers during future economic swings. During the 1980s, there were enough jobs to keep most Yokohama laborers sheltered and fed, but by the early 1990s, work shortages sent the program’s budget skyrocketing. The future of this program requires the resolution of two issues: the conflicting relationship between city government and prefectural and national governments; and the bias against members of the lower class, a result of a stratified social structure. The welfare manager stated that the hogai enjo system could not be legalized or eradicated until there are changes in unemployment policies. However, changes in the unemployment system must begin at the national level at the Labor Ministry, not a city office of the Ministry of Health and Welfare. The Ministry of Labor’s policy towards unemployment in the yoseba is vague because their opinion is that Kotobuki is changing from a day laborers’ town to a community of the elderly and handicapped, so poverty in Kotobuki is not a problem for Labor but for Health and Welfare. Because two-thirds of the population are on welfare, they believe most of the residents of Kotobuki don’t work. Perhaps this is true for registered doya residents; however, the numbers of day laborers living in or around Kotobuki remain uncounted and unaccounted for. The exclusion of this program from official welfare law shows that a permanent solution to laborer unemployment is not a government priority. The persistence of the program’s utilization demonstrates a continuing and deepening gap in the government’s policies towards day laborers. They are considered dispensable, therefore establishing official

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laws concerning them is also viewed as unessential. The hogai enjo programs (both doya-ken and pan-ken) do not address problems such as company mistreatment and exploitation by brokers. The program does not approach the causes of day laborer unemployment. Furthermore, patterns of casual employment in this sector of the labor market do not fall into line with standard definitions of employment and unemployment in Japan. Every day laborer is unemployed at the end of the day; the issue is continuity between short-term jobs, and this is addressed by neither the government’s unemployment policy nor the welfare systems. Abure-kin: unemployment insurance Chronic unemployment in the construction industry is well documented. Steven writes: One study of day labourers in the Sanya district revealed that even during the boom, in an average three-day period only 23.3% found work the full three, days, 36.1% worked two days, and 13.4% remained on the streets. (Steven, 1983:191)

Able-bodied men who are not able to find work because of job shortages can receive benefits, as long as they are enrolled in the unemployment insurance system. Payments, called abure-kin, are given out to laborers at the Labor Center in Kotobuki. The number of people receiving unemployment payments continues to increase, as the “burst of the bubble economy” makes jobs in the construction industry harder and harder to find. The increasing role of public welfare in day laborer culture can be seen as a sign of the demise of the old “Labor Boss System”, or the oyabun/kobun system. This system refers to a complex web of personal relationships between workers and recruiters in certain industries involving manual labor. The labor boss provided work for healthy laborers and aid to ill, injured or unemployed laborers in his group; in return, he first took a cut from the money earned and second, he was entitled to the laborers’ loyalty. The boss was a “head-hunter”, bank officer, landlord and, theoretically, a father figure; Bennett and Iwao called the system a merging of “occupational and private lives” (1963:45).

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Traditional employment and welfare systems for laborers as described by Bennett and Iwao (1963), Taira (1970) and Gordon (1982) were not as benevolent as their ideals purported. Many workers were exploited by their bosses. However, pooled resources and a sense of loose social solidarity helped to stabilize employment. The Labor Boss System functioned as a trade-off of short-term profits for long-term advantages; laborers may have received low wages from their oyabun but they could count on secure employment in return. Furthermore, if working conditions hit rock bottom, there was a personal figure to take responsibility. This system was unregulated by the government but was recognized as a legitimate means to quickly mobilize unskilled manual labor until 1945 (Bennett and Iwao, 1963:43). Post-war laws prohibited unofficial hiring, stated minimum working standards and instituted an unemployment insurance program. However, the welfare of the average day laborer was little improved. He continued to use labor brokers for initial work introductions because of the custom of using a go-between or a guarantor when contracting work between strangers. Brokers no longer took responsibility for the workers’ health and welfare. When the boss’s personalized accountability was removed, no one took his place. There are various laws to protect the laborers and keep them working. The Construction Employment Reform Law (kensetsu koyo kaizenho) states that all conditions of employment must be made clear to workers before they begin work. The Labor Standards Law prohibits coercion and violence, third parties taking commissions from wages (pinhane) and the company from stopping contracted work before an agreed-upon time. Overtime work (more than eight hours) must be paid 25 percent over the decided salary. Laborers’ wages must be paid in cash daily, or at least monthly in longer-term jobs. These two laws should protect everyone, even illegal immigrants, but are usually not enforced, nor are the benefits sought by many laborers. Laborers are protected by these laws if they register with a local public employment office and have in their possession a home registration card, driver’s license or national insurance card. Upon registration, the laborer receives a shiro-techo (“white handbook”). The shiro-techo scheme is an extremely complicated one, designed to make it difficult for the average worker to take advantage of the system. In reality, the system makes it easier for less scrupulous companies to save money and local gangsters to make profits. Though construction companies are required by law to pay unemployment insurance for

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each worker (and distribute the stamps to the laborers as proof of payment), this process is often overlooked by companies trying to cut corners and save costs. There is a thriving business in the black marketing of these stamps, run by the yakuza. The gangsters also work as labor brokers, introducing workers to construction firms. The workers must pay part of their wages to yakuza labor brokers, but the gangster-brokers often have more job listings available that the government-sponsored labor office. By using yakuza labor brokers, construction firms avoid paying insurance benefits and administration fees involved in recruiting labor through the ordinary channels, so the yakuza represent many firms. The gangsters have a virtual monopoly on the employment and manipulation of foreign laborers, since many are in Japan illegally. If stamps are collected, they represent the construction company’s payment of the employment insurance, taken as a percentage from the individual’s wage, about 146 yen. 11 Workers can apply for unemployment if they have 28 stamps over the course of two months. On the days there is no work, laborers go to the Labor Center, and get a “confirmation of unemployment” stamp. A day of unemployment is worth 6,200 yen, or a little less than half a day’s regular work. Payments are adjusted to a fixed percentage of the base salary of the individual; non-skilled laborers make less than the highly skilled tobi workers who specialize in high-rise scaffolding work. In 1988, it was determined that those who receive more than 8,200 yen for a full day’s work would receive a base of 6,200 yen in unemployment. However, in September of 1994, the rate was increased to 7,500 yen and the number of stamps needed to qualify was reduced from 28 to 26. Funds are applied for and received on a daily basis (usually at about 10 a.m., after all available jobs have been taken). Construction companies pay day laborers no other pension or benefits beside the unemployment insurance. Kenko hoken: medical insurance for laborers and yoseba residents Laborers who wish to enter a health insurance program need to work for 28 days over a period of two months or 78 days over a period of six months to be eligible. Though medical payments can be received through the general welfare system (the iryo fujo section of seikatsu hogo), a section of the National Health Insurance Program is another occasional source of funding for medical treatment for the laborers. According to government reports, since 1961 every Japanese citizen may be covered by the National Health Insurance Program. These

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programs help pay for 90 percent of all medical costs in Japan. Funds are taken from medical payroll taxes, national health taxes and health care premiums (Schultz, Boroski and Crown, 1991:49). The health insurance system in Japan is divided into two general schemes: Employee Health Insurance and National Health Insurance. The former is for employees and family member of those employed by companies enrolled in the system; the latter is for self-employed individuals, farmers, retirees and their family members (Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development, 1990:2). Beyond these two major programs, applicants may receive funds for medical treatment in supplementary schemes for the chronically ill, handicapped, aged and poor found in various programs in the Six Laws of Welfare (iryo fujo of seikatsu hogo, for example). Further funds are available for uninsured individuals who were injured at the workplace under existing labor laws. Very few Kotobuki residents are employees of large corporations, so most enroll in the day laborers’ and the welfare recipients’ forms of insurance. Day laborers may enroll in either the daily rate or the self-employed program. The self-employed program is more expensive and requires a fixed address for the applicant, so the daily wage program is more popular with the laborers. Premiums are adjusted to individuals’ incomes. If subscribers are ill or injured, they pay only 30 percent of their medical bills. If laborers are injured at the workplace and the injury is determined to be a direct result of the job, they are not required to pay any of the medical bill. Some companies do not comply with these rules and delay payments. In the case of unsettled immigrant laborers, it is often extremely difficult to get a company to pay for treatment of injuries received on the job. This insurance also covers illnesses; most often treated medical conditions in Kotobuki are stomach ulcers, high blood pressure and diabetes. Most commonly, laborers receive the last kind of public insurance for medical treatment for conditions such as tuberculosis. If patients are found to be in “stage 1” of the illness (which is determined by the amount of tubercular bacteria ejected by the patient’s cough), they are not considered ill enough to be hospitalized. They receive treatment on an out-patient basis, and in this case, only 50 percent of the bill is covered by the public insurance. If patients are on welfare, it is possible for medical aid funds to make up for the gap. If patients are in “stage 2” of tuberculosis, they are hospitalized, and their bills are paid fully by the National Health Insurance system. Usually foreigners are not successful in receiving medical benefits, but in cases where tuberculosis

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presents a public health threat, foreigners with no visas or insurance policies are treated at no cost as well. Benefits for mental illness are more difficult to estimate. If patients are ill enough to be hospitalized in a public institution, national insurance covers all of the medical expenses. Alcoholism is categorized as a mental illness, but full hospitalization is not always necessary. For those who are not hospitalized, treatment for alcoholism is not covered in the insurance system. For the physically handicapped, their medical needs are covered by both the insurance system and welfare, with the insurance system paying 70 percent and the welfare funds paying the remaining 30 percent of the bill. A last option: public shelters Another option for housing is an emergency shelter, established in 1991 to provide temporary lodging in central Yokohama. This shelter, called the Minami-koseikan, is sponsored by the Shakai Fukushi Hojin Kanagawa-ken Kyosaikai (The Kanagawa Prefectural Social Welfare Foundation). In 1994, there was bed space for seven to eleven people, who were allowed to stay at the shelter for a period of at least two weeks and at the most two months. Clients must be interviewed and their cases judged by welfare office employees. During this interview, the individual is questioned on the details of his/her personal life, just as is done for seikatsu hogo. Because this is often humiliating for the individual, few go through this process. I never met a person in Kotobuki who had spent a night in this shelter, and volunteers generally did not counsel the homeless to apply. THE ROLE OF CHRISTIANITY IN SOCIAL WORK: FILLING IN THE GAPS To further explore the meaning of social welfare, social work and volunteering in a larger context, it is necessary to understand the long relationship Japanese Christianity has with various forms of social activism and welfare. One is struck at the number of Christian social welfare and activist groups in the yoseba; more than half of the volunteer groups working with the handicapped, poor and elderly in Kotobuki are affiliated with Protestant or Catholic organizations; this is unusual considering only 1–3 percent of the Japanese population claim to be Christian. Many Japanese from the Tokyo metropolitan area who have heard about the volunteer programs in Kotobuki are misled by this and

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believe that all Japanese volunteers are Christian. Despite religious differences, non-Christian Japanese regard the Japanese Christians’ work in the yoseba as beneficial and valuable. This is perhaps because churchsupported welfare services are private programs that address many of the needs that public welfare programs neglect. Attitudes about Christianity in the yoseba range from quiet admiration to open hostility. Despite this, Christian-sponsored activities dominate Kotobuki volunteer programs. One can argue that Japanese Christians have succeeded to a certain degree, in finding a niche for themselves in the yoseba. Christianity appears to be a stronger social force than a religious force in Japan, for the Christians’ social work is more successful than their proselytizing, due perhaps to the strong commitment of Japanese Christians to social activism. It is important to note that historical oppression of Christianity and anti-Christian sentiment is apparent today in traces of tension between Christians and non-Christians. Relations between Christian volunteers and non-Christian volunteers, and between Christian volunteers and Kotobuki residents can appear distant because of certain volunteers’ religious affiliations. The conflict is not only theological but also social, for differences between Japanese Christians and non-Christians are embedded in the class structure as well as in their ethical and religious life. Japanese subscribe primarily to Buddhist, Shinto and “new” religions, among which the latter group is growing relatively rapidly. The Japanese sociologist Morioka Kiyomi notes that despite the advantages of organization, money and support from Western churches, there are approximately the same number of Japanese Catholics today as there were in the sixteenth century (Morioka, 1975:117–18). The influence of Christian missionaries is not shown in numbers of converts, but in the amount and quality of educational and social work in Japan (Hammer, 1962:113). For the past century, Christians have been considered pioneers in Japanese women’s education, social work and reform. Certain themes are consistent in the discussion of social activism and Japanese Christianity; most important are the Japanese Christians’ affirmation of political identity and a commitment to helping the underprivileged. This ideology of Japanese Christian political activism and volunteerism began many years ago. Uchimura Kanzo (1861–1930) was one of the most famous Meiji Christian converts, and his refusal to bow in 1891 before a document bearing the signature of the Emperor Meiji created a national scandal. After studying in the United States, a

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rare privilege in those days, Uchimura became disillusioned with Christianity and the Christian society of the West, as he saw that few American Christians truly lived according to their faith (Howes, 1978:97). Upon returning to Japan, he gradually separated from the organized church and promoted instead a path of worship that proclaimed a direct relationship between the believer and God. Salvation was gained through studying the Bible, prayer and “good acts”. This movement was called the Mukyokai, or “non-church” Christianity. There were other problems within secular Japanese society in the early part of the twentieth century that may have triggered the formation of the Mukyokai. Many believers felt strongly about certain social issues and the “non-church” organization gave them a place to talk about their ideas and to do something about them. Their views were quite liberal compared to the rest of mainstream society: they opposed the increasing materialism in Japanese society, political and moral corruption, Shinto nationalism and the Japanese imperial system. A number of Mukyokai members made these beliefs clear in their strong protests against Japan’s actions during World War II. Japanese “Church” Christians were also involved in social work, working within the system. Kagawa Toyohiko (1888–1960) is called the father of Japanese Christian social work and he is also known as an early advocate of the laboring classes. As a seminary student in Kobe, Kagawa began his work in the slums, and in a famous story, left his mainstream life to move into the slums on Christmas Day, 1909. Influenced by socialist thought, Kagawa believed that the cause of poverty was the apprenticeship system of labor, and he is most famous for his fight for laborers’ rights. Kagawa established “mutual help” cooperatives in rural and urban areas, rather than restricting his activities to relief work. Kagawa’s other interests included the peace movement and public medical care. He was also one of the organizers for the National Anti-War League, established in 1928. Because of his participation in the Kobe dock strikes in 1921, he was briefly imprisoned. During the World War II, he was regarded as a potential traitor and was always under police surveillance. Kagawa’s long-term goal was spiritual, despite his secular work: to save people morally, it was first necessary to rescue them from deprived “physical, economic, social and psychological conditions” (Drummond, 1971:231). Kagawa was an evangelist who felt that Christianity could give the individual the moral values to break out of the cycle of poverty (Bikle, 1976:93–5). Continuing in the tradition of Kagawa are the activities of the Nihon Kirisuto Kyodan (or the United Church of Christ, Japan: UCCJ.). The

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UCCJ, an ecumenical, socially conscious group, is the largest and most powerful Protestant organization in Japan (Reid, 1991:72). It is the financial and administrative backbone of many Kotobuki yoseba organizations, including the community center, the support group for foreign laborers and the workshops for the mentally and physically handicapped. The UCCJ also supports the San’ya Laborers’ Welfare Hall in Tokyo yoseba. This list of achievement in the yoseba supports Reid’s statement that the UCCJ is “secular organization” (ibid.) because of its emphasis on political activity and social action. The UCCJ was formed in 1941, as Christmas came under pressure from the government who saw Japanese Christians as potentially dangerous to the Japanese military cause. The group’s formation in fact facilitated government surveillance of Christian activities. However, although members of different Japanese Christian groups at that time were not keen to lose their autonomy, they soon saw that there was perhaps strength in numbers. This unity was threatened in 1967, when the UCCJ became famous for its heated internal debates over the Japanese churches’ responsibility for Japanese army actions in World War II. The UCCJ’s director’s public apology for the Japanese churches’ “cooperation” during the war was thought to be uncalled for by other Japanese Christians, and the resulting disagreement spread outside the organization and sparked campus debates and demonstrations at Christian universities during the early 1970s. Other topics of social concern to the UCCJ are the separation of church and state in modern Japanese society, a reference to the remnants of state Shinto that supports the imperial system; nuclear disarmament; environmental pollution; and discrimination against minorities, women and foreigners in Japan. One of the UCCJs continuing political activities is the opposition to public funding of Yasukuni Shrine in Tokyo, which commemorates soldiers who have died in service to their country.12 As illustrated through their concern about the Yasukuni Shrine, the UCCJ promotes the ethical standards of social equality and moral responsibility and shows itself to be concerned and active with regard to public and secular activities. The philosophies of Uchimura and Kagawa, and the activities of the UCCJ all share one important priority: that social activism and protest are equally as important as Christian piety. Japanese Christian thought has had an impact on the way Japanese Christians view their own society. Christianity challenges the traditional roles of human relations embedded in Japanese ideals of subjugation of subordinates to superiors, and women to men. Christianity has also helped to spread awareness of

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social problems within Japan to people who would otherwise be ignorant of the poverty, illness and discrimination that affects many hidden members of society. Non-Christian Japanese often associate the political and social awareness of Japanese Christians with the leisure time enjoyed by those with high social status. This image of wealth in Japanese Christianity is over 100 years old, and stems from the fact that many prominent early Japanese converts to Japanese Christianity had to be educated not only in the English language but also in Western manners in order to socialize with the missionaries. Japanese Christians in the early days often traveled abroad to study, an opportunity not available to those without financial resources, and socialized with élite foreigners when in Japan. Many members of Uchimura’s group were members of the liberal and financially comfortable intelligentsia. In today’s society, some of the images remain, for the Japanese Christian housewives who come to Kotobuki have the time to volunteer, as they are not obliged to spend all their time outside the home in salaried work. This image of Christians as an élite remains in the minds of many Japanese and Kotobuki residents, who regard the upper-class volunteers in this stereotypical manner. Japanese Christians are seen as upper-class people with good intentions; their efforts are appreciated but sometimes scorned. “Take your rich Christian ideas elsewhere” was a phrase sometimes muttered by laborers walking past a service offered by a church-sponsored group. Perhaps because of this image, Christian activity in Kotobuki is limited to social work and the spiritual development of the individual volunteer and does not include Christian evangelism. Japanese Christian volunteers/activists respond to a Christian ethical system that calls for charity and social service. They aspire to the examples set by Uchimura, Kagawa and the UCCJ, who represent the of ideals of this ethical system. Concerned about the social issues that trouble the yoseba, many Japanese Christians feel compelled to act in order to improve society, but the spiritual aspect of the social work does not converge with efforts to convert others. They consider evangelism inappropriate in Kotobuki, where the residents’ way of life should be respected and supported, not altered. Rather, volunteers find their own personal spiritual life changed and enriched by the work. Edward Fowler (1991) best sums up the Christian presence in the yoseba, where he documents a conversation with a minister who runs a cafeteria in the Tokyo yoseba. The minister identifies himself as a member of the UCCJ, and describes his “three principles” of his work in San’ya. There is deai (“encounter”, a perhaps mystical experience), where the

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individual by chance or fate comes into contact with the people of the yoseba. Second is keiken (“experience”), where the Christian participates in the yoseba lifestyle, getting to know the yoseba residents on a more than superficial level. Finally, there is seikatsu (“livelihood”), where the individual commits a part of yoseba life into his or her own life. There, says the minister, the individual begins to understand the teachings of Christ and the ways in which humans should live their lives. Christians, through their work in the yoseba, incorporate ideals of empathy, charity and social duty into their lives. The lack of evangelism in the minister’s narrative is notable; the Japanese Christian in San’ya as well as Kotobuki appears as a social worker, not a missionary. SOCIAL VALUES AND THE APPLICATION PROCESS Attitudes about welfare are visible in the application process and the case worker/client relationship: the predominant attitudes are shame and conformation to mainstream values. The Japanese welfare system reflects certain social values that are in opposition with yoseba society. A stable home, moderate lifestyle and acceptance of dependency on others are not often valued in Kotobuki, where the laborers are not tied to one address, reside alone and live hand-to-mouth on their wages. Laborers want to believe they are independent. In mainstream Japan, individuals depend on family, others in their community and colleagues at work, but depending on others is the most difficult thing to which laborers must adjust. Volunteers try to minimize shame and resistance to conforming by offering counseling and continuing support of the client. The welfare recipient in the yoseba must learn to depend on the case worker, volunteers and fellow recipients. Applications for benefits for the fukushi roppo and hogai enjo are made at the Naka Ward Welfare Office. The office is located close to Kotobuki, about a 10-minute walk towards the Kannai business center. The welfare department is on the fifth floor; applicants go by elevator which travels “express” from the basement entrance to the fifth floor. The elevator symbolically represents the meaning of welfare in Japanese society: shame and separation, By riding the welfare elevator, the clients’ privacy is protected because they do not have to be seen entering the office from the street or lobby. At the same time, the elevator separates recipients from people with other business at the ward office, hiding the welfare clients’ often ragged and dirty appearance. Inside the office, there is a waiting room with several rows of seats and a small reception window. To the left of the reception area are four

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separately walled consultation booths, again providing privacy. Behind the window is a large room where the employees have their desks and do the extensive paperwork it takes to dispense welfare benefits, such as welfare applications, referrals to hospitals, and medical certificates from doctors verifying clients’ conditions. The welfare office in Naka Ward is divided into two departments: the mensetsu-ka (interviewing department) and the hogo-ka (assistance department). The first-time client is interviewed by the mensetsu-ka employee who determines the client’s needs, resources, abilities and options. After appropriate recommendations from the mensetsu-ka, the client moves on to a case worker in the hogo-ka. One case worker is assigned to each case. The case worker meets with the client both in the office and visits the client’s doya room. During these interviews, the case worker learns the client’s habits and life-styles. They want to know which streets or train stations are their favorite sleeping spots, how much the client drinks, and if they have special medical conditions. Using this information, the case worker tries to put together a welfare package which most benefits the client. Unfortunately, many clients become frustrated with the process of questioning and disappear within three months. Others stay awhile and then leave. The case worker’s first job is to get the client’s documents in order. Papers “out of order” are the main obstacle to receiving benefits. Lost identification cards and hospital records are common problems for case workers working on medical benefits. Homeless men who have no mailing address cannot receive any kind of assistance, so case workers must find cheap doya rooms for clients who need to establish a mailing address. Settling down causes problems for the case worker/client relationship. Many clients feel it is an invasion of their privacy to be pinned down to one address. Fortunately for the clients, the Naka Ward Office is reputed for its good welfare case workers, compared to their counterparts in the Tokyo offices. Yokohama social welfare case workers are trained counselors and graduates of college programs specializing in social welfare policies. In Tokyo, the employees of the welfare office are public servants who are on rotation from various other departments within the ward office. Tokyo case workers are not specialists in their field and see their jobs as temporary, while Yokohama case workers are more qualified and have made a commitment to social work. Many volunteers say that the Kotobuki clients are luckier than the San’ya clients because they have better trained, more considerate case workers.

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A truly successful outcome is a result of a combination of the case worker’s creativity and the client’s initiative: commitment on both sides. Clients must take initiative to apply for the programs and comply with the requirements to continue receiving aid. Without the understanding and respect of their case workers, some clients give up on trying to enter a welfare program, stop consulting with their case workers and often leave town. Volunteers try to prevent this from happening through further counseling and support of the client. There are clients who succeed in establishing the case worker relationship without volunteers’ help, but those who do utilize the volunteer services have a better chance of maintaining and strengthening long-term relationships. ADAPTING TO THE WELFARE LIFESTYLE Many Japanese who qualify for welfare benefits do not apply for them. Some are not aware of the programs; others are ashamed of their poverty; and others do not want to become dependent on public programs on a long-term basis. Many have tried to enter the welfare system but personality differences between case workers and clients cause them to end the relationship and stop receiving benefits. Residents are not always supporters of volunteers’ activities. Many resent volunteers as meddlers. However, despite occasional displays of open hostility, generally residents accept volunteers. Residents who do stabilize their living situations and settle in Kotobuki often make long-lasting relationships with prominent volunteers. The welfare lifestyle appears more stable and comfortable than a life on the streets, but it is difficult for a formerly independent, active man to admit he can no longer support himself. Also, there is no guarantee a new client would fit into the personal relationships of the volunteer groups that provide important support. If a client does not get along with a volunteer group leader, the benefits are far fewer, and the support of the social network weaker. If the former laborer can fit into the personal relationships of the Kotobuki welfare and volunteer groups, win the favor of important people in these groups and, most importantly, get along with his case worker, he can spend his last few years in relative peace. Alcohol abuse, personal differences and pride can get in the way of taking advantage of the welfare system. The stable residents of Kotobuki on welfare are all non-drinking, articulate and organized people. They have the social abilities to take advantage of the system, which can help some ease the difficulties of living with a handicap, old age and poverty.

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The support provided by the volunteer/resident relationship is necessary because welfare recipients are up against a massive bureaucracy that tells them their former lifestyle is unacceptable. To receive benefits, applicants must be interviewed to determine their assets, and are often humiliated by personal questions: “Where is your family living? Why don’t you return to your son’s house and live with his family? Why did you argue with your daughter-in-law? How much money does your estranged son make? Could he send you money even if you did not live together? How much do you drink?” The questions delve into the applicants’ most personal lives and sometimes the laborers must admit failures, both economic and social. Long habits must be changed; many feel their privacy is lost. Volunteers try to show the residents the good in changing some habits and keep them from becoming discouraged with the process. Japan is not the only country where welfare programs are not considered “user-friendly”. Snow and Anderson’s research on the homeless in Texas, which included a discussion of welfare services, offered this conclusion, “Indeed, one consistent finding of research has been the underutilization of such services by the homeless and some social scientists have recommended aggressive advocacy of these services as a partial solution” (1993:290). Volunteers in Kotobuki are the laborers’ advocates, necessary and occasionally successful. They are Herbert Gans’ “caretakers” (1962), who offer support, both to sustain and reform the laborer. Because volunteers essentially are products of the mainstream, they do not advocate that laborers disregard social conventions that would cause them to lose benefits. Rather, they are the mediators between mainstream and yoseba values, people who understand both areas and attempt to find a compromise. CONCLUSION Volunteers, residents and case workers work to make sense of the many laws, the real personal problems of the poor, and the society in which all live. Their activities not only address immediate problems, but also document the social needs and problems of current society to help guide future policy-making. Changes in policy can create changes in public opinion of welfare recipients. Befu (1971) and Hane (1982) see poverty and disability as a cause of shame in Japanese society, where the individual’s problem is seen as a consequence of undesired behavior in one’s past or current life. Applying for public aid is an admission of fault, and a source of shame. This is true in Kotobuki. However, Japanese

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society is aging, and average families can no longer shoulder the economic and social responsibility of caring for elderly, sick and handicapped family members. Numbers of poor residents will increase as the recession in the construction industry continues. It is no longer feasible for Japan to keep the disabled or undesired members of society out of public life. The study of welfare policies is a lens we can use to examine how the Japanese government and broader society views social problems such as poverty, illness and homelessness. The study of volunteer activities further examines the consequences of the policies and various reactions to established social values. The existence of this kind of volunteer activity fills a need and this proves that, though Japanese welfare programs provide benefits to the needy, the policy’s underlying social ideology prevents the programs from full utilization. Day laborers are not completely isolated from larger society. These men come from rural or other working-class backgrounds with the same social values as other workers. Economic and social pressures in regional working-class areas constitute the separation mechanisms that reproduce “day labor culture”. Constant movement, hard physical labor and poor working and living conditions create stresses that prevent laborers from maintaining a steady income. Combined with the lack of support from the construction industry and the government, it becomes increasingly difficult for laborers to conform to mainstream values that appear irrelevant to their current situation. Welfare laws reinforce the gap between laborer and mainstream cultures. This statement is especially impor tant when looking at a society which is often taken as a relatively undifferentiated and unified whole. FURTHER READING Welfare in general Clark, John, Cochrane, A. and Smart, C. (1987) Ideologies of Welfare: From Dreams to Disillusion. London: Hutchinson. Wilson, William Julius. (1987) The Truly Disadvantaged: The Inner City, the Underclass and Public Policy. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press.

The Japanese welfare system and aging Anderson, Stephen J. (1993) Welfare Policy and Politics in Japan: Beyond the Developmental State. New York: Paragon House. Aoki, Hideo. (1991) “Toshikasokenkyu to seikatsushiho—yoseba chosa no

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jirei kara (Research in the urban lower class and welfare administration— an example from a yoseba inquiry)”, Soshioroji, 36(1): 117–30. Campbell, John. (1992) How Policies Change: the Japanese Government and the Aging Society. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Kiefer, Christine. (1987) “Care of the Aged in Japan”, from Health, Illness and Medical Care in Japan, E.Norbeck and M.Lock (eds.). Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, pp. 89–109. Spark, Douglas E. (1975) “The Still Rebirth: Retirement and Role Discontinuity” from Adult Episodes in Japan, D.Plath (ed.). Leiden: E.J.Brill, pp. 64–74.

The Japanese medical system Norbeck, Edward and Lock, Margaret (eds.). (1987) Health, Illness and Medical Care in Japan: Cultural and Social Dimensions. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. Powell, Margaret and Anesake Masahira. (1990) Health Care in Japan. London and New York: Routledge.

Japanese Christianity and social activism Bamba. N. and Howes, J. (eds.). (1978) Pacifism in Japan: the Christian and Socialist Tradition. Kyoto: Minerva Press. Best, Ernest. (1966) Christian Faith and Cultural Crisis: The Japanese Case. Leiden: E.J.Brill. Brawley, Brendan R. (1966) Christianity and the Japanese. Maryknoll, New York: Maryknoll Publications. Caldarola, Carlos. (1973) “Non-Church Christianity in Japan: Western Christianity and Japan’s Cultural Identity”, The International Journal of Contemporary Sociology, 10(4): 236–47. ——. (1979) Christianity: The Japanese Way. Leiden: E.J.Brill. Drummond, Richard H. (1971) A History of Christianity in Japan. Grand Rapids, Michigan: William B.Eerdmans Publishing Co. Kagawa, Toyohiko (translated by William Axling). (1934) Christ and Japan. New York: Friendship Press. Kishimoto, Hideo (translated and adapted by John F.Howes). (1956) Japanese Religion in the Meiji Period. Tokyo: Obunsha. Koyonagi, Nobuaki. (1991). “Yoseba no Kirisutoshatachi—Sono ayami to kadai (Christians in the Yoseba: their steps and tasks)”, Yoseba, 4:131–47. Moore, Ray, (ed.) (1981) Culture and Religion in Japanese-American Relations: Essays on Uchimura Kanzo, 1861–1930. Michigan Papers on Japanese Studies, 5. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Center for Japanese Studies. Phillips, James M. (1981) From the Rising of the Sun: Christians and Society in Contemporary Japan. American Society of Missiology Series, 3. Maryknoll, New York: Orbis Books. Picken, Stuart D.B. (1983) Christianity in Japan: Meeting, Conflict, Hope. Tokyo: Kodansha. Powles, Marjorie. (1987) “Japanese Women and the Church”, The Japanese Christian Quarterly, 53(1): 5–14.

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Christian missionaries in Japan Hine, Leland D. (1969) Axling, a Christian Presence in Japan. Valley Forge: Judson Press. Howes, John F. (1965) “Japanese Christians and American Missionaries”, from Changing Japanese Attitudes Towards Modernization, M.Jansen (ed.). Princeton: University of Princeton Press. Powles, Marjorie A. (1993) To a Strange Land: The Autobiography of Marjorie Agnes Powles. Dundas, Ontario: Artemis Enterprises.

4 Taking action Profiles of Kotobuki volunteer groups

When discussing social marginality in Kotobuki, one must examine the social problems that contribute to peripheral status. Solutions to these social problems are the long- and short-term goals of Kotobuki volunteer groups: namely, support for those marginalized, and public education about the myths and realities of social issues. There are volunteers groups working for the elderly, the handicapped, the homeless, and so on. Each group confronts a social problem (like aging, poverty, alcoholism, for example) and tries to examine the obstacle without attributing blame to the individual. There are other marginal groups in Japan whose interests are not explicitly represented in Kotobuki though many may live there: the burakumin (the “untouchable” caste), the indigenous Ainu, and the survivors of the Nagasaki and Hiroshima atomic bombings, for example. These people, due to ritual, ethnic and physical discrimination, are disadvantaged in greater Japanese society and experience discrimination in their personal and professional lives. These marginalized Japanese have also organized themselves to promote their social and economic advancement.1 Disadvantaged people are also represented in Kotobuki but these groups are often headed by “outsiders”. A Protestant minister runs the foreign laborers’ support group, Tokyo University students run the medical team, and a former photographer is the head of the labor union. These volunteer groups are run by non-residents (or residents who have recently entered the community from “mainstream” communities). These volunteer groups illustrate the strategy of cooperation between “insiders” and “outsiders” to build a more effective presence inside and outside the yoseba. In this sense, volunteer groups in Kotobuki represent an example of inter-class and inter-ethnic relations as a strategy for social change. Volunteer activity in Japan is not altogether rare. However, volunteering in the Kotobuki context differs from other groups because

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of the inter-class, inter-ethnic relationship between the volunteers and the clients. Though Ben-Ari’s recent study of two western Japanese suburbs describes volunteer activity as important to the suburban community, these activities are primarily in the area of care of the local elderly (Ben-Ari, 1991:147–60), and take place in “not a poor neighborhood” (p. 37). Activities here do not generally cross social boundaries of race or class, and there is the expectation that volunteers contributing to the welfare of members of their own community can expect future benefits. Voluntary action in Japan is not uncommon in a reciprocal context; however, it is more unusual in the “cross-over”, inherently unequal context of Kotobuki. Before describing the Kotobuki volunteer groups, a discussion of Japanese concepts of the “group” as a social entity will help illuminate many of the social dynamics of the volunteer/resident relationship and social marginality in general, for membership in a group defines a person’s social status. Japan has often been called a “group society” because the Japanese sense of group identity is thought to be strongly developed. As introduced in the first chapter, Nakane Chie’s “group model” of Japanese society posits that a group where membership is based on the situational position of individuals within a common frame tends to become a closed world. Inside it, a sense of unity is promoted by means of the members’ total emotional participation, which further strengthens group solidarity. (Nakane, 1970:23)

Within the group, Nakane argues that members make a total commitment to their group; “an individual or a group has always one single distinctive relationship to the other” (p. 21). The Kotobuki volunteer groups share some of these characteristics. People act under the guise of “groups” more often than they do as individuals; Kotobuki volunteers feel they belong to a group and use the word menba (“member”) to describe their relationship to the organization. Volunteers do not like to refer to themselves as individual actors. For example, every month members of the Iryohan (medical team) went around the doya with handbills, advertising the date, time and place of the medical check-up. Volunteers had to ask permission from the doya manager to hang the bill in the lobby. This request was always prefaced by, “Excuse me for bothering you but I am from the Iryohan (“Sumimasen, iryohan no mono desu ga)”. The Japanese word mono literally means “person”; members feel they are more effective

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when perceived to be a “person of a group”. This affiliation with a group in Kotobuki is important when considering that most volunteers come from outside the yoseba and need an identifying concept to root them in the Kotobuki context. An important aspect of the group model is the appearance of harmony. Members of the same group should present a united front. This not always the case in Kotobuki. Unlike Nakane’s model, membership in volunteer groups does not entail a single commitment to a single group. The boundaries between the volunteer groups are blurred; few belong to only one group. Commitment to the cause is the only distinct attribute of the volunteers of these groups. THE GROUPS This chapter contains a description of 10 volunteer groups and the local labor union. It includes a discussion of their goals, activities and institutional structures. This is not a complete listing of all the social programs in Kotobuki and the Yokohama area,2 but rather an account of the groups which appeared most active. Also, I did not necessarily choose which groups to work with; rather, the groups “chose” me as a volunteer and an observer, and I went to every meeting, activity and party to which I was invited. I entered groups whose membership included those with any combination of the following attributes: female, in the twenties to thirties age group, or Christian.3 I was 28 when I began volunteering fulltime in Kotobuki, and my Western status qualified me as a “Christian” despite my lack of a single church affiliation. These Kotobuki groups are not self-sufficient, independent units. Volunteers work in cooperation with many public, governmentsponsored groups and private organizations, such as churches and selforganized citizens’ groups around Yokohama and the Tokyo metropolitan area. Mutual cooperation leads to blurred boundaries between the groups, and flexible identities. Though volunteers may focus their energies in one group or take leadership positions in a single group, rarely are volunteers affiliated with only one group. Often, the most committed and powerful people in a group are those involved to some extent with the most groups and their activities. Kotobuki-cho chiku senta: Kotobuki-cho community center Though called a “community center”, this group is not be confused with the chonaikai, or the Japanese neighborhood association. The

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neighborhood association plays an important role in community life in urban Japan and this is documented by Bestor (1985 and 1989) and Hendry (1987, 1995). Association activities include organizing festivals, protection of the community through fire prevention activities and support to members during times of difficulty, as in funerals. However, the staff of the Kotobuki Community Center leave the general organization of community activity to the Labor Union4 and concern themselves with more personal activities in the neighborhood. The Community Center has two main goals. As its name suggests, it tries to create a sense of solidarity and belonging to reduce the isolation and loneliness that accompany the residents’ poverty. The second goal is education: to raise the consciousness first in the Japanese Christian community and second in mainstream Japanese society. However, most of its day-to-day activities focus on the emotional well-being of the elderly, handicapped and poor residents in the area. The Center, funded by the United Church of Christ in Japan (UCCJ), is staffed by one paid manager, and Japanese Christian volunteers.5 The Community Center is run by a council of church leaders and has a committee chairperson (during the period of field-work, the job was filled by a minister from Fujisawa, a wealthy suburb to the west of Yokohama), but these administrative leaders rarely show up in Kotobuki. The manager runs the center’s daily business on her own. Though the Community Center is overtly supported by a Christian organization, there is no religious activity in the Community Center’s programs. The Community Center is not a church or a mission and uses no Christian titles or programs to express its religious identity. The UCCJ plays a more administrative role rather than a financially supportive one. In 1990, the Center operated on an income of 5,266,480 yen, but most of the income was generated through donations made directly to the Center and through churches in Kanagawa Prefecture. The Community is personified by the manager, a woman in her late thirties named Ishii Sachiko. Ishii is paid a very modest salary, about $17,000.00 annually, but she receives other benefits such as health insurance and a retirement pension. Ms Ishii’s formal job description would include: program coordinator, fund raiser, volunteer recruiter and information-giver to the general public; in reality, she is an informal counselor, friend to the residents of Kotobuki and an extra hand to help out with other groups’ jobs. The time she spends in the office is usually taken up by tasks such as maintaining address files, copying and folding newsletters and requests for donations, and stuffing of envelopes. She sends information about

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social problems in Kotobuki (problems of the aged, and discrimination against the handicapped and foreigners, for example) to individuals as well as churches and educational organizations. The Community Center work outside the office is often in cooperation with the Rojinkai, or Rojin Kurabu (the senior citizens’ club). The office sponsors a luncheon for the senior citizens once a month, and works with another church-affiliated group to provide two more luncheons a month. In total, three meals a month are served to Kotobuki residents at the low cost of 200 yen. The Community Center also coordinates luncheons at the workshop for the physically handicapped, bringing in a different group of church volunteers each time to prepare and serve four lunches a month. There is also a monthly bazaar during the spring and fall months where clothing and household goods are sold at very low prices (50 to 200 yen). The bazaars are held outdoors in the Kotobuki Park, facing the Seikatsukan. Volunteers also prepare foods such as suiton (dumpling soup) or yakisoba (fried noodles) which they sell at a nominal price. The bazaar goods are donated by church members (many of whom have never been to Kotobuki) and the Community Center receives the profits. The main purpose of the bazaar is not to raise money, for the financial gain is not substantial; rather, it is “fureai”, loosely translated as “human encounter”. The bazaar thus becomes an opportunity for the day-time residents of Kotobuki (in most cases, the elderly, a few women and the unemployed) to gather, eat a light meal and socialize with each other and the volunteers. The bazaars are like small-scale matsuri, or festivals, where residents have the chance to come out from their small doya rooms. The senior citizens’ luncheons, or shokujikai, have a similar purpose; they are an attempt to get the residents out of their isolated doya rooms, and to encourage interaction between residents and the volunteers. One Seikatsukan employee made the point that often residents of Kotobuki are ignored and treated like non-humans by the rest of society, so it is important to give them an opportunity to air their feelings and thoughts. The Community Center has especially close ties with Roba-no-Ie, a workshop for the mentally handicapped; in the early 1980s the two groups shared an office. Ms Ishii continues to support the workshop by selling their products at her office, and she attends all of the workshop activities and meetings. Church volunteers, especially those from a church in nearby Sakuragi-cho, participate regularly at both offices.

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Education is another area the Community Center makes a priority in its activities. There is a student educational program called seinenzemi, or “youth seminars”. Ms Ishii runs these activities and meetings for college students. These young people are recruited through churches, local universities and the women’s university in Tokyo, where the founder of the foreign laborers’ support group is a lecturer in religious studies. Every few months, students gather in Kotobuki and discuss topics such as homelessness and health problems with leaders of the volunteer community. For many, this is their initial chance to see the yoseba first hand. Though Ms Ishii is the “front” of the center, and often negotiates with outside organizations, inside Kotobuki she works in a one-on-one setting. She takes phone calls from residents who need a shoulder to lean on: an old man calls to tell her his ulcer is acting up; she tells him to take care of himself, to avoid spicy and salty food, and if he needs to go to the hospital, she’ll accompany him. For those who are already in the hospital, Ms Ishii visits them regularly and takes care of their affairs during their absence. Another phone call may be from a man who just wants to let her know he’s still going to the Kotobuki chapter of Alcoholics Anonymous. She praises his commitment and encourages him to continue. The Kotobuki-cho Community Center is not a professional counseling center, but its true value is found in the activities that address the social and emotional needs of the community, rather than the simple economic ones. Kalabaw-no-kai: the water buffalo association, or the foreign laborers’ support group “Kalabaw” is the Tagalog word meaning “water buffalo”, a symbol of labor in the Philippines. According to the group’s founder, the goal of Kalabaw is to “work and promote better understanding and friendship between the [foreign] workers who live here and the Japanese people…It also seeks to change Japanese policies and systems to protect the rights of foreign workers” (Jeffs, 1991:9). The organization, sponsored by both Protestant and Catholic churches and the local labor union, works to help with the legal, medical and other social problems of non-Japanese manual laborers. Until 1995, Kalabaw and the Community Center shared a common living room/kitchen of an ordinary residential apartment, but currently, as activities have expanded, the groups have separated and now have their own local offices.

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As the numbers of foreigner workers in Japan increase, Kalabaw has become one of the busiest offices in Kotobuki. Volunteers are trained in specialized counseling about immigration laws, union regulations and labor laws, and injury compensation benefits. Each day of the week is assigned to one tantosha (“person in charge”), who is responsible for phone counseling and paperwork. Several of the volunteers in prominent positions are clergy: a minister, a “lapsed” priest who works occasionally as a construction laborer, and two nuns were tantosha at Kalabaw during my stay in Kotobuki. The connection between the Catholic Church and the Filipino community in Kotobuki is strong, with many of the workers gathering at a nearby church for information exchange, support and an occasional basketball game. Like the Community Center, information exchange is an important function at Kalabaw. Kalabaw circulates phone numbers and gives introductions to people in need of services like shelters, hospitals and free legal advice. The office receives phone calls from places as far as Gumma Prefecture and Shizuoka Prefecture, for there are few organizations outside the metropolitan area that give foreigners guidance. A branch of Kalabaw has been opened recently in Sagamihara, a suburb of Tokyo. Kalabaw has been successful in helping laborers receive unpaid wages and compensation for hospital bills when injured at the workplace. Kalabaw recruits lawyers to take cases pro bono; a Kalabaw lawyer helped the father of the Filipino family (who was arrested on suspicion of drug dealing) avoid a prison term. The father was deported with his wife and three children; since the family was able to stay together, it was the best possible outcome for this case. Cultural support is another important goal of the group, because foreigners living in Japan often feel socially isolated. Many experience discrimination as members of an Asian society perceived as economically and socially inferior to Japan, and this can erode their sense of cultural pride. Kalabaw tries to overcome this by providing social entertainment for foreigners that celebrates different Asian cultures. The group sponsors cultural events like Korean pot luck dinners or performances of Filipino music and dance. Much like the Community Center bazaars, these cultural events also provide the “fureai”, or encounter between different cultures. While working for Kalabaw, I witnessed an incident that illustrated the ethical difficulties of volunteer counseling. The office received a telephone inquiry from a Pakistani man, and I was brought in for interpretation. Apparently his wife had “disappeared”, and he believed

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that the owner of the nightclub where she worked was involved. It is common for foreign women who work as entertainers or in the sex industry to be moved suddenly and forcibly by their bosses, so I was immediately concerned. I explained in Japanese to the other staff members what had happened; they quickly began searching for phone numbers of crisis centers for abused women, and other possible organizations that could offer help in finding his wife. While the others were preparing a list of phone numbers, I tried to pass the time by making conversation with him. He was terribly worried about his wife; the boss had been very angry when the club didn’t make a profit. I assured him that the Kalabaw staff was working to find ways to help him and his wife. He then said, “I know that if your people get involved, you will hear stories about my wife. Some said that I beat her, but you should know this is a lie. You must help me find her.” I was shocked. What if his wife had merely left him to escape abuse? Were we to help the attacker locate his victim? I stalled, put him on hold and told the staff members what he had said. Their work pace stopped and everyone exchanged glances. “Tell him he can lodge a complaint against the boss at complaints desk in the labor department [an office which in reality would do nothing to help an illegal foreigner], but otherwise we cannot do anything,” said the tantosha solemnly. The Kalabaw office would not get involved, for although they were willing to support illegal foreigners’ human rights, they were conscious of the feminist aspect of this particular case, and were unable to resolve the conflict. Conflict between two causes often brought a volunteer activity to a standstill. Volunteers could not bring them-selves to potentially hurt one person while helping another. Roba-no-Ie: the donkey house, or the mentally handicapped workshop This workshop for the mentally handicapped in the Kotobuki area is funded by the Yokohama city government but has a close relationship with many Protestant churches in Yokohama and the UCCJ. During the period of fieldwork, the highest-ranking “representative” of Roba-no-Ie was the same minister from Fujisawa, the chairman of the committee sponsoring the Kotobuki-cho Community Center. There are three staff positions; two women and a man oversee production in the workshop and work with seven other female church members who often are found at the Community Center.

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The primary activities of Roba-no-Ie are providing work and training for the mentally handicapped who are unable to work or are in between jobs. The work is creative: on the Roba-no-Ie premises, participants make soft soap from leftover bits of fat and lye, assemble sponges for cleaning dishes, and bake cookies, bread and pound cake to sell to the public. The training is not only in how to make these products, but also indirectly trains the members in working as a team and teaches them about responsibility at the workplace. Those who can work outside the premises receive help in job placement from the Roba-no-Ie. Some find part-time jobs such as janitors in shopping malls and cooks in noodle shops. Another activity is to educate the general public about welfare conditions and the abilities of the mentally handicapped, and to increase awareness about prejudice against the handicapped through publishing pamphlets and mailing them to UCCJ churches. The Roba-no-Ie volunteers also help staff a “group home” called Niji (“rainbow”); though the Roba-no-Ie helped found the home, the home now receives separate municipal funding. Seven men and women who are members of the workshop live in this assisted-living home, about 20 minutes away from Kotobuki proper. There are two apartments, each with separate bedrooms, a living room and a kitchen. The apartments are staffed by volunteers during the day and the early part of the evening, but the residents are on their own at night. I visited the women’s apartment, and the facilities were of high Japanese standards: small, but clean and new. It is difficult for people of unacceptable backgrounds (whether they are poor, handicapped, or both) to rent apartments in Japan, for housing laws allow the landlord to make arbitrary decisions about tenants. Also, the extraordinarily high cost of moving into an apartment keeps many people out of the mainstream housing market. To take an apartment in a mainstream area, the tenant must pay four to six months’ rent up front. Many Kotobuki residents cannot fulfill this requirement; thus the plethora of poor and welfare recipients in the day laborer settlements’ doya. In the Niji home, Roba-no-Ie acted as a sponsor and they were able to obtain contracts for decent housing that the handicapped could not get on their own. Roba-no-Ie has been successful in raising money and recently expanded, now renting two adjacent rooms in one building as offices. The group also sponsors social activities: monthly bazaars, dinners on Friday evenings, karaoke parties, and trips. Day trips are made throughout the year, but once a year the group goes on an overnight

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expedition. The excursion in 1992 was traveling by bus and ferry to a farm in Chiba Prefecture. We stayed over night at a Japanese-style hotel, and the evening was marked by a rowdy karaoke party and a serious ping-pong competition. The 1993 trip was to the Ise Grand Shrine with a stopover in Nagoya. The group traveled to central Honshu by bus but returned by Shinkansen, the super-fast “bullet” train; an exciting event for all members, who look forward to the trips every year. The workshop is not only a focus of their vocational training but also forms their social sphere. The Seikatsukan: the Gakudo (day care center) and counseling offices The Seikatsukan (literally the “livelihood hall”, but translated more loosely as a municipal welfare services building) is the headquarters for all the welfare activity in Kotobuki, a place where all groups can coordinate their activities. The Seikatsukan was opened in June 1965 and was the first municipal welfare services building in Kotobuki. In the years following, before the Labor Center was built, the Seikatsukan was not only the focus of all welfare services but also all neighborhood activity. In 1965, the building was only two stories tall, but expanded to four floors in June 1972. Many of the welfare and employment services the Seikatsukan used to offer have been moved to the Naka Ward Office and the Labor Center, but it still remains a center of social activity. The first floor serves as a pre-school day care center. It opens out into a fenced-in playground, and during the day time, the children’s voices can be heard in the streets. The female staff who work there are not volunteers, but municipal government employees. The children attending this pre-school center are not residents of Kotobuki but of surrounding areas like Ishikawa-cho. The young children of Kotobuki are cared for at the Fukushi Senta day care center. Though Kotobuki’s residents are poor, the area is relatively rich in welfare services like children’s day care; therefore, mothers in surrounding neighborhoods want to take advantage of Kotobuki’s available programs. On the second floor is a general counseling office, run by the Yokohama municipal government. This office provides counseling on the problems of the residents’ daily lives: unemployment, financial troubles and alcoholism top the list of complaints, and the four counselors are young men in their twenties and thirties who are trained as social workers. These workers provide an invaluable service to the residents, because often the Kotobuki residents are not aware of what

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is available to them. Even if they are, it is still easier for the residents to talk to the local social workers rather than to go directly to the other welfare organizations. The counselors listen to the residents’ problems and then try to make recommendations as to which welfare service, private or public, is appropriate to the individual. This office accepted applications for welfare payments until the Yokohama government moved the welfare office to the Ward Office in October 1974, soon after the opening of the Labor Center in the same year. City officials claimed that, since the Labor Center offered services such as job introductions and unemployment payments, there was sufficient assistance available in Kotobuki proper and activities of the welfare department were consolidated at the nearby Ward Office. Therefore, Seikatsukan counselors cannot make direct applications to the welfare department, but these employees are still important contributors to the welfare process. Once I visited the doya of a Filipina woman to check on her family; she was several months pregnant and had a minor substance abuse condition. That day, her three other children, all under the age of 5, were gathered around her semi-conscious figure, sitting quietly in the dark room so as not to wake her. Bowls of cold rice and a fried egg had been left for them earlier that morning by their father who had left for work, but the food was untouched. I went to the second floor to consult with the counselors. Within 20 minutes, a Seikatsukan employee had suggested several options for the mother, and gave me the phone numbers and application procedures for Narcotics Anonymous, a churchsponsored women’s drug rehabilitation center, and a temporary foster home for the children. In the short term, the counselor suggested I send the children to the Gakudo (day care center) upstairs until the mother’s condition was stabilized. This example shows what an important link the second floor office provides to the available services outside Kotobuki, which can be private, church-sponsored or public (organized on the prefectural, rather than municipal level). Continuing up the stairs, the third floor of the building houses the Gakudo Hoiku, or Gakudo, as it is commonly called, an after-school day care center for children of all ages from toddlers to junior high school students, funded by the city of Yokohama. The Gakudo, as well as the fourth floor offices, are funded by Kanagawa Prefecture, and are under the auspices of the Kotobuki Laborers’ Cooperative, which also has offices in the Labor Center.

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The third floor day care center operates from 1 p.m. to 6 p.m. every day but Monday. Their goal is to keep the children of the Kotobuki off the street and in school. There are no restrictions concerning the program; as long as the children are old enough to walk to the Seikatsukan and home again, they may participate. Even foreigners’ children are welcome; some of the children in the center are of Korean descent and two have Japanese-Filipino parentage. There is a nominal fee of 1,200 yen a month per child, but it is not uncommon for children to attend the school without paying the membership fee, leaving the center to depend entirely on public funds. The day care center, often called the Gakudo, is run by a middleaged unmarried man, nicknamed for a kind of furikake, or rice seasoning. He was a primary school teacher until he became ill and lost the ability to write with his right hand. After much practice and persistence, he learned to write with his left hand. These qualities of patience and perseverance make him an excellent director for the day care center. He lives with his parents outside Kotobuki, and spends his evenings tutoring the older students in the public housing complex. He is almost always on the last train home every night and is entirely devoted to the children of Kotobuki. The director is assisted by a younger man, and these two employees work with six volunteers: three members of the Iryohan, a church housewife, a Filipina nun and a single mother who lives above the Labor Center. The director and his assistant’s jobs are full-time: during the summer vacation, the Gakudo runs a day camp program with an overnight summer camping trip and regular trips to local swimming pools. Gakudo activities are restricted to after-school hours. On the fourth floor are facilities for residents of Kotobuki, especially those without housing: a television room, washers and dryers, showers and kitchen facilities. Here is the sodan madoguchi (“counseling window”) office, described in Chapter 2. Though most counseling takes place on the second floor, the fourth floor is the focus of social activity. Often the fourth floor employees’ responsibilities include breaking up the fights between men in the recreational room, and sometimes being called out to settle differences in the street as well. These four employees are regarded as fair mediators by most residents, for all despise the police who have a small station in Ishikawa-cho. The police generally try to ignore the area and its problems, concentrating on policing Kannai and Ishikawa-cho. This indifference benefits those breaking the law, and angers residents who have been wronged and seek legal retribution only to be ignored by the authorities. On the streets of Kotobuki, the

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police force is generally seen to be an enemy of all. The counselors of the Seikatsukan do not take the police’s place; nor do the yakuza police the streets. Rather, the counselors’ jurisdiction exists as an option for those who wish to take it; others turn to different networks to solve conflict. Residents depend on volunteers for preliminary legal advice, as in the case of Kalabaw free legal services. The Seikatsukan fourth floor office is also active in this area and, for example, works to help a Kotobuki laborer, “Shin-chan” whom they believe is wrongly accused of murdering another laborer. One of the fourth floor counselors, Mr Nakai, is heading the campaign to help the defendant and his group is trying to locate witnesses for the appeal. Nakai visits the prisoner and brings presents of food and clothing bought with volunteer donations. The committee rallies support for him by attending the court hearings and circulating petitions that proclaim his innocence. In 1994, the employees of this office consisted of four men: two middle-aged and two men in their early thirties. Current employees as well as past employees hold respected positions in both volunteer and residents’ groups. This office attracts committed people who take their work seriously and have long-lasting ties to the area. Nanachan, a divorced volunteer in her fifties, is a former employee. She brought up her two children on her own in Kotobuki’s government housing and is now working at the foster home for Kotobuki children in the Shizuoka countryside. Mr Arakawa, a current employee, is the head of the residents’ committee (juminkondankai). This committee was formed for the purpose of mediation when various groups from Kotobuki come together to discuss problems or need to cooperate on larger projects. Mr Fukuoka, another employee in his mid-forties, is the chairperson of the Kotobuki labor union committee (kumiai iincho). In late 1993, Mr Arakawa decided to quit his job and the entire community was concerned about his replacement. Because of the respect which is associated with this position, volunteers worried about who would get the job and possibly take control of many of the volunteer activities. Since his leaving would have created a vacuum, Mr Arakawa waited until a suitable replacement could be found. One cannot underestimate the importance of this building in the Kotobuki volunteer and resident community; it is the heart of social activism and practical support for all people of this yoseba. In March of 1996, a long-time resident, member of the senior citizens’ club, and friend of volunteers and residents alike, died in a nearby hospital after

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a massive stroke; his memorial service was held on the third floor of the Seikatsukan. The Fukushi Senta: (welfare center) and the Rojinkai (senior citizens’ club) The building known as the Fukushi Senta is a public welfare office, funded by Kanagawa Prefecture, and was opened in July 1968. Like the Seikatsukan, the Fukushi Senta serves as one of the main gathering places for other welfare groups because it has good facilities: a spacious meeting room, a large kitchen and enough dishes, chopsticks and tea cups to serve a meal to up to 60 guests in one sitting. The Fukushi Senta administrative office is staffed by a man and a woman who are experts in alcohol and drug abuse counseling. Here, the director is planning the construction of a Kotobuki day care facility (to be called ARC, or the Alcoholic Recovery Center), with the help of the local chapter of Alcoholics Anonymous. Also on the first floor is another children’s day care center, separate from the first floor center in the Seikatsukan. Preschool children who live in Kotobuki are eligible for this program. Upstairs is the senior citizens’ club office. The senior citizens’ club (in Japanese, the Rojinkai or the Rojin Kurabu) was founded in August 1972. The club organizes outings, parties, makes visits to the bedridden and provides a support group for the elderly living in Kotobuki-cho. Financed by members’ dues and fundraising activities, the club is one of the most active groups in the yoseba, with 110 members in 1992. This is the largest active membership of any resident group in Kotobuki, but the Rojinkai represents only a small part of the elderly population in Kotobuki. According to the welfare office approximately 1,000 people living in Kotobuki have been issued a senior citizens’ benefits card,6 showing that only a fraction of the senior citizens take part in club activities. Despite this fact, the club is a respected group in the community. The kaicho (“club chairperson”) is a welfare recipient in his seventies, living in a Kotobuki doya. He says that the senior citizens are the “heart” of the Kotobuki community, a claim that is reflected in the senior citizens’ commitment to neighborhood improvement. At 7.30 every morning, members circulate around Kotobuki, cleaning the streets. Other club activities include cleaning the park (once a week) and disinfecting the streets (hosing down the streets and side-walk with disinfectant mixed with water). The senior citizens work hard to make the area a more pleasant

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place to live, for it is probably their last home. They also work to improve the quality of life in Kotobuki through information exchange, education and social activities. The club makes available to the elderly population information and government benefits to which they are entitled. These may be free tickets to a nearby public bath or reduced-price tickets to performances of enka, traditional Japanese vocal music. Trips are the most popular activity; day trips are made frequently over the year, and about five overnight trips are planned during a one-year period. The club has traveled to the famous temples of Nikko and every year visits a mountain retreat in Tsukuba. The Kotobuki Rojinkai has an “exchange” relationship with the Rojinkai in Tsukuba, Ibaraki Prefecture, where the two groups meet and socialize twice a year. The Rojinkai is also concerned with “fureai” and sponsors frequent bazaars, much like the Community Center. The close relationship with the Community Center is further fostered by the shokujikai, and these luncheons are a weekly focal-point of the club’s activities. The kaicho notes that the portions are large enough that most people can take home some of the food for another meal at home. He said, “People come together not because 200 yen is so cheap, but because they want to be together”. The club also holds an evening dinner party once a month. As for other social activities, there are also shogi (Japanese chess) and haiku poetry composing parties at the Fukushi Senta. At the Kotobuki New Year’s celebration, the Rojinkai is often responsible for making the traditional mochi (soft glutinous rice cakes). The kaicho is proud of his club’s activities; he is scornful of the senior citizens of the Tokyo yoseba of San’ya who “just sit around and watch TV”. In the larger Osaka yoseba of Kamagasaki, where in 1992 the population was 30,000, there were no senior citizens’ organizations at all. Kotobuki’s Rojinkai is outstanding in its level of activity and solidarity, compared not only to other volunteer and welfare groups in Kotobuki, but also to other yoseba in Japan. The current kaicho has been a member of the club for 15 years; the previous chairperson had been in the position for 10 years, and as the kaicho said, it takes a long time for “things to change” in the club. The kaicho is a character: one of the few Kotobuki residents who can claim his shusshinchi or place of birth as Yokohama; he was actually born and raised near Kannai Station. He inherited his family restaurant business, married and had children, but gradually lost touch with his family as he spent much of his time gambling. Kaicho spent much of his adult life as a professional mah-jong player, working up and down the coast from Tokyo to the Izu Peninsula. After losing his money he returned

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to Yokohama, but he chose to live alone in Kotobuki, where he has become the most refined and dignified personage. Looking at him direct volunteers at a luncheon, one would never guess at his colorful past! Other members include a man in his seventies who is crazy for “gate ball”, a game similar to croquet, and plays in neighborhood leagues nearly every day. There is a 91-year-old member who has been in the club for 18 years. Ninety percent of the members of the club are men; women of any age are few in Kotobuki, so it is expected that there are few elderly female members, despite the fact that most of the elderly population in Japan are women. There are no other recognized positions in the club except for the kaicho, but there appears to be a group of five men who make up a “subcommittee” for the chairperson. These men perform important jobs for the club such as taking money at the shokujikai, cleaning the office and representing the club at conferences. These five men also spend much time socializing in the club office, and cigarettes, coffee and various crackers and cookies are always available to this group and their guests. The relationship between the Rojinkai and the Christian housewives’ volunteer groups seems to be close, though few, if any, of the senior citizens are Christians. Often Kotobuki residents resent “do-gooders”, especially religious ones, but the senior citizens’ club members are on close terms with the church-going volunteers who cook and serve their luncheons. Church members also participate in the bazaars, donating items and helping set up the goods on the side of the street. Christian housewives call the elderly men “o-ni-san” (“big brother”) affectionately, and the men bring the women little cups of strong black coffee as they work. The club works hard to improve the members’ standard of living, but there have been set-backs. The club’s long-term goal was to create a day-time leisure center (Rojin Fureai Homu). Though the senior citizens of Kotobuki manage on their meager combinations of welfare, savings and disability payments, they must stay in the cheapest doya to make ends meet on their fixed income. These rooms are among the smallest and dirtiest in town, so the elderly need a place to spend their days, away from the claustrophobic loneliness of the doya. Construction on the home began in 1991, but was halted when the funding for the project was cut, due to the recession. In the lot in the center of Kotobuki the steel framework from the initial construction still stands, frozen in time. The setback of this project is extremely discouraging to the kaicho and other members of the club, but the other daily and weekly projects keep the men focused on smaller successes.

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The chonaikaikan: (the neighborhood association) As previously noted, this building known as the chonaikaikan does not house a neighborhood association, for one does not exist in Kotobuki. However, the building is used for community purposes, and probably for lack of a better name, the term stuck and everyone around town calls this two-storey, pre-fabricated building the chonaikaikan. The first floor is one large room used for communal meals and meetings of other groups. The building is also used for storage; piled up against the walls are futon, blankets, extra tables and the musical instruments belonging to the local kids’ amateur rock band. The second floor has separate offices: the medical team, the Thursday Night Patrol for the homeless and the local chapter of the day laborers’ union. Kotobuki Iryohan: (the Kotobuki medical team) During the period of fieldwork the Iryohan was run by two Tokyo University students, assisted by doctors, nurses, young professionals, employees from the Seikatsukan, and other students. Regularly contributing members in 1992–94 numbered approximately 14. The medical team’s office was originally located in one of the three rooms above the chonaikaikan’s ground floor, but in 1993, the medical team and its neighbor, the Thursday Night Patrol, found their offices too confining and decided to break down the wall dividing the two and share the space. The team is staffed entirely by volunteers and funded through “self-donations”: money from the members and their acquaintances and connections. The Iryohan has no institutional funding or affiliations. The main service the team offers is a free medical consultation. When I began working with the team, they met every second Wednesday of each month from six to eight o’clock in the evening, but in 1994 decided to change consultation time to Sunday afternoons, which allowed more of the working members to participate. Most of their clients are construction workers, and some are elderly residents. Other clients include illegal foreign workers, who do not qualify for national health insurance. Aside from the monthly consultation, the team holds daily clinics during special periods such as the summer festival and winter welfare activities. Other activities of the group include writing referrals to hospitals for clients who need more serious attention, regular visits to hospitalized patients and opening up lines of communication between patients and case workers. “Follow-up” is an important concept; the clients with

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more serious problems should not come and go through the consultation. The team wants to build a stable relationship with clients, and help them sustain a living situation amenable to getting the medical attention they need. Usually there is only one doctor, medical graduate student or medical secretary present at these consultations. The rest of the volunteers have some knowledge of the symptoms of diabetes, high blood pressure, liver damage and tuberculosis, the main afflictions of Kotobuki residents. Because facilities, supplies and medical know-how are severely limited, the consultation is more an information session than a true medical examination. Volunteers are trained to take blood pressure and ask questions relevant to serious medical conditions. If any of the clients give answers that suggest serious problems, the client is taken to the doctor or medical student for a closer examination. The doctor cannot give medical treatment on site, but can suggest remedies, give out prescription and non-prescription medications, and recommend a visit to the welfare office or hospital if the condition is serious enough. The medical supplies come from two sources: those given as donations from the Yokohama city government during the year-end welfare activities; or those bought or donated by people who work in hospitals or clinics. Since many volunteers have no professional medical training, their goal is not to give treatment, but to give laborers a chance to talk to a willing listener about any topic. The bulk of the clients do not go through all of the tests and examinations available. Most come to have their blood pressure taken, and then the volunteers open up the conversation with, “So how’s your health?”, “Eating right?” and “Working regularly?” Most of the clients are not sick, but are looking for a sympathetic ear. I often sat at the front counter, a stethoscope hanging around my neck, listening to the laborers’ stories but taking no notes on their medical charts, for their narratives were mostly about how terrible their bosses were to them or how to cook certain provincial dishes. I heard stories from foreign workers: how homesick they were, how many children they had at home. I was shown pictures of wives and babies, and told stories in regional dialects that I didn’t understand. But it was not always easy counseling clients. Often they came drunk, and knowing this was their chance to get some attention, used obscene gestures and language with the female volunteers. Usually these clients were not violent; mostly, the obscene stories were punctuated with giggles and guffaws. Still, it was frustrating and insulting to the female staff. Sexual harassment was no small problem with the Iryohan because

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nearly half of the medical team’s staff were young, single women. There was an official medical team policy that sexual harassment was not to be tolerated, and if a client behaved disrespectfully, he was asked to leave. It was common for male staff to make efforts to monitor the women’s consultations. These problems were not soon solved, however, and sexual harassment was perhaps one of the factors that led to what one of the Tokyo University leaders called the “autocratization” of the Iryohan over the course of the year 1992–93. The team’s finances were healthy, thanks to a successful fundraising effort during the New Year period. More and more doctors were participating, making the medical consultations more professional, more “medical” and less social. I, too, was more comfortable keeping to the simple, medical questions which left little room for dirty looks and jokes. But this interviewing style led to an assembly-line atmosphere where clients were shuttled in and out. The leaders called a special meeting to re-direct attention to the primary motive: personal communication. There was more personal and professional friction between Iryohan members than in any other group, but there were so many problems to deal with. The team leaders were both men, who sometimes left the concerns of women behind. There were also divisions between students and professionals; the doctors and professionals had much less free time than the students. This put a strain on the students to take more responsibility, perhaps more than they were equipped to deal with. Disagreements were not always apparent during the consultations and official group meetings, but seen after each monthly consultation, when the members had a late dinner together with more than a few beers. However, the medical team was instrumental in giving immediate medical care and advice to residents and passers by, making its activities a necessary and vital part of the volunteer community. SABAY: foreign mothers’ group SABAY means “together” in Tagalog, and the group’s long-term goal is to create a self-help, independent community among the foreigners living in the Kotobuki area. At first, the focus of the group was on the Filipina community (thus the Tagalog name), but as time went on, Korean and Thai women also joined, making the group an international mothers’ group.7 The desire of the founders was to create a network to enable foreign women’s economic, medical and social problems to be solved within their own community rather than depending on Japanese

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institutions for support. In the short run, the group wished to educate women on their own health, their babies’ health, child care and other maternal issues. At the outset of SABAY’s formation, activities centered around meetings with volunteer “staff” and the foreign women “members”. These meetings were structured in three parts: monthly weighing, measuring and a brief examination of the children by the doctor; play time for the children and socializing for the mothers; and a lecture by the doctor or midwife on a chosen topic: nutrition, vaccinations, breast-feeding, etc. The staff doctor and midwife also made home visits for women who had just given birth and others who were not able to attend. A year or so into the group’s existence, members had moved away from a central area, and SABAY’s activities were all performed in home visits. Accomplishments of SABAY include a continuing vaccination program against tuberculosis, diphtheria and polio and facilitating the entrance of Filipino children to the Gakudo day care program. SABAY received recognition and funding by the Kanagawa Prefectural International Exchange Committee in June of 1993, with an award of 100,000 yen. My participation in this group is notable because my involvement with other volunteer activities was with groups already established and run by other people. SABAY was founded in February 1993, and I was able to be a part of the formation process and become a “founding member”. For the first time, I could directly observe the difficulties of starting up a volunteer group. This group was formed when a young doctor named Hashimoto, a Filipina nun and four female members of the Iryohan decided to start another group. After the 1992–93 New Year’s activities, certain limitations of the Iryohan became clear. They were twofold: first, the Iryohan did not confront the medical needs of women in the community, especially women of childbearing age. Second, though the Iryohan does publish information in Hangul and Tagalog for the foreigners, their main clientele and their focus are Japanese laborers. Since most of the younger women in Kotobuki are foreign women, the problems intersected; what Kotobuki needed was a women’s health group that was sensitive to cultural differences. This group also came into being for personal reasons. The female members of the Iryohan had gradually become more and more frustrated with the male-dominated power structure of the medical team. By starting our own group, for women and by women, we were able to take organizationally powerful positions and avoid the unpleasantness of sexual harassment by having an all-female clientele. The group’s

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founding staff consisted of only one male member: Dr Hashimoto was a doctor of internal medicine, active in the Iryohan and had traveled many times to the Philippines. His wife gave birth to their first child during the formation of this group, which probably instigated his keen interest in pre- and postnatal health care. Other members included a Japanese-Korean midwife; Christina, a Filipina nun and social worker; Naomi, a university employee; and Yoko, a college student.8 We all knew each other from activities with the Iryohan. The office shared by the medical team and the Thursday Night Patrol was soon made available to us on the last Sunday afternoon of the month, an open time slot. But SABAY members voted early on not to invite other Iryohan members to join or even attend the group’s meetings. The first reason given was that most Filipinas were shy by nature and not used to discussing personal issues such as pregnancy and breastfeeding in front of strangers, especially men. But I felt that another reason was that members of SABAY, though still part of the Iryohan, wanted to establish an identity of their own, separate from the parent group. Though the focus of the group is the health and welfare of mothers and their children, often the group finds itself involved in other nonrelated activities, such as helping Filipinas go through bureaucratic and legal processes necessary to leave Japan and return to their homes. Flexibility is a characteristic of almost all the volunteer groups in Kotobuki. Volunteers cannot predict the needs of clients, nor can they turn away a request if it is within their power to help. SABAY may continue to change, responding to the needs of its clients. It is a young group, still in its growing stages, finding its niche within the Kotobuki foreigner population. Christina, the nun/social worker, knew 12 Filipina living in three different doya in Kotobuki: some married with children, others single, and these were our preliminary members. In 1993, there were four mothers who participated regularly in the activities with four volunteers. The Filipinas were often temporary members, participating until their problems were solved or they returned home. We were constantly saying goodbye at group meetings. Mokuyo Patororu: Thursday Night Patrol This support group for the homeless is staffed by unpaid volunteers and funded by donations from volunteers and their supporters. This group has strong organizational ties with churches: the Baptist church nearby,

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as well as churches in Kawasaki. The group takes its name from patrols they perform in the area around Kotobuki, Kannai Station and the Yokohama Stadium (see Figure 2.1). On patrol, staff meet and talk with homeless people, passing out hot soup, blankets and clean underwear. In one night, the patrol usually meets with from 70 to 130 homeless people. The homeless around Kotobuki are almost entirely men; during my fieldwork I met only two homeless women (an elderly woman with a dog—not allowed in the doya—and a middle-aged woman who appeared to have a psychological disorder). The group’s ideological goal is to compel Japanese society to recognize the existence and the humanity of homeless people. The patrol makes a record of the homeless’ numbers, where they sleep and the details of their conversations with volunteers. This record is kept in the office and about twice a year the figures and other information are published in a pamphlet that is sent to volunteers, participating churches and schools. These records are important because so many homeless are overlooked by government censuses. The patrol circulates from November to March, on every Thursday night. Midway through my fieldwork, a new patrol began going out on the second Tuesday of each month; in cooperation with the Iryohan, patrol members pass out handbills advertising the medical consultation. The patrol reconvenes for a month-long summer session in July, during Japan’s rainy season. Rain often means no work, so the numbers of homeless increase during this period. Participation in the patrol is limited because of the difficult hours; many volunteers work, so that few can arrive before 6 or 7 in the evening. After volunteers gather, there is a preliminary meeting where members discuss the last week’s patrol and allocate materials and areas to be covered that evening. Often the patrol sets out at 9 p.m., sometimes later. Depending on the numbers encountered and the length of conversations, some patrols don’t return until after 11 or 11.30 p.m. This makes participation difficult for those who live far from Kotobuki or in Tokyo, because they cannot make their last connection on the public transportation system before midnight. Timing is very important for the patrol and dictates who can and cannot participate. There is an organizational committee for the group that acts as a mediator with sponsoring churches, but the actual patrol is led by the young Seikatsukan employee Mr Nakai (also an Iryohan member) and Mr Matsuo, a quiet, middle-aged, Christian white-collar office worker. Mr Nakai lives in Kotobuki and can stay out as late as necessary to make the rounds; he is the mainstay of the group. He and Matsuo run

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the meetings, keep the records and, at the end of the meeting, organize 11 regular members (four of whom are Kotobuki residents) into three parties to patrol the area most effectively. A party should have at least three members: one to carry the blankets, which can be bulky; one to carry the soup but mainly to greet the homeless and sensitively to begin conversations with them; and another to unobtrusively write down the number of homeless, their locations and highlights of their conversations for the patrol’s record. When there aren’t enough volunteers, the person carrying the soup also takes notes. It is important that the person making contact with the homeless is focused entirely on that activity. The patrol members do not want to appear as reporters interested only in recording information. The fureai should come first. Though volunteers distribute material goods to the homeless, the soup and the blankets are only a means to open up the lines of communication. According to Nakai, the most important job of the Mokuyo Patrol is just talking to the homeless and letting them know not all Japanese dismiss them. In our conversation, he referred to an incident in February of 1983, when a group of junior high school students killed a homeless man who was sleeping outdoors in central Yokohama’s Yamashita Park. When asked why they killed the man, the students replied that the homeless people in general were not human beings and had no right to live. This incident was the stimulus for the formation of the Mokuyo Patrol.9 The Patrol is similar to the Iryohan, where the volunteers have direct contact with the residents, but there is an important difference in the quality of the interaction. At the medical consultation, the residents come to the Iryohan seeking services; at the patrol, the volunteers go to the homeless. Not all desire the volunteers’ services. The patrol’s policy is not to wake sleeping homeless; if a whispered “good evening” does not rouse the person, then the patrol moves on. Even those who are awake are not always hospitable to the patrol’s attempts to communicate. They desire privacy and are not interested in becoming another bit of data for the volunteers’ chart. The men who do wish to talk tell stories that are fascinating, for the homeless have tales to tell unlike any others in Kotobuki. They talk of the shadows of the public parks after hours, painful burns from fireworks set off as high school students’ pranks, and the anger felt after weeks of work to find the yakuza have taken all their wages. Often they have come from far-off places like Kita-Kyushu and Hokkaido; their journeys from their homes to Kotobuki include many adventures. One man had worked in an elegant hot-spring spa hotel in the Izu

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Peninsula, until he injured his back. Then he worked only occasionally, depending on his physical condition. He had children who lived on a farm that he still owned in Hokkaido, but he was too proud to contact them. “They’re fine on their own, and I’m fine right here”, he said sadly. Becoming homeless is a gradual process, where the individual slowly grows farther away from his or her family and institutions such as jobs or schools. Failed personal relationships and degenerative physical and psychological ailments are also causes for the downward slide to homelessness. Many homeless are ill, some too ill to work but most not sick enough to be hospitalized. A bad back, a poorly healed broken arm or the loss of vision in one eye due to an accident are common conditions. Healthy homeless men are working during the day time as laborers; others are looking for work with varying degrees of success. Very few homeless do not claim to be actively seeking work. Public opinion of homelessness in Japan is that of indifference. The homeless are thought to choose their plight in order to escape the ties that bind, such as jobs, taxes and mortgages. The homeless appear to live a carefree life, not bound by social convention. This reasoning implies that the homeless have various choices in making their decisions; but the gradual social and economic decline that is associated with becoming homeless cuts down the number of choices the individual can make. There is often no choice but to sleep outdoors. Indifference leads to a lack of compassion for the homeless. It is thought that because the homeless choose their condition, they do not need pity. Japanese students I taught at a Tokyo college admitted that before discussing homelessness in a seminar, they had thought that: “The homeless like sleeping outside and don’t like to work”, “They are lazy, and usually drunk” and “Homeless people could work, if they took the initiative”. Also, since the homeless are often sick and injured, Japanese feel they pose a health threat to the general public. It is true that some homeless people are infected with tuberculosis, but the public’s contact with the homeless is so little, the only people at real risk of contagion are other homeless men and volunteers. The “health risk” factor is another way the public shuns contact with the homeless and avoids responsibility for the problem. With this kind of thinking, there is little regard for the homeless in the general population, thus the occurrence of incidents such as the 1983 Yokohama homeless murder. The patrol wants to change this view, so that homeless people are seen only as people without homes and money, with no moral judgements. As an example of the status quo

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attitude, I quote an investigative television show called Kon’ya Mo Kokishin, which broadcast a documentary on homelessness in Tokyo, focusing on the areas of Shinjuku Station and Yoyogi Park. The host concluded: We have an overly-fed, wasteful society which supports the homeless’ lifestyle. People realize they can live on the street off of our garbage. They are attracted to the lonely freedom. People choose to be homeless. This happens only in cities, not in the countryside; it is the fault of our wasteful city ways that support these people. (Fuji Television, April 26, 1992)

This announcer’s opinion is yet another example of the ideology against which the patrol fights. Kotobuki Hiyatoi Rodosha Kumiai: Kotobuki day laborers’ union The labor union in Kotobuki is last on this list of groups, but not because the union did not participate in volunteer affairs; in fact, the union officials were close friends and supporters of all the volunteer groups. The union is important in the volunteer community because union officials always take a leading role in major volunteer activities. The kumiai (union) is always at the forefront in any inter-group volunteer activity, as many volunteer groups turn to the union for support and guidance. However, the union is not a volunteer group like the others listed in that it does not recruit outside members or support from private organizations. The labor union is theoretically the most powerful organization in Kotobuki, because it is supported by the greatest number of residents in the community: day laborers. But in reality, the union was not very active in the period I did fieldwork. Formerly, the union had been involved with negotiations on behalf of laborers whose wages were unpaid. They had stood up to yakuza who cheated laborers and they had run the Iryohan. I was told there used to be between 10 and 15 active members of the union board, but during my fieldwork, there were only three men running the union (four, if you counted the often absent chairman). The union is officially led by Fukuoka, the Seikatsukan employee, but he was so busy with his job and various projects, I rarely saw him in the union office. The unofficial leader of the union is Sa-chan, “sa” being the first syllable of his surname; no one called him by his first name. He is in his forties, and originally from Kyushu. He has a heavy

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mustache and lives with his wife and children in an apartment in Kawasaki, north of Yokohama. He works sporadically at construction work; most of his time is spent at the union office. His wife works to support their family. Sa-chan is unlike most laborers, for he appears soft-spoken and serious. Once he surprised me when walking through the woods on a senior citizens’ club outing by identifying different plants that were growing along the road; had he studied botany before he came to Kotobuki? He wouldn’t say. He makes a good leader because he presents a positive image to the outside world; he is not crass or loud, and is the type that makes a good impression in negotiations with the municipal labor department. His cohort, “Non-chan”, is a different kind of person. Non-chan is large, loud and cheerful; his lack of niceties is forgiven because he is so fun to be with. Non-chan tells jokes and rallies the group’s spirits when people are tired or bored. He works regularly as a manual laborer and lives alone in a doya. The labor union in Kotobuki is powerful because of its reputation. The union had once been a place where things got done; the union was part of the larger labor union and received support from the larger organization. But recession in the construction industry weakened the positions of both the individual laborer and his union. The power of the Kotobuki labor union has declined along with the weakening power of the other chapters of the union in Tokyo and Osaka. An example of this is a halt in activity: the inter-chapter cooperative, based in Tokyo, used to publish handbooks of information for the laborers every year, but this stopped in 1988. Lack of funds, lack of interest and internal discord make progress difficult. In the early 1990s, laborers felt lucky just to find work and didn’t have the time or energy to try to improve their work conditions. Despite this apparent apathy at the national level, the Kotobuki chapter still attempts to stay active and take a leadership position in affairs concerning the laborers. The labor union take the helm of the community at focal points in the volunteer activity calendar, especially during the important New Year’s activities and the summer festival. The union men are the busiest during these activities, so often they leave the cleaning up and other follow-up care to others, creating resentment on the part those who pick up the slack. Therefore, though their leadership qualities are well-developed, the union’s sense of responsibility is seen by some volunteers to be less substantial. Other groups, despite differences in method, fall in line behind the union. In the long run, everyone’s goals are similar: helping the residents.

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Preserving harmony in personal relationships within the volunteer community is considered more important than personal power struggles. Including the union in this section may be questioned for, as previously mentioned, it is not really a volunteer group in the true sense of the word. I could not join the union because I was not a laborer; but I could not join the Rojinkai or Roba-no-Ie because I was neither elderly nor handicapped. However, the latter groups recruited volunteers to help the groups’ members and organize the groups’ activities. Technically, the labor union did not need volunteers; they were supposed to be a self-supported, independent organization. Outsiders were allowed to help out, and I was often asked to run errands for union officials but I was never asked to take any responsibility in the union’s affairs. The union office was open for consultation, but was run by a closed circle of people. However, the union was overloaded with responsibility and perhaps realized the necessity and value of volunteer labor (and also that they could not continue to depend on other groups for sporadic help; the Iryohan members most frequently clashed with the union on this point). After the 1992–93 New Year’s activities, Fukuoka recruited a group of volunteers who had attended the New Year’s event and the summer festival, and formed the Kotobuki Rodosha Shienkai (Kotobuki Laborers’ Supporters’ Committee). Anyone could become a member of this group, and the committee worked directly with the union members and held meetings in the union office. The supporters’ committee continued to work with the union throughout the year and formed their own patrol for the homeless. A separate organization from the Mokuyo Patrol, members of this group took vans to the more distant areas of Kawasaki and Yokohama Station. The establishment of the Shienkai shows that the union is moving towards the other volunteer groups in the content of its activities: that it is becoming an activist group for the disempowered residents of Kotobuki and its environs rather than being merely a union organization for day laborers. DEFINITIONS OF THE KOTOBUKI VOLUNTEER: VOLUNTEER, SOCIAL WORKER OR MISSIONARY? Kotobuki volunteers identified with the groups they participated in, but there was also a more general identification with Kotobuki as an underprivileged area. Why this explicit identification with an area so low in social status? Philosophical motives of the volunteers always topped

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their list of motivations for volunteering. Christian volunteers all pointed to the teachings of Christ as their motivation. Non-Christian volunteers referred to their political beliefs as the source of their decision to get involved. This points out one important division between groups in Kotobuki: the Christian groups (and their volunteers) versus the nonChristian groups (and their volunteers). Differences between these two groups do exist, but I found similarities as well and both illustrate the different reasons why people come to work in the yoseba. Christians claimed not to differentiate between rich and poor people: “I want to help people everywhere. It’s just that the people in Kotobuki need help the most.” Non-Christians saw inequality in the educational, social and professional institutions in Japan, and blamed discrimination for the differences between yoseba residents and the mainstream. Either way, in these volunteers’ opinions, poor people were equal, morally and spiritually, to the middle-class and wealthy, contrasting with the Japanese folk belief that misfortune is caused by spiritual unbalance and if goodness is rewarded with material gain, then evil is recompensed with adversity. Because ethical principles were so important to many volunteers, I explore the potential friction between volunteers and volunteer groups based on their religious affiliation (or lack thereof). As we have seen in Chapter 3, there is a historical tradition that oscillates between discrimination against, indifference to and quiet admiration for the social work of Japanese Christians. Discrimination arises from the traditional images of identifying with a foreign (and at times the enemy’s) ideology. Another source of antagonism is the Christian tradition of evangelism; efforts to convert others are apparent in other Japanese “new” religions but are a minor activity in Shinto and Buddhist traditions as there is no proscription of exclusive membership to these religions. Despite the fact that Kotobuki Christians do not actively evangelize, their Christian social work in the yoseba may be seen as a kind of missionary project; Christians enter a “foreign community” and set up shop. They work to “improve” the area according to their Christian principles. This kind of Christian social work is mostly criticized by social scientists, and Kenelm Burridge sums up the feelings of some Japanese about the missionary role best when he refers to the missionary in the title of his book, In the Way: A Study of Christian Missionary Endeavors (1991). In this cross-cultural investigation of missionary work, Burridge notes similarities between anthropologists and missionaries: an outsider comes into a society and attempts to make sense of the culture, imposing the

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outsider’s intellectual structure, whether it be Christianity, Marxism or postmodernism. The anthropologist claims not to disrupt the community, but Burridge argues that a foreign presence in a community rarely goes unnoticed, no matter how far the researcher and missionary become integrated into the society. Both the anthropologist and the missionary are outsiders who, in their attempts to learn about a culture, have marked effects on the every day lives and the ideology of the people with whom they live. Burridge defines in his introduction Christianity as a “meta-culture” that spans cultures (p. xiv). Missionaries are representatives and purveyors of this meta-culture to the “on-the-ground” host culture. Missionary activities only succeed to the extent that missionaries successfully mediate between the “meta-culture” and the indigenous culture, integrating elements of Christianity into the host culture. Therefore, evangelism can be seen as a kind of social change as well as a religious one. This metaphor can be extended to the Kotobuki case. Like missionaries, Japanese Christian volunteers come from outside. They represent aspects of Japanese society which they bring with them from their mainstream lives. The Christian housewives bring with them images of motherly care and guidance; their familial relationship with senior citizens’ club members and Roba-no-Ie members is an example of how volunteers represent ideological family relationships to residents, who are often without families. The handicapped and the elderly in Kotobuki feel part of this created volunteer “family” and accept the volunteers’ help and companionship. Not all residents agree. Some think Christian volunteers have no place in the yoseba. Though residents and volunteers share a language and general culture, they believe class differences between laborers and Christian housewives are nearly as wide as the gap between members of two different cultures. Japanese Christians are outsiders to laborers, but they are also outsiders to other mainstream Japanese. Christian volunteers do not know the slang of the yoseba or what it is like to sleep in a train station, have never done manual labor and cannot read the Korean and Thai signs hanging in the doya hallways. In this respect, Kotobuki is much like a foreign country to them, as I have described in Chapter 2. The sentiments expressed in Kotobuki that Christian missionaries and activists, who know little of the host culture, are “parasites”, “social climbers” and those “playing God”, are similar to those expressed by anthropologists (Burridge, 1991:29–30). Burridge rejects this notion as

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an absolute and continues on to document many cases where missionaries, rather than obstructing native culture, worked to protect indigenous peoples from immoral governments, economic unfairness and social injustice (pp. 247–65). Furthermore, missionaries, because of their “outsider” status, are also blamed for interfering with indigenous culture. However, Burridge points out the paradox in this accusation, for intellectuals usually accept the West’s economic and social interference, through the transmission of technology and education, but condemn the transfer of moral education, despite the fact that the West “offer[s] the techniques and effects [of secular ‘interference’] but not…a means to understand them” (p. 18). The necessity for a coexistence of social work and religious ideology is recognized by Burridge, who writes that missionary work is balanced by the two concepts of the “Devotional” and the “Affirmative” (p. 61). The devotional is defined as dedication to God and Christian principles, while the affirmative is working within the culture and outside world to make it a better place according to these Christian principles. A true Christian community will encompass both of these qualities. Burridge points out that if missionaries only focus on the affirmative aspects of their work, there would be little secular criticism of mission work. The affirmative is “easier” in that it is not much different from secular economic and social development programs; it provides instant gratification and achievement, and a context for creating positive relations with the indigenous people. Ideally, if the affirmative is realized, the devotional can follow. But the affirmative in missionary work also has its dangers. Successful social work often results in “power [,] influence and a dependence of the community” (p. 148) on the mission. The missionary thus becomes a political, not a purely religious figure. Thus the missionary must constantly check the affirmative with the devotional to ensure actions are not politically motivated, for “the true humility nurtured by the devotional, compassion and a willingness to help others may easily screen an impulse to power, manipulation and control” (p. 149). THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN CHRISTIAN AND NONCHRISTIAN VOLUNTEERS IN KOTOBUKI Kotobuki’s Christian activities appear caught in this web of social distance and the dichotomy between the affirmative and the devotional. The fundamental concept of social equality in the Kotobuki volunteer community demands respect of the independent lifestyle of the residents

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and their human rights. Evangelism conflicts with this principle by introducing a different belief system to laborers. A concerted effort at evangelism might cause the Kotobuki Christian groups to lose their unofficial labor union support. Without that support, Christian groups would have to build their social relationships with residents amid an atmosphere of hostility, and this would be a great obstacle to the activities’ success. Kotobuki Christian-sponsored groups have chosen to focus on the affirmative and limit devotional development to that of the individual volunteer. This is not a denial of the devotional, for Japanese Christians do not leave their belief systems at home. Kotobuki Christiansponsored volunteer activities provide a means for the volunteers, not the residents, to experience and express Christian ideals in a practical setting. There are no attempts to spread the Gospel, or to share Christian fellowship with laborers. Christian experience in Kotobuki is private and individual. Personal spiritual development is only one aspect of the Christian presence in Kotobuki. Another is the social definition of Japanese Christian volunteers as members of a community that associates itself with a marginalized group. This association is sanctioned by an institution: their organized religion. The church acts as an intermediary organization between the parishioners and the volunteer groups. The church’s financial support is vital to the group’s existence. By supporting these activities, the church defies mainstream reasoning and defines volunteering in socially unacceptable area as socially acceptable in the Christian community. Apart from the previously discussed moral and ethical reasons, there are also social reasons that bring Christians to the yoseba. First, volunteer work has the social function of reinforcing members’ identity in the church and wider Christian communities. While volunteering, church members exchange information about the church organization and other church members; socializing sometimes takes up as much time as the work itself. Several times a day, the volunteers will take a break from their activities to drink tea or coffee, eat snacks and converse with other volunteers and guests from other Kotobuki groups who frequently drop by. Topics of teatime conversation depend on who participates; if all volunteers are from the same church, the prevailing topic of conversation is innerchurch gossip: what other members do in their free time, who said what at a church function, etc. Female volunteers from different churches will discuss less personal topics and, much like any other group of women, speak frequently of their family activities: children’s school performance, household maintenance, recipes and the like. I sometimes

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noticed a subtle sense of competition between these women as the conversations ranked each other according to family achievements. The non-religious content of these discussions communicated upper-middleclass values such as a priority for education (how well one’s children do in school), frugality (how cheaply a housewife can buy groceries) and cleanliness (how well her house is kept). In any case, these conversations served to construct the identity of volunteers, whether it be faithful Christian, knowledgeable parishioner, competent housekeeper, mother of accomplished children, or a combination of the above. In a mixed group of Christian and non-Christian volunteers, topics that concerned the Kotobuki residential and volunteer community and gossip about fellow volunteers prevailed. These discussions over-looked the distinction between the Christians and non-Christians and focused on a sense of unity between all volunteers and residents. This sense of unity was borne from all’s proximity and concern for those who live and work around the yoseba. An underlying theme which resonated in every context was the fact that all Christians and non-Christians shared a liberal political stance which was also supported during any conversation. Generally the non-Christian volunteers, apart from the local residents and welfare case workers lending a hand, consisted of university students and young graduates. They socialized over beer in the evening rather than over tea in the afternoon, and discussed politics and current events. Non-Christians were at times critical of the Christians. For example, one of the student leaders of the Iryohan was always polite to the Christian housewives, and respected Ms Ishii, manager of the Christian community center enormously (for she had made the move to live in Kotobuki), but he showed restraint in praising other Christian volunteers. He admitted he was wary of speaking with me at first because he thought I was one of “those church people”, and was much relieved when I told him my reason for being in Kotobuki was for fieldwork rather than Christian activities. He thought that religious motivation for work in Kotobuki was disrespectful of the residents and hypocritical; he pointed to political action as his motivation for working in the yoseba. At university, he had had enough of discussions of world politics and abstract ideals, and he wished to work concretely on Japanese social and political problems. Public economic and social injustices were to be corrected; there were no personal or private moral issues involved. Students offered other comments regarding Christian social work that included a critique of methodology. They viewed the social work efforts of Japanese Christians in the past and present as helpful and

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well-meaning, but believed that the Christians’ programs merely alleviated poverty, rather than addressing the causes, such as social inequality and government policies. Therefore, they saw the Christian activists as “failures”, and the students did not aspire to join Christian groups, though they cooperated with them from time to time. Non-Christians wanted to be defined in a separate category in order to avoid potential criticism that sometimes plagued Christian volunteers in the liberal debate. This is illustrated by the example of two young non-Christian students who worked in San’ya. I was told that the word “boranteia”, or “volunteer”, is no longer useful because it objectifies clients with whom they work and this objectification separates “volunteers” from their goals. The term “volunteer” encompassed a system of official and non-official social welfare separated by class; instead, these young people would rather be identified as “activists”10 who do not distinguish themselves socially from the people of the yoseba. In other words, Christians are working “from the outside in”. The young activists in San’ya thought this method was doomed to failure, and wished to work “from the inside out”, believing that educating the public about social equality is only possible if those doing the talking practiced what they preach. Despite non-Christians’ criticisms of Christians’ motives, the varied Kotobuki community of social activists and volunteers is not one of total disintegration and outright conflict, but rather of careful, studied respect and cooperation. Overworked non-Christians who work in government welfare offices appreciate help they receive from Christian housewives. Other volunteer groups that have dwindling or fluctuating budgets appreciate steady support from volunteers of the churchsponsored groups. Religion and liberal politics are not the only topics that divide the volunteers. The volunteers’ level of participation and length of commitment to Kotobuki are also important, or in other words, the difference between “part-time volunteers” and “full-time volunteers”. “Part-timers” work on a regular basis with Kotobuki volunteer groups but keep their professional and personal lives separate from the yoseba. Their commitments can be strong and long-lasting, but they maintain an identity separate from Kotobuki. “Full-timers” have made the decision to renounce their upper middle-class lives by refusing to take other higher-paying jobs, and some have moved their residence into the yoseba as a political or ethical statement. “Full-timers” appreciate the help of less committed volunteers, but are seen as superior and natural leaders because of their complete identification with Kotobuki. The

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problem with devaluing the “part-timer” identity is a basic economic reality that volunteering is dependent on surplus resources. If all volunteers gave up their separate and more lucrative lifestyles, the welfare organizations would lose a good deal of income and human resources. Volunteers who give up their jobs and homes to live in the yoseba still need the patronage of wealthy part-time volunteers for assistance and financial support. This difference is quite important in the analysis of power relations within the volunteer groups which is played out in Chapters 6 and 7 on rituals and group meetings. The Christian presence in Kotobuki volunteer groups illustrates the modest but lasting impact Christianity has had on Japanese society. Japanese Christians, often coming from a position of relatively high social and economic status, feel a responsibility to correct social inequality. Non-Christian volunteers feel differently about ethical motivation, but are willing to cooperate as long as the Christians do not try to convert the residents. Together the volunteers, whether they were Christian or non-Christian, pious or atheist, work equally to break down traditional ideas of social order and prejudice. Christian and nonChristian volunteers’ commitment to the goal of improving life in Kotobuki and making the rest of Japanese society aware of the discrimination against the Kotobuki residents takes precedence over their ideological differences. Disagreements surface and re-surface but volunteers try to smooth over conflict to facilitate greater longterm goals: helping Kotobuki residents and changing the society that prevents the residents’ advancement through prejudice and discrimination. Their agreement that social action and educating the Kotobuki population and mainstream society is the key to change makes their cooperation possible and, to a degree, successful. CONCLUSION The volunteer groups, whether Christian-sponsored, student-organized or resident-based, confront social problems that many Japanese people believe are inevitable, unresolvable and best left to government authorities. While the majority of middle-class Japanese support volunteer activities in theory, one can see from the total numbers of volunteers that few of those who support the cause actually participate.11 The church, a school organization or a job in some level of a welfare organization is usually the impetus for participation and formation of these groups; groups then maintain this institutional affiliation for support during activities.

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When I first visited Kotobuki in 1989,1 was most impressed by the volunteer activities not only as an expression of social activism but also as an example of inter-class and inter-ethnic relationships. In the yoseba, people from different backgrounds and economic and social classes mingle, even if on a temporary basis. Volunteers may step over the social boundaries that separate the classes in Japanese society and attempt to have an impact on the problems that plague the underclass around them. To most middle-class Japanese, the problems of the marginal people of Kotobuki lie outside their spheres of personal responsibility. “Sho ga nai” (there’s nothing to be done about it) was an expression I heard often when talking about problems in Kotobuki to other Japanese people. The existence of social problems such as an aging society, poverty and unemployment were acknowledged, but marginalized individuals were thought to hold primary responsibility for remedying their situation. In this line of thinking, there was little separation between the individual and the problem which led to the individual’s marginal status. The volunteer groups specifically tried to separate the two, and see the individual as a person caught up in a problem that was a result of economic and social inequality.

5 The human side Resident and volunteer profiles

The sights and sounds of life in Kotobuki set the stage for volunteer and social work activities, but it is individual people who make the volunteer activities a success or failure. Each volunteer group reflects the lives of not only volunteers but also the residents who participate: their backgrounds, personalities, personal strengths and weaknesses. An account of the lives of residents and volunteers introduces actual examples of the social issues that affect Kotobuki and many other areas in Japan. RESIDENT PROFILES The previous chapter described the volunteer groups that support Kotobuki residents. In this chapter, the focus is on individual residents’ lives, to ascertain their social status and to examine the processes that lead to this status. Status is determined by various such attributes as the person’s economic situation, social class and ethnic features. In the case of Kotobuki, one could also argue that physical and legal attributes are also at work, creating definitions of status. As there are many different kinds of people living in Kotobuki, there are different ways to determine status vis-à-vis the larger social structure. However, what the residents all share is a locality, or an affiliation with an area associated with poverty and transience. Kotobuki, San’ya, Kamagasaki: they are among the areas thought to be on lowest rungs of the Japanese social ladder. The yoseba accepts not only the devalued day laborer, but also any other unacceptable person: the handicapped, the elderly separated from their families, Japanese-Koreans and illegal foreigners. As the construction industry weakened during the recession in the early 1990s, jobs and numbers of laborers in Kotobuki dropped. Many left to find work elsewhere or

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returned to their regional homes, opening up space in the yoseba for other low-income groups. In this next section, the lives of four residents of Kotobuki are profiled in detail. Their stories not only give a vivid picture of life in the yoseba but also bring up issues concerning social problems in Kotobuki and all over Japan. I chose four individuals who, because of socio-economic and/or physical or mental disabilities, experience social discrimination and are considered “outsiders” to mainstream Japanese society. Flaws in their personalities or backgrounds prevent them from joining an “acceptable” group. There are many ways individuals become marginal, but I address social problems most common in Kotobuki. The story of Mr Takezawa, a former laborer, tells us about the problems many Kotobuki residents face concerning class discrimination, alcoholism and aging. Next is the story of Mariko, an 8-year-old girl. She and her extended family are on welfare, and her story illustrates the educational, medical and social problems that welfare children face. The children of Kotobuki, as a small, tightly-knit group, create a sub-set of yoseba society. The children’s world shows how discrimination exists not only outside Kotobuki but also within the community. On a more positive note, the story of Kazuhiro tells us about the problems of the mentally ill and the success volunteer groups can have in helping the mentally ill overcome social and bureaucratic barriers to achieve a healthy and stable lifestyle. Lastly, the story of Marguerite and her family gives us a picture of cultural and legal problems of illegal migrant workers in Japan, and the perpetuated notion of foreigners as the “other” in Japanese society. An aging laborer: battling alcoholism and prejudice Mr Takezawa was born in Hokkaido. He has worked most of his life as a miner and a laborer, traveling all over Japan. When I first met him in 1991, he had been living in Kotobuki for a few months; then he disappeared. Later I learned he had gone to Kamagasaki, where he stayed for about a year before returning to Yokohama. In his 62 years, Mr Takezawa has lived and worked in three yoseba in Japan; not unusual because of the transient nature of the construction industry. People having little to tie them down go where the work is. Mr Takezawa lived in a doya in the center of Kotobuki, and received a disability pension because he had lost his right leg just below the knee in a mining accident when he was in his twenties. He used a prosthesis and got around quite well with no cane or crutch.

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Mr Takezawa a was member of the Kotobuki chapter of Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) and a popular figure around town. He was always found either in the offices of the Seikatsukan, the Community Center or the labor union, offering tea for staff and guests. He often attended meetings for the Iryohan, Mokuyo Patrol and the occasional gathering of the juminkondankai (residents’ association). He was also an active member of the senior citizens’ club. Mr Takezawa, a diminutive, wiry man, had a tattoo on his left forearm that suggested one-time gang membership, and had few teeth to his smile. He was personable to all the volunteers, and well-versed in small talk. He appeared comfortable even when speaking alone with me, the most difficult category of volunteer: young, female and foreign. Many laborers consulting with the Iryohan or other groups felt awkward with female volunteers, whatever their nationality, because they had little contact with women in their current lives. Despite this, Mr Takezawa was always charming, and I believed his success in various personal relations was related to the fact he was involved with a number of welfare services. He had learned the strategies of speaking politely to people who were in positions where they could help him; he had learned how to play the game and he was good at it. Mr Takezawa first became involved with the Kotobuki volunteer activities and social welfare programs when he struck up a friendship several years ago with Mr Fukuoka, head of the labor union and employee of the fourth floor Seikatsukan office. Mr Takezawa had come in to consult about a security problem. He had qualified for disability payments and welfare, and could receive a small but regular income from the government. However, because he distrusted financial institutions, he did not want to put his welfare and disability checks in the bank. Fearing petty thievery and mugging, Takezawa thought it was unsafe to keep the money with him in his doya. Fukuoka decided to help out this friendly old man and agreed to keep Mr Takezawa’s money for him in the Seikatsukan office. Whenever he needed cash, Takezawa dropped by and visited with Fukuoka, who doled out the pension money in reasonable amounts. This kept the old man within a budget and helped to expand his social network. Soon Mr Takezawa was a daily visitor at tea-time in every volunteer group office. I first met Mr Takezawa at Ms Ishii’s Community Center. He was a member of Alcoholics Anonymous, and a recommended part of the program included community service. Complying with the group’s advice, he and another AA member worked two or three days a week at the Kotobuki-cho Community Center and Ishii stamped his

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community service card as proof for every hour he spent working as a volunteer. Mr Takezawa and his colleague, another handicapped man in his sixties, did paperwork: copying hand bills, putting together pamphlets, sealing envelopes, etc. Takezawa’s specialty was the folding machine; he enjoyed working with the machine and having a sense of mastery over it. I spent many hours at the community center with Ishii, Takezawa and another elderly gentleman; often we spent more time chatting and drinking tea than working. Sometimes a young member of Roba-no-Ie would come over and help, mostly to enjoy the comfortable social atmosphere. This 23-yearold man suffered from a mild psychiatric disorder, and sometimes while working, he would laugh or shout loudly at inappropriate times. The young man’s behavior grated on Mr Takezawa’s nerves, though he was usually the most cheerful Kotobuki resident. He could not tolerate the youth’s outbursts, despite being well aware of his handicap. Takezawa snapped at him to shut up, and began grumbling about the young man’s behavior. Once Takezawa was so short-tempered he stomped out of the community center in a rage. Others pretended to ignore his outburst, and the next day he returned, head bowed, and offered a humble apology. The matter was soon forgotten. But Takezawa had no patience for extraneous noise or disruptions, and had a reputation for having a quick temper, which contrasted with his friendly countenance. There were other examples of his cycle of anger and penitence. Another incident in the early spring of 1993 set him off: at an AA meeting, Takezawa was humiliated in front of the other members when, reading part of the manual aloud, he stumbled over the reading of a kanji (Chinese character). Apparently, someone had laughed and made a disparaging remark. All his proud efforts to save money, to conform to the welfare lifestyle, to stop drinking came crashing down around him. Takezawa stormed out in a rage and began a drinking spree that resulted in his collapse on the streets of Kotobuki and hospitalization for alcoholism and malnutrition. In the hospital, the doctors found he was also suffering from hepatitis. Two other Iryohan volunteers and I visited him in the hospital during his month-long convalescence. Takezawa was hospitalized in a small, financially troubled public hospital near Kotobuki that takes welfare cases to increase its income. On the day we visited him, the hospital had doubled the room’s capacity by placing cots between hospital beds. We could hardly walk in the room full of poor elderly and middle-aged men, many from in and around Kotobuki.

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Takezawa sat upright on his cot, touched but shamed by our visit; he gave us his characteristic warm smile, but then got on his knees and bowed low, hands poised in front of him, begging our forgiveness for causing trouble and promising to work hard in the future to stay sober. We told him that we only wished for his speedy recovery, and were waiting for his return to the Kotobuki community, and the visit was over. Takezawa, though easy to talk to at length over coffee, found it difficult to face the Iryohan volunteers at the hospital. His body had been worn from years of work; he had lost a leg and most of his teeth during his lifetime, but his pride was still intact. After Takezawa was released from the hospital, he returned to the various social spots in Kotobuki he had frequented before his illness, and before long, we were stamping envelopes together again. In AA terminology, Takezawa had experienced a “slip”. A “slip” is when alcoholics temporarily lose control of their drinking habits, and excessive drinking causes them fall out of their social and professional circles. According to AA’s philosophy, “slipping” is not desirable behavior, but it is accepted and forgiven, because alcoholism is considered a chronic disease and cyclical phases are to be expected. It turned out this was not the first. His year-long absence from Kotobuki in 1991 was prefaced by a similar “slip”. Once Ms Ishii spoke to me frankly about his condition. Her words conveyed a sense of sadness and tolerance; no preaching, no anger, no condemning of Takezawa’s faults. She sympathized with him, and awaited his return without judgement. And return he did, with a sincere apology, but with no talk of past mistakes. Takezawa struggled to move forward, controlling his temper and his drinking. He “slipped” again in August of 1993. He was soon hospitalized, this time in a psychiatric hospital. After his release in the following November, he did not return to Kotobuki but disappeared. When I expressed concern for his whereabouts, a medical team member shrugged: “Oh, he’ll be back. He’s got nowhere else to go.” However, in 1995, he had still not returned. Takezawa’s case brings out many social issues: class discrimination, alcoholism and the problems of an aging society. The first account of Takezawa’s “slip” is connected to his inability to read difficult characters. In Japan, “education is accorded prime importance” (Befu, 1971:143) and the chance to attend a competitive high school and later an élite college is a source of status for Japanese of all social classes. Most laborers quit school before their high school graduation, and most of the children of Kotobuki drop out soon after junior high. Furthermore, a good number of resident foreigners in Kotobuki cannot read Japanese

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at all. However, the level of education may not be high, but personal pride in Kotobuki is. The laborers are aware of their lack of education and the value that is placed on it outside the yoseba. This is not to say that the people of Kotobuki are completely illiterate. Japanese is a complex language; Japanese people possess a range of mastery over the written and verbal language. The written language alone is extraordinarily difficult, with thousands of Chinese characters with multiple readings, so that even the educated forget difficult readings and make mistakes occasionally. Mastery over the language is seen as an indicator of class; Japanese who can manipulate the language well, use proper honorifics, write appropriately worded letters and study calligraphy are considered well-bred. Many volunteers in Kotobuki are well-educated; Mr Takezawa worked side-by-side with them and made great efforts to imitate and respond to their high levels of verbal exchange. Despite all his efforts, Takezawa had been humiliated. Alcohol plays a major part in many cultures. Its consumption can be considered an inter-class phenomenon, because drinking is not confined to one economic or social stratum. On the one hand, alcohol is “highly valued for the ideologic and integrative role it plays in religious ceremonies and social festivals” (Murphy, 1992:21); because of these powerful qualities, distribution and consumption are often restricted by an authoritative institution. Alcohol can also be used as a form of recreation and a method of reducing stress. On the other hand, some cultures forbid its consumption, and in most societies the abuse of alcohol is considered a serious social and medical problem. Alcohol is probably the source of much hardship in the Kotobuki area. In nearly every laborer’s pack, along with hand towels, soap, long underwear and the horse racing section of the newspaper, one can find a bottle of sake or shochu. It helps the night go by more easily and takes the chill out of winter or rainy evenings. Drinking is an important part of Japanese culture in all class levels. It is considered a business tool, a way to relieve stress and a form of recreation. Alcohol consumption is also connected to gender identity; a man who can drink a great deal is considered masculine. For men, jogo, “heavy drinker”, is a term of admiration, while geko, “poor drinker”, is one of scorn. In Kotobuki, drinking encompasses all these meanings as well as being a source of serious health problems, fist fights, injuries and unemployment. There is an active chapter of Alcoholics Anonymous in Kotobuki, but because the meetings start off with prayers, many laborers are put off by the group’s religious undertones. Despite this, members believe it

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is important to have a support network located in Kotobuki and not in another part of Yokohama. The fundamental problem for many alcoholics living in Kotobuki is that the yoseba is not an environment conducive to an alcohol-free lifestyle. It is extremely difficult for the alcoholic to refrain from drinking when alcohol is so easily obtained 24 hours a day through vending machines on the streets and small pubs that are open all hours. Worse is the social atmosphere; the alcoholic falls in with a group of drinking buddies who encourage his drinking habits. Social pressure is difficult to overcome; one alcoholic laborer, who was released from the hospital for treatment of hepatitis, took a room in an expensive, new doya on the outskirts of Kotobuki. He claimed that if he returned to his former, cheaper section of the neighborhood, his friends would find out he was back and get him roaring drunk. He felt powerless to resist pressure, so he preferred the more expensive solitude. Yet, despite the high cost of his room, he managed to find the money for the half-bottle of shochu that he still found necessary to get through the day. Six months later, he died at the age of 65 from liver failure. Though groups like AA are spreading throughout Japan and some private hospitals are treating alcoholics through group therapy, Japanese public institutions still treat alcoholics as mentally ill patients and put them in psychiatric hospitals. As part of a volunteer hospital visit program, Iryohan members regularly visited an alcoholic and a schizophrenic who were hospitalized in the same institution. Currently, volunteers from the Fukushi Senta are working to raise money to build a “day care center” for recovering alcoholics located in Kotobuki. The Japanese public’s view toward alcohol abuse versus alcohol use is divided. Though use of alcohol is widely accepted, the line between use and abuse is unclear, and the abuse of alcohol, when excessive, is unacceptable. The attitude towards alcoholism in the yoseba is tragically illustrated by the ongoing murder case of “Shinchan”. At one of the appeal hearings, defense lawyers contended that the evidence against “Shin-chan” was circumstantial and there was no motive except that the deceased had a debt to Shin-chan for 5,000 yen. Surely no one in his right mind would risk murdering someone over a small sum, argued the lawyers; it would take a much larger amount to establish a firm motive. But the judge ruled that the conviction should stand, because “In places such as Kotobuki where people drink, there is no accounting for what they will do under the influence of alcohol.” Takezawa had suffered much the same discrimination due to his illness and his occupation. He had managed to make ends meet as a laborer as

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long as his body could hold out, but he was getting old and he had lost a leg. Continued manual labor was hard on his body, as it was on many others; doctors who volunteered occasionally at the Iryohan were often surprised because many laborer clients complained of illnesses symptomatic of age groups of 10 to 15 years older. Aging is the laborers’ downfall, for growing old means not being able to work any more. The prospect of aging is feared by laborers, for few can accumulate savings for retirement, and many are too proud to seek out family members to support them. There is little else to do but to go on welfare or live on the streets. Traditionally, the elderly do not have secondary social status but hold a position of respect and honor. Ideally, life experiences give the elderly a wisdom and inner peace that their hard-working, harried children have not yet learned. These views are changing as Japanese society transforms: the elderly are regarded as a “burden, obstruct[ing] progress”, rather than valued people who have “accumulated wisdom” (Palmore and Maeda, 1985:2). Part of the problem is the changing residence patterns of the family. In traditional families, the residence pattern was that of three generations living together. The eldest generation were the rusuban, or “caretakers of the house”, while the younger members worked outside in agriculture or salaried labor. Elderly women could perform light housework, cooking and child care, and both grandparents could be in charge of the religious affairs of the household. In return, the elderly could expect to be cared for until their death. The aging of society is one of the most immediate and important obstacles Japan is currently facing. It is estimated that in 2020, one of every five Japanese will be over 65 (Asahi Shimbun, 1993). Compared to the United States, more Japanese elderly are cared for by their families. In the early 1980s, 70 percent of the Japanese population over the age of 65 lived with their children, compared to 13 percent in the United States (Palmore and Maeda, 1985:33). Other reports are more conservative; a government agency stated that in 1990 only 11 percent of Japanese senior citizens lived alone, but this figure was expected to rise to 18 percent by 2025 (Asahi Shimbun, 1993). The number of elderly living alone is likely to increase due to changes in the family structure, economic pressures and the lack of spacious, affordable housing in crowded urban areas. In 1992, the Japanese Health and Welfare Ministry stated that there were a total of 4.7 million households composed of elderly people, which shows an increase of 12.3 percent over the 1991 figure, nearly three times the 1975 figure

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(ibid.). Nihon University’s Population Research Institute estimates that by 2025, a total of 12.3 percent of all household which include members over the age of 65 will be single male householders, while 21.8 percent will be headed by single women (The Japan Times, 1993a). Another important factor is the increasing number of women in the workplace. Women who do not work or who work at home can care for elderly parents who need special attention, but those who work have difficulties attending to elderly family members who need constant care. With more women entering the workforce, it is less likely that home care of the elderly can continue (Iwao, 1993:24; Plath, 1980:173). The problems of an aging society concern all Japanese, but the elderly living in the yoseba must confront harsher obstacles in their daily lives: poverty, discrimination, crime and disease. Social, economic and medical problems affect both elderly Japanese men and women, but men appear to be especially disadvantaged socially in the aging process. The elderly grandfather living with his son or daughter’s family may not be able to contribute much to household chores. An elderly woman, due to her years of experience inside the household, can usually contribute by preparing one simple meal a day, performing a few light chores or watching the children for a few hours. Men, on the other hand, have often spent most of their adult lives working outside the household, or in household industries that did not include housework. For these elderly men, long hours at home are spent in an almost foreign environment. Those who have spent their working lives as laborers especially have little experience with home life and find it difficult to make contributions to the family. This makes their presence more burden-some and a source of argument for other family members. “The grandfather is just in the way”, I was told, “so he starts to drink, fights with his daughter-in-law, runs away and ends up in Kotobuki …” In Japan, there is no social security system for the general population equivalent to that in the United States. Senior citizens plan their future on a complicated combination of family support, personal savings and pension programs. This works for some Japanese, but presupposes the individual is in possession of two things: a family and a job enrolled in a pension program. Often yoseba residents have neither. Thus, many of the elderly wind up on welfare or disability pay, depending on what they can qualify for, as discussed in Chapter 3. Someone like Mr Takezawa, a laborer who has lost touch with his family, would find it difficult to turn to remaining relatives for help. Personal pride and desire for privacy keep many laborers, both old and

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young, silent about their family situations. Many lose touch with their families over the years as they move from town to town, living months at a time at distant work sites. This transient lifestyle does not support the enduring relationships with family and friends that require constant effort for maintenance. Like Mr Takezawa, some laborers never marry. Even for those who do marry, it is impossible to take wives and children along to work sites scattered around the country. Laborers, both married and unmarried, exist outside the traditional Japanese kinship system where family members live and work together in complementary distribution. As these men grow older, the years of emotional and physical distance from their family make them hesitant to re-establish contact, so they feel they cannot or will not ask their families for care. Despite the physical and emotional distance, personal feelings about one’s family remain strong. Often laborers do not wish their families to know their whereabouts because their profession is not valued by many of the laborers’ families; therefore, privacy is an important issue to all residents of the yoseba. This desire for privacy is illustrated in an incident concerning a reporter and a laborer in May of 1993. Often reporters and photographers come to Kotobuki wishing to capture the “true spirit” of poverty in Japan, only to be turned away by residents and volunteers. However, one photographer took several shots of laborers being treated at a nearby hospital and they were published in an article in a popular weekly magazine that focused on the medical treatment of illegal foreign laborers living in the Yokohama area. One photograph clearly showed the face of a member of the labor union named Uchida in the background. Uchida was furious with the photographer for not asking his personal permission to reprint his image, which he would have soundly denied. Originally from Ibaraki Prefecture, he had not told his family that he was living in Kotobuki. The publication of his photograph in a national magazine was a source of anger for Uchida and a potential embarrassment for his family. This sentiment is common for yoseba residents; even when laborers have hit rock bottom due to illness, injury or unemployment, few are eager to contact relatives for help. Takezawa’s story presents a similar scenario. He is an aging man with disabilities but without a family, struggling to live in the yoseba. His narrative brings up many important issues that affect the day labor population, such as aging, alcohol abuse and class discrimination. Though wealthy people are not immune to aging and disease, the situation is graver for residents of the yoseba who have limited resources

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with which to fight their problems and whose decisions about their future are shaped by the fewer options available to them. The aging or ill yoseba resident chooses from a combination of welfare and volunteer services, or fends for himself on the street rather than depending on relatives for care. Living hand to mouth in Kotobuki, many laborers have little privacy in the doya or on the streets. What little they have left, they will fight to protect. Despite their economic and social problems, laborers are proud people. This pride demonstrates their consciousness of the differences between them and the mainstream. They know their work is not valued. They can feel the disdain in the glances of passers by on the street. Laborers struggle with their problems; volunteers work to help them and the rest of Japanese society watches. The children of Kotobuki: “All of human life is right before their eyes” Mariko was 8 years old when I met her at the Gakudo day care center at the Seikatsukan one summer day as the children were preparing to spend time at a nearby swimming pool. The children were noisy and excited, and volunteers struggled to organize them and their swimming things, get everyone on the train in the right direction and to the pool. There were 34 children in the day care program, aged 4 to 12, accompanied by six adults. The boys paid little attention to me, running after each other in their own rough and tumble games, but the girls were more interested in a stranger. One girl quickly took my hand and asked me, “Do you dye your hair?” and “Do you have a boyfriend?” I was then entertained by neighborhood horror stories, probably highly embellished, of local residents who were killed by falling off buildings or getting hit by cars. I first noticed Mariko after we’d gotten to the pool. She wore a plain navy bathing suit. Mariko was only 8 years old, but she was a beautiful girl. Her face was oval with no trace of baby fat, making her look older than she was. Her hair was cut short and was an unusual shade of light brown, unlike the dark brownish-black of most Japanese. Her eyes were also lighter, giving her an unusual look that brought attention to her wherever she went. Mariko spent most of her time at the pool chasing Toride, one of the younger male volunteers and student leader of the Iryohan. Then she and another school friend pestered me for at least 20 minutes to buy them ice cream (which, in the end, I did). After the ice cream was gone,

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so was Mariko. I didn’t see her again until four months later, at the New Year’s activities. On the first day of the holidays, I ran into Mariko at the Gakudo again. Two older girls had been teasing her, using rough language. She ran into my arms and stayed in my lap for the rest of the day. Though her face looked older, Mariko was slight for her age, and needed an advocate. I was surprised at the rough language of the older girls; they used the male pronouns “o-mae” (you) and “boku” (I) in their tirade against Mariko, language I had never heard used by Japanese girls or women before. Mariko and I left the Gakudo and she came with me to attend an Iryohan meeting, napping under my coat in my lap for two hours. When the meeting was over, it was after 6 p.m. I asked one of the medical team leaders who seemed to know Mariko well, what I should do. “She’s been with me all day, and probably should be getting home soon before her mother starts to worry,” I said. Toride, the leader, laughed sadly. “Don’t worry too much about her, there’s trouble at her house so it’s probably better if she doesn’t go home. There may not be anyone there if she did, anyway.” Yoko, another medical team volunteer and I then took Mariko with us to have dinner at a fast food restaurant. The evening went on, and by 10 p.m. I became uneasy. I kept asking her, “Where do you live? It’s time for me to take you home now”, but Mariko would just look away, lips pursed. “Carolyn’s my mommy now” was her answer. By 10.30 I was frantic, and tracked down Toride again. I asked him to tell me where Mariko lived so I could take her home. I was then scolded soundly for buying her dinner: “Sure, the kids are cute and fun, and you want to buy them things, but you have to take responsibility for your actions! You gonna buy her dinner every night for the rest of her life? What is she supposed to think?” Toride stormed off with Mariko in the direction of the Labor Center; only then did I realize she lived above in the public housing apartments. During the next year, I slowly learned bits and pieces about Mariko’s family life. She lived with her mother and an assortment of siblings, half-siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins and other extended family (the director of the Gakudo estimated at least 10 resident household members) in a two-room apartment in the government-subsidized housing. The apartment consisted of two rooms, each six tatami mats large. The rent was about 30,000 yen. This extended family was centered around Mariko’s grandmother who had been in the apartment for many years and had raised her children in Kotobuki. Her two daughters

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(Mariko’s mother and aunt) still lived in the same household where they grew up. It was rumored that the family had yakuza connections, so that other residents of the housing complex were hesitant to criticize or complain when there were problems (noise, destruction of property, etc.) concerning this family. The mother and grandmother had a fearful reputation, even at the Gakudo. Mariko’s mother had been known to come into the day care center and verbally abuse and threaten the teachers there. Because of this, other children tended to avoid Mariko and her sister, for they also did not want to incite the anger of this family. No one knew exactly what the relationships within the family were, and no one was willing to get involved with the affairs of the household for fear of unpleasant reprisal. The children were thought to have different fathers. Mariko’s father appeared to have left in unfavorable circumstances, and her mother saw the child as an unfortunate reminder of this relationship. I often wondered if this had an effect on Mariko’s well-being; Mariko’s sister Eri was two years younger but was taller and heavier, with a pink complexion and glossy black hair. Mariko, in contrast, was pale and thin. Her mother worked evenings, so Mariko fended for herself after school. In the morning, she skipped breakfast and ate lunch at school. Then there was the Gakudo snack, provided by the day care center. Dinner depended on who was home. Sometimes she got 500 yen to buy something for dinner, sometimes not. Mariko wore the same clothes for two, three days at a time, but she was no different from the other Kotobuki children. Most of the Kotobuki children ran through the winter streets with no socks or coats. Health and nutrition are two of the most serious problems Kotobuki’s children face. Working mothers cannot breast-feed and babies in Kotobuki are weaned early. With many parents caught up in economic problems of their own, the children’s diets were sadly lacking, consisting mostly of junk food and prepared food bought at 24-hour convenience stores. Dental problems were an outcome of the children’s diet; though still in grade school, many of the children’s teeth were blackened with decay. Whenever a volunteer organization put on a meal, volunteers were quick to offer wholesome food to the children, but they shied away. They would rather be given hamburgers, sweets or money. Children competed for cans of sugary coffee and 100-yen coins given to them by laborers on the street or other passers by. The children sometimes hung out near the exit of Yokohama Stadium where

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professional baseball games and concerts are held, looking for tipsy fans who were in a good mood and vulnerable to the children’s charms. Another health problem in Kotobuki to which small children are susceptible was tuberculosis. TB is still a health problem in Japan, and every New Year’s, the Iryohan sent a half a dozen or so tuberculosis patients to the hospital. Japan’s public health service offered vaccinations at no cost, every other month. Mothers had to register the child with the ward public health office, receive the proper paperwork, and come to the office at the appropriate time. This process, though not complicated, is time-consuming and bureaucratic, so some mothers forgot about it and their children did not receive the vaccinations. Other medical/socio-psychological problems of the children included speech defects, hyperactivity, learning disabilities (a probable outcome of fetal alcohol syndrome) and depression. According to a 1992 report presented to a conference of yoseba activists, almost a quarter of all the children in Kotobuki were considered “handicapped” in some way, meaning that these children had physical handicaps or learning disorders. Psychological damage was perhaps the most difficult problem for children to overcome. There was a girl whose mother had disappeared when she was 4 years old, and whose alcoholic father had drowned in a fishing accident when she was 12. Though abused by her father during her childhood, she keenly felt her mother’s rejection, and clung to her father despite his ups and downs. After he died, this child spoke of suicide as a way to join her father. He was not an ideal father, but this was the only close human relationship she had known. This girl and her younger brother were taken in by the Kyodo Hoikuen, the volunteerrun foster home for Kotobuki children. Socially, the children faced further obstacles at their public schools. The youngest children, who attend day care centers and nursery schools in Kotobuki, begin socializing with other children who are also members of the yoseba community. But as they move on to elementary school, the children must leave Kotobuki and attend public schools in the larger Naka Ward. There they come into contact with children from other neighborhoods. Kotobuki children’s appearances, their language and the games they play are different from the others, so they are often teased and shunned. They have trouble staying in school, and most drop out after junior high school to work in restaurants, run errands for gangsters or even start having children and receiving welfare. One 15-year-old girl gave birth to a baby early in 1993; the father was 17.

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Children experience discrimination at school that is representative of the yoseba resident’s experience in the larger community. But a closer examination of the children’s community showed me that discrimination does not exist solely outside the yoseba. Perhaps the experience of being discriminated against at the public schools teaches the children how to discriminate themselves; they bring this ideology back to Kotobuki with them. An employee of the Gakudo said that a persistent problem was the children’s discrimination against some laborers and particularly the homeless. Much of this was due to lack of experience on both groups’ parts. The Kotobuki laborers who were married did not live with their children, and the bulk of the laborers who were single had little experience with children. The children knew only of laborers what they saw on the streets, and often these impressions were not favorable. The children saw drunken men fighting with each other, and heard their violent language. A few bad experiences made lasting impressions which they applied to all cases, and the children viewed laborers as unpredictable and often dangerous people. Sometimes a laborer, looking for amusement or a bit of human contact, will try to play with a child, or give him or her money or food. Sometimes this interaction is successful. More often than not, laborers are too rough or have been drinking, so the children are frightened and back off from this attention. The Gakudo employees are constantly being called over by children who claim that men are bothering them: “That man is strange! (ano o-jisan wa hen na no!)” The children accuse laborers and street people of a range of offensive behaviors, but when an adult investigates the situation, there is usually nothing amiss. Often, children are looking for reassurance from the teachers to assuage their insecurity about their environment. It is difficult to explain the phenomena of homelessness to the children, who often believe that men sleeping in parks and train stations are fallen-down, drunken “weirdos (hen na hito)”. The Gakudo employees try gently to explain in more neutral terms, “No, you see he doesn’t have a job, so he has no money and has to sleep outside,” but this doesn’t seem to have much meaning to the children, who prefer to see their world in black and white. The children also have a system of judging each other within their own small community. As described in Mariko’s case, there was tension between children at the day care center. Residence was one way to define political groups. The children living in public housing made up one band, divided into sub-groups by age. The children from Ogi-cho

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and areas near Kannai Station, who also attended the Gakudo, made up another group. There was distance and sometimes hostility between residential- and age-based groups as they competed for the day care centre attention. The children, rather than forming supportive relationships among themselves, sought the attention and care of the two adult male employees. Other forms of competition were seen in the children’s play: who could play, who made the rules and who was allowed to win. For example, Eri, strong, athletic and aggressive, got to decide whether her older sister Mariko could jump rope with the other girls; this defied an age-based status structure and was probably due to Mariko’s “outsider status” within her own home. Often, Eri wouldn’t let her play; as a result, Mariko was not very good at skipping rope and could not impress others with athletic skill in order to increase her status. Physical ability was another way to rise in the Gakudo social structure. Rika, a girl the same age as Mariko, was also in a position to call the rules. She was good at gymnastics and could do tricks on the hard, wooden floor of the day care center without being afraid. The girls looked up to her because they admired her bravery. The Gakudo was sometimes a cruel place, as children tormented each other verbally, using language they overheard from laborers or other arguing adults in the close quarters in which they all lived. One day, a volunteer noted in a complimentary tone that one 10-year-old boy was unusually “child-like” (“kodomorashii”), meaning that his games and conversation that day conformed to the expectation that children are innocent and sincere. For the most part, the children of the yoseba were not kodomorashii, but were small adults, attuned to competition and danger, forming strategies and making quick decisions to maximize their own benefits. This section’s subtitle is a quotation from a conversation I had with a day care center employee from Kamagasaki. She said it was difficult to try to teach the yoseba children the difference between right and wrong because their learning experience is entirely different from other children: “All of human life is right before their eyes (ningen no inochi wa me no mae).” The employees cannot shelter the children from all the hardships that surround them, and yoseba children learn the lessons of life quickly. Despite this, Gakudo employees try to create a haven at the day care center where children can be “children”, at least for a few hours a day. Volunteers working with children at the Gakudo found that this activity was one of the most rewarding, but perhaps one of the most

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difficult. Because there are so few children, volunteers quickly formed personal relationships with them, unlike in other activities such as the medical team or the Thursday Night Patrol. This was due to the fact that most laborers don’t stay around long enough to get to know the volunteers very well. It was extremely difficult to remain objective when working with these children, and often volunteers argued about the proper emotional distance that should be taken. “We [volunteers] are not their parents, nor their schoolteachers; we have no right to say anything about their lives,” said the Kamagasaki woman. “But I’m the one who takes care of them when they fall down and get hurt or when they cry. How can I stand by and feel nothing?” Volunteers struggled with ethical problems concerning responsibility for the children throughout the year. For example, the Gakudo was closed during the winter holiday period and children ran free around the laborers’ shelter and the administrative offices. At times it was dangerous when small children, unsupervised, played near the cooking facilities, or when they raced around the Iryohan office, spilling disinfectant and disrupting organizational meetings. Female members of the Iryohan thought it necessary to bring the children into the other activities in order to keep them out of trouble; Toride, the team leader, and other male volunteers thought the laborers’ shelter and the medical office were no place for children, and volunteers who were playing with (or, in other words, caring for) the children were shirking their medical team duties. There were many heated conver-sations that evening about the extent to which volunteers should care for the children. Iryohan members compromised by allowing the children to play in front of the medical office, where members could keep an eye on them, but the children were not to enter the office, especially during meetings. No one knew quite what the words “responsibility” and “care” meant in the case of the Kotobuki children: How far should the volunteer go? Where does the volunteer stop “caring” for the child? Volunteers had no previously defined role in the social world of the child such as “relative”, “neighbor” or “schoolteacher”. Thus, inconsistencies were commonplace, causing conflict between the volunteers on how to best care for the children. “For those with gentle hearts…” Everyone called Kazuhiro, a heavy-set, shortish man in his early forties, by his first name, not his family name which is the usual custom with

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adults. Originally from Osaka, Kazuhiro entered the Japanese SelfDefense Forces after graduation. He Often showed friends his army yearbook with moldy, black and white photos of a much younger man with short hair, saluting the camera. While in the army, Kazuhiro suffered a breakdown, was diagnosed as a schizophrenic and institutionalized. After going in and out of hospitals for several years, he was released and then qualified for disability welfare payments. He received a small living allowance and funds to continue his medical treatment. However, the amount of money he received was not enough to rent an apartment in the main-stream housing market, so Kazuhiro found a doya room in Kotobuki. He received a small, steady income from his welfare payments, but his daily well-being required more than just financial support. Years ago, social workers decided that under the proper medication, Kazuhiro was not in any danger to himself and would not pose a problem to society in general. He was then discharged from the hospital, given disability welfare, and full medical care for his psychiatric problems. From the government’s point of view, Kazuhiro’s case was resolved and, as long as payments continued, was finished. However, he was not ready to be independent. Though he met with case workers on a regular basis, during most days and at night he was on his own. He was able to find a doya room and pay the rent regularly, but there was no one to supervise his medication intake and make sure he was eating properly. Some of the medication he took made him sleepy, so he rarely went out to talk to anyone. Unmonitored and with little company, Kazuhiro spent his days in a medicated stupor. Another medication made him constipated, but the drug to combat this affected his appetite; his diet became unbalanced and he gained weight. With so many drugs and so many side-effects, it was difficult for Kazuhiro to regulate his medication and his physical and emotional well-being. The government cared for his immediate medical and financial needs, but social workers were too busy to care for his emotional or more mundane daily needs. Kazuhiro joined Roba-no-Ie, and made soft soap and plastic dishwashing scrubbers in the workshop; the programs there helped establish a rhythm to his life. A steady working schedule helped him place his routine of medication and well-balanced meals in order. The workshop volunteers and staff were able to help Kazuhiro while he was in the office, but at home he was still on his own. Aside from simple dishes such as instant noodles, he could not cook for himself. Sometimes he was forgetful about turning things off: leaving the doya cooking

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stove’s gas valve open or putting out cigarettes in unsuitable places. Kazuhiro worked hard to be independent, but he needed more assistance to establish a safe and healthy lifestyle. Government programs didn’t provide this kind of personal concern and care, so volunteers tried to fill the gap; workshop social activities and home visits were common ways for volunteers to provide personal attention. The establishment of group homes such as Niji (the “Rainbow Home”) and Rengeso was another attempt to improve the welfaresupported lifestyle of Kotobuki’s handicapped residents. One volunteer explained to me that Rengeso had been built to care for what he called the mentally handicapped: “For those with gentle hearts (kokoro ga yasashii hito no tame ni) ”. To the volunteers, Kazuhiro’s only handicap was that he was too gentle to fend for himself in the sometimes lonely environment of the yoseba. After living for over 10 years in Kotobuki, Kazuhiro was nominated by the staff of Roba-no-Ie to be the first resident of Rengeso, an assisted living home in Shizuoka Prefecture near the famous Mount Fuji, about a three-hour train ride away from Yokohama. Kazuhiro had become friendly with volunteers who were organizing the home and was chosen over other candidates for his personal qualities; he was easy to get along with and was kind to children. The director of Roba-no-Ie was sorry to see Kazuhiro leave, for he had contributed much to the workshop. Kazuhiro got a new job in a workshop for the handicapped, similar to Roba-no-Ie in Kotobuki in nearby Fujinomiya, baking bread, cookies and pastries. Rengeso, or the “Lotus House”, was built in 1992 by a group of long-time Kotobuki volunteers. The home is a few yards away from the Kotobuki Kyodo Hoikuen (foster home for Kotobuki children). Kyodo Hoikuen and Rengeso residents share evening meals and work the farm on the weekends together. When I first visited the compound in late 1992, the two households consisted of four children from Kotobuki (whose parents were either dead, alcoholic or mentally ill), a married couple, Nana-chan (the former Seikatsukan employee) and Toride (the Iryohan leader who maintained his leadership position despite the commute to Kotobuki), an aged laborer,1 a young woman and the 20year-old son of a Protestant minister. Though most were former Kotobuki residents or volunteers, all settled into life in the countryside. The children attended local schools, the married couple took jobs in nearby factories and all the adults worked on the farm on the weekends, raising rice, vegetables, chickens and goats. The minister’s son worked full-time on the farm and cared for

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the farm facilities, fixing things and building an extension to the house. Nana-chan worked in the garden and was in charge of packaging and selling eggs. Toride’s job was to help Kazuhiro: making sure he got up on time in the morning, supervising the preparation of breakfast and his packed lunch, and driving him to and from the train that took him to his workshop. The married couple provided parental figures to the extended family, but the children’s educational and living expenses came from donations from the Kotobuki volunteer community. Volunteers also helped with the maintenance of the farm and came out on the weekends during planting and harvesting seasons to help with the extra work. Often the compound was used as a retreat where volunteers would go to discuss matters and socialize. I too took advantage of the country retreat; after participating in my first New Year’s activities in 1993, I caught a bad cold and went to the farm for a few days to recuperate. The communal lifestyle was extended to all members of the volunteer community. Though far from the yoseba, Kazuhiro’s and the compound’s ties with Kotobuki remained strong. The adults living there had a long history of activism in the yoseba, and with a constant stream of weekend visitors, Kazuhiro and the others did not feel isolated from their former home. Furthermore, Kazuhiro traveled by train to Kotobuki once a month to be treated in a Yokohama hospital and to visit with his younger brother who lived in another part of Yokohama. Perhaps due to his successful management of his illness, Kazuhiro was able to maintain family relationships. During the summer o-bon (the Buddhist All Souls’ Festival) holidays, he and his brother paid respects to their father’s grave in Osaka. Kazuhiro’s story illustrates the condition of many handicapped people living in Japan. There are somewhere between 2.3 and 4.2 million physically and mentally handicapped people in Japan, depending on one’s definitions (Japan, An Illustrated Encyclopedia, 1993:1697, Kumazawa, 1991:204). Physically and mentally handicapped people are often lumped together, defined by a single word, shogaisha. Children with congenital handicaps may be looked upon with sympathy (for their condition is not “their fault”), but patients with mental illnesses such as schizophrenia are still feared and misunderstood. Kumazawa notes: the mentally ill are still looked upon in a cold, judgemental way …Among those who have learned to help the physically disabled it is all too common to regard mental illness as scary and strange. (Kumazawa, 1991:212)

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Kumazawa divides disability into four categories: “mentally and physically disabled children” (with cerebral palsy as the leading cause of disability), “mentally retarded persons”, “mentally ill persons” and “elderly persons” (pp. 205–6). Welfare laws are cited as measures to improve and maintain living standards for these handicapped groups. As for the mentally ill, Kumazawa notes the “Mental Hygiene Law”, enacted in 1950 and revised in 1965, which initially obliged prefectural governments to build mental hospitals and forbade the practice of “confining persons in private homes” (p. 206). In the second version of this law, institutionalized care was deemed as less preferable to outpatient care, and health centers which catered to patients living outside hospitals were built. This law was further revised in 1987 and 1988 in order to include provisions to protect the “human rights of mentally ill persons, to assure appropriate levels of psychiatric treatment and social rehabilitation” (ibid.). The mental institution that treats patients from the Kotobuki area was a private hospital that had fallen on hard times and grudgingly accepted welfare cases to supplement its income from private cases.2 It is located far from any convenient public transportation; this not only makes it difficult to visit patients but also means the hospital is well separated from highly populated residential areas. The mentally ill are considered potentially dangerous neighbors, and the “not-in-mybackyard” attitude still persists. It is easier to put the mentally handicapped in remote institutions, or to discharge them to marginal areas like Kotobuki. Thus, the association of the yoseba with unacceptable populations is reinforced. The handicapped are perhaps both the most unfortunate and fortunate group in Kotobuki. On the one hand, they face great longterm physical and mental obstacles they may never be able to overcome, as well as immediate discrimination in education, housing and employment. On the other hand, though discrimination exists, Japanese society is changing in their favor, with public facilities being newly built or remodelled to accommodate differently abled people. Also, while other kinds of welfare support still have a sense of stigma attached to it, the handicapped are looked on more favorably by the taxpayers who grumble at the support given to other welfare recipients, who are perceived as alcoholics and good-for-nothings who have gambled away their careers. The handicapped, who are considered to be truly prevented from working by their disability, are seen as more deserving of their government payments.

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In the post-war period, the Japanese government has earned the nickname “Japan, Inc.”, because of the priority it placed on business development and economic security rather than social welfare programs. As Japan moves to enter the global community as a social and economic leader, politicians began to feel pressure to create programs that reflect the era of “kinder, gentler” nations. A Filipina mother Marguerite, who was 32 years old when I first met her, was originally from Laguna, a town seven hours by bus from Manila. Marguerite, like all the Filipinas I met in Kotobuki, was an “over-stayer”, meaning that her 90-day tourist or three- to six-month entertainment visa had expired, and she and her husband were living and working illegally in Japan. Marguerite ended up living in Kotobuki and the surrounding area for two years. Her husband was working on the local docks painting ships, and she stayed at home with their 4-month-old baby girl in a new doya that housed mostly foreigners. The family of three lived a cramped but neat three tatami mat sized room that was equipped with a small color television and air conditioner. Marguerite’s father was in the United States Army for many years, so her life in the Philippines had been relatively financially stable. She had been raised in a household with servants. She spoke English quite well, and before coming to Japan worked as a clerk in the Bank of Philippines, an élite job (it is meaningless to speak in generalities about the comparative wealth of the Philippines and Japan, but I was speechless when I heard stories of Marguerite’s parental home with maids and wide-screen televisions, compared to Mariko’s living situation in the Kotobuki projects). Marguerite married when she was 28, and a year later she had a son. But difficulty in finding lucrative work in the Philippines and her husband’s love of travel brought them to Japan. Her husband had worked in Saudi Arabia for four years before coming to Japan—“He likes to live anywhere, as long as it’s not the Philippines,” she once said. Her two younger sisters had married Japanese men, and lived just outside Hiroshima, so the couple decided to try life in Japan. Marguerite left her son in her mother’s care in the Philippines, and she and her husband arrived in Fukuoka in 1991. Looking for work, they made their way towards Tokyo and ended up in the Filipino community in Kotobuki. Her husband had a college

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degree and was frustrated to find that his engineering background could find him no better work in Japan than painting ships. However, his intelligence and responsible manner got him a steady job, and the family had a more secure income than most other Filipinos in Kotobuki; he brought home 150,000 yen a month. Before Marguerite became pregnant again, she had worked in a small factory. Their daughter was born in early February in 1993, and at first they managed to live on one salary. Life had been pretty good in Japan for Marguerite while she and her husband both worked and her sisters in Hiroshima kept her from feeling too isolated in a new country. Further support was provided after she joined the new Filipina mothers’ group, SABAY, and she was the most active Filipina member in those early days. Marguerite was well-spoken and intelligent, so she and the baby were popular with the volunteers. Her daughter’s formal name was a combination of her and her mother’s first names, but SABAY volunteers called the cute, round-eyed baby “Peko-chan”, after the mascot of a Japanese bakery franchise. But not long after Marguerite stopped working, the family’s lifestyle took a turn for the worse. It became more difficult to make ends meet: the diaper bill alone was over 30,000 yen a month, and that didn’t include clothing, formula, bottles, teething drops, baby cold medicine, etc. The expense of raising a child in Japan was much higher than she had expected, so Marguerite and three other young Filipina mothers tried to ease costs by sharing some items of clothing, bottles and bathing equipment. To save money, Marguerite wished to breast feed Pekochan, but due to her own poor physical and emotional state her milk stopped after only a few days. Work prevents many Kotobuki mothers from breast-feeding. One Filipina mother whose milk was plentiful stopped breast-feeding after a week because she was anxious about getting back to her job. For those who cannot or will not breast feed, artificial milk is expensive. Some women cannot afford store-bought formula or cannot read labels in Japanese sufficiently to buy the correct formula. Another Filipina in Kotobuki fed her 11-month-old baby bottles of watered-down, sugary condensed milk. Another fed her 8-month-old boy McDonald’s vanilla shakes and potato chips, which probably made up the bulk of her own diet. However, Marguerite was highly motivated and concerned about her young daughter’s nutrition and spent a relatively large proportion of her income on formula and other nutritional supplements. Beside the economic problems, there were other stresses. Her younger sister’s marriage fell apart, and her Japanese husband left her with no money and threats of divorce and deportation. She and her infant son

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went back and forth between Marguerite’s and the other sister’s homes, uncertain of their future. Peko-chan caught a cold and cried all night, keeping Marguerite, her husband and most of the doya residents awake. Marguerite couldn’t find the right cold medicine with the correct dosage and worried about the baby’s fever. Another worry was constipation, caused by the artificial baby formula. The tiny doya room that Marguerite worked hard to keep clean had been sufficient for the married couple (especially when they both got out to work for most of the day), but the three mat room seemed much more claustrophobic with the irritable Peko-chan, and little chance to get out. By May, Marguerite began to argue with her husband because she wanted to return to the Philippines. Her husband was against this idea, because though things were not going so well in Kotobuki, at least he had a job. If the three of them were to return to the Philippines, their future was very uncertain because there might not be work. Marguerite then proposed that she and the baby together return to the Philippines, with her husband continuing to work in Japan. With money he sent her, she could get a house set up and find work for herself, and later for her husband. Her parents, living off her father’s US Army pension, were not wealthy enough to support them entirely, but they could help with taking care of their son and Peko-chan while Marguerite worked. Her husband was against this idea too, claiming he would be too lonely in Kotobuki without his family. He also worried about her working in the Philippines alone. Marguerite, a determined and independent woman, did not take this lightly. She exploded, screaming that she and the baby would leave at the end of August with or without him. In late July, they compromised: she would stay in Japan if they could leave the yoseba. Her husband managed to find an apartment through his work connections that was just outside the boundaries of Kotobuki. The family and some of their Filipino friends found apartments and relocated to an area called Kogane-cho. This area consisted of densely packed “snack” pubs underneath a railway line. Many of these bars are owned by yakuza, who control the income for the South-east Asian “hostesses” (or, to varying degrees, prostitutes; it depends on the club’s standards) who work in their pubs. The building to which Marguerite and three other families moved was also owned by reputed gangsters. The other tenants included Thai women. Marguerite began working at a “snack” pub in the neighborhood. Many working parents in this situation can divide the child care if the husband works as a laborer during the day and the wife works as a

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hostess at night. Marguerite worked six days a week, from 7 p.m. to 2 a.m., making 10,000 yen a night. She was reasonably lucky to be working at a more respectable bar, where the owner was a Filipina married to a Japanese man. But Marguerite was tired all the time, didn’t like her job and didn’t see much of her husband. “At least the apartment is bigger than the doya,” she said wistfully; “Maybe we can talk about going back to Laguna next year.” At the end of October, I received an early morning phone call from Marguerite. “My father died yesterday; I must return within a week to attend the funeral. Can you help?” Marguerite, as an “over-stayer”, could not just buy an airline ticket and leave the country of her own free will. First, she had to surrender herself to the Immigration Office in Yokohama, and be interviewed by officials. Then, she proceeded to the Philippine Embassy to process repatriation papers (which included establishing Filipina nationality for her baby, who had been born in Japan and was unregistered in the Philippines). After she had presented her passport, papers which confirmed her surrender to the authorities, the child’s birth certificate and her marriage certificate (to prove paternity), she was given travel affidavits for both herself and her child. The affidavits and the translation of the birth certificate cost 18,500 yen (almost two days of her earnings). Then it was back to the Immigration Office for more interviews, fingerprinting and photographing. After she had given the Immigration Office proof that she had purchased an airline ticket, she was given exit permission and was allowed to leave the country as a normal tourist would. This process took three days of trips back and forth from the Philippine Embassy in Tokyo and the Yokohama Immigration Office. Marguerite had a relatively easy time in this process for she had not lost her passport during her Japanese working career; many unscrupulous employers and immigration brokers protect their labor investment by seizing foreigners’ documents. Her baby was also “foot-printed” for identification, and fortunately, since Marguerite had with her a copy of her marriage certificate, this documentation only took a few days to complete. Children who result from common-law marriages have a more difficult time getting their Filipino nationality confirmed. Marguerite also had to think about protecting her husband, and had to use many subterfuges during the interviews not to reveal the whereabouts of her husband. She claimed not to know the address of their apartment and said that the reason she was returning to the Philippines was that her husband had left her for another woman.

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Marguerite’s husband was unhappy with the situation, and she told me that they argued the night after she first contacted the Immigration Office. He understood his wife’s desire to attend her father’s funeral, but he also knew that if she left, she would not be able to return to Japan for several years, as a punishment for violating immigration laws. He continued to object, but did not prevent her from taking most of his monthly salary to pay for the affidavits and a one-way airline ticket. He further acquiesced and helped her buy a black dress for her mother to wear to the funeral. When Marguerite left, he planned to stay in Japan for six months to save money before he could join her and their children. Marguerite left in time to attend her father’s funeral. The other members of SABAY and I were sorry to see her go; the Kotobuki Filipino community lost a strong, outspoken and intelligent woman. Marguerite’s case brings to light many issues surrounding Filipinos and other Asian migrants in Japan. In Japan, resident “foreigners” (versus impermanent residents or tourists) are often divided into two categories: “oldcomers” and “newcomers”. The former refers to the descendants of indentured laborers from Japan’s pre-1945 colonies in China and Korea. They were born and raised in Japan, have residency in Japan and carry alien registration cards. The latter are those who migrate to Japan, usually looking for work. The “newcomers” sometimes have visas, sometimes don’t; the most common pattern for a foreign laborer is to enter Japan on a temporary visa (in tourist, student or entertainment categories) and then “over-stay”. The first Asian migrant workers coming to Japan were forced laborers from Korea, but it wasn’t until the late 1970s that a large number of Asians, especially women, began migrating to Japan without long-term entrance visas. In a 1989 report, the Philippines topped the list of immigrants deported from Japan, with Pakistan, Bangladesh, South Korea, Malaysia, Thailand and China behind. Ninety-six percent of all illegal immigration cases at that time were concerned with migrants of the above seven Asian countries. Further analysis of the 1989 material shows that 87 percent of these male immigrants worked in the construction industry or in factories, while 67 percent of the women worked in the entertainment industry (Matsuda, 1991:155–8). By mid1993, Thailand had taken first place with number of illegal immigrants to Japan. Government immigration officials reported 298,646 cases of deportation, which constituted a record high (192,114 men, and 106,532 women). The top four countries from which these people migrated were Thailand (55,383), South Korea (39,455), the Philippines (35,392) and China (33,312) (Asahi Evening News, 1993).

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Male foreign workers coming to Japan in the 1970s and 1980s were able to find manual labor jobs easily. During these times of economic upswing, young job-seeking Japanese, even among the working class, were looking for professions without the “dangerous, dirty and difficult” reputation of manual labor. During the construction boom of the 1980s, there were simply not enough Japanese laborers for all the jobs; Asian migrant laborers filled the gap. Many Japanese construction contractors supported and actively pursued this form of recruiting by setting up phony language schools to procure short-term student visas for some workers (Sterngold, 1989). Foreign workers may have helped ease labor shortages, but they are working in a somewhat different job market. Though they are said to receive 80–90 percent of a Japanese laborer’s salary, employers often pay foreign laborers much lower salaries or suddenly withhold pay without fear of retribution, because of the workers’ illegal status. Furthermore, foreign workers’ performance of dangerous manual labor is particularly risky because, if injured on the job, they have no legal means to enforce employers to pay their hospital bills. Female foreign workers in Japan face further problems. Often they are recruited by and contracted out to gangsters, who give them lodging but force them to work in the gangsters’ nightclubs and confiscate their passports. The gangsters refuse to return their documents unless an exorbitant fee, such as a million yen, is paid. Asian women working in this sphere of Japanese society are thus doubly restricted, not only by their fear of deportation under immigration laws, but also by their oppression by the Japanese underworld. Asian women are literally bought and sold by Japanese businessmen; not only by the men who are paying customers, but also by the women’s bosses who keep them under close surveillance and often physically and emotionally abuse them. It is no wonder that most of the Filipinas I met were legally married or were living with a Filipino; those who were single and working under the yakuza were not able to move and speak freely with strangers. Once I was able to speak briefly to Thai and Taiwanese hostesses during a doya visit with the group SABAY, but they were not receptive to my proffered friendship. Many laborers’ problems stem from the immigration industry, which is a mix of legal and illegal businesses in both Japan and other Asian countries. Immigration brokers advertise an image of the “good life” in wealthy Japan, where one can receive high salaries and work few hours. Immigrants who answer these advertisements are then put into the hands

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of Japanese gangsters. The yakuza put them to work at low wages, with unsanitary and unsafe living conditions, while extracting “fees” to pay for their immigration costs, taken from the workers’ wages. Upon their arrival, many Asian migrants find their dreams of the good life have been misguided. Because the foreign laborers only see upper-class Japanese tourists abroad, many are shocked to discover that not all Japanese wear designer clothes and that there is an indigenous working- and lower-class population living in the yoseba who struggle every day to make ends meet. Another surprise to the foreigner is the living conditions in urban Japan; it is not uncommon for upper-middleclass, single white-collar workers to live in a six mat room, and commute up to two hours on a crowded train to their workplace. The illegal worker finds that his or her living conditions in Japan may be not as good as expected, or may be even worse than their home country. But failure is hard to accept. If they are not successful in Japan, many are loath to return home because of the high expectations placed on them by their families. One might guess that foreign laborers come to Japan because of the dire economic condition in their own countries, but this is not always the case. Reynald Ventura, in his memoirs3 of life as an illegal laborer in Kotobuki, notes that most of the Filipinos who come to Japan are not poor: If [a man] was facing starvation in Negros, he wouldn’t begin to be able to think of going abroad. It is only when you have some cash on hand or the ability to raise a loan that you can start thinking in those terms. (Ventura, 1992:163)

Ventura argues that Filipinos who come Japan do not come to make money, but come to make more money. This is true for Marguerite; she and her husband came to Kotobuki not because of dire economic need, but to earn more money to maintain the high standard of living to which they were accustomed. Marguerite’s family was also depending on them; after her father’s retirement, they could no longer expect to keep their affluent lifestyle without the extra income. Marguerite and her husband were working to keep up, not for survival. Therefore, “gaijin” (literally “outsider”, a slang term for “foreigner”) in Kotobuki are not from the bottom rungs of their own societies; they are often educated and skilled workers. They are used to a certain of standard of living quite different from that in Kotobuki. These Filipinos are filled with frustration at their treatment in Japanese society; they

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are angered when cheated by employers, looked down upon by other Japanese and thought of as criminals in general. In their own country, they would be in a position to fight for their human rights; in Japan, they can do nothing. Adjusting to this status is difficult, but necessary if they are to continue working. Ventura writes: We Filipinos in Kotobuki are mostly illegals; we are a minority and suffer discrimination but if we [rebel]…the discrimination will only become worse; fewer and fewer people will want to hire us. We can only lose from this kind of thing. An individual offence here leads automatically to collective guilt. (Ventura, 1992:63)

“Gaijin” in Kotobuki, and generally in Japan, are seen collectively. They are looked upon with both fear and fascination. Foreigners, misunderstood because of cultural and language differences, are seen as potentially dangerous and disruptive to Japanese society because they do not understand social rules. Yet foreigners have become necessary and even valued in some contexts. Some Japanese customers find South Asian women exotic and prefer to frequent “Filipino pubs” over clubs with Japanese dancers. Another attraction of foreign laborers is their malleability. It is easier for club owners to manipulate illegal foreigners than Japanese women who are able to exercise their legal rights. Manual labor employers who wish avoid paying benefits and insurance also prefer to hire foreigners. In a speech to the volunteer community, Reverend Satoh of Kalabaw said that there is not only an economic push from the foreign country to bring laborers to Japan, but also a pull from Japan. As long as there are social and economic spaces, albeit illegal and marginal, for them in Japanese society, migrants will continue to come to Japan. This idea is reiterated by Matsuda: Today, both legal and illegal foreign migrant workers are filling a significant need in Japan’s labor market and economic system. Furthermore, as they are absorbed in ever-increasing numbers into the lower reaches of Japanese society, they become a pervasive, if almost invisible, part of the social fabric. (Matsuda, 1991:161)

VOLUNTEER PROFILES Poverty is not the only cause of social marginality; people with money can also fall into peripheral categories. Many Kotobuki volunteers also

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have personal lives far from “mainstream” standards. Issues that affect the middle class, such as divorce, religious identity, family disputes and homosexuality, are equally important in this discussion of social marginality. Perhaps it is this non-mainstream quality that brings residents and volunteers together in Kotobuki. In their struggle to come to terms with various issues, volunteers find themselves further and further away from mainstream society. Not all volunteers have troubled lives, but I found the ones who were most committed to the area had certain characteristics which caused them to part from their formerly mainstream lifestyle. Others came to Kotobuki looking for something missing in their lives: spiritual fulfilment, or freedom from set gender and social roles, for example. All volunteers had something about them which made them different from the average Japanese, and made them feel at home in Kotobuki. The five volunteers I profile here are divided into three categories: the Christians, the students and a welfare services employee, though none of these categories are mutually exclusive. As is characteristic of all Kotobuki activities, overlapping and blurred identity boundaries are the norm; seldom are volunteers in the same group alike. Though the two women share a commitment to Christian social activism, Ishii Sachiko, working and living alone in Kotobuki, lives a life very different from the comfortable, upper-middle class surroundings of Mrs Azuma. Toride and Kanbara, the student leaders of the Iryohan, have very different personal problems which lead them both to, and eventually away from, Kotobuki. Lastly, Fukuoka, the leader of the Labor Union, demonstrates that a Japanese man does not need to bow to conventional social pressures; his identity is not based on being a successful provider for his family. Their stories give new insights into variations of Japanese family and social life. The Christians: Ishii Sachiko I have already introduced Ms Ishii, the manager of the Kotobuki Community Center, in Chapter 4. Her contributions to the volunteer community are many; here, a discussion of her personal background gives us a better idea of who Christian volunteers are and what motivates them. Ishii is originally from Aomori Prefecture, the northernmost part of Honshu island. She moved to Machida, a western suburb of Tokyo, about 10 years ago and studied at divinity school. She came to Kotobuki in 1987, when she began working for the Kotobuki Chiku Senta. Ishii

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lives in the public housing above the Labor Center, putting her literally in the center of all the volunteer activity in Kotobuki. Her total immersion in the community (both public and private) is admired by volunteers and residents alike, for she is an outstanding example of a Christian volunteer. But she is not merely a volunteer, for she has made Kotobuki her home. Most Christian volunteers only come to Kotobuki occasionally, and soon return to their homes in a safe, middle-class environment. Ishii Sachiko has embraced Kotobuki in ways that few other volunteers or social welfare professionals have. Her reputation in the streets is that she is kind but tough, gentle but not someone to mess with. I have seen this slender, five foot two inch Japanese woman in a tee-shirt and jeans dive between two fighting laborers to stop a brawl, ducking the broken beer bottle one man was waving. People respect her opinions and the level of knowledge she has of Kotobuki and other yoseba. This knowledge comes from first-hand experience and extensive reading on the subject: Ishii collects articles from journals, magazines and newspapers on various topics that affect the yoseba and has amassed a small library in her office. Though strong in spirit, Ishii has been through many difficult periods in regard to her physical health. My first introduction to her health problems was when she returned to Aomori in the spring of 1992 to go through a series of medical tests; she was preparing to become an organ donor for her brother. During her long absence, community members spoke often about her condition: Was she okay? When would she be back? How “erai” (great) she was for making such a sacrifice…While gone, her reputation grew; not only had she forsaken material comforts by moving to Kotobuki, but she was also willing to give a kidney to her brother. Her health seemed to deteriorate over the year following her operation. Frequent trips to the doctor for chronic stomach pain, a bout of hepatitis, urinary tract infections and kidney stones forced her close the Community Center from time to time. “Poor Sachiko-chan,” everyone said. “Working so hard to care for every one else and not thinking of her own health!” A Chinese herbal specialist put her on a strict diet of no meat and no white sugar that improved her condition considerably, but in 1995 she underwent another operation. This procedure relieved her of chronic kidney stones, and allowed her to enjoy whatever foods she liked. Though her health improved over those three years, her determination to stay in Kotobuki and continue her work despite illness shows the extent of her commitment to the yoseba.

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Ishii’s health aside, another topic regarding her personal life was the state of her marriage. This was not openly discussed by volunteers or residents, for we had too much respect for her. Rather, I had to put the pieces together bit by bit, ingesting comments from various people. It started one day when she told me that the surname she used was her married name. The way she said this prompted me to ask no further questions. Months later, Ishii took me for coffee one afternoon after we attended church together; she knew I was about to visit to the communal farm in Shizuoka Prefecture for the first time. “Have you heard about an Ishii-kun, the one living in Shizuoka? He is my husband.” She went on to explain that her husband was staying with his parents, who had a country cabin in the mountains near the farm. “We came to Kotobuki together, living in [one of the more expensive apartment buildings on the edge of Kotobuki]. I started with the Community Center and he worked for Roba-no-Ie. It was fine for awhile, but then my husband couldn’t take Kotobuki any more. It was too crowded, too noisy, too much for him. He wanted to get away. So he went home to his parents, and he has been there ever since. We are in the process of getting a divorce, but the paperwork is very difficult. I don’t like to talk about it much, but I wanted you to know…”4 From Toride, who at the time was living on the Kotobuki communal farm, I found that Mr Ishii was not just tired or bored with Kotobuki, but had possibly suffered a breakdown. He had been living with his parents for several years, and had no job. Volunteers were puzzled by Mr Ishii’s situation and quietly sympathesized with Ms Ishii. Despite their own unusual qualities, most volunteers still believe, like most Japanese, that an adult male should have a productive professional life in order to be fully mature. The Ishiis’ lack of communication was awkward at times for the volunteers who were involved with both the Shizuoka farm and the Kotobuki Community Center. There was no open discussion of the couple’s problems, but there was silent awareness. During a tea break, one of the housewives in the church group said, “Say, let’s all go out to Shizuoka in April for cherry blossom viewing!” Her idea was met with enthusiasm, except for Ishii, who made some excuse not to go with them until she could be sure her husband was not around. Ishii’s problem, however, was not economic but ethical. As a devout Japanese Christian, she is uncomfortable with the idea of divorce. Though Japanese Christians are socially liberal in their public policies, their ideas about personal lives are often conservative. They believe there should be no divorce and no living together before marriage. These

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beliefs are commonly held by Japanese Protestants and Catholics alike. If she goes through with the divorce, Mrs Ishii risks alienation not only from her family, but also from her church community. Also, her apartment was registered in her husband’s name; it was public housing which was available only to families, not single individuals. If they divorce, she will also lose her lease. The drawbacks of divorce were so great that for the time being Ishii chose to continue in a bekkyo kekkon (a married couple living separately), pondering her future and the risks she may have to take for her freedom. Ishii told me that she had chosen not to start a family and instead to devote herself to her work. Though she was as strong as ever as an activist, I began also to see her sad side—stress, bad health and a childless marriage in ruins. She was outside the stereotypical roles set in Japanese society for women which include marriage, child-rearing, and household activities. She was particularly close to the elderly in Kotobuki; perhaps they were her “children”. I was once told by a fellow American graduate student that childless people were the only true altruists; if that is the case, then Ishii was more than an altruist, for she was mother, sister and friend to all the elderly, handicapped, poor and lost in Kotobuki. The Christians: Mrs Azuma If Ishii symbolizes the engine of Christian activity in Kotobuki, Mrs Azuma represents the support system. I met Mrs Azuma, a 59-year-old housewife, while volunteering at Roba-no-Ie, the Community Center and the senior citizens’ club. She was an outgoing and out-spoken member of a core group of housewife volunteers who attended to an ecumenical Protestant church in Sakuragi-cho, which is two train stops away from Kotobuki. It is a UCCJ church, the organization which sponsors the Community Center. Her husband, a dashing, mustached man, was given to wearing silk ascots, and she referred to him as “my handsome husband”. She had two children, grown and married with families of their own. There was also a granddaughter, and grandma was constantly buying her little presents. When I attended church with her one Sunday, she introduced me to her husband; he was not involved with Kotobuki activities, but they attended church together. Her husband was in the communications industry, and as a member of the masu komi (a Japanese abbreviation for the mass communications industry), he could vary his appearance and attitudes from the stiff formalities of other businessmen. He and

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his wife were not outwardly concerned with appearances and social convention, yet they both appeared elegant in their speech and actions. The Azumas were wealthy; their names appeared often in volunteer group newsletters as contributors to various causes. As another example of their affluent life-style, one winter Mrs Azuma was absent from several activities, and on her return apologized for her absence because she and her husband had just spent a week in Rome. Despite her upper-class trappings, no one accused Mrs Azuma of Christian hypocrisy. Though her commitment to Kotobuki is partial (because she maintained separate residence) and at times her activities are marked by long absences (“Oh, I’ve just been so busy with this and that”, she will remark with a wave of her hand), she is a favorite with all volunteers and the residents with whom she has contact. My first impression of Mrs Azuma was one of overabundant energy. Talking with her was exhausting, for one could not keep up and respond adequately to her energetic chatter. As abundant as her energy was her generosity. On an overnight trip with the Roba-no-Ie, she brought extra long-sleeved shirts which she gave to others when the rain turned cold (“Go ahead! Keep it, I’m giving it to you—they’re new, after all!”). When we had retired to our hotel rooms before dinner, Mrs Azuma took charge and gave all the female volunteers (who had gathered in one room for a furtive beer) expert shoulder massages. Mrs Azuma’s own style of participation in Kotobuki represents another pattern of women’s roles in volunteer activities. These housewives were never in positions of recognized power and authority in the volunteer groups, but they were far from quiet and submissive. They took on roles appropriate to their status in society; often they were more outspoken and confident than the supposedly liberated American anthropologist. I came to understand the housewives’ status in larger society as well as in Kotobuki in my observations of them working with the handicapped. Many people in Japan have been taught to treat the mentally and physically handicapped with kindness and consideration because of their “special” situation. I had been taught to believe that Christians should be “charitable” to those who are less fortunate. While I was busy being “kind” and “understanding” to the handicapped, as I thought a “good Christian” should be, I found myself being emotionally bulldozed by some of the clients. I couldn’t bring myself to say no and found myself in awkward positions trying to preserve some semblance of distance between myself and handicapped residents. In all honesty, I

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felt guilty for wanting to get away from people whom I believed to have little contact with family or friends. For example, one evening a young man with a mild emotional and learning disorder attached himself to me, and I found it very difficult to maintain what I thought was “proper distance”, for I knew he didn’t have many friends. In plain terms, I felt sorry for him, so I did not tell him to leave me alone as his conversation became annoying and exaggerated. He wanted to walk me to the station, and then said he wanted to go out with me afterwards for a drink or meal. I floundered in trying to disengage myself from him, but Mrs Azuma stepped in and said firmly, “Listen, we’ve had a good time, but now it’s time for you to go home. You leave Carolyn alone.” Later, we discussed his case, and the women told me, “You must be strict with them, or they’ll walk all over you.” This attitude was exemplified by the director of the workshop for the handicapped, a member of Mrs Azuma’s church. She was good-naturedly notorious for her strictness: there were cartoons of an angry woman with lightning bolts and smoke coming out of her ears hanging on the wall in the workshop. This was how the church housewives dealt with handicapped residents: they were kind, helpful, but strict. Yet the housewives’ strictness was not a fault in their character; they were not seen as overbearing or unpleasant. Rather, their age and gender gave them a motherly image that was kind but authoritative. This image comes from the typical urban Japanese household, where the father is often out of the house working or socializing with business associates. At home, the mother is responsible for the rearing of the children. Though Japanese children are often indulged, when discipline is necessary, Japanese mothers supply it. Mrs Azuma and the others projected this family image in their relationships with the clients. The elderly were respected and called affectionate names; Mrs Azuma referred to the president of the senior citizens’ club, as “o-ni-chan” (“big brother”). She mixed comfortably with the clients of Roba-no-Ie and all liked her; they were the “children” who were moderately indulged but firmly guided. Mrs Azuma was skilled at interacting with certain residents, but her activities in Kotobuki were limited to what I called the “easy” groups. There are various levels of social problems in Kotobuki, some being more difficult for an upper-class housewife to confront. One evening in the first few months of my fieldwork, Toride from the Iryohan and I spent a few hours outside the yoseba talking about the research I wanted to do. In the course of the conversation, we drew up an imaginary list

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of groups of Kotobuki residents based on how easy they are for volunteers to work with. At the top were Kotobuki’s children and the senior citizens, because these two groups don’t drink much alcohol (if any), harass volunteers or start fights. Next came the physically and mentally handicapped, who are more difficult to communicate with, but also don’t drink or fight. Next for me came the Filipinos in Kotobuki, for we could speak freely in English. But last on the list for both Toride and me were the Japanese laborers (the most numerous group in Kotobuki) because of the frequency of incidents where laborers treated female volunteers badly, drank too much, and fought with each other and other volunteers. Christian housewives tended to stay away from the “drinkers and fighters”. Office work in the Community Center put them in almost no contact with residents. When cooking for the senior citizens, most of the women worked and ate their meal in the kitchen, separate from the residents in the dining hall. Perhaps this was because working in the midst of Kotobuki could be a shock to the average upper-class housewife, especially in the case of first-time volunteers. Thus, middle-aged housewives who volunteered in the yoseba tended join the “safe” groups, whose members treat them with courtesy. Mrs Azuma started coming to Kotobuki through her church’s introduction. She admitted that many of her other friends didn’t understand why she went to such a dangerous place. She spoke about her own neighbors, and her relationship with that community, but she found it lacking in sincerity. “The custom of greeting neighbors on the street is becoming rarer and rarer,” she said, though she stressed that the relationships with the “uchi no mawari”—the people in one’s neighborhood—are still important. Mrs Azuma finds her “uchi” elsewhere: in her religious community. The church, with which she identifies strongly, is within walking distance of her house. This church, with its commitment to charitable work and social activism, brought her to the yoseba. Because of her experience as a Japanese Christian and as a volunteer, Mrs Azuma’s sense of her own community has expanded beyond her neighborhood to encompass people of different religions, backgrounds and classes. At a coffee shop after a Roba-no-Ie day trip, Mrs Azuma spoke to me about human spirit. She was very impressed with people who had physical challenges to overcome and she told me of her desire to visit to a museum in Gumma Prefecture to see an exhibition of the work of a handicapped Chinese man who paints with the brush held in his mouth (here, Mrs Azuma gave me many animated demonstrations of the artist’s

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technique). She went on to tell me about a relative who, in the latter stages of diabetes, had her legs amputated. Mrs Azuma deeply admired the undefeated spirit of the woman in a suffering body, and this admiration was perhaps the reason why she continued coming back to work with the handicapped in Kotobuki. Perhaps her church community had first encouraged her to participate in Kotobuki volunteer activities and the flexibility of volunteering was more appealing to her than taking a part-time job to fill up extra hours created by her grown children leaving home. But more importantly, Mrs Azuma was drawn on an emotional level to Kotobuki because of the valuable lessons she learned about spiritual endurance from working with residents. The students Toride and Kanbara are Tokyo University students who acted as leaders of the Iryohan during the period of my fieldwork, 1992–94. They did not found this volunteer group, but “inherited” it from other activists belonging to a left-wing group who started the team’s smaller scale activities years earlier. The pair’s efforts, however, enlarged the scope of Iryohan operations, and their activities became one of the most successful and effective in the Kotobuki volunteer community. Their stories demonstrate the dynamics of student involvement in the yoseba. “Toride-kun” Toride was one of the youngest but the most outspoken volunteer in Kotobuki. Unlike most volunteers, he had a reputation for speaking his mind openly, honestly and loudly. Toride often put himself out when others were afraid to take the risk. Many times, he was asked to participate in other groups’ negotiations with government officials because of his willingness to take on a problem and discuss it openly. Acting as a mouthpiece for others, sometimes his quick reactions and no-nonsense manner got him into trouble. Toride was often in shouting matches and even fist fights with Kotobuki residents and sometimes other volunteers. He was considered “troublesome” by other volunteers and residents, but admired for his courage and commitment to the area; Ms Ishii said once that he was a “junsui na hito (a [morally] pure person)”. He was 22 when I first met him, and was living at home with his family in northern Yokohama. His biography reads like that of the ideal Japanese student: “salary man” family, house in a good

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neighborhood, his father in a stable job, his mother at home, keeping house and practicing Japanese calligraphy as a hobby. During their primary school years, he and his younger brother studied hard at juku, or cram schools, to gain entrance to a top private boys’ school in Tokyo (located near one of the Tokyo University campuses) from middle to high school. Toride continued to study hard, and joined various school clubs like the science club and the rugby team. On the first try at the entrance exam, he was admitted to Tokyo University at the age of 18. After his entrance to the prestigious university in 1988, Toride was tired from seven years of hard study. Much like any other Japanese college student, he felt it was time to relax, take a break and enjoy himself for a bit. He attended the gakuensai (school fair) where different college clubs were recruiting, and he was drawn to the booths held by various groups within the Todai gakusei undo. The “Tokyo University student movement” includes many splintered activist groups involved with social and political demonstrations. Toride’s first protests were against the Unification Church (against the recruiting of students on the Todai campus) and the Japanese imperial system. His activities in the latter cause came to a head during the 1989 funeral of the former Emperor Hirohito; Toride and his classmates protested the cancellation of classes on this public day of mourning and they stormed an administrative office after their banners were forcibly removed from campus buildings. Soon, his involvement in these political and social demonstrations took up more time than his class work. His senior students reproached the younger members on their commitment to the movement: “Which is more important: taking your final exams, graduating from an élite college and becoming a bourgeois business man…or protesting today against social injustice? You decide!” After reading volumes of critical literature about Japan’s social structure, politics and history, Toride came to believe that political ideals were more important than the mundane business of school. He thought it inconsistent to participate in the movement and continue along his course of studies at the “bourgeois” university. He stopped attending classes, made no contact with professors or administrators, and vowed he would not graduate from Tokyo University. Participation in the student movement against the imperial system heightened his awareness about class structure in Japan. Throughout his life, he had been unknowingly a part of the “élite” without understanding the situation of the less fortunate. He decided to learn more about the underclass. He participated in the building of the laborers’ cafeteria in San’ya. It was at that time that he first met Kanbara,

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a fellow student who was involved in activities in Kotobuki. Toride enjoyed the work in San’ya but the two-hour commute to his house in Yokohama was tiring, so he decided to transfer his energies to Kotobuki. The two students joined forces, and the Kotobuki Iryohan became a sort of Tokyo University student group. The new group had no offices in the yoseba, and students met on the Komaba campus to organize their activities. The two student leaders gained access to office space, computer facilities and a facsimile machine at the student activities’ office. Furthermore, Kanbara and Toride had begun living informally in a dormitory room rented out by one of their student movement friends. In this run-down room, the students planned the monthly consultation, organized fund drives and printed their newsletters. The room was lined with bookcases from floor to ceiling, filled with books on politics, economics and history, with posters of past Kotobuki events and various political demonstrations decorating the walls. There was a triple bunk bed against one wall, and for a time another student made his bed on a large windowsill. Living arrangements were casual and communal; the group even let a few Burmese students whose visas had run out stay for a period of time. Before Toride entered the dormitory room, there had been trouble at home. Back in Yokohama, Toride’s parents were unhappy with his dwindling commitment to his classes and his increasing commitment to Kotobuki. As previously mentioned, when I first interviewed Toride, he was still living at home, but this was not for long. He had just begun working at the fourth floor Seikatsukan office, filling in for Fukuoka, who was taking three months’ sick leave. Toride worked six days a week, nine to five, leaving no time for classes. A few weeks after he started at the Seikatsukan, his mother confronted him one morning: “Are you going to school today?” (no) “Are you going to Kotobuki today?” (yes). The argument escalated and Toride walked out of his house without taking any of his belongings. He did not return to his parents’ house for almost two years. At first he slept on the couches of the Seikatsukan office and the campus dormitory. After three months, he was exhausted by this “homeless” lifestyle, and Nana-chan, formerly of the Seikatsukan, offered him room and board at Rengeso, the group home in Shizuoka Prefecture. In exchange, he could work on the farm and help care for Kazuhiro. At this time, despite the fact that Toride left Kotobuki physically, his ties to Kotobuki grew stronger for he had cut off relations with his family and school to live and work with people from Kotobuki.

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His family disagreements concerned not only personal relationships within the family but involved his family’s relationship to the extended family and the local community. Word had gotten around the Torides’ neighborhood that the eldest son had turned into a “communist”; people gossiped about the parents’ failure to “control their son”. Neighborhood gossip continued, not about Toride’s political leanings, but his mental health. There was some “talk” about how strange the boy was acting after he got into Tokyo University, and then there were phone calls to the house saying that their son was “crazy”. ‘They called on New Year’s Day,” Toride said, with tears in his eyes. His former high school teachers also received anonymous calls, saying that Toride was “kurutta” (Japanese slang for “insane”). Though his parents determined it was probably a jealous former classmate of their son making the phone calls, the damage was done; the family’s reputation among the extended family and local community had been damaged. There were also financial concerns and worries about the family’s future which colored the parents’ reaction to Toride’s decisions about his education. The first son is often thought to be responsible for the well-being of the family; in Toride’s family, the performance of the first son was especially important because of the insecure position Toride’s father held in their extended family. The father was a third son, the youngest of a family of five siblings. Toride’s grandfather, who died when Toride’s father was a child, owned a fair amount of land in northern Yokohama and according to the traditional principles of male primogeniture, Toride’s eldest uncle inherited the land. After Toride’s father married, the eldest uncle allowed him to build a house to raise his family on a plot of land he owned a few hundred meters away from the main house. As long as the brothers, who are separated in age by a decade, were on good terms the family was able to use the land rentfree. But Toride’s parents could not help but worry about their future. After the death of the eldest uncle, the land will be inherited by Toride’s cousin and rumor was that she and her husband were planning to build an apartment house on the site. This would put Toride’s family quite literally on the street. The Torides’ shaky financial future made Toride’s decision to leave school even more upsetting to his parents. Toride’s father was investing in his sons for the future. He had taken out loans for his children’s private education, not to buy land to stabilize the family’s situation. Many Japanese would say Toride’s father has made an admirable sacrifice for his children, but Toride was bitter about the loans (“never asked for all of it anyway,” he said). Toride argued particularly with

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his mother, who may have felt her status in the community had been tarnished by her son’s failure to graduate and impress family and neighbors. Toride’s extended family all lived in the northern Yokohama area; aunts, uncles and cousins gossiped about his failure to graduate, and wondered where Toride’s parents had gone wrong. The more Toride alienated himself from his family, the closer he came to Kotobuki. Just as yoseba residents have left their homes for economic or personal reasons, Toride too was alone in the world and found a modicum of belonging in Kotobuki. “I always thought I would end up in a doya, living in Kotobuki for the rest of my life,” he said. After two years of rotating farm life with visits to the city, sleeping at friends’ apartments, Toride grew tired. At 23 he began to long for the things that mainstream adults desire: a stable home life, a steady income, perhaps a wife and children. “Slumming” in Kotobuki lost some of its rebellious appeal, and he began in earnest to prepare for his re-entry to the mainstream. His commitment to Kotobuki weakened further following his decision to study abroad. After his decision to leave Japan, he re-established contact with his parents, who accepted his choice and supported this next step to education and a possible career. He then quit the Iryohan and all other Kotobuki activities. Toride moved back to his family home for a short time before he left Japan. Some yoseba activists were angry with him for suddenly turning his back on his commitments; after all, hadn’t Toride been the most outspoken, most critical of the volunteer groups? How could he criticize so openly and then not take responsibility for his actions? Some volunteers felt betrayed by Toride. Others, such as Ms Ishii, Kanbara and other Iryohan members, understood Toride’s decision to leave Kotobuki and remained friendly with him during “volunteer off-hours”. They knew that the yoseba had been another kind of classroom for Toride, where he had learned lessons not only about Japanese society but also about himself, and that those lessons would serve him well wherever he went. “Kanbara-kun” Kanbara, in contrast to the loud and unrestrained Toride, was an intensely private and somewhat formal person. When I asked him where he was born, he replied, “Kyoto,” but then rattled off a list of six or seven cities around Japan where he had lived for some period of time. His father had graduated from the élite Kyoto University with a degree in architecture and worked for the government’s construction ministry.

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The family moved constantly, trailing the father’s various projects. When I met him in Kotobuki, his parents were again living in Kyoto and Kanbara had his own apartment near the campus of Tokyo University, but preferred to spend his days and nights in the book-filled dormitory room the Iryohan used as an unofficial office. Like his friend Toride, he was enrolled in, but did not attend, an undergraduate program in Asian history at Todai, and supported himself by doing part-time work in a juku (cram school). The rest of his time was devoted to activist work. While Toride was casual and often emotional in his language and expressions, Kanbara chose his words carefully and delivered his ideas precisely and formally. He often used complicated language when writing and editing the Iryohan newsletter. He had an air of clipped efficiency despite his scruffy student looks, like a British aristocrat dressed in a plaid wool shirt and army boots. He was always attentive and focused at volunteer meetings, and took detailed notes of the discussions. Kanbara participated in many groups, both in Kotobuki and outside, so he had volumes of notebooks, each on a different social issue. Though his notes were copious, he also doodled political slogans around the text which were often in English, such as “Proletariat Liberation” and “Speak Out”. One day, Kanbara, Toride and I went to a foreign workers’ clinic near Yokohama Station to assist the overworked and under-paid staff with a semi-annual check-up. This clinic offered low-cost health care to foreign workers without visas or insurance. There were also several members of the press present, intent on getting information about foreign laborers. Afterwards, Kanbara was interviewed by a radio station reporter. The reporter asked him why he had first became a volunteer in Kotobuki. Kanbara rebuffed her in his cool, formal manner, and afterwards, scoffed at the simplicity of the reporter’s questions. “Why one comes to Kotobuki is a highly personal and private question”…did she think we would just tell anyone?” Like Toride, Kanbara’s introduction to Kotobuki was due to other social activities off and on the Tokyo University campus. He was also involved in an off-campus gay rights activist group that was active in distributing information on AIDS and the legal rights of gays and lesbians. His group assisted a defendant in a court case challenging the Tokyo government’s policy5 on the treatment of gay employees at the workplace. Kanbara himself “came out” several years ago, and was not shy about his gay identity; he wore buttons and tee-shirts with gay

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political slogans and, if provoked, spoke candidly about his gay lifestyle and activities with the gay rights group. There was a small homosexual population in Kotobuki, which was not involved with the volunteer community. A small group of gay prostitutes worked evenings at one corner of Kotobuki Park, near the Seikatsukan and Toride told me they went out with laborers and other men who came from outside Kotobuki. Other volunteers did not associate Kanbara with this set of people and did not openly discuss the situation of Kotobuki gay prostitutes, even though we often talked about the problems of female sex workers in Japan. Volunteers may have tried to avoid discussions of Kanbara’s personal sexual orientation but if provoked by an outsider, they defended him. A Christian college student, visiting the Iryohan, made a degrading remark about lesbians in the United States at a dinner meeting after the consultation. Toride began the tirade, and he and Kanbara scolded her so soundly she never came back again. After observing this incident, one could see it was easier for volunteers to defend Kanbara against a discriminatory attack than it was to explore their own feelings and opinions about his homosexuality. Volunteers were accustomed to defending an “underdog”. There was no break in the logic: a person who experienced discrimination because of his or her ethnic or class background, or physical ability, was equally wronged as someone who experienced discrimination because of their sexual orientation. Therefore, volunteers and residents did not make an issue of Kanbara’s personal life and he was able not only to participate but take a leading role in the volunteer community. I spoke to Kanbara briefly about his gay lifestyle, about the activities of his gay rights group, about his family’s reaction to his coming out (accepting him but not his life style), and various other topics in the gay debate. But he was a reluctant interviewee. More information came from his close friend, Tokyo University classmate and Iryohan colleague, Toride. In the second year of my fieldwork, Toride confided to me that though Kanbara identified himself as a gay man, he had never had a homosexual relationship or experience. Therefore, Toride questioned this identification. At first I tried to play one of Toride’s favorite games— he loved to twist around people’s words and find the hidden social discrimination within—and accused him of prejudice because a heterosexual virgin can “know” he or she is a heterosexual the same way a gay man without experience can “know” he is homosexual. Toride conceded that yes, homosexuals can feel they are gay without having the experience, but argued that taking public and political steps

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to advertise his gay status put Kanbara at high risk of social alienation. Using a “plus” and “minus” model to analyze the risk, Toride explained that the “pluses” of coming out are living openly and working to improve the condition of gay people everywhere, while the “minuses” include discrimination, isolation and problems at home and at the workplace. Toride’s analysis of Kanbara’s social situation and the choices available to him illustrate attitudes about homosexuality in current Japanese society, even in the most liberal circles: one must to give something up in order to gain something else. Kanbara’s sexual orientation, though accepted by all members of the Iryohan, became a heated topic for discussion at one point during my fieldwork. At a late-night gathering of Mokuyo Patororu and Iryohan members, Kanbara entered in a debate with others about the prostituting of South-east Asian women in Japan. Kanbara criticized his fellow volunteers for concentrating the discussion on cases excluding male prostitutes, because gay prostitution in Japan was equally important. Others listened, nodded in agreement, but pointed out that the problems of Thai and Filipina women working in the Japanese sex industry were more relevant to their work in Kotobuki. Kanbara became agitated and said that others were not “recognizing” his gay lifestyle by excluding homosexuality from the debate on prostitution, sexual politics and discrimination. Toride cut in and said he understood and accepted Kanbara’s position but did not feel compelled to apologize for not bringing up homosexual issues, because he felt it was unrelated to the conversation at hand. This conversation quickly accelerated into an argument between the two leaders of the Iryohan, which revolved around Toride’s “non-acceptance” of Kanbara’s coming out. Kanbara broke down in tears that night in front of the members of the two groups, admitting his fear and uncertainty about his coming out. All listened quietly to his final words, and in the end, all supported him. In his confusion, not sure of where to go, Kanbara found that Kotobuki was a place that would take him in. After a two-year hiatus from his studies, like Toride, Kanbara also decided to make a change and reported to others that he would finish his degree at Tokyo University and write an honors thesis to fulfill his academic requirement. Shortly before Toride left Japan, Kanbara prepared a graduate student studying economics at a nearby Yokohama university to take some of the group’s organizational responsibilities. The original Todai core of volunteers further splintered when another member quit to move to Nagano Prefecture after his decision to marry and attend medical school in the countryside. Students come and go,

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but there were always new students waiting to join, keeping the cycle going. Kanbara and I re-established contact two years after I left Kotobuki and corresponded via electronic mail. Not long before I finished this manuscript, I asked him about his experience in Kotobuki and told him what I had written about him. He replied: I [used to] discuss many things with Toride, but I mostly felt that I lost [those arguments]. I cried hard about those fights, and as I look back I am embarrassed. But at that time I had not yet become fully involved with…OCCUR [the Japanese Association for the Lesbian and Gay Movement]. Now that I think of it, I sort of stumbled into Kotobuki. There, I got out all the things I had been thinking about in my personal and public life, and now I think that it was a good experience for me—it helped me learn to make things objective. And Kotobuki was quite a different culture from the campus-centered group that was my culture; a culture different from most Japanese people’s experience.6 The employee, labor leader and counselor: Mr Fukuoka He did not use his real name, but everyone called him by the surname “Fukuoka”, the name of his home town in Kyushu. Aliases were common in Kotobuki; many laborers called each other names taken from the regions where they came from or nicknames referring to physical or personal characteristics. Fukuoka had a salaried position working in the Seikatsukan fourth-floor office as a counselor but more importantly, he also held the position of chairperson of the labor union’s governing committee. Because of his affiliation with two powerful organizations (the union and the Seikatsukan), he took the lead in organizing events, both in work and play. Fukuoka was constantly organizing softball games, parties and barbeques for the volunteers. He was one of the most sociable people in Kotobuki; whenever I brought a guest to Kotobuki, I always took him or her directly to Fukuoka’s desk for the first introduction to the yoseba. There, we would be received warmly, shown photographs of past summer festivals, and told various humorous and animated stories of Fukuoka’s Kotobuki. Unlike many Japanese people who are shy upon first introduction, Fukuoka often asked guests, or anyone else who happened to be visiting the office, questions about their love life or other personal topics. Yet he was amusing rather than annoying, rather like a slightly rude but jocular late-night talk show host. Fukuoka had long hair, worn always

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in a ponytail, and a mustache, and often dressed in army fatigue/hippie style. Despite his avant-garde appearance, he led a respectable existence living with his wife and two teenage daughters in an elegant manshon (“mansion”, or a modern-style apartment) in another part of Yokohama. Like Ms Ishii, another full-time resident, volunteer and activist, Fukuoka was not in the best of health. In his early forties, he sometimes took extended sick leave from work, battling a liver condition. Once Fukuoka laughingly told me that the best way for a Japanese man to live is to let his wife work for him. The story of his home life ran at odds with the typical middle-class family. His wife, the daughter of an important labor union figure in western Japan, grew up conscious of class discrimination and was determined to make life better for herself and for her children. She worked throughout her married life as a health care worker, and was the main breadwinner of the family. Fukuoka willingly told all that his apartment was paid for by his wife’s salary. To add to this, his daughters went to a notinexpensive private school in northern Yokohama. He was satisfied with his role as an observer of society rather than taking an active role in the stereotypical male personification of the “salary-man”. Fukuoka first came to Kotobuki as a freelance news photographer. Despite his later identification with the union and the area in general, he came with no experience in manual labor. After making contact with the labor union, he worked as a photographer for the group, documenting their work. As previously mentioned in the section on Mr Takezawa, yoseba residents and volunteers are wary of reporters, photographers and film-makers. At that time also, only writers and photographers from within the community or with very close ties with the union were given permission to work in Kotobuki. Fukuoka received approval from the union, and became their official photographer for union publications. He became the union chairperson after the former leader died of cancer in 1984. Soon after he began working in the Seikatsukan, he immersed himself in other activities. His primary activities were with the Kotobuki residents’ committee, the preparations for administration of New Year’s activities, and the “Shin-chan” legal support committee. Fukuoka also worked on drafting petitions to submit to the Yokohama municipal government on behalf of the union, making various demands to improve working conditions. Fukuoka spent a great deal of time in front of his word processor writing these documents to present to people outside the yoseba, such as government and industry officials, written in a style and in a language which he felt best expressed the laborers’ ideas.

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His greatest claim to fame in Kotobuki beside his union leadership was his participation in publishing the anthology of poetry, essays, and remembrances of a former union leader who had died at the age of 32. Fukuoka wrote part of the introduction and one of the following three chapters, and his photographs were prominently printed throughout the book. His friend had died suddenly and tragically, leaving a wife several months pregnant with their second child. Fukuoka and others wrote the book as a tribute to the leader, so that the child would have a legacy of his father. Fukuoka’s writings in the anthology use a class-conscious, Marxist vocabulary, calling for the abolishment of social and economic inequality in Japan as well as the recognition for Japan’s laborers. In his writings we see Fukuoka was not a comrade laborer, but an artist, crafting words and images of the yoseba. He was obviously taken by life in the yoseba; in it he saw honesty, freedom and strength of humanity. Fukuoka wrote this way because he wanted the outside world to see these good qualities, not just dirt, violence and poverty. Fukuoka, as a humanist in Kotobuki, was concerned with preserving social relationships in the volunteer community as well as the residential neighborhood. For example, Fukuoka played intermediary when there was a disagreement between Toride and Naomi, one of the female Iryohan members. Naomi went to Fukuoka and confided in him; Fukuoka went to straighten things out with Toride. His go-between role was due to his long-standing affiliation with the area; he knew just about everyone in town. Some of his social relationships were complicated: Fukuoka’s former colleague in the Seikatsukan, Nanachan, was the ex-wife of his brother-in-law. After their divorce, he was partially responsible for bringing her to work at his office, showing his consideration for his relative’s difficult situation. Because of these close relationships between the union, the welfare services building and various volunteer groups, Fukuoka was considered a mediator with good connections in all spheres of the Kotobuki community. Fukuoka scoffed at the Japanese male stereotype of the “salaryman”, and did not believe in the Japanese middle-class “work ethic”. He thought life was to be enjoyed with good friends and several drinks. Fukuoka was often in the limelight; thus, he was often open to criticism from other volunteers. For example, I found him not to be sensitive to women’s issues in the yoseba, and was known to “rescue” women in cases of sexual harassment without reprimanding the offenders (for “boys will be boys”). Another gray area in Fukuoka’s identification with Kotobuki concerned class. One day Ms Ishii and I were talking

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about problems of Christian hypocrisy. Our discussion stemmed from the fact that Christians in Kotobuki and other yoseba were often criticized by political groups for mixing charity and proselytising. She defended the sincerity of Christian activism and was quick to point out Fukuoka as an anomaly in the non-Christian camp: “Look at him, the labor leader, living up there in that rippa na manshon” (“splendid apartment”—implying that he was equally guilty of hypocrisy, living outside the yoseba). But no one criticized Fukuoka publicly. His close relationship with the late union leader who was revered as a semi-god in the Kotobuki community and his labor leader father-in-law, as well as his own charismatic qualities, made him impervious to such reproach. Like Mrs Azuma, Fukuoka’s personal features allowed him to escape some of the criticisms to which others were subjected. That Fukuoka, a counselor and photographer who has never put in a day’s work as a laborer, could become the labor union leader seemed contradictory at times. But he was chosen to lead the union because of his verbal and personal skills, not for his construction know-how. Fukuoka loved to type up copious plans and proposals for new projects on his word processor, complete with complicated flow charts and tables that residents and even volunteers could not always follow. Fukuoka enjoyed being in the spotlight, taking the microphone, and making decisions. He and Toride were both natural leaders, which meant that when they were together, the two argued frequently. However, when I ran into Fukuoka on the street during the summer of 1995, he asked after Toride’s whereabouts in a friendly voice. Maybe Toride, though the two had fought often, reminded him of himself twenty years earlier. CONCLUSIONS: VOLUNTEERS AND SOCIAL RESPONSIBILITY The volunteers (excluding the full-time employees) share one important attribute: despite differences in sex, age and religious backgrounds, they all have time and energy to spare. This implies that they have the economic resources not to work full-time, or they are willing to forgo a more comfortable lifestyle in order to be in Kotobuki. Another implication is that the volunteers have overcome the social pressures that keep other Japanese away from volunteering: families, children, other activities such as the PTA, their own local neighborhood association, an active social life or hobbies. Japanese who do not have time for volunteering claim that their time away from work is often spent caring for their families, doing housework or socializing after

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hours with their co-workers. If they are students, often they must take part-time jobs to help pay for living expenses. Volunteers may have different levels of income and different responsibilities outside their volunteer commitments, but all have chosen to spend a considerable amount of time in an environment entirely different from mainstream Japan. Volunteers also appear to have a comparatively greater sense of social responsibility than other Japanese, illustrated by the choices they make in volunteering, working and/or living in Kotobuki. “Social responsibility” here is defined as the ethical decisions the individual makes about the problems of his/her social system, and the degree to which the individual chooses to participate in actively changing the society. Japanese who do not volunteer are too busy caring for their own families, working and perhaps participating to some extent in their immediate community: this is enough. This idea of staying close to the home is reflected in government policies concerning care for its senior citizens; each family is responsible for its own, and there should be a minimal requirement for government-sponsored programs. Policies based on reciprocity in family and community relationships are effective if all have equal access to resources and power. This is not the case for Kotobuki residents, many of whom are isolated from resources such as higher education and access to decent housing and jobs because of poverty, ethnic and social discrimination, physical and/or mental handicaps. Residents cannot always help themselves or each other; volunteers recognize this fact and decide that they must help. This chapter contains a mélange of different experiences and social issues; by placing them in one chapter I do not mean to imply that problems of the homeless or disabled are to be equated with the problems of upper middle-class college students. Instead, the issues that affect residents and volunteers, though not to be conflated, are connected because questions about Japanese society bring these disparate groups of people together. The residents’ stories bring to life the social problems that the volunteer groups address. Public and personal problems such as homelessness, discrimination and illness are not vague issues that volunteers debate and discuss, but obstacles that affect real people’s lives. Residents’ and volunteers’ lives are totally different, but their various social problems serve as a common ground for their personal relationships. Residents and volunteers have both made marked departures from mainstream society. The difference is that volunteers have a choice whether or not to leave, while residents may or may not have made

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decisions concerning the construction of their marginal status. Their lives are quite different, but they share time and space together in Kotobuki. Volunteer activities are one of the few social contexts where a wealthy housewife like Mrs Azuma can sit and chat with a person like Mr Takezawa. Mrs Azuma, in her comfortable suburban surroundings, would ordinarily never have the opportunity to interact with any one of the lower classes. In the same way, Mr Takezawa’s social world would not have included Tokyo University students, housewives and American anthropologists had he not participated in volunteer groups. The volunteer groups provide a context and an arena for interaction between people from all parts of society. The rich and poor, the sick and healthy, and the legitimate and non-legitimate members of urban Japanese society are separated by residence and class. In Kotobuki, their differences were not erased, but, through volunteering, the distance between them is lessened temporarily. FURTHER READING The Japanese educational system Ishida, Hiroshi. (1993) Social Mobility in Contemporary Japan: Educational Credentials, Class and the Labour Market in Cross National Perspective. London and Oxford: Macmillan. Rohlen, Thomas P. (1983) Japan’s High Schools. Berkeley: University of California Press. Smith, Henry DeWitt II. (1972) Japan’s First Student Radicals. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. White, Merry I. (1987) The Japanese Educational Challenge: A Commitment to Children. New York: Free Press; London: Collier Macmillan.

The history of Japanese homosexuality Leupp, Gary P. (1995) Male Colors: The Construction of Homosexuality in Tokugawa, Japan. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Migrant workers in Japan Kamiyama, Junji. (1990) “Yoseba to dekasegi rodosha-genba kara mita gaikokujinrodosha-tokushu (The yoseba and migrant laborers: feature article on foreign laborers from the worksite)”, Gijitsu to Ningen 19(1): 37–41. Komai, Hiroshi (translated by Jens Wilkinson). (1995) Migrant Workers in Japan (Gaikokujin rodosha teiju e no michi). London and New York: Kegan Paul.

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Nobuki, Fujimoto. (1989) “Holding Out Against Discrimination and Exploitation: Filipino Laborers”, AMPO Japan-Asia Quarterly Review 19(4): 7–11.

Japanese women Iwao, Sumiko. (1993) The Japanese Woman: Traditional Image and Changing Reality. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press.

6 Rituals “organized” and “disorganized” Examples of solidarity and conflict in the volunteer community

INTRODUCTION Rituals provide opportunities to analyze social relationships, power structures and ideologies, all of which are presented in crystallized form during ritual performance. Clifford Geertz writes that ritual “reinforces traditional social ties between individuals…[and thus] the social structure of a group is strengthened and perpetuated” (1973:142). When a ritual is successful in communicating symbolic meaning, it is ideologically significant to its participants. However, ritual process can break down, in which case symbolic meaning is garbled, motives are confused and the ritual participants’ expectations are not met. Geertz notes that the breakdown of symbolic meaning can be ascribed to “a discontinuity which leads not to social and cultural disintegration but to social and cultural conflict” (p. 164). Gaps between “social assumptions of the ritual” and reality bring about dissatisfaction on the part of the participants (p. 169). However, unsuccessful rituals are not abandoned; rather, Geertz says that “disorganized” rituals may be continued as a communicative sign of social change in ideology or political and social structure (ibid.). This chapter is a discussion of four Kotobuki rituals, some of which are “organized”, others “disorganized”. These ritual events reflect many mainstream Japanese religious and cultural beliefs, but we must not ignore important differences in Kotobuki ritual practices. Kotobuki’s social world and its inhabitants differ from mainstream Japanese society, therefore Kotobuki’s rituals represent and express an ideological world with values distinct from those described by other Japanese anthropologists. The first ritual is “organized”, and at first glance is quite similar to standard Japanese custom: an annual graveside visit to a communal tomb. Many Japanese make trips to visit their ancestral graves and

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make offerings of incense, flowers, rice wine and food. But there are differences; Joy Hendry’s description of the ritual care of ancestral remains (1987, 1995:120) is similar in structure to the Kotobuki senior citizens’ ritual, except for the important fact that in the Kotobuki case, the spirits venerated are not kin of the venerators. The cosmological world of Kotobuki residents includes strangers, which is quite different from traditional Japanese views of the after-world. I define the graveside visit as a “little” ritual, because it is small in scale and has fewer participants than other Kotobuki ceremonies. The graveside ritual illustrates how Kotobuki senior citizens feel the need to put their affairs in order at the end of their lives, and this requires constructing a “family” and a communal identity which they lack. Also notable is the participation of Christian volunteers in the Buddhist ceremony; as believers of a foreign religion, Japanese Christians constantly compromise their religious practices (but not beliefs) to coexist with a primarily non-Christian society. The ritual is evidence of Japanese Christians’ solutions when confronted with potential conflict between the religious and social identity. The next example is a “disorganized” ritual which brings the Kotobuki volunteer community in contact with other yoseba volunteers: the annual conference of yoseba activists. Volunteers and residents from the yoseba in Osaka, Tokyo, Nagoya, Kyoto and Yokohama gathered to exchange ideas about social work and volunteer activities. The conference aims to measure the development of problems in the yoseba all over Japan and to compare methods used by different activists and volunteers, but I found that the conference had little exchange, and showed much division, between yoseba. For many, the conference constitutes a first experience in another yoseba; I, as a Kotobuki volunteer, had to confront my own deeper fears and prejudices about the underclass in Japan outside of my well-known, comfortable environment. The conference, rather than reinforcing solidarity between volunteers, challenged my notions of what it means to work in Kotobuki versus what it means to work in a yoseba. The concluding two rituals are the “big rituals” in Kotobuki: the “organized” New Year’s volunteer activities and “disorganized” summer festival are large-scale undertakings which involve most residents, all volunteers and, to some extent, Yokohama city officials. The winter event, called the Etto, is a ritual unique to yoseba but incorporates some mainstream New Year’s practices. In this “organized” ritual, all is not entirely harmonious and conflict-free. However, volunteers acknowledge the primary need to house and feed

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homeless men during this holiday period and this shared priority brings together many people (both residents and volunteers) who ordinarily would have nowhere to go during the holidays. The more or less unified goal of the Etto contrasts with the unclear objectives of the Kotobuki summer festival. O-matsuri (festivals) are also held in many other communities around Japan; the summer festival is often during the Buddhist o-bon period, when the Japanese traditionally revere their deceased ancestors. But the Japanese summer festival is more than a tribute to the dead. Theodore C.Bestor defines a Japanese summer festival as a ritual which represents local social order, and expresses themes of “ranked stratification and hierarchy, communal solidarity and egalitarianism, and neighborhood identity and autonomy” (1989:251). In some ways, this festival at “Miyamoto-cho” is similar to the Kotobuki summer celebration: there are expressions of hierarchy and solidarity in yoseba ritual activities, but there are other departures from this definition in the Kotobuki case. Though most will admit that the festival is put on for the enjoyment of residents and with the focus on residency, the festival should also express local identity, according to Bestor’s definition. However, the festival is mainly organized and controlled by volunteers, not residents. These two groups are not always in agreement about how the festival should be run. The lack of a clear, agreed-upon goal for the festival prevents it from communicating any explicit notions of local identity. During these rituals, volunteers and residents spend a great deal of time together, and through this prolonged and intense contact create new or reinforce old personal relationships. There may also be increased friction, and arguments in both the volunteer and resident communities break out most often during these ritual periods, causing personal relationships to break down. Rituals thus serve as indicators of the “on-the-ground” social dynamics of volunteering and living in Kotobuki and add to our total picture of the area and our understanding of life in this yoseba. O-HAKA MAIRI: PAYING RESPECTS TO THE KOTOBUKI “FAMILY” TOMB Japanese Buddhists believe that keeping the family tombstone neat and clean, making offerings of flowers, incense and food and even talking to the spirits who reside in the grave keeps the spirits happy, and that these rituals maintain harmony between the spiritual and physical world. The grave stands as a symbol of continuity between family

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generations. Most Kotobuki residents, living alone in doya, are separated from their families, so that those who die in the yoseba have no familial graves where they may be buried.1 In late 1991, the Kotobuki senior citizens’ club had raised enough money to buy a plot in a Buddhist temple in western Yokohama, almost an hour’s drive away from the yoseba. The tombstone serves as a communal grave for all those who live or have ever lived in the yoseba. After its dedication, elderly residents and volunteers began a ritual calendar of making graveside visits twice a year. At each visit, they clean the grave and make presents of incense and flowers, while the local priest performs a ceremony in honor of the departed. In early June of 1992, the senior citizens’ club organized such an outing to the temple to pay respects to the grave. A total of 63 members of the community and volunteers participated, all from the senior citizens’ club, Roba-no-Ie, plus the children of the Fukushi Senta day care center. Transportation was provided by a rented bus (the handicapped senior citizens went in the van owned by the Fukushi Senta). Among those who attended were Kaicho and his entourage, the director of Roba-no-Ie and its members, three employees of the day care center, Ms Ishii and two church housewives, and myself. On the way, the atmosphere on the bus was festive, complete with a whitegloved guide who spoke in complicated honorific language and encouraged us to pass the time by singing songs. Upon arriving at the temple, the children were taken to play at a nearby park, and the adults made their way up the mountain pathway where the graveyard was located. This was no small feat, since some of the elderly had some physical limitations, but the able-bodied helped others and went slowly until all were assembled at the top of the hill. At the graveyard, Ms Ishii showed me that in fact there were two graves connected to Kotobuki in this temple yard: the communal grave of the yoseba and the grave of a former union leader, the friend of Fukuoka. In the far right back corner was the Kotobuki grave. It was larger than most graves, and had an unusual inscription. Tombstones usually are marked with a family name plus the character for “household”, but the Kotobuki gravestone only had the Japanese phrase “senshu no oka” (“hill of one thousand autumns”). The phrase evoked images of the loneliness of autumn, a season when trees lose their colorful leaves, and we are reminded of the certainty of death. A Buddhist priest dressed in gold, purple and white robes, came to the yoseba grave and gave us clear and simple directions, describing what the ceremony would entail and what was expected of the

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participants. This short preparatory meeting was necessary because most participants were unfamiliar with proper ritual etiquette. There was great concern that the ritual be carried out properly, and after a quick lesson, the priest ensured that all participants were qualified and ready to collaborate in the performance. First a candle was lit, and a prominent member of the Rojinkai filled two vases on either side of the tombstone with chrysanthemums. The priest began chanting and rhythmically striking a small bell. Water from a dipper was also poured over the tombstone, a purifying act. The elderly residents first lined up behind the Kaicho and were each given two or three sticks of lit incense to offer, followed by Roba-no-Ie members and then the volunteers. We placed the incense one by one in front of the tomb and bowed our heads before the stone: these simple actions were much like any other family graveside ceremony. Cleaning, making offerings and bowing before the grave—these actions were standard, but there were other aspects of this particular visit that I found unusual. Unlike most family-based graveside visits, the ritual participants were neither related to each other nor were they related to the spirits they were venerating, except through various circumstances that brought them to live, work or volunteer (and eventually for some, to die) in Kotobuki. Another difference was the participants’ varied religious identities; Christian volunteers gathered during the ceremony and then made offerings together at the end of the line. One Christian woman said to another, “I just did this yesterday,” illustrating how Buddhist funeral practices are incorporated in the Japanese Christian lifestyle. The outing was not over after the graveside visit; the day was not meant only for religious observance, but also for fun. After the ceremony was over, all were given a light meal of sushi, rice crackers, cake and beer in the temple. The adults were then rejoined by the children who had been playing nearby the temple gardens and everyone boarded the bus again, off to a nearby agricultural cooperative. There, after paying a small fee, we dug for potatoes. The elderly men enjoyed watching the workshop members, volunteers and children dig in the soft, black dirt, and laughed as the children squealed with delight at the large earthworms that wriggled through their fingers. After the potato field was exhausted, all returned dirty, tired, but happy to get back on the bus and travel back to Kotobuki. Back in the Kotobuki senior citizens’ club office, Kaicho and his entourage made coffee for Ms Ishii, two volunteer housewives and me. We discussed the trip’s successes, and congratulated each other for a

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job well done. I noticed that all the food left over from the temple lunch had been carefully wrapped and taken home, to be given to those in the community who were unable to attend. Nothing about the trip was wasted. I call the graveside visit an “organized” ritual because all participants shared the same social goal: all wanted to create a “proper” final resting place for Kotobuki residents. A sense of ritual responsibility is common in other mainstream Japanese communities, where the elderly are given the task of maintaining the spiritual well-being of the neighborhood. Traditionally, in the family as well as the community, elderly members are given the role of ritual specialist. Joy Hendry notes that the elderly take the responsibilities of caring for the ancestors, perhaps because they are soon to join those on the other side of the “death line” (1987, 1995:25). The Kotobuki elderly, nearing the end of their lives, have no family grave to enter or relatives to care for them. Their participation in these rituals helps prepare them for their own coming transition from the living world to the next. Also, their desire to maintain and preserve a grave for the community members shows their consciousness of community identity. They take pride in their efforts. The Kotobuki elderly will go into the next world in style, despite their suffering in this world. Volunteers who work to improve living conditions in the present also want to help to establish a future neat and pleasant home for the residents’ spirits, regardless of whether they are practicing Buddhists or not. Christian volunteers support these activities and do nothing to impose their own religious beliefs about death on the residents. This, I believe, is not unusual. To avoid alienation from the non-Christian community, Japanese Christians have constantly compromised to find ways to integrate their beliefs with mainstream society. Perhaps they did so at the June visit by staying together, and presenting last in line in the ceremony. Perhaps it was a community distinction (as most volunteers live elsewhere), but Ms Ishii, who has lived in Kotobuki for over five years, stayed with the Christian members. Religious identity, not only class and status, could have created conflict between these volunteers and residents. But their identities were not mutually exclusive; their desire to support the residents as disadvantaged members of Japanese society overcame any potential for religious conflict. THE INTER-YOSEBA CONFERENCE The purpose of the annual conference is to share with other yoseba activists information, problems, and successes of various social welfare

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activities. The theme of the 1993 conference, to be held in Tokyo, was “The Yoseba and Me; Me and the Yoseba”.2 There were over twenty participants from Kotobuki: Kaicho, the chairperson of the Rojinkai, with his five-person entourage; Ms Ishii, the manager of the Community Center; Mr Nakai from the Seikatsukan fourth floor office; Toride, Kanbara and a few members from the Iryohan; the director of Robano-Ie and several workshop volunteers; the assistant teacher of the Gakudo; and several employees from other Yokohama and Kotobuki welfare offices attended. The conference was hosted by San’ya activists, and was attended by delegates from Tokyo, Yokohama, Osaka’s Kamagasaki, the largest yoseba, as well as from Nagoya’s Sasajima and Kyoto.3 Though I had heard much about the Tokyo yoseba it was the first time I had spent any prolonged time there, as the 1992 conference had been held in Yokohama. I looked forward to exploring the place called “San’ya”, which does not exist on city maps, but is a commonly used name that refers to the area near the Minami Senju subway station, including parts of Taito and Arakawa Wards in north-eastern Tokyo. No labor union officials from any yoseba attended the conference. Toride guessed that this was due to the religious overtones of the conference: the organizers of the conference were those involved in church-related organizations, and in attendance were more than a few nuns, priests and ministers as well as a Bangladeshi monk. According to the conference schedule, there was an allotted time for prayer at the local Catholic church during the two-day meeting. In the Kotobuki delegation, the Rojinkai members were the only residents, evidence of the strong relationship these residents had with the Christian volunteers in Kotobuki. Though the conference was hosted by the San’ya activists, it was not held at the yoseba but in a public hall in Asakusa, a popular tourist area not far from San’ya. The structure of the conference proceedings consisted of a series of short lectures on topics ranging from the practical (the management of soup kitchens and the need for better medical treatment for day laborers) to the ideological (homelessness, sexual harassment, alcoholism). Speakers were primarily leaders from the various San’ya groups, with other delegates adding to the discussion as they went along. I found that activists who had come from all over Japan expressly to meet others in similar positions spent most of the first day with those from their own yoseba. In the main meeting hall, volunteers sat in the rows of seats, clumped in geographic areas. During coffee breaks,

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participants stood up in pairs or groups and gingerly made selfintroductions to other activists but then retreated to within their groups. People seemed extraordinarily shy, I thought; after all, weren’t these the people who ventured into the most difficult areas and tackled complex social problems every day? I had expected them to have more courage with each other. During the two-day conference, held over a summer weekend, there were times when I sensed hostility between groups or even between activists from the same area. Toride, who had started his yoseba work in San’ya, disliked the leader of the San’ya medical team and grumbled to me under his breath when the doctor rose to speak. At another point the same doctor openly criticized a San’ya feminist activist during her presentation on women’s concerns when working in the yoseba. After her speech, the master of ceremonies opened the floor to questions; the doctor from San’ya soon raised his hand and dismissed the entire topic by saying, “Men’s and women’s issues are hard enough to talk about anyway, so why don’t we just forget it.” The Kotobuki audience gasped; true, sexual harassment is a difficult problem, but to dismiss the topic categorically, especially when a colleague from one’s own area had begun the discussion, was bold. Later I heard some San’ya male volunteers complaining that female volunteers had started an all-women support group in San’ya: they believed this to be unnecessary and too exclusive. At this conference, I was able to see that conflict between and within volunteer groups was clearly not limited to the Kotobuki case. Later in the first day, the main audience broke down into small discussion groups, divided by topic, where people could speak about their experiences and share ideas and concerns. I attended a discussion group on the experience of children in the various yoseba, which included four Kotobuki delegates (two Iryohan members, the Gakudo employee and myself), one from San’ya and two from Kamagasaki. This small group’s atmosphere was more informal than the mood of the conference’s main sessions; for the first time, participants shared facts, experiences, impressions. This was the only time there was any exchange with volunteers from the other yoseba. After the discussion groups broke up in the early evening, delegates were all to move to a reception to be held in a separate building, the San’ya Laborers’ Welfare Hall, the rough equivalent of Kotobuki’s Seikatsukan. The Kotobuki group arrived, and found no one in the reception hall. Apparently, the Kamagasaki and San’ya groups had left to go drinking. After waiting for about a half an hour, we too left and

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eventually found the other delegates laughing over beer in a local bar. Awkward at being left behind, Toride grumbled to the Kotobuki members that the San’ya representatives were poor hosts. This time spent waiting outside the Laborers’ Welfare Hall on a Saturday night at around 10.30 p.m. was my first experience in San’ya. The streets looked very similar to Kotobuki. Doya and liquor stores dominated the scenery, but unlike Kotobuki’s main street at this time of night, there were few shops, restaurants or bars open. Doors were closed, metal shutters were pulled down. No music filtered out from windows, no televisions could be heard. The streets were not entirely empty, though; groups of men sat on street corners drinking sake and beer from cans, but I saw no one going anywhere, no one seemed to be coming from anywhere. We had been waiting for a half hour when Toride, who knew San’ya well, decided to walk around and look for the others; he told me and another Yokohama delegate to wait for him until he returned. While waiting, we were approached by two laborers who had been drinking beer on another corner. One laborer called out, “Hey, Christian!” (as if it were an insult) and told me in rough language to leave; his friend laughed, and tried to soothe his temper. As I stood before these two strangers waiting for their judgment, I realized that the two years spent in Kotobuki were invaluable. As a foreigner, I still “stuck out” in Kotobuki and though I was sometimes teased or harassed, I was never afraid, even late at night. In Kotobuki, the labor union and the volunteer groups were on my side; I believed that nothing serious could happen to me there. But that night in San’ya, I didn’t know anyone. I was a stranger who invited suspicion and contempt. The two men decided to leave us alone and Toride soon returned to take us to the bar where the other delegates had settled in for the evening. However, the evening’s ambience was spoiled for me, so I left soon after and decided to come back the following day after the conference for a more thorough tour of San’ya. Daytime seemed safer. We gathered at 11 a.m. the next day for the second day of the conference. The first order of business was to listen to reports from designated speakers from the previous day’s discussion groups. Some of the volunteers who had been chosen to speak before the entire group did not attend the second day (perhaps they had drunk too much the night before). Others, unprepared, tried to cover for the absent by improvising short speeches. There was a heightening sense of disintegration to the conference. Discouraged, a friend and I asked Toride to take us on a tour of San’ya and we left the meeting.

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Even in the daytime, San’ya seemed huge and unmanageable. Physically, it is much larger than Kotobuki, and its laborer population is approximately double than that of Kotobuki (Fowler, 1991:142). Toride told us that during the San’ya New Year’s activities, volunteers must use cars to get from one activity to the other. It took us over a half an hour to walk the length of the yoseba: from the subway station, past the park and doya, to the Sumida River, where homeless men have set up a squatters’ area. While all doya in Kotobuki are of one structural type (individual rooms in five- or six-storied concrete buildings, most constructed during the 1950s), there were many kinds in San’ya. I saw a modern doya with a luxurious lobby that was priced at 4,100 yen a night; another type was an old, wooden doya, built on a one-floor plan. There were dormitory-style doya which were much cheaper than any Kotobuki doya; these were structured with four bunks to a room. Though cheaper, the barracks-type doya presented a problem for storing luggage; there is no way for residents to lock their rooms, and there is little privacy. Like Kotobuki, the liquor store was centrally located and always busy. Toride told me that the liquor shop on the corner of the main intersection of San’ya holds the record for highest retail sales in all of Japan. I saw no foreigners that day in San’ya, though in the Laborers’ Welfare Hall I saw signs in Arabic on the wall. Walking towards San’ya, we went through the nearby Ueno Park, and saw dozens of young Middle Eastern and Chinese men milling about. There are many foreign laborers in Tokyo, but they have not moved into the San’ya doya. They have found their own territory; some live in apartments and others live in temporary shelters in parks. Ueno Park and Yoyogi Park are rumored to be their territory. Toride said pockets of social work and volunteer activity were scattered across San’ya, but due to the neighborhood’s size and the number of people they serve, these groups appeared less centrally organized than Kotobuki, where activities were more tightly focused on the labor union and the Seikatsukan. Unlike Kotobuki, there were two labor unions in San’ya that operated independently. Toride told me in hushed tones of past trouble with the San’ya unions and the local yakuza; one of the union men and a film-maker had been stabbed over this trouble. I was surprised; this was entirely unlike the Kotobuki I knew: sure, there was dirt and sadness in the Yokohama yoseba streets, but I could not imagine any of the friendly union “o-ni-san” (“big brothers”) getting into violent arguments on the streets with gangsters.

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San’ya seemed more than just physically miles away from Kotobuki. But later I recognized that this was my own bias coming through: I felt part of the Kotobuki “family” and was merely unable to detect a similar organization in San’ya.4 Another difference was the presence of surveillance cameras on the street corners at major intersections in San’ya. Toride claimed the cameras were placed there by local police to monitor residents. I knew that the installment of such cameras in Osaka’s Airin Ward near Kamagasaki set off week-long riots in the autumn of 1990. The Osaka police claimed the cameras were installed to watch the yakuza and record illegal activities, but laborers felt that this was an excuse for an invasion of their own privacy and human rights. The cameras, mounted up on electricity poles, gave me a strong sense of “otherness” in this yoseba. Someone else was watching from the outside in, closely involved in the goings on of San’ya, yet never setting foot inside the boundaries. This made me feel uncomfortable in San’ya. I was nervous about the animosity I had confronted the night before and the purported danger of the San’ya yakuza. Though I had been involved in Kotobuki activities for over a year by that time and was used to the atmosphere there, I was unnerved in San’ya. As soon as we had made the rounds through the main streets, I wanted to leave as quickly as possible. My experience in San’ya illustrates the first impressions that are typical of other outsiders to any yoseba. As I was starting my fieldwork in Yokohama, Japanese friends who had never been to a yoseba warned me against going to Kotobuki. On the first trip I made to Kotobuki, I could see the poverty and the possibility of danger, but as I grew closer to the area and the people there, I began to see Kotobuki in a different light. I was no longer afraid or tense when I was there. My ease in Kotobuki was quite the opposite of the status quo opinion. However, despite my two years of experience in Kotobuki, when I went to San’ya I had stereotypical reactions. I thought it was depressing. I didn’t like it. I was scared. I wanted to get out. San’ya was probably not much different from Kotobuki. I didn’t like it because I didn’t know anyone, and more importantly, no one knew me. No one knew what I was doing there, why I had come and what was my agenda. I was regarded as an unwelcome stranger, even a threat: later, I recognized this as the volunteers’ greatest obstacle in any yoseba. Volunteers enter the area with what they think are the best of intentions, but they are sometimes met with hostility and aggression. Laborers don’t want the volunteers’ help and say they don’t need their middle-class values. This sometimes happens in Kotobuki as well; but

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in my experience, residents came to know who I was over time and appeared to accept me. I had a name and a background, but in San’ya I was nobody, a do-gooder and a tourist, gawking at the misery. They wanted me gone. I went back to Yokohama tired, discouraged and glad to be back home. No wonder there are so few volunteers in Japan, I thought. It is really difficult to break through to the community. But more than the hostility, I felt a sense of defeat in the San’ya streets. Kotobuki is often electric with activity. There is angry shouting and fighting, but there is an equal amount of friendly joking and laughing. San’ya was quiet. Men on the streets sat together but did not speak to each other; they stared straight ahead or slept. Men in the squatters’ huts quietly read paperbacks, newspapers or comics, their shoes lined up neatly in front of their cardboard boxes. The recession had hit San’ya hard, even harder than in Kotobuki. People had left San’ya, or people had just stopped coming to live there. The town seemed to be fading. On the train ride back to Yokohama, I talked to Toride about my impressions of San’ya. He agreed that the recession had drained much of San’ya’s vitality. The economic slowdown had affected the laboring populations of both San’ya and Kotobuki, and jobs and numbers of laborers in both yoseba were dwindling. However, Kotobuki managed to stay active as a “welfare town” (fukushi no machi) of the elderly and the handicapped. Korean, Thai and Filipino workers who had found their niche in the Kotobuki doya also created another community. However, Toride explained that ideological differences prevented San’ya’s volunteer community from establishing a strong presence as a “welfare town”, and foreigners had settled elsewhere in the Tokyo area. Perhaps Kotobuki was an exception among the other yoseba, but I would not know until I had spent two more years studying other areas in order to compare them fully. WHOSE ETTO IS IT, ANYWAY? Etto literally means the “struggle to pass through the winter”, a metaphor for the New Year in the yoseba, as this period is not only the middle of winter, but also economically the coldest time of the year: usually the last three days of the year and the first week of January in Japan are when shops and industry traditionally close up shop and there is no commercial activity. Laborers working day to day find it difficult to get by during this time of year, as even those employed in semi-steady jobs at local hanba get turned out for the holidays.

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The climactic Etto is the year’s largest volunteer endeavor in Kotobuki; I call it an “organized”, large-scale ritual, for it touches nearly everyone who lives or works in Kotobuki. The annual Etto is part social welfare, part festival and part political posturing. Services and goods are made available to the needy public for a period of eight to ten days, starting on December 29. In 1992–93, volunteers housed and fed over 300 men, building temporary shelters in Kotobuki Park. Because it was a holiday, many other activities were planned to lend a festive atmosphere; there were karaoke singing parties, New Year’s mochitsuki (the ceremonial pounding of steamed rice into soft cakes) and traditional meals of toshikoshisoba (buckwheat noodles eaten on New Year’s Eve) and zoni (soup with soft rice cakes). The large scale of the ritual required constant and prolonged cooperation between volunteer groups. That was not difficult for groups who cooperate regularly, but for those who didn’t, it could be troublesome. However, volunteers’ differences were overlooked and smoothed over in order to achieve similar goals. In their cooperative efforts, the social structure of Kotobuki was clearly visible. I could see who made the decisions, who was most effective in dealing with authorities, and who had control over resources. Because of the intensity of contact and the length of the Etto experience, modes of interaction between volunteers, between residents and between volunteers and residents crystallized. During the rest of the year, volunteers referred to their Etto experiences when making decisions about volunteer activities. Thus, an analysis of the Etto ritual is important as an illustration of social relations between volunteers (event organizers versus regular volunteers) and between volunteers and residents. Most interesting is the relationship between volunteers and residents. It consists of a delicate balance of power and principles, where volunteers take managerial positions and have power mostly because they control the funds of the Etto activities. However, volunteers recognize that they have no real claim to control the goings on in Kotobuki, for it is residents’ territory. The volunteer/resident relationship is one of complementary distribution, where volunteers have the power and resources to achieve a goal, and residents provide the arena and clients. Neither group can succeed without the cooperation of the other. But volunteers and residents do not work in isolation: they must interact with the outside world during this largescale ritual to receive the much-needed funding from the city government. These difficult and sometimes hostile relations between

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yoseba activists and residents and the outside world, which includes government, law-enforcement and business institutions, are illustrated in the following narratives of the Kotobuki Etto. The first Kotobuki Etto was organized in 1974 by employees of the Seikatsukan, the labor union and the Yokohama municipal government, in response to unemployment in the area after the 1973–74 oil crisis. The first Etto activities were held in tents and included free meals twice a day, an evening patrol similar to the Thursday Night Patrol, and medical consultations. Due to the increasing numbers of homeless people, Etto organizers did away with tents and erected the first temporary, pre-fabricated buildings in 1989 (Kotobuki Rodosha Shienkai, 1993:6–7). Each Etto has a slogan, which sets the atmosphere for the weeklong event. Organizers used slogans which reaffirmed the laborers’ independence, such as “Do not die on the streets in silence!” (“damatte notare-jinu na”) and “Protect your comrades’ lives through cooperation” (“nakama no inochi o kyodo de mamoro”). The event is advertised in labor union handbills as a place where “day laborers and the homeless can rest, exchange information and rejuvenate” (p. 7). Preparations for the Etto begin in October, and meetings concerning the outcome of the event continue through March. Planning was necessary for the main project under way: the construction and administration of four temporary, two-story structures (purehabu) in Kotobuki Park and surrounding areas, to house the homeless men during the winter holidays.5 One structure’s first (ground) floor was reserved for the Etto’s main administrative office (called the honbu, or the “headquarters”) which included a large room for meetings. The Iryohan occupied a smaller building, which had the first floor as an office and the second floor as an informal dormitory for Iryohan workers, who were on call 24 hours a day. The two purehabu in one location were prepared to house over 200 men in bunk beds; the other purehabu could house another 100. The 1992–93 Etto was the first time bunk beds were used; organizers were wary of unprecedented numbers of homeless because of talk of the “burst of the bubble” economy in 1992.6 Officials of the labor union, including Sa-chan, Non-chan, Uchida plus a few others, organized the construction of the purehabu and helped manage them during the eight-day 1992–93 event period. This group was housed in the honbu and was responsible for getting the purehabu ready for the laborers. Electricity, gas for heaters, running water, temporary toilets, and even a television and a phone line were installed.

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Utilities were provided at no charge by the municipal government. Officials and other community members set up 24-hour security watches to assure the safety of those staying in the shelters. Those working at the honbu were a mix of people: union leaders, former activists from the night school of a medium-sized, private university in Yokohama, and a few prominent residents. Out of a dozen men who ran the office, less than half had actually ever worked as a laborer. The Iryohan held special sessions and consulted with laborers formally from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m., but at the 1993–94 Etto, the group was open 24 hours a day to treat emergency cases. The numbers of clients at these sessions, compared to regular consultations, were easily doubled and tripled daily. The group also facilitated the hospitalization of half a dozen tuberculosis sufferers over each holiday period. Team members spent their days writing referrals to hospitals, riding ambulances and cutting through red tape at hospital admission desks. They also acted as advocates for the homeless at the welfare office, providing verbal and emotional support during the clients’ interviews with the overworked and harried case workers at the local welfare office. With the homeless sheltered by the union, and their medical needs attended to by the students, the men’s stomachs were filled with food prepared by female volunteers. This activity was more loosely organized, utilizing whoever had a free hand to lend. Volunteers from the community center worked with community members to prepare one hot, free meal each day. This meal, called takidashi, was simple. Usually the meal was udon, hoto (kinds of flour noodles) or zosui (rice porridge), thick with vegetables and bits of beef or chicken skin. Preparations took place in front of the shelters in the park, and cartons of donated vegetables brought out for washing, peeling and slicing provided a colorful backdrop to other Etto activities. Here, a few female residents worked side by side with church housewives, with yoseba children weaving in and out of the long tables set up for the work. Women donned aprons and took their places, sharing their knowledge of cooking and joined in their mutual identities as women, preparers of food for men and children. One particular resident, a woman in her sixties, decided her role was to parcel out bowls of food, and shouted out when, where and how the food was to be distributed according to her whims, which all were indulged by others. Men stood to receive their share in long orderly lines which curved around street corners. No one complained there wasn’t enough or that it didn’t suit their taste. Takidashi was only once a day, but other meals

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in the form of boxed lunches could be obtained through panken from the Naka Welfare Office. A friend of one of the volunteers donated crates of tangerines and hard mochi,7 so that food was always available 24 hours a day. After the takidashi meal, people milled about the purehabu for hours, checking their blood pressure one more time at the Iryohan or exchanging stories and shochu around a bonfire. Koryukai, or discussion meetings, were held every evening from 6 p.m. to 8 p.m. on the first floor of the large purehabu in Kotobuki Park. Each meeting’s topic concerned life in the yoseba: homelessness, health problems, discrimination against day laborers in mainstream society such as in the mass media and the legal system, and prejudice against foreign laborers. Signs inviting the laborers to participate were posted all around the purehabu: “Join in the discussion with your comrades.” The honbu officials organized the koryukai, and there were conscious efforts to bring the laborers into the discussion because of allegations of elitism the year before. Though laborers were invited and did attend, meetings were controlled by officials who physically removed any laborers who were drunk, became noisy or expressed contrary opinions during the meetings. Many laborers dismissed this activity altogether, not wishing to get involved with volunteers’ and organizers’ discussions. They saw the Etto as nothing more than a place to get free food and shelter. The most difficult meeting was that sponsored by Kalabaw-no-Kai, discussing problems of foreign laborers in Japan. A few disgruntled men, under the influence of more than a few cups of cheap sake, made negative remarks about the Bangladeshi guest speakers, and were promptly ejected. However, one older laborer (who had been previously ejected from the Iryohan for his drunken antics the day before) made a poignant speech about a relative’s emigration to Hawaii in the Meiji Period as a penniless laborer, just as the Filipinos, Koreans and other foreigners have come to Japan today. Koryukai served as a communicative tool to express social values held in the union, volunteer and student community. To borrow a phrase from American culture, there was a strong sense of “political correctness” in the koryukai’s atmosphere, and if participants did not conform with the ideals set forth by the honbu, they were ejected. These values centered around social equality, class consciousness, distrust of the Japanese political and media institutions, and ethnic harmony. These ideas were reinforced in the daily handbills printed and distributed by the honbu:

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Break out from the unemployment hell! Don’t die alone in the gutter, silent! Take back your life—get ready for the counterattack! We are laborers who will have our day of pride! We, who have been killed by capitalism and power, are long overdue! (Etto Nyusu, January 1, 1993)

Empowerment of the oppressed, respect for personal privacy and protection of human rights were themes that came up again and again in handbills and discussion groups when discussing economic conditions, homelessness and foreign workers. Despite differing opinions of participants, the koryukai were not arenas for open conflict. This was because each group had its own sphere of influence and, for the most part, kept within its boundaries. Housewives controlled takidashi and students had their medical consultations. The honbu controlled the discussion meetings. Laborers were free to discuss things as they chose from their bunks in the purehabu. Each group had its own function and niche in the event. If the boundaries between everyone’s sphere were respected, there was little bickering between the groups. The only exception to that was intolerance of drunkenness in any area. After the koryukai, laborers watched television in the large room or went to bed, while volunteers still had more work to do. Around 9 p.m., volunteers gathered and organized groups for evening patrols. Though services of food, shelter and medicine were offered to those staying in the shelters, there were many more homeless who were not receiving Etto benefits. Parties of 10 or more volunteers distributed hot soup (usually made from the leftovers of the day’s takidashi), donated blankets and gave out handbills which informed the homeless of the services available at the Etto. Patrol teams were divided by area: the neighborhood around Kotobuki, two parties around Kannai Station, and another party which took a van to Yokohama Station. On the first night, the neighborhood patrol ran into a group of five or six men around a bonfire who wanted very little to do with volunteers, shouting curses in our direction as we tried to approach them with the soup and blankets. After we retreated, a man from the bonfire group came after us. I had seen him many times in and out of the Seikatsukan and knew he regularly slept on the steps of the Labor Center. He often drank, but that day he was sober. He apologized for the others’ behavior, and asked if he could join our patrol. “Jumbo” (his nickname, because he was over six feet tall) joined the patrol and honbu activities for the rest of the week, impressing

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other volunteers with his polite and humble manner. He told us he had been injured in a traffic accident, lost his job, started drinking and then became homeless. “Jumbo” also told stories about his brother living in California, his Korean heritage, and his ideas about the Emperor system. He began bringing me his pan-ken boxed lunch every day, a gesture which was both touching and awkward. Yet he refused to take no for an answer, and I saw it was a show of respect not to refuse a gift from this ragged but proud man. For those who eke a living from receiving hand-outs, it is important to them to feel they, too, have something to give.8 A few days into the event, an incident occurred which spurred a flurry of political activity. On January 1, 1993, the Yokohama Station evening patrol witnessed an act of violence against a homeless person. A Japan Railways employee allegedly shouted at a small group of homeless sleeping in a corner of the station, saying “You lazy bums can die, for all I care!”, kicking one man. The next evening, the Yokohama Station patrol carried no soup or blankets. Instead there were loud speakers, posters and a petition signed by the Etto honbu and labor union officials, protesting at this violation of human rights. This demonstration set off mixed feelings on the part of volunteers. Some were unaware of the incident before the patrol and were told only after the demonstration began. The demonstration was spearheaded by the union and the former student activists from the honbu. The activists took the vocal lead, making speeches through electric megaphones. One activist said to me gleefully, “Watch out for your friends—there’s going to be trouble tonight!” He appeared disappointed that no police arrived to carry us off in handcuffs. There might have been nostalgia, or even guilt, mingled with the former activists’ emotions surrounding their participation in the Etto and such demonstrations, for it brought back memories of their student days. Fukuoka, Sa-chan and Non-chan of the labor union tried to organize zealous activists, bewildered volunteers and a few Kotobuki residents who shouted angrily at the station master when all gathered in front of the office to present the petition. The three union officials paced in circles around those making speeches, both to protect participants from potential police attacks and to restrain them if they got out of hand. Two residents shouted complaints in rough language, and as they grew angrier and their language more insulting, they were restrained by university activists. The restraint was physical; activists stepped between residents and the station master and one took the arm of a resident,

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perhaps to prevent him from taking a punch at the railroad employee. But the “restraint” appeared to be less restrictive and more supportive. One activist, a computer programmer and manual translator, held up a resident who had only one good eye. While the resident screamed obscenities at the station master, the activist seemed to relish the other man’s outburst, being able to participate in the rebellion but taking no risks personally. He felt involved in the excitement of the demonstration. The activists needed the residents, whose voice was more powerful and believable than their own. The volunteers cannot demonstrate effectively without the support and presence of the residents, for they do not directly experience oppression and cannot convincingly appeal to the public for change. Residents need volunteers for their organization and backing, because their voices, though truthful, are not often heard in mainstream society. The volunteers’ social standing adds legitimacy to the demonstration, while the presence of the residents adds honesty. These two components are vital for the success of the demonstration. This bound volunteers and residents together, and at the same time divided them. Another climactic event occurred on same day that year: at little after 10 a.m., a laborer came to the Iryohan office shouting that someone in the purehabu had collapsed. Toride and another student member found a man had fallen from the top bunk of a bed. There was no pulse. Immediately, a medical doctor and a medical student from the team were called in and artificial respiration and CPR were performed while others called an ambulance. Other volunteers tried to find out the victim’s name and date of birth from the registration at the purehabu. The ambulance arrived at 11 a.m., with the emergency workers making remarks such as, “We can take him in, but it won’t make a difference,” and, “It’s just troublesome, so why don’t you call the police?” Toride replied, “For the sake of medical procedure, at least confirm the patient’s death!” At 11.25 a.m., Toride rode with the body to a nearby hospital to have doctors make out a death certificate. The police arrived at the hospital more than a half an hour later to record the victim’s name and date of birth. They also asked for Toride’s name as a witness to the death. Mistrusting the authorities, he used the pseudonym “Satoh”, a common surname in Japan. Meanwhile, back at the purehabu, police arrived to inspect and photograph the site, and a rumor began that the fall from the bunk was responsible for the laborer’s condition. Volunteers worried about the security in the purehabu and their responsibility for the safety of the residents.

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Uchida, as a honbu official and prominent union member, initially refused the police permission to photograph the site, but an Iryohan member intervened, to end the incident as quickly as possible. Forms had to be filled out, certificates signed; it was not a good time to protest about the police’s callous treatment of laborers in general when a body was yet to be identified. Many of the volunteers were confused about how to handle the procedures; the incident created an uneasy feeling among Etto participants. All were concerned and saddened at the loss during this time of trying to preserve and improve human life. Iryohan members were especially disturbed that the authorities (police, hospital, welfare office) showed little interest in the death of a single, homeless laborer. Honbu records showed that the victim had been staying at the purehabu since the beginning of the Etto period. He had visited the welfare office, and volunteers found the case worker who had counselled him and the case worker was able positively to identify the victim. The man was from Fukushima Prefecture, had left his home at the age of 28, and his whereabouts for the next 22 years had been unknown to his family. Later, we heard that the autopsy found the cause of death to be a bursting of a varix (vein) in the esophagus, the last stage of liver failure. Funeral arrangements were made at a public cremation facility in Totsuka. The Etto activities and volunteers were not found responsible for the death, but volunteers were uneasy because it was the first time a laborer had died in the Etto facilities.9 This incident illustrates not only discrimination on the part of the police and hospitals, but also their mistrust of and antagonism toward the volunteers and residents. The people of Kotobuki suspect the authorities and often refuse to cooperate with them. Volunteers, too, do not trust mainstream figures of authority, for they have too often seen the mistreatment of laborers and residents. Moderate volunteers are necessary to keep the interaction between the yoseba and outside officials from grinding to a halt or exploding into an out-and-out fight. As a “festival”, or ritual, the Etto experience did function as an opportunity for the community members to draw together and provide a sense of normalcy in their lives. Though marginalized by poverty, alcoholism, and sometimes physical and mental handicaps, the people of Kotobuki, like those in villages, towns and cities all over Japan, ate the same toshikoshi-soba, had karaoke singing contests and watched the “Red and White” singing contest (a New Year’s Eve television tradition where celebrities compete to test their vocal abilities), and pounded rice cakes on the first of January. However, to say that

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Kotobuki’s New Year’s celebration is merely a reflection of the wider cultural norm is to overlook the other “celebratory” practices in the yoseba. The most striking aspect of the “festival atmosphere” was the practice of drinking. All over the world, holidays are a time for imbibing. However, alcoholism was a major problem all year in Kotobuki, and during this period, the problem escalated. This was visible in the fights in the street, and in the number of injured and unconscious brought into the Iryohan (I could roughly gauge how much people were drinking by how many “patients” had passed out in the medical office, or how much wound disinfectant was being used). Fighting was one way in which social relations were played out within the resident community. People’s reputations were made or broken for the rest of the year in shouting matches and fist fights which provided a rough ranking system of toughness. At times there were also fights between honbu officials and residents, and I heard stories about a fist fight the previous year involving two student members of the Iryohan. This was rare, though: fights including volunteers were usually with drunken residents who tried to disrupt activities. But not all drinkers were fighters; some were “sleepers”, who often fell and injured themselves. Drunken men sleeping on the narrow streets posed a serious traffic hazard, and they had to be collected to keep traffic running smoothly. On New Year’s Eve and Day, the smell of shochu pervaded the medical team’s office. All volunteers took a silent oath of alcohol abstinence during the Etto period. Friends who had enjoyed bottles of beer together after planning meetings the month before were strict teetotalers during the New Year’s activities. During this time of celebration and fighting, year-long impressions were formed. I watched Toride behave rudely to a middle-aged female Kotobuki resident and refuse her consultation. When later I asked him why, he replied that last year, this woman had been drunk and he had argued with her. I knew that Toride firmly believed in theory that social inequality was responsible for the problems of the yoseba and all residents should be treated respectfully. But in this case, his opinion about alcohol abuse and personal differences cut through ideological claims. The festival atmosphere gave way to an emotional catharsis, not so much on the part of the men in the purehabu, but more for volunteers who truly removed themselves from their outside lives and lived in a twilight space for a week. The volunteers’ relationships with each other grew stronger because of the amount of time spent together, often

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uncomfortable, with little sleep, unbalanced meals, the stress of breaking up fights and trying to keep a semblance of order in whatever activity was at hand. Many of my revelations in this area stemmed from my own personal experiences and emotions during the Etto period, and as I experienced a range of emotions, I was suddenly aware of the emotions of those around me. During my first Etto, Ms Ishii was genuinely concerned about my health after hearing of my intention to spend every day, all day, of the Etto period in Kotobuki. I was involved as a member of the Iryohan, translating for Filipino patients, and participated in the nightly koryukai and evening patrol. Her fears were well grounded, for nearly all volunteers who were on the premises every day came down with the flu. By the end of the period, all of the regular volunteers were crawling from one activity to another. Little sleep, irregular meals and constant exposure to illness made it difficult for the volunteers to keep up the hectic pace. For many, including myself, it was the first time I had spent such an extended period of time in Kotobuki, having limited my other activities to a few hours, a few days a week. The prolonged exposure to yoseba life brought our health and emotions to a pitch. Ironically, Kotobuki volunteers work hard at the Etto to provide comfort to the poor and homeless, yet take few measures to guard themselves against exhaustion and disease.10 My first instinct was to spend as much time as possible at the Etto for research reasons, but gradually I found this was not the reason I stayed on. For those who have no families to spend them with, the holidays in Japan can be a very lonely period. American graduate students also had to deal with the awkwardness of friends dropping away to return to festivities at their natal homes, traveling abroad for glamorous ski vacations, as well as facing the lonely images of empty streets as stores and restaurants closed. As the cheer of the Christmas season and year-end parties passes, the holiday focus turns to the home and the family. The Japanese government does not recognize the need for services during this period, for government officials and social workers too are on vacation, returning to their homes in the city or the country. For those who have no family, or have strained relationships with their families, the New Year’s holiday is an anticlimax to the excitement of Christmas and year-end parties. Many of the residents of the yoseba are separated from their families: Filipino, Thai and Korean foreign workers, migrant workers from the Japanese countryside, and those who have cut off relations with their families.

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Yet I was not aware of the isolation of the volunteers until the Etto, During the Etto, some volunteers came and went, according to their work schedules and family commitments, but a core of volunteers who are in administratively powerful positions remained in the purehabu buildings throughout. “Why didn’t they go home?” I asked myself; a simple question, yet in asking, I began to see my volunteer colleagues in an entirely new light: was Ishii, a kind and pious Christian woman in her thirties, not returning home because of her childless marriage and pending divorce? Did Kanbara stay in the yoseba for the entire period because he had recently come out as gay? Did Toride stay in the purehabu because of his argument with his parents over his dropping out of Tokyo University? My own experience was most insightful. On the sixth day of the Etto, I received a message from the United States that my 90-year-old, ailing grandfather had died. Suddenly I felt very far away from my family, and completely powerless to participate in the necessary rituals to assuage grief and reaffirm family relations. That day, in the second floor of the medical team office, I sat with Toride. “Now I know why everyone comes here, the laborers, the homeless, the foreigners…and us too,” I said. “Just like them, we have no where else to go.” He nodded, probably thinking of his own family members, whom he had not contacted in over six months. In a painful but unmistakable moment of insight, I saw that the volunteers, though they may have homes, jobs, educations and presentable faces to show the outside world, have something in common with the residents of the yoseba. That is what draws them there, and keeps them coming back. The volunteers are also marginalized, albeit less visibly, but nevertheless they also are out of sync with part of the social structure and do not always obey the social rules, such as returning home for New Year’s. Being regarded as selfless and generous volunteer by others may help build a respectable reputation, but volunteering here is more about finding a place that accepts unconditionally anyone who enters; despite the dirt, the poverty and the stress, no one is turned away. Everyone has a place to go on New Year’s, and no one has to be alone. While the activists acknowledge and understand the social conditions that contribute to the residents’ poverty and isolation, the personal lives of the volunteers are not under the same inspection. The volunteers are seen by others as “erai”, or wonderful, accomplished individuals for their hard work and sacrifice, especially during the New Year’s holiday. For some overworked Japanese, New Year’s is one of the few vacations actually taken during the entire year. To give up vacation time as well

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as time spent with the family is considered a great sacrifice, but also a little odd. Why don’t volunteers, who work all year long, take a break? Some of the volunteers couldn’t go home. Etto activities directly filled the needs of the poor in the community, but indirectly and just as importantly, filled emotional and social gaps in the lives of volunteers. The Etto was a haven to these people who are disconnected from their families and other mainstream relationships. Despite their differences, residents, union members, university activists, students and Christian housewives cooperate at the Etto, with each group attempting to achieve their goals. Residents cooperate because they recognized the need for a homeless shelter, others just want some part in the goings-on in their neighborhood; all are willing to help out to make the purehabu as pleasant as possible. Union members are organizers, and use their union skills (such as protecting the human rights of the workers in the face of “big business” or the police) to present a strong front to the public authorities. University activists return to their days as the vocal demonstrators and re-live their glory days, while moderate Iryohan students mediate between the more hostile groups and the outside world when the situation requires. Finally, Christian housewives play out their roles as providers in silent solidarity with the underprivileged, no matter who they are. All come to Kotobuki with their own social agenda and ideas about how the activities should be run; what is right or wrong is discussed and argued, but the groups are too caught up in the practical responsibilities of the event to spend hours debating the theoretical issues (which is done during the rest of the year). The needs of the men and the absence of work and government programs force volunteers to put their differences aside for the time being. Until the Japanese government, the construction industry and society at large change their policies and attitudes toward the residents and life in the yoseba, volunteers will continue to gather to build purehabu and cook stew; for if they do not, no one else will. A FESTIVAL WITHOUT A CAUSE The 1993 Kotobuki summer festival was held from August 13 to 15, and its theme was “Break out of Unemployment Hell!” (“aburejikoku o uchiyaburo”). However, as the festival unfolded over the three days, it was apparent that the summer festival had no true goal, for the ideological aims and the real, on-the-ground activities were often in conflict, so I regarded it as a “disorganized”, large-scale ritual.

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Disagreements between festival organizers plagued the entire period, but these differences did not give rise to improvements or changes. Complaints and suggestions of new ideas were categorically dismissed by most with the expression “sho ga nai” (“nothing can be done about it”). Volunteers did not seriously consider the aim of the summer festival and as a result there were many misunderstandings and conflicting beliefs. The festival instead brought up many practical and ethical problems about volunteering, such as testing of social boundaries, social responsibility and racism. Physical and social limits were challenged when outsiders came to Kotobuki and behaved in ways volunteers found inappropriate. Alcohol abuse continued to be a serious problem and the Iryohan unsuccessfully tried to ban the sale of alcohol at the festival. A homeless man’s reluctance to accept help from an Iryohan member caused an argument between volunteers. Finally, a violent incident involving a JapaneseKorean singer brought ethnic tensions to the forefront. Social problems within and outside the community were clearly visible in the festival events. The Kotobuki festival had two parts: the “traditional” Japanese community festival that included the parading of a portable Shinto shrine (o-mikoshi) through the town, the building of a stage in a public area for the bon odori (a dance for the Buddhist holiday honoring the dead), and performances by traditional Korean and Japanese enka singers. Food stalls (mogiten) were set up along the stage for the participants’ enjoyment. The second part was “untraditional”: a free rock concert held on the bon odori stage. The concert is always held on the second day of the three-day festival period and lasts from 3 p.m. to 9 p.m. In 1993, there were six bands from Tokyo, Yokohama and Osaka participating. A committee called the jikkoiinkai, made up of residents and volunteers, is formed in late July and is responsible for the festival’s production. A chairperson is chosen (a former yakuza and tobi laborer, now a doya manager, has been the chairperson for several years) and he is responsible for the overall administration of the festival. Another member of the jikkoiinkai was the head of the separate concert subcommittee; he produced the concert portion of the festival and brought with him a group of production assistants who were not involved in the year-long volunteer activities in Kotobuki. Rather, they were specialists in the electronic work of public address systems and stage management, and they lent their professional expertise to the concert every year. This head of the concert production staff was part

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of the community, however; he lived above the Labor Center in the government-subsidized housing but did not work in the construction industry. Most of the difficulties with the 1993 festival stemmed from this opposition between “festival” on the first two days and “concert” on the on the third, and I saw this at a jikkoiinkai meeting on August 1, 1993, which I attended as a representative of the Iryohan. Participants were prominent residents of Kotobuki, leaders of the volunteer groups, and labor union officials. Notable was the absence of any senior citizens’ club officials, who were usually present at other community events; they had so proudly attended the yoseba conference only weeks before. Inquiring after their absence, I heard that the year before, there had been differences in opinion between the senior citizens’ club kaicho (chairperson) and the chairperson of the concert subcommittee. The elderly residents had requested that the concert be held earlier in the day, because the noise in the evening had disturbed those who retired early. The kaicho had asked Toride to speak to the concert subcommittee on their behalf. The concert subcommittee chairperson allegedly told Toride that as the concert was not being put on for the elderly, he saw no need to conform to their wishes. This offended Toride, kaicho and members of the Rojinkai, who felt very involved since the concert was literally held in their backyards. Thus, the senior citizens’ club refrained from any participation in the concert, only putting out a food stall early in the afternoon that was quickly cleared as the concert started. Kaicho and the other club members also abstained from any organization roles for the entire festival/concert period. Toride, a strong voice in most organizational meetings, whether invited or not, also stayed away from the concert planning meetings. At the preliminary meetings, committee members coordinated a schedule of events and planned their various preparations. The stage used for the bon odori was also to be used for the concert; this was the only concrete object which tied the festival to the concert, and thus was the focus of the planning efforts. Another issue to discuss was the request of a local cable television station to film the concert and scenes of Kotobuki. The station and video company sent representatives to the August 1 jikkoiinkai meeting to confer on this petition. The reporters submitted written proposals clarifying their sympathetic stance that would portray Kotobuki as a “welfare town”, struggling amid the nationwide recession. Their proposals were met with reserved approval by the union leaders; following their lead, others in turn then nodded quietly. After this preliminary approval, the representatives offered to

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send a schedule of hours of filming and location of camera positions to be approved by all members of the jikkoiinkai. In this case, outside media was successful in gaining access to the yoseba because they first approached to the labor union and then agreed in advance about the content of the program. Volunteers and residents did not seem disturbed about the decision, but nor were they enthusiastically welcoming toward the journalists. As long as there was a semblance of respect for the residents, however, the media was allowed to go its way during the festival. The building of the stage at 8.30 a.m. the first morning of the festival signalled the start of the festival period. Sa-chan, Nonchan, and Uchida of the labor union, Reverend Satoh of Kalabawno-Kai, Toride, Kanbara and other students from a local university were among those who put together the 7-foot-tall stage in the open space in front of the Labor Center. It was built on rolling casters so that the stage could be moved to one position for the bon odori, and then moved to another for the rock concert. Female volunteers who had gathered to help were shuttled aside, except for Ms Ishii, whose years of experience meant she needed no one to tell her what to do. A female college student and I were given guard duty in the union office, just in case the phone rang. We watched the construction of the stage from the second storey window, leaning out in the bright morning sunshine. When the stage was about half-way done, the chairperson of the jikkoiinkai and Toride began the preparations for the o-mikoshi. The portable shine’s preparation process shows how the “traditional” aspects of the Japanese festival have different meanings for Kotobuki residents. The summer festival incorporates “traditional” elements with other practices that give special meaning to the festival as a particularly yoseba ritual. The use of an o-mikoshi during festivals is a “traditional” element. A portable shrine is a vehicle for a Shinto deity; the deity and its means of transport usually reside in the local Shinto shrine during the rest of the year. At festivals, the deity leaves the main shrine and enters the omikoshi; community members carry it through the streets to greet the neighborhood people, who respond with cheers and shouts to receive blessings for the coming year. The o-mikoshi makes its rounds through the area, making sure every one has had a chance to be blessed, and after the festival is over, the deity and the o-mikoshi return to the shrine until the following festival. There is no shrine within the Kotobuki community, but there were two battered o-mikoshi which were stored in the Seikatsukan during

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the rest of the year. Compared to other o-mikoshi I had seen, they were small-sized and not nearly as ornate as ones used in the Tokyo festivals I had attended. One was especially small and simple, and mostly made of plywood and colored construction paper, light enough for the children to carry. The “adult” o-mikoshi was a more substantial affair of wood and metal, and was decorated with brass discs, many of which were broken or missing. The brass phoenix on the top had a broken wing, glued back on at an angle. The festival committee chairman and Toride worked hard in the hot sunshine to tie the portable shrines to lengths of wood for carrying, as well as adding decorative cords and bells. I thought it unusual for the Iryohan leader to take this responsibility, for I knew he, as an individual, was adamant in his criticism of state Shinto and the Japanese imperial system. He had nearly been arrested when the former Emperor Hirohito died. Though sect Shinto (practiced at small, localized community shrines) can be analysed as a separate religious phenomenon from state Shinto (a centralized, nationalistic political ideology), I wondered if he saw any conflict in decorating and carrying the o-mikoshi. “Not at all,” he replied. “It’s easy; since there is no shrine in Kotobuki, there’s no deity in this portable shrine. There’s nothing [spiritual] inside it. We just do it for the kids, because the o-mikoshi is the main symbol of festivals in other places. Nobody thinks of it as religious any more.” Since the portable shrine belongs to the Seikatsukan, I wondered if the “welfare shrine” imparted the “spirit of welfare” to the o-mikoshi. Toride laughed at this remark: “Yeah, that’s it.” While the o-mikoshi was being assembled, the first of several incidents which troubled the festival occurred. On a street corner by the Labor Center, an old man had set up a cart to sell o-den (Japanese stew) to festival-goers. He was bare-chested in the summer heat, showing massive dragon tattoos over both shoulders, hinting at his past or present connection to organized crime. The problem was his commercial presence at the festival. The committee allowed “insiders” (volunteer and activist groups within Kotobuki) to sell food or souvenirs at the festival, and refused permission to outside vendors because they believed the summer festival was not an arena for profit-taking. Annoyed by the o-den cart, a few volunteers complained but others replied the old man was not causing much trouble with his small cart, so his presence was overlooked and then forgotten in the process of finishing the stage. But things changed as the day wore on. As the finishing touches were being put on the o-mikoshi, a large truck pulled up on the corner where the o-den cart had been set up. The

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old man and truck driver began unloading its contents, crates of fresh watermelons and peaches to be sold to festival-goers. The crates of fruit towered over our heads and spilled out a third of the length of a street block. Festival officials rushed over, as well as Iryohan members (for the cartons blocked the area where the medical team intended to hold their consultations), to halt the unloading of the crates. Sa-chan of the union spoke sternly to the man. It was discovered that the old man had received verbal permission to sell o-den from the festival committee chairperson (this permission given against policy) but had ordered the large quantities of fruit without permission. There was much confusion on the street corner, as well as anger and frustration on the part of festival committee members. Because the man had received “permission” from the chairperson, he refused to stop selling any of his goods. A compromise was reached when the fruit crates were piled to the other side of the cart, away from the festival site, where they would not block other festival activities. But the damage was done; Sa-chan was especially incensed by this person taking advantage of the festival for his own economic profit. “The festival is not something to make money on” (“Mokeru mon ja ne yo”), he said angrily. Amid this tense atmosphere, other volunteer and activist groups set up their own mogiten (temporary food stall). The Iryohan, fighting for space with the watermelon crates, offered cold barley tea at no cost with their medical consultations; Roba-no-Ie sold their cakes and cookies; the Community Center sold Korean pancakes; Kalabaw sold handmade Filipino beaded necklaces and the newly formed Kotobuki Rodosha Shienkai (Kotobuki Laborers’ Supporters’ Committee) sold corn-on-the-cob and soba noodles. As was tradition, the labor union set up a stand to sell chuhai, a mixture of cold tea and white liquor, for 200 yen a glass. The union officials were almost always too busy with other festival activities and often left the handling of the stand to others, usually Iryohan members or other younger volunteers. This had happened before, and this time Iryohan members said they would not participate, because they felt it was contradictory to sell alcohol to the same men they counselled not to drink. They also felt the union was taking advantage of their powerful position by choosing to open a mogiten and then not taking responsibility for its operation. Finally, Iryohan members questioned the general ethics of selling alcohol at the festival; with all the problems and ruined lives caused by alcohol in the yoseba, should the union and the summer festival openly support the use of alcohol? The Iryohan members were further incensed after the “watermelon incident”, because they thought

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Sa-chan, who had been adamant that the festival was not a profit-making venture, and the union probably would continue to vend alcohol at festivals for its high return of profit. Chuhai, a cheap and strong drink, was easily the best-selling product at any of the mogiten stands. Iryohan members informed the union that their group members were not officially available to sell alcohol (though individuals could do so at their own discretion), and they registered a complaint with the festival officials that the Iryohan members were categorically against the sale of alcohol at the festival. These statements were received by the union, but no resolution was made; alcohol was sold by other students and Supporters’ Committee members during the festival. At 6 p.m. of the first day, the bon odori, or dance, began. Children, dressed in colorful cotton yukata robes, had learned the simple steps at the Gakudo. Two junior high school girls took turns beating a large drum in time with the taped recording of the music. The drummers and the dancing children took to the elevated stage, while the audience gathered below. According to common practice, spectators were to dance around the stage, following the children’s steps, but few did. Instead, most of the audience stood and watched the children, occasionally taking photographs of the dance. In attendance were the children’s parents, the festival committee members, a few laborers and other characters who had too much to drink. Excluding volunteers, participants were all under the age of 14 and over the age of 50. The children went through the dance motions half-heartedly, distracted by the pleasure of being dressed up and on display. Laborers below them laughed as they entertained each other with obscene versions of the traditional steps. Looking around, I soon noticed that there were other people sharing in the festival, though not directly participating. Some residents watched the dance leaning out of their doya windows or from the subsidized housing balconies above the stage. They smiled and nodded their heads to the drum beats but did not join in the dance. The music and dancing ended around 9 p.m. and people soon dispersed; after all, it was only the first day of the festival. The jikkoiinkai met, sitting in a circle on the stage, to prepare for the next day’s activities. The main topics for discussion for that meeting were preparing the stage for the rock concert and venting anger over the “watermelon incident”. The next morning, the festival committee members had moved the stage from the center of the open space to one side, to make more room for the audience. Concert committee members built temporary ramps up the side of the stage for easier access for the bands to move their equipment on and off. A sound system company came to set up a public

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announcement system of microphones, amplifiers and criss-crossing cables. The concert was to begin at 3 p.m., but fans of the various bands performing began gathering before noon, during the bands’ abbreviated rehearsals. The fans who came from outside Kotobuki were mostly young women, aged 16 to 21, and dressed in outfits reminiscent of the 1970s—bell-bottom trousers, fringed vests and platform sandals. Fan clubs passed out leaflets praising the musicians and advertising the bands’ next appearances. The fans’ discarded literature mixed with labor union propaganda as litter on the streets. All gathered in front of the Labor Center, where many residents who had spent the previous night drinking were sleeping off the effects of alcohol. Fans stood in small groups, whispering among themselves as the Kotobuki men and women snored away the morning. After they awoke, some of the sleepy residents interacted with fans. Some girls, probably first-time visitors to the yoseba, appeared uncomfortable but were too self-conscious and polite to rebuff the residents’ attempts at conversation. Some of the bolder girls even drank a beer or two with them as the music began. The street in front of the Labor Center was filled with bands’ equipment vans and sound system company trucks. The Fukushi Senta’s second floor (which includes the senior citizens’ club office) was converted into dressing rooms for the musicians. The chonaikaikan’s first- and second-floor bathrooms were marked as “women’s” for public use: facilities built for and used by residents were now designated for outsiders’ use. The second-floor bathroom was next to the Iryohan and Thursday Night Patrol office, and members of those groups were upset by the assigning of the toilet for public use. Before long, the floor near the office was littered with toilet paper, and graffiti written in mascara was scrawled on the walls. The fans crammed into the small space directly in front of the stage as the music began, and residents and volunteers of Kotobuki stood beside or behind the stage. The Kotobuki children, who had been the focus of attention the evening before, took a distant position and watched the concert from the distance of the fourth-floor balconies of the government housing. The teenagers jammed into the Labor Center’s ground floor, jumping up and down, while residents watched them quietly. The bands ranged from rock to heavy metal and blues. Two of the bands had come from Kyoto and Osaka for the concert. The fourth group didn’t show up, and the schedule of performers was shuffled to accommodate this change. One of the participating bands was

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particularly popular that year and the festival committee chairperson announced that the concert had drawn record numbers. No one was certain about exact figures, for people streamed in and out during the six-hour concert, but there was probably in the range of 1,000 people in attendance. This was good for the concert, but bad for the concert and festival organizers, who were unprepared to deal with such a large audience. Because of the noise of the concert, the Iryohan did not hold consultations that day, but many of the team members were present to help with the concert set-up and clean-up. It turned out to be fortunate they were there to handle unexpected medical emergencies. There were a few cuts and bruises, but most of the first-aid treatment was results of alcohol abuse on the part of the fans: many of the young fans were drinking, and some collapsed. After one young girl passed out from drinking, she was deposited with one of the female members of the Iryohan for care. Iryohan members were furious about providing care for irresponsible outsiders, especially frustrating after the group’s failed attempt to prevent the union from selling alcohol. Toride and Kanbara claimed that the Iryohan’s purpose was to provide counselling for laborers and residents during consultation hours, not to serve as an oncall first aid and care center for teenage girls from the “outside” who drank too much. Toride also pointed out that letting the residents drink and then “sleep it off’ on the streets unnoticed while taking “proper care” of the drunken outsiders was an ethical contradiction (he later acknowledged that it was more dangerous for these girls to lie passed out on the yoseba streets). However, the girls had come to Kotobuki of their own free will, and had drunk alcohol under no coercion. The Iryohan acknowledged the need for a first-aid center for a concert of this size and was willing to participate, but requested that the next year, proper steps be taken to prepare for this undertaking. Security for the large number of fans was also a problem. Kotobuki Laborers’ Supporters’ Committee members stood in a line in the front of the stage to keep fans from jumping up on stage, and they covered the amplifiers with plastic sheeting when it started to rain briefly, but there had been no training of official policy on security and crowd control. Many volunteers were confused about what exactly to do with all the screaming girls. Some fans climbed up to the second and third floor window ledges of the Labor Center for a better view, and danced on these narrow spaces, causing great anxiety for concert and festival organizers, who envisioned ruinous lawsuits if fans fell and injured themselves. Towards the end of the evening, two men (one was a

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Kotobuki resident, the other unknown to the volunteers) at the front of the stage jumped up on the stage and threw whisky bottles. Volunteers did their best to restrain these men, but there was confusion about how to go about ejecting them because the concert had no assigned seating nor clear boundaries from which to eject people. There was one unanimously successful aspect to the concert for all participants: the festival committee received over 180,000 yen in donations, more than double the amount from the previous year. The festival committee members, busy with trying to settle problems throughout the entire concert, took time off during the last band’s presentation, and stood together for the first time in front of the stage, putting their differences aside and showing their solidarity only once during the evening. The concert ended at 9.30, and the jikkoiinkai met again after the crowd dispersed, bringing up the facility and security problems as topics to be discussed after the festival was over. After the concert, the concert organizers’ troubles were far from over. One of the two men who had thrown whisky bottles somehow entered the “dressing rooms” (in the senior citizens’ club office) and vomited; who was supposed to clean it up? Who would apologize to the kaicho? Leadership of the jikkoiinkai was challenged, with many complaints from volunteers, but there was no overthrow of power; the problems were considered unfortunate but inevitable. The final day of the festival began with the restoration of the rock concert stage to the bon odori stage, and the parade of the o-mikoshi through the neighborhood streets. There were now three portable shrines: the large one, a smaller one and one made by the children at the Gakudo. The smaller shrines were carried by the children of the Gakudo and the larger shrine was carried by adults from the supporters’ committee, the Iryohan members and residents of Kotobuki both male and female. Participants wore happi coats and hachimaki head-bands. Non-chan carried a huge red fan with the character “matsuri”, or festival, painted on it. A small flat-bed truck was outfitted with the large drum, and the junior high school students rode the truck, beating the drum as the parade began. Nakai of the Seikatsukan drove the truck, followed by Non-chan and the fan, those carrying the larger shrine, and finally the children with two smaller shrines. The parade zig-zagged through Kotobuki for two hours, resting three times on the way, for the shrines were heavy and the bearers few. Doya owners came out as the parade passed their buildings and sprayed the participants with water, to cool and invigorate them. Most others watched from windows and balconies, leaving the streets empty.

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The parade had problems passing through a street when maneuvering through a cluster of gambling shacks on the south-west side of Kotobuki. After making it back to the center of town, participants lined up to take a memorial photo in front of the Seikatsukan (a focal-point of the community: the “welfare shrine”) and a female member of the jikkoiinkai climbed on top of the adult shine to be carried in triumph back to the Labor Center. The o-den cart owner reappeared, this time without his cartons of fruit, and he offered konnyaku (arum root gelatin) and chikuwa (fish cakes) to all the children, perhaps as an apology for the other day’s disagreement. In my experience, I thought this section of the Kotobuki summer festival was most congruent with mainstream expectations: the children were happy and laughing, the adults joined in the celebrations, and goodwill and generosity abounded. Festival-goers spent the rest of the afternoon at the medical consultations and the volunteer/activist groups’ food stalls. A Buddhist priest affiliated with the Yokohama temple where the yoseba communal grave was located visited the festival that day. The priest burned incense and chanted a sutra in front of a small Buddhist statue behind the Labor Center in honor of the o-bon holiday for the dead. He was accompanied by a group of housewives who prepared a free meal of curried rice. This was the first and only time I saw a non-Christian religious group come to Kotobuki and perform volunteer work. The afternoon of the last day of the festival passed without incident, but in the evening, tempers flared again in incidents concerning an Iryohan member, a racist incident and again in a fight between residents. The first episode involved the treatment of an elderly homeless man who was brought in to the Iryohan after consultation hours had ended. A union official found him on the street, bleeding from injuries on both legs. Fortunately, a medical doctor was still on hand and attended to the man’s wounds immediately. Dr Hashimoto determined the wounds were probably about a month old, and while disinfecting the patient’s legs, he found maggots in the contusions. Worrying about the risk of serious infection and possible necessity of amputation, Dr Hashimoto recommended that the man be admitted to a hospital immediately, but the homeless man refused. A student medical team member, Tanaka, sat with the man in the chonaikaikan for several hours, talking to him and trying to persuade him to go to the hospital. During this conversation, Tanaka discovered the man had not eaten for several days, and offered him some of the leftovers from the afternoon’s curried rice. The man again refused. Tanaka, frustrated and probably upset by the grim situation, lost his bearings and allegedly said to the homeless man,

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“If you don’t eat it, I’ll punch you.” My guess is that Tanaka said this half in jest, but was truly frustrated with the uncooperative patient. This comment was overheard and communicated to a member of the supporters’ committee who had first brought the patient in. He was closely affiliated with the union and was probably still angry over the medical team’s criticism of the alcohol policy; he appeared extremely offended by Tanaka’s behavior and said this was indicative of the selfrighteous and overbearing attitude of the Iryohan. Toride and Kanbara spent the most part of that evening trying to convince him that the incident was isolated and not indicative of the group as a whole. The split between the union and Iryohan deepened further. Nevertheless, the festival wore on. That evening’s schedule of events began with another session of the children’s dancing, then performances by Japanese and Korean singers, and then ended with the traditional bon odori. The Japanese and Korean song and dance troupes were the most eagerly anticipated performers of the evening, for the traditional Japanese singing group included a former female Japanese-Korean resident, “Kiko”. Her annual summer festival homecoming was warmly welcomed by residents and the performance was seen as a tribute to the many Koreans and Japanese-Koreans living in Kotobuki. However, it was during the Korean performance that the second incident of the evening occurred. After the regular program ended to thunderous applause, the jikkoiinkai chairperson, acting as a master of ceremonies (MC), asked the singers for an encore. They agreed and the MC announced the titles of two encore numbers, but as “Kiko” began the first number of the encore, a half-full can of beer was thrown on stage from the upper levels of the Labor Center, grazing the right shoulder of the singer. She flinched but continued singing until the end of the number, and then walked off the stage. The MC apologized profusely and begged Kiko to finish the encore, but she cut him short and said angrily in Korean, “That’s enough. It’s over.”11 No one knew who threw the can, but the festival committee felt it was a blow to the Japanese-Korean relations within the community. Tension was still high when the performers exited to the applause of the half-drunk laborers and residents who had gathered around the stage, and the children re-entered for their final dance session. During this performance, a fight erupted in the audience that threatened to halt the festival. This was not a brawl between two laborers but a confrontation between members of the family with the dangerous reputation: Mariko’s aunt and grandmother on one side, and a male relative on the other. The origin of the fight was unclear; rumor had it

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that the male relative tried to hold Mariko’s aunt’s baby, and was refused. The relative became angry and tried to take the baby anyway, and emotions flared. The mother screamed, “What the hell do you think you’re doing!” which prompted her mother, a solid woman in her fifties to raise her fists against the offending man, who was slight and outnumbered by the two outraged women. The three were soon torn apart by festival committee members, but only minutes after the first incident was settled and the dance resumed the three began arguing again, screaming and waving fists. The fight was resolved only by the ejection of the male relative, who was led away. Festival organizers then tried to calm the elder woman by talking to her in hushed tones. Finally, the dance resumed for the second time, and the two women stood smugly at the edge of the stage, holding the baby and keeping their ground. They had the power to stop and start the festival, and they had demonstrated that. After the final dance ended at 9.30 p.m., there was supposed to be a meeting of the jikkoiinkai to plan the next day’s clean-up activities, but the members were too busy dealing with disparate problems concerning Tanaka the Iryohan member, and the beer-can incident, and all discussion was postponed until the next day. On Monday morning, the jikkoiinkai gathered to spend the day disassembling the stage and cleaning up the area around the festival site. At 5 p.m., the committee members met for a discussion and dinner party. Topics of discussion included the difficult “watermelon incident”, security at the concert and the beer-can incident, but the problem of selling alcohol and the incident concerning Tanaka and the homeless man were not brought up, for these topics were deemed by the participants as too complex to discuss in a group setting. They were put aside to be discussed privately, but in reality they were brushed aside and not resolved. In the ensuing discussions, it was decided that the rock concert was most problematic because of the large numbers of outsiders coming in and the lack of facilities to deal with them. It was pointed out that the concert’s focus was not on the Kotobuki residents and concert planners should make an effort to bring in residents and try to make them feel more a part of the event. It was also suggested that festival organizers work harder to sensitize concert-goers to the problems of the yoseba so that fans could interact more constructively with residents rather than looking at Kotobuki as just a place to “party”. The beer-can incident was blamed not only on the ethnic tensions between the groups but also on the general dissatisfaction in Kotobuki caused by the economic slowdown. When there is no work for anyone,

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it is easy for unemployed Japanese laborers to blame Korean and Filipino immigrants for taking their jobs away. Japanese-Koreans, though born and raised in Japan, also fall into this category of “outsider” and “thief’, making them targets of discrimination. Discussion of this incident revolved primarily around the jikkoiinkai chairpersons account from the stage, and an agreement that this was a regretful and terrible thing to happen during a section of the festival that residents enjoy so much. In all, the festival was a stressful period for the organizers and participants. A sense of “community” was limited to those who participate, and for the elderly, foreigners and many other laborers and residents who did not attend the festival, there was hardly a full sense of community. Most difficult was the lack of clear goals of the festival, and the subsequent lack of organization to deal with problems that arose from the ambiguity. Many people asked afterwards, “What is the summer festival for, anyway?” and “For whom are we putting on this show?” The summer festival is often seen as an emotional release for the Japanese, who get to “let their hair down” and work out the accumulated stress from their daily lives. But the problems of alcoholism and poverty in Kotobuki are not alleviated by a night of drinking and dancing; in this case, problems were exacerbated, resulting in broken bottles and bitter disagreements between residents and volunteers alike. Unlike the Etto, which had a clear purpose (to house and feed men during the holiday period), the summer festival had no goal except to “have a good time”, and “it’s the o-bon holiday and so that’s why we do it”. Unfortunately, everyone had different ideas about what the festival and o-bon should be: An all-out party? A religious celebration? Welfare services offered by volunteer groups? The 1993 summer festival was in fact a little bit of each, but these elements conflicted at times. Though all wished to spend a few hours forgetting the troubles of the yoseba, volunteers, residents and one-time visitors were unable to avoid the issues and were unprepared to confront them. CONCLUSION Kotobuki rituals, be they “organized” or “disorganized”, are important experiences for all who participate. Rituals shape the volunteers’ perceptions of life in the yoseba, and the volunteers’ perceptions of their relationship to the residents. For the residents who participate, these rituals give them both positive and negative definitions of identity; they tell us what it means to live in a yoseba. Even for someone familiar with other yoseba, San’ya, is a frightening place. Even Kotobuki, to the

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foreigner, can be hostile. For the Japanese-Korean community, it can at times be hostile. For the senior citizens, their club functions as a way back to a family-structured community, demonstrated in the graveside visit. For residents and volunteers alike, the Etto provides the same emotional support during the New Year’s holidays. Disorganization can be confusing to ritual participants but it does not destroy the ritual itself. At times, the ritual’s actual performance can overcome the confused and opposing ideas. Ritual can be “a process within which an attempt is made to impress a dominant message upon a set of paradoxical or discordant representations… to objectify conflict in the everyday world and transcend it” (Comaroff, 1985:119). This takes Geertz’ definition a step further; the “disorganized” ritual, which signifies social change, is perhaps a necessary instrument for that culture’s confrontation with the change. The ritual addresses the conflict arising from social problems or change and attempts to transcend the conflict. The graveside ritual successfully addressed the senior citizens’ social problems and transcended the need for a familial structure to guide them through the next spiritual stage of their lifecycle. Residents needed to construct a concept of “family” in order to create a “home” for themselves in the after-life. The Christian volunteers supported this message and participated in the ritual, making it meaningful for all. The yoseba conference was organized with the goal of uniting forces in the face of increasing poverty and discrimination in Japan’s day laborers’ settlements, but personal differences and the lack of a network by which volunteers from the outside could enter and be effective kept this goal from being achieved. The message was mixed: through cooperation and exchange, all yoseba activists should be able to improve conditions in their fields, but local identification brought out fears and personal prejudices which activists claim not to be swayed by. The Etto message was clear and agreed upon by all. There was much conflict between volunteers, and between residents and volunteers, but the message was strong enough to make the project work. The Etto, though at times chaotic, was effective, for the ritual provided both volunteers and residents a context in which to spend the New Year’s holidays. The goals of feeding, sheltering and caring for the homeless provided a basis for all volunteers and residents to transcend personal differences and loneliness felt during the holidays. Conflict occurred, but was transcended by the message “protect the lives of your comrades through cooperation”. The summer festival’s message was much less effective: the proclaimed message of “break out of unemployment hell”

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was overshadowed by the real message, “blow off some steam during the party”. The festival did not address a simple problem; as a ritual descended from traditional Buddhist festivities, the Kotobuki summer festival became an outlet for stress and frustration on the part of residents and some activists, causing conflict with those who did not want the festival to become a free-for-all. Kotobuki rituals are important not only as a record with rich ethnographic detail of personal relationships and struggles with social problems, but the rituals also show how groups work together, successfully and unsuccessfully. The success of the cooperation and the ritual depends on the strength of the message and how well it is accepted by participants. This idea leads to the theoretical arguments of the next chapter. How do volunteers deal with each other and residents? Are these interpersonal techniques different from those used in other kinds of Japanese groups? FURTHER READING Japanese religion and ritual Bestor, Theodore C. (1989)”The Festival and the Local Social Order”, from Neighborhood Tokyo, Bestor. Stanford: Stanford University Press, pp. 224–55. Morioka, Kiyomi and Newell, William H. (eds.). (1968) The Sociology of Japanese Religion. Leiden: E.J.Brill. Murakami, Shigeyoshi (translated by H.Byron Earhart). (1980) Japanese Religion in the Modern Century. Tokyo: University of Tokyo Press. Reader, Ian. (1991) Religion in Contemporary Japan. Basingstoke: Macmillan.

7 Helping out and holding back Power and decision-making in volunteer groups

INTRODUCTION Until this point I have discussed the particulars of the Kotobuki volunteer community: an ethnography and history of the area, brief descriptions of the various groups, profiles of volunteers and residents, and finally an examination of interpersonal relations and social ideology as seen through various yoseba rituals. Throughout these chapters, we can observe the groups’ different goals and activities, even the different types of volunteers. Here I take a more “macro” approach in looking at Kotobuki volunteer activities and attempt to analyze the overall structure of volunteer activity across group lines. Common features of volunteer groups revolve around three institutionalized activities: publishing newsletters, meetings to plan activities and the performance of various services. I found that participating in the actual volunteer services taught me a great deal about Kotobuki and residents, but participating in publishing and planning meetings taught me more about volunteer organizational behavior. Publishing was important, for it allowed the groups to establish an identity through the written word; each group defined itself in a political way and communicated this to the outside world. Planning meetings were important because during these gatherings personal relationships were played out and ranking systems were visible. In the second part of this chapter, I examine status rankings and interpersonal interaction between volunteers, focusing particularly on the employment of enryo, or polite hesitation, as a tool for decisionmaking and conflict management. Interpersonal interaction could be observed at volunteer group meetings, the most time-consuming and emotionally charged activity of all groups; at these meetings, important decisions that could affect residents’ lives were made. Because

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of the seriousness of the consequences, meeting participants employed enryo as a nonconfrontational mode of communication to arrive at decisions concerning volunteer responsibility and action. However, enryo did not exist as a blanket mode of interaction; rather, volunteers used enryo at various levels according to their status, illustrating hierarchical relations in the group. Therefore, an examination of enryo becomes a means to measure and evaluate social relations in Kotobuki. Conflict studies are valuable in anthropology to serve as “an interior view of the social organization of a society, of how power is distributed within it and of how the latter may be changing” (Pharr, 1989:228). Furthermore, how the conflict is handled is important because it shows the ways individuals or groups manipulate social constructions of power and authority. An examination of conflict management is also vital to the understanding of interpersonal relationships, as the resolution of a conflict defines whether the relationship is preserved or dissolved. Social harmony is a highly valued concept in Japanese society, but conflict is inevitable in social situations when people have differing concerns and intentions. Japanese conflict management is defined by Takie Sugiyama Lebra to be a reaction to a conflict situation without necessarily entailing a resolution. Management can involve procrastination, aggravation of conflict, or initiation of a new phase of conflict…It is not that Japanese never risk confrontations [but]…nonconfrontational modes must be exhausted first. (Lebra, 1984:41–2)

Blurred boundaries between Kotobuki groups cause volunteers to have multiple identities, and consequently multiple status roles. Though a general order to the volunteer community exists, it is not rigid and there is sometimes cooperation, sometimes confusion when status roles overlap. Conflict occurs not only when volunteers of different groups interact, as seen during some Kotobuki rituals, but can also happen within the boundaries of a single group, such as in a dynamic group like the Iryohan. When conflict occurs in Kotobuki volunteer groups, members try to avoid addressing the topic and often procrastinate when making decisions. Usually resolution comes suddenly from the top of the power structure. Those disagreeing with the decision are free to leave the group if dissatisfaction remains. However, this is a last-resort scenario for conflict resolution. As Lebra states, other modes of finding a resolution must first be employed; in Kotobuki, I found the communicative method most often used was enryo.

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The examination of volunteer group meetings illustrates the power structures of the community specific to Kotobuki. However, an analysis of these meetings also shows the basis for Japanese conflict resolution which is not confined to social relations in the yoseba. Enryo, as a powerful psychological concept that cut across lines created by categories such as gender, age, local and class identities, length of volunteer experience, and level of commitment to the volunteer community, colored how the volunteers dealt with each other and the residents of Kotobuki, and constituted a connecting strand from the “non-standard” community of volunteers to larger ideologies of Japanese expectations of human behavior. VOLUNTEER GROUP IDENTITY AND INTERDEPENDENCY: COMMONALITIES Volunteer groups in Kotobuki are so interdependent in terms of labor, resources and information exchange, that they seldom function alone. In mapping out the relationships between these social groups in Kotobuki, I was struck by the blurred divisions in labor and the goals of each of the groups. The groups were distinct in their organization and budgets, but there was much overlap in the objectives of their work and in the make-up of their staff. Sometimes it was difficult to tell when the volunteers were acting on behalf of the Iryohan, the Mokuyo Patrol or the senior citizens’ club. A volunteer for the Community Center borrowed a van from the juminkondankai to drive members of the Rojinkai to a concert; volunteers from one church in Yokohama spent one day a week at the Community Center, and the same volunteers went to the Roba-no-Ie on a different day. SABAY, the Mokuyo Patrol and the Iryohan all shared the same room for an office and nearly all the same staff. Contrasting with Nakane’s definition of the group as strongly identified with one place and one structure, the Kotobuki volunteer groups were not sharply defined and were fluid in structure. Each group had its own goals, budget and power structure, but people, resources and concerns float freely between the groups. This simultaneously created a sense of intimacy and friction. Volunteers who worked together on various projects become better acquainted, because of the time spent together in various settings. Better communication and a sense of camaraderie and solidarity developed when everyone knew each other well. Also, it was helpful to have many different opportunities to meet with colleagues: at a SABAY meeting, volunteers

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who also participated in the Iryohan had another chance to discuss informally important issues concerning the medical team. Overlapping group membership also caused problems when personal relationships went awry. People who did not get along in one group took their problems with them to other contexts. Year-old battles left emotional scars that affected relationships in different activities. For example, the union leader Fukuoka was always friendly to Toride and Kanbara, but appeared awkward in Iryohan activities, and usually avoided participating in the medical consultations. This was because Fukuoka tried to organize the Iryohan and acted as its leader several years ago, soon after the labor union relinquished control of the group. The students succeeded in making the group theirs, and Fukuoka quietly returned his focus to union activities and his job at the Seikatsukan. But no one forgot the brief struggle between him and the students; the students were quick to criticize Fukuoka for being self-serving, and Fukuoka’s allies in the Shienkai (though not Fukuoka himself) criticized the students for being separatist. Membership in one volunteer group did not make for distinctions within the volunteer community. Rather, the level of volunteers’ commitment was more important. Volunteers with strong commitments to various groups (never just one) and the area created another subgroup. The volunteer community had different levels: volunteers with stable, long-time commitments, contrasting with the college students who dropped in once or twice never to be seen again, as well as most people who fell somewhere in between. Because the most committed volunteers participated in several groups, they generally knew each other well and the circle of committed volunteers has become ingrown. Stories connecting volunteers through marriage (more often than not, ex-marriage!) and other personal and professional relationships abounded. Christina (the Filipina nun from SABAY) got her apartment through Ms Ishii (manager of the Community Center), because Ishii used to live in the same building when she was married (and whatever happened to her ex-husband?). Group meetings often ended with gossip sessions: “There was talk that two members of the Mokuyo Patrol were dating, did you hear?” and “Have you seen Fukuoka’s new condominium? I hear it’s got a swimming pool…and him as the leader of the working class!” The volunteer grapevine was well-developed and active, which provided entertainment, information and emotional outlets for some (those doing the gossiping) and annoyance for others (those being talked about).

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Aside from the blurred boundaries that make them indistinguishable at times, the volunteer groups in Kotobuki shared three other common characteristics: publishing, planning and action. Each group’s methods were different; working with foreign laborers required different skills than working with homeless people or children in Kotobuki. However, a general structure to activity was apparent for all groups, regardless of their objectives: (1) all groups wrote about what they wanted to do or had already done, and (2) all groups talked about their plans in meetings to go out and perform the services. Though the service itself provided the end result of the volunteering, the publishing and the planning were much more time-consuming, emotionally draining and more representative of the social dynamics of volunteer activity. THE VOLUNTEER GROUP AS A PRINTING PRESS Publishing was a communicative tool used by all groups to relate their activities, ideas and the conditions of Kotobuki to the members of other groups, but more importantly to those outside the volunteer community. Pamphlets were written in an informative, journalistic style to spread social awareness to outside readers. Each group had its own carefully kept computer database of addresses. Churches, schools, welfare organizations and human rights groups provided other lists to enlarge the groups’ data bank. One-time visitors or friends of the volunteers made up another source of names for the mailing list. Publishing was an important economic activity, for the newsletters also served as a means for fundraising. Mailings contained bank transfer forms for readers to make contributions. Pamphlets were also used to recruit volunteers, to keep one-time participants in touch with the group and inform them of future events. Every group had a pamphlet, newsletter or some kind of written statement that was published on a regular basis; there were monthly, quarterly and yearly reports. Publishing was a year-long, constant project; committed volunteers were continually working on manuscripts for various groups. Publishing recognized the need to document the group and to create a record of their activities as well as the lives of Kotobuki residents who were so often overlooked in Japanese society. Publishing also created an identity for the group. “This is who we are and what we are doing!” was the message to the rest of society. Some newsletters were overtly political: the labor union officials wrote scathing criticisms of the government’s treatment of the laborers, as well as support for various movements. These included opposition to the dispatch of Japanese Self-

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Defense troops to participate in UN peacekeeping missions, to the fingerprinting of Japanese-born foreigners, and to the use of the national flag and the national anthem “Kimi ga yo”, symbols which are associated with pre-war nationalism. Other newsletters’ ideologies were presented differently; the Christian-funded Community Center, though just as adamant in condemning the treatment of the homeless and the handicapped, and the Ministry of Education’s unclear account of Japan’s role in World War II, was more spiritual in tone. They always included one page acknowledging the financial contributions of various church and individual contributors. The Iryohan published a monthly newsletter where reports of patients’ progress and the groups’ activities were recounted. The Mokuyo Patrol published its pamphlet once every four to six months with reports on the numbers of homeless, records of conversations with the homeless and reflections on group members’ experiences. The group formed to support an imprisoned Kotobuki laborer, “Shinchan”, published a record of prison visits and the latest developments of court procedures. General mistrust of the Japanese mass media was another reason for publishing. Outsiders could not be trusted to portray accurately yoseba activities without twisting or making scandalous the information. Residents did not wish their troubled lives to become fodder for others’ entertainment, and felt strongly about protecting their privacy. Volunteers felt frustrated when, despite their best efforts, images of Kotobuki as dirty, chaotic, violent or a great place to “slum” were presented. Some of the newspaper journalists and television reporters who often came to Kotobuki sought permission from the residents to cover their stories; others didn’t and printed their articles anyway. The Iryohan, frustrated by countless requests and bad write-ups, enacted a“media black-out” policy: they gave absolutely no interviews. Other groups also expressed extreme caution in dealing with the mass media and, more often than not, requests for official interviews were turned down by residents and volunteers. At my first Etto, Ms Ishii came to where I was working in the Iryohan office and told me that a newspaper reporter was asking questions about the New Year’s activities. The reporter had heard there was an American volunteer around and wanted to interview me. Ms Ishii said, “It’s up to you if you want to go.” But something in the stillness of her gaze told me to shake my head, and she then nodded businesslike. “I’ll tell the reporter you won’t talk to him,” she said and walked away. I remember feeling vaguely pleased that I was now part

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of the “inside” group, those that turned away the mass media and protected the residents. Rejecting the media was thought to be in the residents’ best interest, but the volunteers still needed a method to educate the public and spread consciousness about the yoseba. Therefore, their own publishing efforts took on special significance. These published works were instrumental for my research because the information each group’s publication contained was the group’s conscious effort to define itself to others: how the group wished to be viewed by others. The group’s political and social views were stated and objectives for action were also made public. A marked threshold in my participation was when I was asked to contribute to the publishing efforts. I wrote various articles for the Community Center, the Iryohan, the Mokuyo Patrol and the annual report on year-end activities. This was a rite of passage: I was allowed to represent the group publicly through my manuscripts and truly be a group member, not an observer. I felt a great responsibility in representing the group to the outside and felt I should conform to the group’s ideology. I had Japanese friends read and re-read drafts of my articles to be sure my grammar and writing style would not be unlike the style of other contributors. I wanted to blend in with the other members’ work and not appear as an “outsider”. As I wrote articles from the others’ point of view, I found my writing became more and more sympathetic with the residents and sometimes wondered if the members of the Foreign Ministry would ever find and read these pamphlets and note down my “leftist views” for deportation proceedings at some future time. Toride’s name and photograph were purportedly reported for “police files” because of his participation in anti-imperial activities at Tokyo University after the Emperor Hirohito’s death, but to my dismay, I never had any problems renewing my student visa or registering as an alien at my local ward office. The Japanese government did not seem interested in the “leftist” activities of a single American graduate student! Publishing as a phenomenon in the volunteer community can be seen as an “expressive” tactic, a term used by Patricia G.Steinhoff in her analysis of the Japanese student movement (1984:184). The spread of information to the public to gain their support is essential to the success of a movement; students use petitions, handbills and demonstrations (both peaceful and aggressive) to sway the public’s sentiment and force authorities to make concessions. Kotobuki volunteer groups also recognized the importance of Steinhoff’s “expressive sequence”, but restricted their activities to publishing. I believe this was because they wished to distance themselves from the stereotype of more radical

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political groups; Kotobuki volunteers wanted to create a compassionate image, not a radical or possibly violent one.1 Volunteers’ publishing opens up avenues for negotiations with the government, but during my fieldwork, most often volunteers cooperated with government authorities rather than making demands of them. Steinhoff posits that the second “sequence” for movements is “instrumental”, aimed at “getting a concession” from the authorities (p. 185). This can mean labor negotiations, strikes or sit-ins; action is taken to extract a desired result. Volunteers did interact with Yokohama city officials when planning the New Year’s events, for the municipal government gave substantial funding to the labor union to cover costs of the event. Volunteers met with city officials and asked for money or services; sometimes they got what they asked for, sometimes not. Disagreement with external authorities was common but open conflict with them was not. Rather, most conflict in the volunteer groups occurred internally; people disagreed with each other over how the group should be run. This was seen most often in meetings, when volunteers plan the groups’ course of action. RANKING IN THE VOLUNTEER COMMUNITY AS ILLUSTRATED BY MEETINGS During meetings on the occasions where different groups came together, I could see how volunteers cooperated at times and disagreed with each other at other times. In observing this interaction, I could observe the implicit ranking of power and status in the volunteer community. This ranking was important to seeing how and why decisions were made. I found that gender, age, local and class identities, length of volunteer experience and level of commitment to the volunteer community were important determinants in creating definitions of individual power. The following section describes a ranked status system in the Kotobuki volunteer community, but it is necessary to keep in mind that personal status is only relatively defined within the yoseba, and varies depending on the environment and participants. During the holiday periods at the New Year and the summer festival, various volunteer groups pooled ideas and resources in the organizational meetings. At these meetings, group leaders displayed their power by taking front and center positions in the seating. How they spoke to each other also was telling; powerful people spoke the most frequently and used the most informal language patterns. Groups that held grudges against each other communicated these feelings by not

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attending. If they did attend, the offended party sat on the far side of the room of the offending party and refused to support the offender’s arguments. An example of this “non-attendance” strategy was seen at the summer festival, where the senior citizen’s club members refrained from participating in any meetings over their dissatisfaction regarding the noise from the rock concert. Union officials, when present at any meeting, were in the top position in the power structure. This was because the union represented the time-honored tradition of the yoseba as a day laborers’ settlement, and the male-dominated, local group held this position also because of their length and intensity of their volunteer commitment, illustrated by their high level of activity at New Year’s and at the summer festival. Second in the power structure were the long-time employees of the Seikatsukan,2 who had spent most of their working lives in Kotobuki: Mr Arakawa, Fukuoka, Nakai, Nana-chan and others. Their level of commitment and knowledge of the area contributed to their highstanding reputation. They lived in or very near to Kotobuki because of the long hours at the job, therefore their identification with the area was extremely close. They were not laborers as the union officials were; their respected position in the community was based on their social work and volunteer activities. Except for the former employee Nanachan, these social workers were all male, many lived locally (though they were raised outside the yoseba) and had a high level of activity with several volunteer groups: Mr Nakai’s involvement with the Iryohan, the Mokuyo Patrol and the Shin-chan committee, for example. The fact that Fukuoka was both an employee of the Seikatsukan and the head of the labor union made him a very powerful figure indeed. Further along in the power structure was the chairperson of the Rojinkai, the kaicho. A long-time resident of the area, kaicho had achieved a level of high status as the leader of an active, self-supported group. During the yoseba conference (which the union didn’t attend) Kotobuki residents were ably represented by the honorable kaicho. It was natural for him to take this position of leadership, for his age and residential status made him a superior leader against the other volunteers. Though the kaicho himself was never a laborer, many of his entourage were, lending an air of class authority to the group. Rojinkai members possessed several features contributing to its position: age, gender and local and class identities. However, they were unable to compete with the level of activity of the union members or the Seikatsukan employees; the physical limitations of age prevented them

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from contributing, and placed them in a secondary position to the younger men. The “women’s groups” and the “students’ groups” tended to be clumped together in two separate camps below the male-dominated hierarchy. The two workshops for the handicapped and the Community Center were run by women and tended to have high numbers of women volunteers. These three groups cooperated with each other most often, under a distant network of male leadership. The workshops’ and the Community Center’s staff, with the exception of Ms Ishii, were nonlocal, and most volunteers were middle-aged housewives. The SABAY and Mokuyo Patrol were also clumped together, due not so much to the volunteers’ gender but because of their ages, with most non-local members in their twenties and thirties. Women’s and students’ groups followed the union’s lead and were usually those whom the union relied on most for follow-up work; housewives and the students had relatively open schedules and were available to do the work. These groups, with relatively low status in age, class and local identities, and gender categories, had a high level of commitment and experience which gave them a niche and respect in the community. POWER PLAYS: THE MEETING AS ARENA FOR CONFLICT AND COOPERATION The potential for conflict within volunteer groups was greatest at these meetings than at any other times. This was because people gathered to discuss future plans and changes to the group, amongst other topics, and recounted past activities. Changes in group activities were put forth by the leaders in the hope that the group would become more effective and efficient in its battle against poverty and discrimination. But there were no easy answers to these questions, and conflict, whether open or suppressed, was not uncommon. Kotobuki volunteers used enryo, a nonconfrontational but effective communicative tool, for drawing out opposing opinions when potential conflict arose, making compromise possible before the conflict became unmanageable. Enryo was an instrumental device for all volunteers, regardless of status, to help make decisions and/or resolve conflict. At the same time, enryo served as a safety net; if decisions were made properly (and politely, at least), volunteers believed they could not be severely reprimanded if mistaken. Enryo was most often employed during planning meetings. Careful planning for action was thought vital for the success of volunteer

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activities. Planning for these activities constituted a separate action in itself. For example, the Iryohan performed medical consultations for two hours once a month, where the staff consulted with laborers and medical services were available. But Iryohan members also met with each other twice a month, after the monthly consultation and at a separate specified time to discuss group activities, future plans, and the publication of the monthly pamphlet. These meetings ranged from two to four hours each, depending on the agenda; right before the New Year’s activities, meetings were especially long. The Mokuyo Patrol also had long meetings before the group set off on patrol, sometimes delaying departure for two and a half hours. All groups had meetings, and sometimes they were longer and more intellectually and emotionally intense than the activities themselves. I was not always able to attend organizational meetings for every group, or sometimes I was allowed to stay for only part of a meeting. This was because of my age, gender, class and nationality. I wanted to attend all the organizational meetings, to observe all groups: to see who was deemed appropriate to attend, who ran the meetings and who responded in appropriate ways. Being at the meeting, even as a passive participant, was a statement of identity and expression of power in the group. A volunteer could help out regularly at activities, but that didn’t mean that one was involved in decision-making. Because of my level of participation and my student status, I fit into the “student groups” most easily. I was able to attend regularly Iryohan, Mokuyo Patrol and SABAY meetings. I was also able to attend meetings for the New Year’s activities and summer festival, because by that time, I had become a regular member of the Iryohan, and just as importantly, was not encumbered with a regular job which would prevent me from attending the day time meetings. Time schedules were another obstacle to leadership: if a person worked full-time away from the yoseba, it was difficult to take a leadership position in representing the group at important meetings with government or welfare offices, who met with the volunteers during their nine-to-five work day. This is contrasted by my experience with groups that were not student-based. These other groups, though welcoming to all volunteers, had a set administrative board. I was allowed to attend only part of a board meeting of the Community Center, consisting of UCCJ ministers, the director and other affiliates of Roba-no-Ie, long-time members of participating churches and the center manager. Since I was not a board member, I sat in another room behind a closed door for the first part of

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the meeting. Roba-no-Ie also had an administrative board, as did organizational meetings of the Rojinkai. Access colored my observations of decision-making. There were certain groups I could not enter on a decision-making level. Participation on the organizational level for me was with groups with male and female members in their twenties and thirties. Age was important; the older the participants in the power structure were, the more difficult it was for me to participate. In some cases it was entirely inappropriate, not only due to age but also gender and social status. The senior citizens’ club and the all-male labor union, for example, were not appropriate places for me to try to participate in decision-making. I was too young for the club, and too bourgeois for the labor union. As manual labor is almost entirely performed by men, women have little say in how the union is run. Whether it was a meeting of a single group or of several, all were characterized by a slow pace. Topics were brought out slowly and carefully, with long silences between the introduction of the topic, discussion and conclusion. No one rushed to express their opinions, and no one jumped to conclusions. To me, meetings seemed stuck in indecision, but I soon learned the delay was not due to hesitancy crippling the discussion, but deliberate techniques in decision-making. Members chose not to reveal their thoughts too early, and instead waited to hear all information available before making a decision. Therefore, this “holding back” was not an expression of shyness or personal insecurity on the part of volunteers, and it was more than just “politeness”. It was a calculated gesture used to increase the group’s chances of making the correct decision, and in doing so, offending no one. In official meetings, members showed restraint in expression and often only leaders spoke, and their language, too, was halting and often vague, hiding precise meaning. This slow pace can be seen as a classic form of nemawashi, a Japanese term which means “working around the roots”. Nemawashi means that decisions affecting a group must be unanimous (or appear to be so), so it takes time and effort to persuade group members to agree. The leader must wait to hear all member opinions and be careful not to jump to conclusions. Enryo, defined not only as restraint but also as hesitation in expressing one’s opinion directly, dominated the atmosphere of all meetings. Power and status based on gender, age, class, local identity and experience in the yoseba, affected how individuals expressed themselves in meetings, but no one was immune to the social convention

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of enryo. Enryo is usually seen by the Japanese as a form of polite social etiquette, but I believe it is equally important as a strategy for handling conflict and decision-making. Enryo is an essential concept in many Japanese social interactions. Japanese consider restraint as an expression of politeness. This is most easily understood in the context of being a guest in someone’s house. The host offers the guest refreshments, and the guest immediately says, “No, no, I couldn’t put you to the trouble…” but the host has already come forth with an array of food and drink. The host then says, “goenryo naku” (“please don’t hesitate”) which can be more loosely translated as “please make yourself at home” or “help yourself”. This scenario is played out to the letter in many Japanese social situations, and the goal is to reinforce the gratitude of the guest and the generosity of the host. Enryo does not just entail the presentation or appreciation of food. On a deeper level, the guest, or outsider, does not want to appear selfish or bossy by demanding preferential treatment. The guest respects the fact that he/she is out of one’s own territory, and curtails his/her behavior to conform to the rules of the outside world. In one’s own territory, one may be as selfish as one likes but in someone else’s “inside” world, the guest is conscious of others. Thus enryo becomes a standard form of human interaction that takes place outside the ego’s home, dictated by the cultural values of selflessness and willingness to follow suggestions of others. Joy Hendry notes that enryo is used when a person feels another is holding back for the sake of politeness, and not revealing their true wants or needs, perhaps in consideration to their host. In this way, it implies that the polite behaviour, in particular language, is covering up some physical desire which could be expressed in a more informal circumstance. (Hendry, 1993, 1995:64)

Enryo not only signals politeness, but also flags the listener’s attention to the unsaid: what is not said is equally important to the social interaction as what is said. Picking up on this line of reasoning, enryo in Kotobuki can be analysed in terms of the identities of host and guest. Take, for example, the fact that meetings were held and services were performed exclusively in Kotobuki facilities such as the chonaikaikan, the Seikatsukan, and other public areas. Volunteers who were often “outsiders” to Kotobuki were out of their own territory and curtailed their behavior accordingly.

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As outsiders, they could not behave informally. Group leaders had more freedom, since their total commitment and their powerful positions gave them a modicum of flexibility, but they also had to be sensitive to the needs of other members. If they were not, they could lose their leadership. The following is an example of a typical meeting when a problem is being addressed (a scene which has potential for conflict). Usually the meeting starts with the distribution of meeting notes: a one-page handout of the list of topics to be discussed that day. The meeting opens with an introduction of the hand-out, which often begins with comments about the previous meeting. The meeting leader asks for follow-up information regarding earlier issues, and if there is discussion, it is usually quickly and concisely presented, for major issues have already been resolved in behind-the-scenes dialogues. Next is usually a discussion of preparations for the next volunteer activity. Sometimes this part of the meeting is a mere parcelling out of responsibilities on a variety of topics: who will do the shopping for the meal? who will visit hospitalized laborers? who will write the next article for the newsletter? how will the Mokuyo Patrol divide into three parties to cover Kotobuki? Leaders make decisions based on the volunteers’ abilities and the activities at hand; new members started out on lighter tasks (such as writing articles) while older members took on more responsibility, such as meeting with the welfare office managers. However, circumstances often dictated the distribution of tasks: the onerous task of driving the Kotobuki van always fell to the same person no matter what the activity was on hand. A few labor officials were drivers, but Toride was the only student volunteer with a valid driver’s license who was experienced in navigating the complicated urban roadways around Kotobuki. Often, larger issues arise from these preparatory discussions, and these issues are taken up at the end of the next meeting; this gives the leaders time to identify problems and make proposals at a later time. For example, during the Etto activities, Iryohan services were disrupted by the presence of small children; this led to the question, what is the group’s stance on child care? Another example was the issue of waking sleeping people on Mokuyo Patrol: to what extent should patrol members refrain from helping, in order to respect the privacy of the homeless? Handling requests from the media was another time when ethical problems arose during volunteer activities. Matters such as these are brought out by the group leaders at the end of the meeting, and it was during this part of the meeting that enryo was most often at work.

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Group leaders begin this kind of discussion by throwing out a topic: “There is a problem (x). What should we, as a group, do about it?” There is silence, often for long minutes. The leader rephrases the question, perhaps brings out another way of looking at the problem, and then there is more silence. After the leader poses the question two or three more times, a member may venture an idea or another interpretation of the problem without conclusion. Often these secondary levels of discussion will spark some conversation on the topic, but seldom is the original proposal solved or even directly addressed. Eventually, the leader changes the topic and the meeting moves on. But this does not mean the group dismisses the issue or is incapable of decisionmaking; the group chooses not to make the decision at that time. After the meeting ends, members break off into smaller groups: on to a different activity, to a restaurant or bar for a drink before taking different trains back to their apartments. It was in these smaller groups where frank discussions were held, opinions were directly expressed and conclusions were formed. Group leaders gathered information from the various members during these informal meetings and made decisions based on this input. Conclusions were then presented to the group at the beginning of next meeting. If the leader had listened to all of the members’ ideas carefully and considered everything, the members were usually satisfied with the leader’s decision. If not, complaints were made in the next informal setting, and the process began again, continuing until all members were comfortable with the decision made. Why this time-consuming process? Toride said he thought there were two reasons, both connected to the consumption of alcohol. First, group members were more comfortable discussing their feelings frankly in a social situation, as in the case of going to a restaurant or bar after the meeting. After a few beers, conversation flowed more freely and it was more acceptable to get emotional or angry in a bar or restaurant than in the dry, formal atmosphere of the meeting. Second, if the members were drinking, they were not necessarily responsible for what was said. If an offered idea or opinion was not accepted by other members, it could be more easily brushed aside and forgotten than comments made at the formal meeting (which were all recorded by the group secretary). Interestingly, the use of alcohol to facilitate decision-making was often employed by Iryohan members, who vehemently protested the sale of alcohol at the summer festival. The use of alcohol outside official volunteer activities, such as after meetings and the performance of

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services, appeared to be acceptable to team members; alcohol use had its own appropriate time and a place. The volunteers I asked about enryo at meetings agreed that people held back their feelings and opinions consciously. They expressed regret that the meetings could not progress more quickly and productively. “We take the time to come together, but we can’t say what we think,” said Mr Nakai wistfully. “It’s the exact opposite [of what should go on at a meeting].” He also pointed out that this criticism was also made during the demise of the gakusei undo (the student protest movement; many of these former student activists are yoseba volunteers). Yet, as volunteers spoke with regret about enryo, all said it could not be helped (“sho ga nai”). “Holding back” is something that would always be present in Japanese social relations, Mr Naki said. Enryo had this negative effect on the volunteer group meetings, but at times I could see there was profit to be gained from waiting. Enryo can act as a kind of social insurance which prevents individuals from making rash decisions that could perhaps result in mistakes. In the book The Silent Cry, Nobel Prize winning novelist Oe Kenzaburo describes an interaction between the novel’s protagonist and a stranger that illustrates one benefit of the “holding back” strategy. Oe’s protagonist describes the country villagers as very cautious during conversations with strangers: Being extremely wary, they always wore a mask of cool detachment from behind which they craftily tried to sound out the other man’s feelings (Oe, 1967:131)

Edwin Reischauer also recognized the advantages of enryo, in his description of Japanese personal relations where each participant in a discussion feels his way cautiously, unfolding his own views only as he sees how others react to them (Reischauer, 1988:136). Hendry notes positive aspects of enryo: In general, it is felt to be too imposing on people to reveal too much of one’s own feelings, and it is also something of an art, particularly among women, to be able to anticipate or divine what lies behind a mask of polite expression. (Hendry, 1993, 1995:64)

These examples are not unrelated to the conservative communicative strategies volunteers use. Toride claimed that the members’ sense of enryo was on one level a display of social manners (though holding

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back is often done to get one’s way, one does not wish to be regarded by others as selfish), and showed the Japanese preference for indirect communication. Volunteers wished to appear unselfish because unselfishness distanced them personally from taking responsibility for consequences of volunteer activities. On another level, enryo allowed the volunteer leader to feel out the opinions of others, and gave one time to form a strategy on how best to communicate and put into action one’s own ideas. Leaders must think of others (both the volunteers and the clients) when making decisions, but their own convictions are not lost in the process. This idea reinforces Susan Pharr’s view that individuals do play important roles in conflict resolution, and that the collective model of Japanese society is inadequate in the analysis of social conflict (Pharr, 1989:254). The use of enryo also functioned to disguise volunteers’ lack of confidence and fear of responsibility when making a strong ethical statement. The moral issues involved with Kotobuki volunteer activities were extremely difficult ones; there were no easy answers to the problems of poverty, homelessness, alcoholism and social discrimination. Yet volunteer groups tried to develop consistent policies to guide their activities. Putting these policies into motion through volunteer activities which had an impact on residents’ lives created a sense of personal responsibility. Therefore, decisions concerning direct consequences on the residents had to be made carefully and slowly, with the group taking the “appropriate” steps and the “appropriate” responsibility. Determining what was “appropriate” was difficult. Responsibility for others was a charge that the volunteers did not take lightly. But if decisions were supported by more than one volunteer, all were more comfortable in their role of social activist. There were always long periods of silence at preliminary meetings, but after ideas were carefully offered and fully accepted, members were eager to speak in support of the newly created policy. In the Kotobuki volunteer groups, there was truly a sense of safety in numbers. Behind-the-scenes discussions rather than official debates were more important to this decision-making process and inter-volunteer communication. The general atmosphere at volunteer activities was friendly and open, but at meetings, volunteers were more formal with each other because they were discussing topics considered difficult: how to deal with sexual harassment, to what extent should volunteers interfere with the private lives of clients, etc. This made many volunteers uncomfortable, and because of this, usually discussions did not last long and the matter was dropped. Later, the same ideas were presented

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to the fellow members in informal situations. The behind-the-scenes discussions were of an entirely different quality than formal meetings; people spoke up quickly and openly about their opinions. Krauss, Rohlen and Steinhoff point out that this is common in Japanese conflict management techniques; when resolving a problem the “mechanisms are the informal and personal ones of small group discussion, personal communication, and the use of go-betweens” (Krauss, Rohlen and Steinhoff, 1984:389). This is true in the case of Kotobuki volunteer groups: a personal difference between two Iryohan members was mediated (with varying degrees of success) by Fukuoka, for example. However, decisions regarding the group’s activities must be made considering the collective input; volunteer leaders have an obligation to other members. Unpaid volunteers are not enjoined to perform services against their wishes and are not held in any economic or political sense to the group. Therefore, volunteer group leaders have to keep others content or risk losing their commitment. This makes it necessary for group members to meet and discuss issues in a formal manner. These occasions require strategies for decision-making, which acknowledge notions of gender, age and class and use enryo to keep the group from splitting apart during discussion and conflict resolution. VARYING DEGREES OF ENRYO “Holding back” in meetings was colored by the speaker’s position in the group; this was dependent on the individual’s gender, age, local and class identities and the length and intensity of his/her volunteer experience. Gender was perhaps the most important attribute in volunteer groups. Many volunteers claimed that “Kotobuki is a man’s town” (“Kotobuki wa otoko no machi da”), implying that women need to work harder, and be more careful, than male volunteers to be successful. Female volunteers tended to keep to themselves during the meetings (which tended to be run by men) and later discussed their own ideas among themselves walking home, on the phone, or at coffee shops after meetings. These women spoke much more freely in smaller groups composed of other women. There were only three women in administrative positions at the Community Center and the two workshops for the handicapped. Christian housewives in their sixties participated in activities but bowed out of the most powerful roles, leaving them to male counterparts and ministers. The labor union, despite its diminishing real power, remained strong ideologically, possibly because its committee membership was all male. As labor union

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officials, they represented the male “laborers’ town”, Kotobuki’s largest population base. The importance of age in social relations varied according to the context. For example, Kaicho of the senior citizens’ club was a very important person symbolically but he had limited authority in practical settings. However, the Rojinkai members were always treated with respect. Toride often stayed in Kotobuki hours after Iryohan activities were over, to massage Kaicho’s stiff shoulder muscles, something he would never have done for the more powerful labor leaders. Kaicho is obviously a special person; at the yoseba conference, he was deferred to by all when he appeared as a representative of Kotobuki residents. This was due not only to his age status, but his local identity and commitment to the neighborhood. Kaicho and the other elderly in Kotobuki had a stable income, were established in their doya rooms and were devoted to their club and their community. This commitment was honored ideologically, but most active decisions regarding volunteer work were left to union officials. For example, Kaicho’s wishes were not taken into account during the planning of the summer festival’s rock concert. His age and physical condition prevented him from performing strenuous volunteer work, so Kaicho couldn’t help build the summer festival stage or stay up all night guarding the Etto purehabu. These important tasks, responsibilities and subsequent authority over volunteer activities are left to younger people. Thus, the elderly were seen as having ended their working roles in the community but are valued for their symbolic leadership. Among active volunteers, experience is valued over age. Experience in the yoseba and ability to perform certain tasks are respected by younger and less experienced members. In groups where members were of about the same age, such as the Iryohan, newer members deferred to their colleagues who were not necessarily older, but merely had more experience in the field. Class was also another important issue; when Reverend Satoh, the leader of Kalabaw-no-Kai, attended a meeting of the Residents’ Association, I was surprised how this usually articulate man was silent throughout the entire meeting. Reverend Satoh was easily 10 years older than any of the union men and the same age as Mr Arakawa of the Seikatsukan, also in attendance, yet Satoh bowed out of the discussion. Later I asked Toride why, and he pointed out that among Kalabaw volunteers and other Christians who live outside the yoseba, Reverend Satoh was outspoken, but he knew that he had no clout with Kotobuki laborers and residents. His own upper middle-

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class lifestyle prevented him from participating forcefully in certain areas of the yoseba, where he could not convincingly take control. Interestingly, the students enrolled in élite universities did not appear to fall into categories of class. They, as young members of society, thought they had not yet made choices that defined them as members of a particular socio-economic class. Students were unfettered by class restrictions; this made them bolder and most likely to stand up against the union. Christian housewives were clearly marked as upper middleclass, but their long-term, stable commitments gave them clout, especially with the senior citizens, who also valued long-term commitment. Once-only visitors, such as the young students of Reverend Satoh, had the least impact; they were considered new, uncommitted and associated with the bourgeois Christians. But their brief participation was necessary, for they might become members of the next group of Christian housewives who cooked for the senior citizens’ club luncheons. Age, gender, local and class identities and experience were all attributes that affected the social relationships within the meetings, and the interplay of these attributes in the power structure of the groups, tinged with appropriate amounts of enryo, created the social dynamics for the meetings. Whether the meeting’s atmosphere was tense or relaxed, ideas about age, gender, class, etc., and these attributes, tempered by proper etiquette, colored the social interaction. During crisis times, emotions ran high, but really explosive topics were discussed in private, and then a solution would be brought to the general meeting as a fait accompli. Other issues that could not be resolved in private discussions were dropped, in the interest of keeping the peace. Volunteers did not lose their individual convictions, and past disagreements sometimes loomed large in current activities, but for the most part, the continued success of the volunteering took precedence over individual ideological and practical problems. ENRYO AND THE ANTHROPOLOGIST My chosen field site was notorious in Yokohama for its dangerous reputation; though I encountered problems with sexual harassment and personal safety, through establishing relationships with prominent residents, I became the first foreign woman to do research in a yoseba. However, the freedom I was given to research these people’s lives came in return for respect for their privacy and acknowledgment of their suffering as members of the underclass. My own employment of enryo

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was essential to establishing these kinds of social relationships in the Japanese context. Enryo helped me to understand the informant/researcher relationship, complete with all the difficulties, misunderstandings and eventual sensitivity, trust and understanding. And I found that holding back but staying steady (following social convention but putting in the hours to gain experience and show commitment) in the community helped to cross the boundary from suspicion and mistrust to friendship and mutual support. In the beginning months of my field-work, I struggled with the fear that I was too passive, too obliging to the other volunteers and residents and that this was preventing me from gathering meaningful data. However, after my first Etto, where I had put in the hours and become ill with all the other volunteers while keeping within volunteer enryo conventions, things changed. Though I would never truly feel that I assumed an identity equivalent to that of a resident, I felt closer and more at ease with them. I walked around Kotobuki at night without fear. I began to participate more energetically as a volunteer, taking more responsibility for activities, and starting a new group with Dr Hashimoto and the others of SABAY. In expanding my role as a volunteer, I found that information and insight about the volunteer community came more easily. My relationship with the residents and volunteers took time and much energy to establish: there were fitful starts and stops, awkward and embarrassing moments. Ms Ishii tried to help me fit in but sometimes when I didn’t understand her Japanese instructions, we were both embarrassed about exposing my weakness, but she never scolded me for my shortcomings and I never reproved her for not being more sensitive to my linguistic “disability”. After two years of being careful around each other, we had learned each others’ weaknesses and strong points. We learned how to communicate by being cautious, attentive and mindful of each other’s perceived feelings. After this was established we could discuss almost anything, because we knew how to approach difficult topics with each other and how to avoid social gaffes. Not all volunteers had the same methods; my dealings with Fukuoka, Toride and the Kaicho all involved different kinds of interaction. But after two years, I learned slowly and sometimes painfully, how to establish relationships in Kotobuki. This relationship between researcher and informants is the foundation of anthropological research and influences data collected and its analysis; thus the importance of establishing honest and fruitful research alliances.

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CONCLUSION Kotobuki volunteer groups are characterized by blurred boundaries; though the sense of belonging to a group exists, there is no exclusivity in group membership. In fact, the more groups one belongs to (and thus, the more committed the individual is), the more the volunteer is held in high esteem for making a serious commitment to social causes. Age, gender, local and class identities, and experience in the field further distinguished volunteers from each other. Male leadership was valued over female leadership, older members won symbolic respect, while class distinctions always were observed and boundaries respected. Despite this general ranking of power, group activity sometimes led to conflict and decisions to resolve the problem were difficult to make. Kotobuki volunteer groups valued nonconfrontational modes of resolving conflict; meetings were the arena where I could observe the process. Enryo served as a conflict-management device, for it set certain limits about acceptable behavior and functioned as a kind of damage control in times of conflict. Enryo was also instrumental in the decisionmaking process itself, for it provided a socially accepted means of communication: drawing out all opinions and thinking things through later. Volunteers agonized over difficult decisions; ethical questions plagued everyone from leaders to first-time volunteers. How should we treat the homeless? What is the best way for the mentally disabled to re-enter into mainstream society? How far can volunteers go when criticizing parents’ level of child care? There were no easy answers, but none of the committed volunteers wanted to give up on these problems. They often had differing opinions and felt quite strongly about the ways the problems should be handled. The use of enryo helped all those involved in the decision-making process keep the discussion under control, nondisruptive and, hopefully, respectful of the residents of Kotobuki. This study of decision-making in the volunteer community is important because it broadens our understanding of consensus in Japanese society. What is unique about this case is that the participants are ethically and emotionally, not financially or materially, involved in the conflict. There is no personal material gain to the volunteer who gets his or her way. Studies of decision-making in Japan have primarily been rooted in an economic context: corporations, agricultural cooperatives and political parties where success is financially rewarded (Dore, 1978; Marshall, 1984; Nakane, 1970 and Pharr, 1989). This throws into question methods of decision-making when considering

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the social exchange model; it is reasonable to expect that individuals will assert themselves in decision-making to protect their own interests. Volunteers, covering themselves in the process, strive to find the best way to protect the interests of residents. FURTHER READING Hendry, Joy. (1993, 1995) Wrapping Culture: Politeness, Presentation and Power in Japan and Other Societies. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

(Though this book is primarily about the wrapping of space, objects and people in Japan, the underlying theme of the connections between the handling of spacial and emotional distance and social propriety is fundamental to the concept of enryo.)

8 Conclusion Volunteering as a response to marginality of self and others

Volunteers worked hard in Kotobuki to change the inequality they saw in the society around them. I often wondered what made them work for nothing. Were there cultural expectations that these individuals should give their time and labor for these causes? Most Japanese cultural anthropologists would argue that there are few demands made on individuals to participate in volunteer activities; Japan is known as a society firmly entrenched in a reciprocal system of social relations. This makes the case of volunteering in Japan all the more unusual, and worthy of serious academic consideration. How is volunteering viewed by the Japanese outside the yoseba? In a paperback entitled simply titled Boranteia1 Bukku (or “Volunteer Book”), members of a Japanese volunteer workshop explain the meanings of the “quiet boom” they call “volunteerism”. According to a national survey conducted by the national social welfare organization that publishes the book, in 1994 there were 53,069 volunteer groups in Japan with 4,280,000 members, a threefold increase since the last survey 15 years earlier. The study also noted that female participants outnumbered males, and that volunteers aged 35 to 45 constituted the most common age group (Boranteia Wakushoppu, 1994:11). Here, the authors note the necessity to leave behind notions of “‘service’ and “charity” (“hoshi” and “jizen”, words that Toride and his cohorts despised), but rather than point the readers towards political activism, the book offers a new definition of volunteering as “fun” (“tanoshii katsudo”) and an activity that offers benefits such as reinforcing one’s sense of accomplishment (“‘kore nara watashi ni mo dekiso’”) (p. 7). The authors separate three strands of meaning in the term “volunteering”: the volunteer act itself, the people who do it, and most interestingly, a volunteer “mindset” (“boranteia katsudo o suru koto

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no kihon ni aru kangaekata”) (p. 10). Another definition important to the understanding of volunteerism is the individual interpretation of the content of the action. The authors describe three ways in which to think of volunteering: (1) “a place where people can meet [using the word fureai, as many Kotobuki volunteers do]”, (2) “mutual support”, or “cooperation” and (3) “a part of world reform” (“yonaoshi no ikkan”). What these viewpoints all have in common is “active participation, through one’s own will and desire”. The authors come close to a political definition here, and when stressing the importance of activity and “autonomy” (“jishusei”) in the volunteer process (ibid.). What ties these definitions together is the fact that volunteer activity does not necessarily focus on the cause or the object of the work, but focuses on the actors themselves. In other words, volunteering is just as much to do with the volunteers themselves as the services they perform. Prejudices against volunteering in Japan also exist; voluntary activities, because of former associations with certain religious groups or social classes, are tainted with images of suspicious motives, meddling, “high and mightiness” and backwardness (Boranteia Wakushoppu, 1994:12). This can be seen in attitudes toward yoseba volunteers as well. A Kotobuki medical team member writes in a popular magazine, “I don’t like the word volunteer,” and gives an account of similar prejudices not only about volunteers but also discrimination against yoseba residents when recounting the time he accompanied a homeless laborer to a hospital for treatment. The writer describes the hospital worker’s reaction: “You’re a volunteer? (look of ‘hypocritical courtesy’) That must be difficult…I guess I shouldn’t really say this but, don’t you have other things to do? The handicapped and the bedridden elderly—aren’t there lots of other troubled people [other than the homeless] that you should be helping? Those guys don’t work, they just drink from noon till night. I guess it’s okay to bring them here to the hospital [when they’re sick], but I wish you’d give these guys some guidance [in general].” (Nana, Sony Magazines Annex, 1995)

Here, volunteering with the homeless is seen as a waste of the volunteer’s time; volunteering in general is looked upon as patronizing and selfimportant when it is performed for those who are considered not in true need. In this hospital worker’s opinion, volunteers should not only provide goods or services for the clients but ought to change the clients’ habits and ways; this is reminiscent of the welfare policy arguments covered in Chapter 3.

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MOTIVATION: THEORIES OF RECIPROCITY AND ALTRUISM One characteristic of Japanese social life that most anthropologists, whether they are structural functionalists, from the Culture and Personality school, modernization or social exchange theorists, can agree on is the importance of reciprocal social relationships (Befu, 1974, 1977, 1980a, 1980b and 1980c; Benedict, 1946, 1977; Dore, 1978; Embree, 1939). These relationships are culturally fostered by the notions of on (indebtedness) and giri (obligation). Sentiments of indebtedness, observing duty and repaying social debts have long been thought to be a prime motive in Japanese social interaction. The kumi (cooperative labor and support group), found in agricultural communities, is an institutional example of these Japanese reciprocal relations. The kumi touches all parts of village life, and functions to support the community’s economic success, social stability and ritual maintenance through cooperation. The agricultural village depends on the kumi’s direct support in laborintensive farming, while in urban Japan, the chonaikai (neighborhood association) supports urban families in many of the same ways: economically, politically and ideologically. In any Japanese community, whether it be rural or urban, interpersonal relations are important to individual personal success; in such a densely populated country, no person can afford not to get along well with their neighbors. These human relations are governed by Japanese social etiquette; we have seen how “holding back” is an important concept which defines how people act both in Kotobuki and throughout Japanese society. However, etiquette is based not only on ideas of politeness but also on ethical beliefs that constitute an ideological foundation for “correct behavior”. One of these beliefs is the on-giri system of reciprocality, where various acts of favor and gratitude are required to maintain social relationships. The debt paid, and paid again, can be considered “deposits in the favor bank”, which can be called up for later use when needs arise. Thus, an analysis of Japanese social interactions can resemble a bank statement, where loans are granted, interest paid and withdrawals are made. Altruism appears to be a low-ranking priority (Befu, 1974:218). Altruistic actions make no dent in the “favor bank”. Rather, altruism exists outside this web of interdependent personal relationships. Notions of reciprocality are so deeply embedded in the Japanese culture that the fulfillment of one’s duty and the honor of doing so is an end in itself.

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ALTRUISM AND THE CHRISTIAN PERSPECTIVE Various modes of social exchange have long been the subject of anthropological inquiry, and most anthropologists have questioned the notion of altruism. Mauss’s theory of exchange notes that there are three obligations tied to a single exchange: to give, to receive and to return. This implies a future obligation of the receiver to return the service or object to the original giver, connected by a social bond that constantly reproduces itself. Because of this, Mauss felt that there were no “pure gifts” (Befu, 1977:257). Marshall Sahlins sees altruistic behavior as “generalized reciprocity” and calls it “somewhat altruistic” (Sahlins,1968:62) in that no immediate return is expected, but loose expectations of returns exist. Sahlins reiterates the idea that there is no “pure gift”; instead, giving enters one into a revolving system of giving and receiving which provides the individual with a sense of insurance in an uncertain environment. According to Sahlins, kinship distance can be measured by exchange patterns. The closer the relationship, the more generalized the exchange. The more distant, the less likely it is participants will give freely to each other. Japanese communities recognize the need for balanced reciprocity, exemplified in chonaikai, or neighborhood associations, but in the Kotobuki volunteer community, social exchange is of a different type. Volunteering is not “generalized reciprocity”, for the social standing of the volunteers and clients is different, making an equitable relationship between the two groups difficult. The participants in this relationship have little or no previous social relationship, unlike the actors in Sahlin’s definition, where reciprocal relationships occur between kin or those who live close to each other. In Kotobuki, volunteers gain nothing in goods or services; only clients receive material benefits. However, nonmaterial benefits to the volunteers do exist: group meetings and activities are a place for socializing, information exchange and the opportunity for fureai (“human encounter”, perhaps a kind of social exchange). But these benefits are not exclusive to the volunteering context; there are many other ways for Japanese individuals to find social recreation and exchange information, such as the workplace, sports and social clubs, PTA meetings and neighborhood associations. Many Japanese establish reciprocal relationships in these contexts but only a handful of people make volunteering in the yoseba a priority. What provokes an individual to volunteer, to give money, time and energy with no expectation of reward? Social psychologists have

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examined the notion of “altruism” by looking at motivation. Altruism is defined as “selfishness in reverse” (Myers, 1993:505), where the altruist performs a service without expectation of reimbursement. Despite this definition, most researchers agree that there are expectations on the part of the altruistic actor. Psychologists theorize that seemingly altruistic behavior has two motivations: “self-serving and selfless considerations” (p. 508). When confronted with the personal suffering of another, a person may have two reactions. One reaction is that of distress; the individual feels upset at the sight of the suffering. To relieve his or her own distress, the individual helps the suffering person. This is termed as an “egoistic motive” for altruism. In this case, the “altruism” is self-serving because the action relieves personal distress, and the actor benefits directly. Another possible reaction is empathy; the observer feels sympathy for the sufferer and is not focused on his/her own feeling but that of the other. This is the “altruistic motive” (Batson, Fultz and Schoenrade, 1987). Empathy is compassion for the other, and a blurring of the distinction between the experiences of two individuals. When there is a pre-existing relationship between the two individuals, the tendency to experience empathy is greater. The more attached one feels to the suffering person, the more likely one is to feel empathy and compassion. Because of their close relationship, parents often feel empathy for their children, which explains the sacrifices parents willingly undertake. Though Batson, et al. have created these separate categories for altruistic motives, they concede that many altruistic acts are probably a combination of both egotistical and empathetic motives. Empathy also exists in cases where the individuals are unrelated or socially distant. Whether in the West or in Japan, Christian ethics promote empathy and action on the part of the Christian regardless of the sufferer’s relation to the observer. Charity is a fundamental theological concept in Christianity, where Christians are enjoined to love their neighbors as an extension of their love for God and themselves. The concept of agape (defined as self-giving concern that seeks good for others) aptly describes the Christian idea of giving spontaneously and without expectation of return (Nygren, 1957). Christians recognize the concept of supererogation, where a Christian’s moral duty is to go beyond the accepted norms of obligation in society. Works of supererogation are exemplified by the lives of saints, Nobel Peace Prize winners and other figures who strive for higher standards of social and religious service. Though the Church recognizes the practical limitations

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of human effort, supererogation remains important as an ideal when determining one’s social duty as a Christian. “ALTRUISM” AND THE SOCIO-POLITICAL SPHERE The Christian presence in Kotobuki is strong, but there are just as many other volunteers who do not subscribe to Christian ethics. They find expression of their political beliefs of social justice and equality. Students are the best example; they come to Kotobuki while they are in the process of defining their adult social identity. They find that their ideals of social equality, economic fairness and racial harmony have little place in the real world. The perception of current Japanese society held by these young people is inconsistent with their ideals of a fair, equal society where all racial and ethnic groups have equal access to education, housing, marriage and employment. Disappointed by examples of corruption in the government, continued discrimination against ethnic groups in Japan and the lack of real change in government policies, these young people feel distress; this can be interpreted as one example of the egoistic motivation for helping others defined by Batson et al. (1987). Many of these volunteers, like Toride, become entirely involved with the Kotobuki community for a period of time, and this temporary but total identification with the yoseba fills the gap between their volunteer and personal lives. These young adults find refuge in the volunteer community while working out inconsistencies with their ideas and expectations about society. Over time, these ideas and expectations can change and few make permanent commitments to the community. They grow into new identities that may still have some connection to the ideas of their volunteer days, but are not entirely involved in the yoseba. The reasons volunteers leave Kotobuki are many. Some volunteers grow disillusioned with their perceived ineffectiveness of volunteer activities, or there are personal differences and internal divisions between volunteers. For some, the cause for the break is unconnected to the state of affairs in Kotobuki but is due to the individual eventually following the mainstream life course: graduation, employment, marriage and children. Family and job responsibilities then prevent them from continuing this intense commitment. Ms Ishii said, “We see them come and we know eventually we will see them go, but that’s okay…” Implicit in her statement is the constant need for recruits to maintain the cycle of activism. However, at this point in time recruitment is not a problem,

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as youths of each generation find themselves dissatisfied and frustrated with various aspects of modern society. Though this youthful volunteer participation may be temporary, it is not without function. One can argue that for these young people, volunteering serves a purpose: it is a bridge between the two roles of youth and adulthood, where youths can confront directly the social ills troubling their own society. During this time, the individual makes important decisions concerning his or her perception of society: to work inside the accepted system (graduation, employment, marriage) or outside (move to the yoseba, work as a laborer or activist). The yoseba is a “betwixt and between” place, to borrow terminology from van Gennep (1960). In this “neither-here-nor-there” place, away from the pressures of middle-class values, the youth can withdraw to make important life-course decisions. This is hardly a “deposit in the favor bank”, as social exchange theory posits. Rather, the yoseba and its volunteering activities are a haven for those undergoing changes, much like the role of the monastery in sixteenth-century Europe. There, in “the real turning away from the world”, one finds the answers to all spiritual questions (Erikson, 1958:80). Another group which expresses political beliefs through their work in Kotobuki is the residents who cross the line from clients to activists. Residents’ motivations for social action combine egotistical and empathetic motives. They experience personal distress at the social problems of their neighborhood and want to relieve the anxiety. Rather than expecting reciprocity as a result of their efforts, they benefit directly from their own activities. Their close relationship to the yoseba and the people who live there is bound to foster empathy for others who are suffering around them. The labor union officials are one example; they are not only laborers, but activists who spend a great deal of time and energy helping other laborers. Another example is a long-time female Kotobuki resident living above the Labor Center. Unlike many Kotobuki children who leave the yoseba after junior high school, she stayed in the community, raising her own children in Kotobuki. She worked as a staff member of Sharomu-no-Ie, a Catholic-sponsored workshop for the mentally handicapped just outside Kotobuki that caters to handicapped residents in Kotobuki. These residents and activists, who personally confront the yoseba’s social problems, choose to work against discrimination and improve not only their own situation, but the lives of others around them.

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The strength and durability of the resident/activists’ commitment contrast with those of the students. It comes from their multiple benefits: the condition of their community improves, and their efforts to help others are equally rewarding. Working for the benefit of the community takes away some of the stigma of being in a marginalized social category and gives these residents self-esteem. Their affiliation with the yoseba remains, but they are no longer mere recipients or observers of volunteer or welfare activities. They are active participants in the social welfare process. Their middle-ground status enhances the image of Kotobuki residents; the yoseba residents are not parasites of the system but are proud, hard-working and committed people. Identification with the area was total for some volunteers and residents, but there were many more whose participation in volunteer and social work activities was partial, meaning that their mainstream lives were maintained. When I asked the volunteers who successfully straddled both roles what brought them to Kotobuki, I was surprised by the overwhelmingly uniform answer I received: these people had travelled abroad or had had some other contact with people in disadvantaged positions in foreign countries, and this experience had led them to re-examine their own society. They were concerned with Japan’s role in the global society: I called them the “internationalists”. While residents were occupied with domestic issues, the internationalists were also concerned with Japan’s role in a global community and the need to use Japan’s material resources to help those in less-developed countries. The concentration of Filipino and Thai migrant workers in Kotobuki gave the area a “foreign” feel; the volunteers could continue their work and assuage their concern for international issues while working within their own country. This particular definition of one kind of volunteer in Kotobuki brings up a general trend in “volunteering” across Japan. Many Japanese volunteer activities outside the yoseba are focused on international activities and non-government organizations in less-developed countries. Japan’s high-profile participation in the Cambodian peacekeeping forces in 1993 was referred to as a “volunteer” exercise by the mass media. The JVC, or the “Japanese International Volunteer Center” (the “i” of “international” is mysteriously lost in the abbreviated name, illustrating the interchangeable meaning of volunteering and internationalism) has offices in Tokyo, Kanagawa Prefecture, Thailand, Ethiopia, Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam that promote “volunteer” work in these Asian and African countries. Volunteering in this case is a compassionate expression

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of Japan’s membership of a greater Asian community. The Japanese volunteer in this case recognizes his/her relatively privileged position in the global community as a resident of a developed country. Furthermore, memories of Japan’s past colonial excesses in Asia may also have fostered a sense of responsibility and a need for the individual to compensate on behalf of the nation. Evidence of this internationally influenced ideology was seen in Kotobuki activities: for example, a sign hung in the Kalabaw-no-Kai office, proclaiming “Think globally; act locally”. Many Iryohan and Kalabaw-no-Kai members began their volunteer activities after travelling to less-developed countries in Asia; they saw their activities in Kotobuki as only a small part of a greater participation in international activism. Again, there were no practical favors expected in return for this activism. In the case of volunteering in less-developed countries or with illegal immigrants in Japan, recipients were usually not in a position to reciprocate. This “globalist” attitude towards volunteer service was illustrated by the commitment of Dr Hashimoto of the Iryohan and SABAY. In addition to his regular employment at a Tokyo hospital, Dr Hashimoto also worked at a clinic for illegal foreigners in Tokyo, and at a hospital for Japanese and foreign laborers near Kotobuki. He also advised the Kanagawa prefectural JVC office on the issue of health care access for foreigners in Japan. He travelled frequently to the Philippines and Thailand to learn about their medical systems so that he could incorporate culturally sensitive methods of treatment into the Japanese system. Dr Hashimoto’s desire to improve the communication between these countries and Japan formed the basis of all of his volunteer activities. Dr Hashimoto did not see a conflict between his “élite” lifestyle as a medical doctor and his social activism, as Toride did as a college student. “As long as you can find a way to make a living and still go to Kotobuki,” he often said to me, which made up his philosophy of volunteering. The doctor did not wish to give up his career or family in Tokyo and move into a Kotobuki doya. His activities in the yoseba were an expression of his world view: that Japan does not exist in isolation in the world community, and much can be learned from other cultures in order to improve one’s own culture. Dr Hashimoto felt empathy for unconnected Asians who lived in less fortunate situations. However, there were limits to the doctor’s commitments; he addressed his particular interests and offered his valuable professional services rather than taking on the yoseba’s problems in their entirety.

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VOLUNTEERING AS A RETREAT FROM SOCIETY: A COMPARATIVE VIEW Whether volunteers were students, young adults committed to social work or middle-aged people who had taken a different path, all volunteers found themselves separated from the mainstream to some extent after becoming involved with Kotobuki. Some were cut off from their families. Others received limited support, but total involvement with volunteer activity took away from the time volunteers spent in other social organizations, limiting their contributions to and benefits received from other social groups. Because volunteers became separated from mainstream groups, their responsibilities to these groups lessened. Therefore, along with the poverty and occasional violence, there was also more social freedom in Kotobuki. Volunteers found themselves in a new environment not bound by conventional social rules and obligations. Psychiatrist Erik Erikson analyzed rebellion and the search for identity in his book Young Man Luther: A Study in Psychoanalysis and History, where he writes: each youth must forge for himself some central perspective and direction, some working unity, out of the effective remnants of his childhood and the hopes of his anticipated adulthood; he must detect some meaningful resemblance between what he has come to see in himself and what his sharpened awareness tells him others judge and expect him to be…Some…will resolve it through participation in ideological movements passionately concerned with religion or politics, nature or art. (Erikson,1958:14–15)

It was only after leaving the yoseba, when I began to think about writing about volunteer motivation, that I saw Kotobuki volunteers in this light. Volunteers, both young and middle-aged, are much like Erikson’s Luther, for they found direction in their personal lives in the work they did in Kotobuki. Volunteering made a statement to the outside world about their social views and gives them the identity of social activist or liberal philanthropist. Volunteers who took on the yoseba lifestyle, either permanently (like Ms Ishii and Nakai), partially (like Fukuoka) or temporarily (like Toride), made decisions similar to those made when entering religious service. Volunteers must give up certain comforts and privileges of the outside world in order to understand fully the yoseba community, to make it their own and, therefore, to be in a position to help improve it. There needs to be a break from the mainstream to make the volunteer a part

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of the underclass. Erikson calls this decision an expression of identity formation, where young people, who must trade in their parents’ ideology and create their own new one, feel a need to “deny” the past, destroy former relations and have total devotion to a cause (pp. 41–2). Toride’s rocky relationship with his parents and extended family and Ishii’s pending divorce were evidence that the volunteer way of life was often incompatible with Japanese family life, much as the Christian monastic life is thought to be incongruous with certain aspects of Western social life. Young Martin Luther’s decision to become a monk, giving up the possibilities of a bright career, money and women, seemed illogical to his family, writes Erikson. But, the “promises of celibacy and obedience made at that time…relieved him of the [social] burdens which he was not ready to assume” (p. 93). Erikson’s description of Luther’s monastic cell is not so unlike the doya where many volunteers spend their time (p. 130). Giving up material pleasures is important to the young person, for the “fasting of senses…opens the individual wide and makes him grasp more avidly whatever avenue toward a new identity is offered” (p. 131). Another aspect of Erikson’s model that is applicable to the Kotobuki case is the psychological reactions to social pressures which trouble leaders of ideological movements. Luther’s later life is plagued with fits of anxiety and depression, and emotional crises when the ideological rebellion which he instigated has an effect on others, causing him to feel a sense of responsibility (p. 242). A similar sense of anxiety and responsibility pervades the volunteers’ meetings, where group leaders struggle with social responsibilities to the residents. Enryo is the psychological and social method Japanese volunteers use to deal with their responsibilities and attempt to distance themselves from the anxiety and responsibility of their actions. Erikson points out that the great leaders of social movements are rarely happy, well-adjusted people. Dissatisfaction with society, a degree of alienation and isolation, bring about creative ways of dealing with social problems. Leaders take on these burdens and forge new ways of dealing with the problems. Other volunteers who are less troubled find it easier to follow and contribute to the movement to varying degrees of commitment. The arguments Erikson makes are about Western young people, but are true for many volunteers of all ages in Kotobuki. Volunteers come from high-pressure backgrounds. Tokyo University students, after passing difficult entrance exams, are under tremendous pressure to follow up their performance with a brilliant career in business, academics

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or politics. A Japanese married woman has many obligations to fulfill, such as keeping a clean and financially solvent house, raising children and caring for her extended family. A Japanese Christian is troubled by the double burden of responding and participating in Japanese society while remaining true to their “foreign” religious convictions. Volunteering is a way to escape from the pressures of mainstream society, for the yoseba is far away from the values of broader society. Through volunteering, they are providing a valued service without having to play by the rules of the rest of society. Volunteering in Kotobuki is not always easy; it is often stressful and sometimes dangerous. Volunteers forgo more enjoyable leisure activities to work in the lowest sections of Japanese society. Yet these people are willing to make sacrifices in their personal lives in order to participate. The desire to find a world apart from the pressures of mainstream society is stronger in the volunteers who stay. CONCLUDING REMARKS I have tried to write an honest and full account of life as I saw it in the Yokohama yoseba. I have written about the homeless, the handicapped and the poor, but I have not experienced their problems directly. I do not directly know what it is like to be homeless, handicapped or poor, but I have tried to record how other Japanese see them, how volunteers see them and how the residents see the volunteers. In the introduction, I made the assertion that Kotobuki, a low-income area in urban Japan, is socially marginalized. The reasons for Kotobuki’s marginal status are several; the underlying rationale is that Kotobuki is unlike the rest of society. Differences in population, occupation and lifestyle separate Kotobuki from the mainstream. Like the marginalized people James Valentine describes, Kotobuki residents do not fall into acceptable, clearly defined categories (Valentine,1990:38). People who live in Kotobuki also come from varied backgrounds, ranging from the Japanese-Koreans who own the doya to the illegal Filipino and Thai workers. There are few women and children. The people of Kotobuki do not fit the images of the standard Japanese family unit, which can be nuclear or extended and must include women and children. These idealized family members are Japanese citizens who speak Japanese, not Korean or Tagalog. They have more stable living conditions in houses or apartment buildings, not temporary doya. Another aspect that contributes to Kotobuki’s marginality is the mobile lifestyle of the yoseba. Residents do not work on permanent

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jobs and settle in rented or owned homes. Rather, they work from day to day, receive cash wages and live in anonymity in the doya. Jobs are contracted out on a short-term basis; laborers do not always know where their next job will be. They must be always ready to move to find more work. Their work hours and salary vary, so it is difficult for them to support wives and children. They live alone in hotels and must be ready to pack up and leave at any time. Laborers keep to themselves and their pride prevents them from depending on others for emotional, social or financial support. Welfare recipients in Kotobuki depend on the government for financial and social support, but this is a last resort for those too sick, old or young to work. Here, the mobility of the yoseba lifestyle begins to unravel, and many former laborers find this a difficult adjustment. Recipients must establish a permanent address but their lives are still solitary. For example, the elderly in Kotobuki must fend for themselves or depend on volunteers, not their families, unlike the Japanese ideal of home care for the aged. Children whose mothers receive welfare often do not grow up in two-parent households, a mainstream norm. Welfare recipients differ from the rest of society, whose members are expected to work and support themselves and their families. These people cannot support themselves; their physical and social circumstances make it difficult or impossible to do so. The social status of anyone who spends time in Kotobuki or with marginalized residents can change. Volunteers and employees of Kotobuki social welfare offices are marginalized because of personal and professional identification with the area. Prominent volunteers in positions of administrative power have uncommon personal problems, which set them apart from the standard images of family, work and community life. The volunteers’ lives and values are different and usually that is what brings them to Kotobuki in the first place. As their involvement in Kotobuki strengthens and their identification with the yoseba grows, the more difficult it is for them to return to mainstream life. They are too concerned about feeding the homeless and keeping the Gakudo children in school to worry about middle-class social appearances and obligations. The volunteers of Kotobuki come from many different backgrounds. Some are wealthy, some less well-off. Some are young and are looking for their niche in life, others have had many varied life experiences. Some come out of anger, frustrated with the world around them. Others come out of love and compassion for their fellow human beings. All come to give time, energy and money to the residents of the yoseba.

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Volunteers do not seek physical rewards or try to establish feelings of indebtedness to be called upon at a later time. The volunteer-resident relationship cannot be described in terms of social exchange theory or generalized reciprocity. It is a relationship that is mutually beneficial, complementary but always unequal. Volunteers are conscious of this inequality and curb the effect by employing enryo to lessen the weight of their presence, to avoid abusing this power and to avoid making mistakes. Though volunteers are working outside the mainstream, they are not devalued by society. Volunteer work prevents an individual, who would otherwise be depreciated, from being irrevocably placed in a marginal category. Volunteers’ work is considered worthwhile and is valued because they pick up many loose ends left behind by government programs. In Toride’s case, what good is a college drop-out unless he is feeding the homeless and caring for the sick? If Ishii’s marriage is failing, and her future as a housewife and mother are bleak, isn’t it better that she spends her time helping the elderly and handicapped? Volunteers are considered “erai”, a term of respect, by middle-class people around them but few of their friends would trade places with them. Others realize it is easier to applaud the efforts of the volunteers than to criticize them or join them. One of the main differences between the marginality of the residents and the volunteers is the origins of their identification. While socioeconomic processes bring the resident to the yoseba, sociopsychological processes bring the volunteers into the yoseba. For the volunteers who leave, it serves as a halfway house on the way to an adult place in society. For the volunteers who stay and make long-term commitments, it is a haven for those who, despite their middle-class standing, feel apart from mainstream society. The Etto is an important example of this function of volunteering: providing a refuge for both the homeless and the disconnected volunteers, both of whom have nowhere to go during the holidays. It creates a sense of belonging, where before none had existed. This process is important to all volunteers in the yoseba, regardless of how long they stay. Like Christian missionaries in the field, mediating between their Christian “meta-culture” and the indigenous culture, volunteers” mediation between the mainstream and marginalized area renews and strengthens their faith in social justice and their identities as activists (Burridge, 1991:236–7). This process is also applicable to residents’ improvement of their self-image through volunteering. Volunteering residents are not passive participants in the volunteer and

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social welfare process. They become empowered by volunteering; they are able to change something about their lives. Volunteer activities have two purposes. One purpose is to give comfort, focusing on the economic and psychological benefits that the residents receive: a blanket, a meal, free advice from a doctor, or just temporary companionship. The second function is to create a community or fellowship for volunteers and residents, whether it be one of political solidarity or Christian fellowship. Frustrated students, compassionate Christians and other individuals feel similarly alienated by the uncaring, unjust world they see around them. Because of this alienation, they cannot find fulfillment in their participation in accepted institutions such as school, middle-class jobs, and families. Their values separate them from the rest of Japanese society. Often they find themselves cut off from former friends and family, who do not understand their dissatisfaction with the status quo. The yoseba accepts them and gives them the time and the space to work through their problems and make life-course decisions. Kotobuki residents are not quiescent observers. Personal relationships between volunteers and prominent residents are meaningful; the respectable senior citizens’ club Kaicho’s warm relationship with the Christian housewives is one such example. Residents who stand to benefit most from the volunteers appreciate their efforts. Others who do not, ignore the volunteers’ intrusion. Others who stand to lose money or social standing because of volunteer activities, actively denounce them. Yakuza, for example, do not benefit if residents’ standard of living rises because organized crime takes advantage of the powerless laborer. Similarly, if the human rights of female foreign workers are recognized, the gangs will lose important income from their control of prostitution. This would cut into the gang’s business. Yakuza leaders are powerful enough not be threatened by the small steps volunteers make to improve residents’ lives, but small-time crooks and chinpira (gangster flunkeys) sometimes become violent towards volunteers. However, petty gangsters who object to volunteer activities do not have the power to expel volunteers. The support of the union keeps volunteer activities from being pushed out of the yoseba. Though volunteers are the fewer, their social standing is higher than that of flunkeys and thieves. Their personal connections to the union and individual residents protect them. This study of volunteering in Kotobuki allows us to re-examine the models of social exchange previously used to analyze Japanese society. In the oft-used model of reciprocality, we see that two parties are obligated to respond to each other in a relatively equal manner. However,

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the fundamental inequality of the economic and social status of volunteers and residents in Kotobuki prevents their relationship from becoming truly reciprocal. Inequality is what brings the groups together. Disadvantaged residents need others’ support to put back together their economic and social lives. Volunteers need an expression for their dissatisfaction with society and their sense of social duty. Both feel the same isolation from mainstream society, albeit in different degrees of severity. Together, they find what they need from each other. This yoseba has changed from the macho day laborers’ settlement to the “welfare town”: where individuals get a modicum of social freedom, accept a helping hand, “find themselves” and help right what is wrong. Volunteer activities provide an opportunity for Japanese to overstep social boundaries and have an impact on the treatment of the underclasses. Private businesses and government employees generally ignore or dismiss day laborers and homeless people. Most main-stream Japanese see yoseba residents as outsiders to their own social and economic groups and thus they feel little social responsibility for the residents. Volunteers represent a different part of middle-class society; because of their own complicated personal lives, they feel connected to residents and are compelled to help. Volunteers find reward in helping the disadvantaged, relieving anxiety created when they fall outside acceptable social frameworks such as the home, school and workplace. Another outcome of volunteering is role flexibility. A Japanese housewife encumbered with shopping bags and a small child may not acknowledge a homeless man in the train station. As a volunteer the same housewife is able to share a meal and a conversation with a homeless man at the Etto activities. The volunteer identity is independent of familial, academic and professional responsibilities that may prevent them from associating with the poor because of the stigma attached to the underclass. Volunteering is one of the few spheres in Japanese society where individuals can overcome social and class boundaries. Despite the mainstream’s discrimination against the residents, volunteer work does have social merit. The volunteers who cannot commit themselves to standard roles of student, wife, mother, “salaryman”, etc., can create new culturally valued roles. Residents, who are condemned by the mainstream for their alleged laziness, transience and poverty, can redeem themselves through participation in social work. Together, the volunteers and residents, formerly members of less-than desirable social groups, create a new social category, which has value. The establishment of the volunteer/resident group, crossing over social and economic boundaries, gives the social scientist a new

Conclusion

245

“view” of Japanese society where individuals, through personal choices and actions, have some control over their social identities. All Japanese are not wholly manipulated by a rigid, authoritative social system. The social problems of the yoseba create a more flexible environment where the individual may step out of fixed social roles and find a new position in a troubled but changing society.

Appendix

LIST OF GROUPS AND FACILITIES IN AND AROUND KOTOBUKI Kotobuki-cho Sogo Rodo Fukushi Kaikan (the Kotobuki General Labor Welfare Building, or the “Labor Center”) Yokohama Dock Workers Cooperative Employment Office Kotobuki Labor Center Employment Office Kotobuki-cho Laborers” Welfare Cooperative: lounge, library, laundry Kotobuki Medical Clinic Cafeteria, shops, public bath, lockers, bank, barber Government-subsidized apartments Meeting rooms (used by Kotobuki Youth Group and Sharomu day care [see below]) Sharomu-no-Ie (the “House of Shalom”) a Catholic-sponsored workshop for mentally handicapped Kotobuki Fukushi Senta (the “Kotobuki welfare center”) Kotobuki Rojinkai (senior citizens’ club) Day care center for pre-shoolchildren Mame no Ki Gakko o Sodateru (the “Caring for the Seedling” school) Committee on child care Kotobuki Alcohol Recovery Center (ARC) Construction Committee Kotobuki Chonaikaikan (the “Neighborhood Association Building”) Kotobuki Day Laborers’ Union Mokuyo Patororu (‘Thursday Night Patrol”) homeless support group Iryohan (medical team) SABAY (foreign mothers’ group) Shienkai (Kotobuki Laborers’ Supporters’ Committee) Japanese language school for foreign laborers

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Kotobuki Fukushi Sagyojo (workshop for the physically handicapped) Hikari Senta, Yokohama Kibo Senta (the “Light Center”; the Yokohama “Hope Center”) municipal workshops for the handicapped Kotobuki no Sato (the “Kotobuki Village”) Christian prayer hall Yokohama-shi Kotobuki Seikatsukan (the Yokohama Municipal Kotobuki “Livelhood Center”) Kotobuki day care center (pre-school) Yokohama Municipal Public Counseling Center [the above two groups are funded by Yokohama Municipal government] Kotobuki day care center (grade school and up) Mame no Ki Gakko (the “Seedling” school) study group for middle school students Lounge, laundry, shower room, etc. Counseling office Alcoholics Anonymous, Kotobuki Chapter Kotobuki Occupational School (for literacy) [the above facilities and organizations are sponsored by the Kotobuki Laborers Welfare Cooperative] Kotobuki Chiku Senta (the “Kotobuki Community Center”) A Protestant-sponsored organization providing support to residents in the Kotobuki welfare community Kalabaw-no-Kai (the “Water-Buffalo Society”) Support group for foreign laborers Roba-no-Ie (the “donkey house”) Workshop for those with mental handicap Rojin Fureai Homu (the “Elderly Interaction Home”: planned recreation facility for the elderly; construction postponed indefinitely in 1992)

Table 1 Numbers from the Etto Honbu

1992–93 ETTO INFORMATION

Notes: 1 The first figure is the total number of meals distributed in one day; the second is the total number of clients who received pan-ken booklets. 2 On January 1 and January 3, the welfare office was closed but gave the Etto Honbu booklets to distribute on behalf of the government.

Table 2 Numbers recorded by the Yokohama Welfare Department, (Yokohama-shi Nenmatsu Nensho Taisaku). From 12/29 to 12/ 31, the welfare department set up special facilities for consultation at the Labor Center in Kotobuki

Glossary of Japanese and Tagalog terms

abure-kin Unemployment payments (for day laborers enrolled in an unemployment insurance system). Ainu An indigenous group, physically distinct from the Japanese. The Ainu have a distinct language and culture, and through a series of unequal treaties with the Japanese government, have given up much of their native land in the northern parts of Japan. amae “Passive love”, “dependence” or “seeking indulgence”. ARC Acronym for the Alcoholics’ Recovery Center; support group for Kotobuki alcoholics. Bandai-cho Area near Kotobuki. bekkyo kekkon Married couple living separately. bento Boxed lunch. boku Form of the first person pronoun, used by men and boys in informal speech. (o) bon The “All Souls’ Festival”, a Buddhist holiday in late August where Japanese traditionally return to their natal homes and honor their dead ancestors. At this time, many Japanese communities hold festivals. bon-odori The “bon” dance; a dance performed at festivals held during the bon holidays. boranteia (or borantia) Loan word borrowed from English word “volunteer”. boshi oyobi kafu fukushi-ho (or boshi fukushi-ho) Mother, Child and Widow’s Welfare Law, current law enacted 1964; one of the six laws of welfare. boshi-techo “Maternal handbook”; a handbook issued by the public health office to pregnant women. Includes important prenatal and postnatal care information and free coupons for vaccinations and check-ups for the infant.

Glossary of Japanese and Tagalog terms

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bunmei kaika “Civilization and Enlightenment”; the governmentsponsored slogan of the Meiji Period (1868–1912). burakumin The “untouchable” caste; a group of ethnically indistinguishable Japanese who are discriminated against because of their birth association with a ritually “unclean” social caste; the term orignates from the poor areas in which they often live, called buraku. -chan An intimate, diminutive form of the suffix “-san”; attached to person’s name, particularly child’s names. Chikko The yoseba in Fukuoka, Kyushu. chiku-senta Community center. chikuwa Processed fish. chinpira Gangster flunkey; slang term for a person who works for a yakuza gangster but is not officially a member of the gang. cho Town. choba Doya front desk manager. chonaikai(kan) Neighborhood association (building). chuhai An alcoholic drink; white liquor mixed with juice or tea. deai Encounter, mystical experience. dekasegi Literally, “to go out and earn”; migrant work. doya Slang for a daily-rate hotel; comes from the Japanese word, yado, for “inn”. doya-gai “Flophouse town”; considered a derogatory term. Often used to describe the yoseba. doya-ken A free ticket that can be exchanged for one night’s stay in a daily rate hotel, issued six times a week by Yokohama’s Naka Ward welfare office; part of the hogai enjo system. eisei zairyo “Sanitary materials”; diapers, cotton, gauze, etc., provided by the shussan enjo welfare program. enka Japanese popular folk music. enryo Reserve, polite hesitation. erai Great, awesome (term of respect). Etto “To pass through winter”; the year-end activities in the yoseba. fukushi Welfare. fukushi no machi Literally, a “welfare town”; term sometimes used to describe Kotobuki. Fukushi Roppo The Six Laws of Welfare, guaranteed by the Japanese Constitution.

252

Glossary of Japanese and Tagalog terms

Fukushi Senta “Welfare Center”; facility in Kotobuki. fureai Personal interaction. furikake Rice seasoning, usually made from dried seaweed, sesame seeds and spices. Furo-cho Area near Kotobuki. futon Japanese cotton or wool quilt, used for bedding. gaijin Literally, “outsider”, slang term for “foreigner”. Gakudo (also Gakudo Hoikuen) Day care center for school-age children. gakuensai University fair. gakusei undo Student movement in Japan; active throughout the 1960s. geko “Poor drinker”, referring to alcohol. giri Notion of social obligation to repay social debts. go-enryo naku “Please help yourself”; polite expression. Goningumi Five-man (or five-family) group. hachimaki Headband worn during festivals, sports events or any other physically and mentally strenuous time. (o) haka mairi Ritual visit to a grave site. hanba Workmen’s quarters at a regional work site. happi Short cotton jackets worn by participants in festivals, or by others to demonstrate in public group membership. hogai enjo “Assistance above the law”; special aid given to laborers in Naka Ward in Yokohama; consists of tickets that can be exchanged for food and hotel rooms. hogo-ka The assistance department of the welfare office which administers clients currently receiving welfare payments. honbu Administrative office. Horai-cho Area near Kotobuki. hoto Wide noodles made of flour and water. iincho A committee chairperson. iryo fujo Medical assistance (a kind of welfare payment covered by seikatsu hogo-ho). Iryohan Medical team in Kotobuki. iryosodan The monthly medical consultations put on by the medical team. jido fukushi-ho Child Welfare Law, enacted 1947; one of the Six Laws of Welfare. jido teate Child allowances, provided under the jido fukushi-ho. Handicapped children may also receive tokubetsu jido fuyo teate (special child support allowance).

Glossary of Japanese and Tagalog terms

253

jikatabi Split-toed cloth boots that day laborers wear. jikeidan Vigilante group formed after the 1923 Great Kanto Earthquake. jikkoiinkai Organizational committee for an event like a festival or concert; the group in charge (jikkoiincho: the chairperson of this committee; the highest-ranking position). jogo “Heavy drinker”, referring to alcohol. juku Cram school. juminkondankai Residents’ association. junsui na hito “A [morally] pure person”. jutaku fujo Housing assistance (a kind of welfare payment covered by seikatsu hogo-ho). kaicho Chairperson of a committee or club. Kalabaw (or Karabau in katakana) -no-Kai Kalabaw means “water buffalo” in Tagalog; symbol of labor in the Philippines. A support group for foreign laborers in Kotobuki. Kamagasaki The Osaka yoseba located in an area known as Airin Chiku (Nishinari Ward). kanji Chinese characters used in written Japanese. Kannai Literally, “within the barriers”; one of the first foreign settlements in Yokohama and all of Japan. Currently the financial center of Yokohama. karaoke A recording of a song without the vocal track; a form of Japanese recreation where people gather and take turns entertaining each other by singing along with the tape. Often singers drink alcohol in order to reduce their inhibitions. keigo Honorifics in the Japanese language; used when speaking to a person whose status surpasses one’s own or to express politeness and/or social distance. keiken Personal experience. kenko hoken Medical insurance system. kensetsu koyo kaizen-ho Construction Employment Reform Law. kenshin meirei Medical orders; when a client receives medical aid welfare payments, these orders must be followed to continue receiving money. kibishii Difficult, one of the “three K’s of manual labor”. kiken Dangerous, one of the “three K’s of manual labor”. Kimi ga yo The unofficial Japanese National Anthem; controversial because it glorifies the Japanese Emperor as a living god, a concept outlawed after World War II. kireigoto “The nice things in Japan which Japanese find comfortable to

254

Glossary of Japanese and Tagalog terms

discuss with outsiders whose approval they seek.” (Befu, 1980b: 39). kitanai Dirty, one of the “three K’s of manual labor”. kobun Literally, “follower” but in this context the term refers to the laborer, as part of the oyabun/kobun employment system (the Labor Boss System). koe o kakeru To “call out”; public greetings that are at times socially expected. koei jutaku Public housing. konnyaku Arum root gelatin. koryukai Exchange, discussion. Koseisho The Ministry of Health and Welfare. Kotobuki-cho Chiku Senta The Kotobuki Community Center, sponsored by the UCCJ. Kotobuki-cho Sogo Rodo Fukushi Kaikan The Kotobuki General Labor Welfare Building: called the “Labor Center”, or the “Center”. Kotobuki Fukushi Sagyojo workshop for the physically handicapped in Kotobuki. Kotobuki Fukushi Senta Building which houses the senior citizen’s club, a day care center and the planned ARC. Kotobuki Rodosha Shienkai Kotobuki Laborers’ Supporters’ Committee. Kotobuki-cho One of the three neighborhoods making up Kotobuki. kumi Cooperative labor and support group. kumiai Union; used in Kotobuki as an abbreviation of the Day Laborers’ Union (Hiyatoi Rodosha Kumiai). The Kotobuki chapter belongs to the Japanese national union (Zenkoku Hiyatoi Rodo Kumiai). kumiai iincho Union chairperson. -kun An intimate, mostly masculine form of the suffix “-san”; attached to person’s name. kurutta Insane, crazy (not a polite form). Kyodan See Nihon Kirisuto Kyodan. Kyodo Hoikuen Cooperative Child Care Home. kyoiku fujo Educational assistance (a kind of welfare payment covered by seikatsu hogo-ho). maguro Literally, “tuna”; in Kotobuki slang, it refers to the crime of assaulting and robbing a sleeping victim on the street. mahjongg (or majan) Chinese tile game, often played for money in Japan.

Glossary of Japanese and Tagalog terms

255

manshon Loan word from English term “mansion”, refers to a modern apartment. masu-komi Loan word from English term “mass communication”, refers to the mass media in Japan. (o) matsuri Festival. Matsukage-cho Neighborhood in Kotobuki. menba Loan word from English term “member”. mensetsu-ka Interviewing department of the welfare office where clients seeking welfare first consult with welfare officials. (o) mikoshi Portable shrine. Minami-koseikan A temporary shelter for the homeless in Yokohama. mochi Glutinous rice cakes. mochitsuki Ceremonial pounding of rice to make soft mochi. mogiten Temporary stands selling food at public gatherings such as festivals. Mokuyo Patororu “Thursday Night Patrol”; volunteer group which supports the homeless in the Kotobuki area. mono Person. Mukyokai Literally, the “non-church” movement established by Uchimura Kanzo and others at the turn of the twentieth century. This Christian movement rejected Western Christian dogma and practiced independent Bible study and worship. During the war years, the Mukyokai opposed many of the militaristic and expansionistic policies of the government. nakama “Comrade”; what laborers call each other in the yoseba. nemawashi Literally, “working around the roots”. Concerns Japanese practice of making unanimous decisions; the act of consulting every person involved with the decision and gaining approval. nenkin Annuity; can be pension for the elderly or welfare payments for the handicapped. nenkin hoken National Pension Program for the elderly. (o) ni-san (or chan) “Older brother”, also used with non-kin to show affection. Nihon Kirisuto Kyodan United Church of Christ in Japan, also called Kyodan. Nihonjinron “Discussions of the Japanese”. Niji “Rainbow”; group home for mentally handicapped near Kotobuki. Affiliated with Roba-no-Ie. nikkabokka Loan word from English term “knickerbockers”; baggy pantaloons worn by Japanese day laborers.

256

Glossary of Japanese and Tagalog terms

ninjo Human feeling, usually contrasted with the concepts of obligation and indebtedness (giri and on). ninsoku “Navvy”, laborer. ninsoku yoseba Where laborers gather; the first manifestation of the term yoseba. Noge Area near Kotobuki; former site of the public employment office until it was moved to Kotobuki in 1955. oden Japanese stew, often sold from streetside carts. Ogi-cho Area near Kotobuki. Okina-cho Area near Kotobuki. omae Most informal form of second person pronoun; used by men and boys. on Notion of indebtedness, created through benefits received from a superior. oyabun Literally, “boss” or “ringleader”; in this context, the boss who hires day laborers as part of the oyabun/kobun employment system (the Labor Boss System). pachinko Japanese game; a combination of pinball and slot machine where players collect points to win prizes. A form of gambling in Japan. pan-ken Literally, “bread tickets”; a free ticket which can be exchanged for food. Issued six times a week by Yokohama’s Naka Ward; part of the hogai enjo system. pinhane money taken by labor bosses or brokers (usually gangsters) out of a laborer’s salary as a commission for their services. purehabu Comes from the English, “pre-fab[ricated building]”, meaning a temporary structure used to shelter laborers at the work sites or during the year-end activities. Rengeso Literally, the “Lotus House”; cooperative living home for the mentally handicapped in Shizuoka Prefecture. rippa na Splendid. Roba-no-Ie Literally, “Donkey House”; the name of the workshop for the mentally handicapped in Matsukage-cho. rodo kijun-ho The Labor Standards Law, established to protect the human rights of Japanese workers. rodosha (Manual) laborer. rojin The elderly.

Glossary of Japanese and Tagalog terms

257

rojin fukushi-ho Officially translated as “Old Age” Welfare Law, current law enacted 1963; one of the six laws of welfare. rojin hoken The Elderly Insurance program. Rojinkai Senior citizens’ club; also called the Rojin Kurabu. rojin mondai “Problems of an aging society”. rusuban Watching over the house during the master’s absence; traditionally the responsibility of the elderly. ryokan A traditional Japanese inn. SABAY Literally, “together” in Tagalog; acronym for the Tagalog phrase “Samahan Ang mga Babaehan at Anak sa Yokohama”, or the “Yokohama Mothers” Group”. sake Japanese rice wine; also refers to alcoholic beverages in general. Sakuragi-cho Area near Kotobuki on the waterfront san kei Literally, the “three K’s”, referring to manual labor which is classified as kitanai, kiken and kibishii (dirty, dangerous and difficult). San’ya The yoseba in Tokyo, located in Taito and Arakawa Wards in northeastern Tokyo. Sasajima The Nagoya yoseba. seigyo fujo Occupational assistance (a kind of welfare payment covered by seikatsu hogo-ho). seikatsu Literally, “livelihood” and is used often to describe daily events or more generally, a kind of lifestyle. seikatsu fujo Livelihood assistance (a kind of welfare payment covered by seikatsu hogo-ho). seikatsu hogo-ho Livelihood Protection Law, based on provisions of article 25 of the Constitution; current law enacted 1950. One of the Six Laws of Welfare. Seikatsukan A municipal welfare services building in the center of Kotobuki; the “headquarters” for many volunteer and welfare activities. seinen-zemi “Youth seminars”; educational programs on the yoseba for college students offered by the Kotobuki-cho Community Center. seishin hakujakusha fukushi-ho Officially translated as “Mentally Retarded” Welfare Law, current law enacted 1960; one of the Six Laws of Welfare. seishin shogaisha Mentally handicapped person. Senta “Center”; term used on the street for the Kotobuki Sogo Rodo Fukushi Kaikan.

258

Glossary of Japanese and Tagalog terms

Sharomu-no-Ie “The House of Shalom”; a Catholic-sponsored workshop for the mentally handicapped near Kotobuki. Shin’nipponhoki The laws and regulations of Japan. shintai shogaisha Physically handicapped person. shintai shogaisha fukushi-ho Physically Handicapped Welfare Law, enacted 1949; one of the Six Laws of Welfare. shiro-techo “White handbook” for laborers to record their days worked and insurance paid in order to qualify for unemployment benefits. shochu Cheap white liquor made from wheat, potatoes or other natural and artificial ingredients. sho ga nai “There’s nothing to be done about it”. shogai nenkin Disability pension, provided under both the shintai shogaisha fukushi-ho and seishin hakujakusha fukushi-ho. shogaisha General term for any handicapped person. shogi Japanese chess. shoji Paper screens used in traditional Japanese houses. shokujikai Communal meal. shussan fujo Childbirth assistance (a welfare payment covered by seikatsu hogo-ho). shusshin(chi) Place of birth, where a Japanese person was raised. sodanjigyo Specialized counselling for welfare recipients under various laws of seikatsu hogo. sodan madoguchi “Counselling window”; where residents can get advice for legal or social matters (as in the Seikatsukan’s second-and fourthfloor facilities). sosai fujo Funeral assistance (a welfare payment covered by seikatsu hogo-ho). soto Literally, “outside”, also refers to people and institutions outside a person’s social group. suijo-hoteru “Floating hotels”; barges in the Yokohama port and Nakamura River where day laborers lived before the doya of Kotobuki were built in the 1950s and 1960s. suiton Flour dumplings in soup with vegetables. tachigui Literally, “to eat standing up”; refers to restaurants or movable carts which serve inexpensive food at a counter. takidashi Literally, “to pass out boiled rice”; a free meal, similar to the American soup kitchen. tantosha Person in charge; here, often used to refer to the case worker, counselor or volunteer responsible for a client’s case. techo “Handbook” for the handicapped and elderly; necessary to receive

Glossary of Japanese and Tagalog terms

259

discounts for public services such as transportation. For laborers’ handbook, see shiro-techo. tobi Literally, kite (a kind of hawk); here, used to describe specialists who work on scaffolding or in other high places. This position receives the highest salary and status on the manual labor market. Todai Nickname for Tokyo University (Tokyo Daigaku), the most prestigious university in Japan. toshikoshi-soba “Year-end noodles”, traditionally eaten on New Year’s Eve in Japan, where the long noodles symbolize the “lengthening” of the family’s fortune and good health in the coming year. uchi Literally, “inside” or “my house”. Also refers to people within one’s social group: family members, company employees, etc. uchi no mawari Literally, “around one’s home”; community. udon Noodles made of wheat flour. yado Inn. yakisoba Fried noodles. yakuza Japanese organized crime groups; gangsters. yoseba Literally, “gathering place”; a term to describe the places where day laborers gather. Defined as the area where laborers receive employment introductions. There are five major recognized yoseba in Japan: Tokyo’s San’ya, Yokohama’s Kotobuki, Nagoya’s Sasajima, Osaka’s Kamagasaki and Fukuoka’s Chikko. This term has come to be accepted by those in the social welfare field as a term to describe these low-income areas and the people who live there, regardless of their occupation. yoso “Outside group” (see soto). yukata A light cotton robe worn in the summer or after bathing. zainichi chosen (kankoku) jin Japanese-Koreans; people of Korean heritage born in Japan. Chosen refers to Korea before it was divided and/or to North Korea; Kankoku is South Korea. zoni Soup with soft rice cakes, traditionally eaten on New Year’s Day. zosui Rice boiled into a gruel with vegetables and meat.

Notes

1

A PUREHABU WITH A VIEW

1

All the Japanese names in this book are pseudonyms, and are listed in the reverse of Western custom—family name first, given name second. Cultural materialism, an evolutionary approach to culture focusing on economic and environmental factors, was first created by Leslie White and Julian Steward and then adopted and refined by later anthropologists such as Marvin Harris and Marshall Sahlins. Cultural materialists believe that culture is defined by “the efficiency of the means of putting… energy to work” (White in Harris, 1968:636). Included is the rationale that culture develops in a manner to maximize resources and minimize energy spent doing so. Using a cruder definition, fellow Columbia graduate students explained cultural materialism with the succinct axiom: “people eat before they think.” “Structuralism” refers mainly to the body of work published by French sociologists Emile Durkheim, and his student Marcel Mauss, and the French anthropologist Claude Lévi-Strauss. French structuralists believed that society worked much like a machine, one that either worked or broke down, according to the disposition of its parts and connections. “Solidarity”, a psychological cohesiveness that is shared by members of a social group, fuels the machine and is manifested in various forms: ethnic, religious, political, to name a few. Solidarity, or a “collective consciousness”, held society together or saw it fall apart. My classmates explained this as “people think before they eat.” Marxism, in the anthropological context, can be defined as a theory that attributes the formation of various social phenomena to a stratified class system, and changes to the system arise from subsequent conflict between classes. Thomas Belmonte describes the relationship between the study of culture and Marxist theory:

2

The cultural differences which accumulate at different tiers of stratified systems may be summarized in descriptions of class culture. They are stratum-specific patterns of behavior, feeling and systematized thought which may codify, justify, compensate for, and in some cases even protest the dehumanizing circumstances of life in class systems. (Belmonte, 1979, 1989:138)

Notes

3

261

Another way Marxism affects anthropological inquiry is the importance given to the attribution of “capitalist expansion” to the changes in the everyday lives of the people studied (for an example in South American studies, see Starn, 1992:157). Mayer notes that in the field where the political left is well developed, anthropological discourse also tends to describe the society in Marxist terms (Mayer, 1992:191). Feminist anthropologists operate on the assumption that gender differences are a basis for construction of family, state and nation. These researchers strive to readdress the dearth of information on women and their often ignored role in the social science literature. For an introduction to the basic aims and objectives of feminist anthropology, see Rayna R. Reiter’s “Introduction”, in Toward an Anthropology of Women, 1975. “Postmodernism” refers to theoretical developments in philosophy, art and literary criticism, history and the social sciences that arose from the works of the French post-structuralists Lyotard, Baudrillard, Barthes and Derrida; the linguist Ferdinand de Saussure; the historian Michel Foucault and the psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan. Appignanesi and Garratt’s Postmodernism For Beginners (1995) is a good introduction to the development of these ideas in anthropology as well as other fields in the twentieth century. Here I must acknowledge Dr Vera Mackie who helped me form a lay person’s definition of “Orientalism” in the University of Melbourne subject, “Inventing Asian Traditions”.

2

KOTOBUKI, THE “LAND OF LONGEVITY”

1

Matsuzawa specifically names one of these structures as the goningumi (five-man [or five-family] group), which was the lowest unit of “surveillance, responsibility and control” (1988:152), and it is thought to be the predecessor of the contemporary chonaikai (neighborhood association). The word “kotobuki” means “longevity” and this character used to convey felicitations at auspicious times such as New Year’s Day and events such as weddings. The average life expectency is 75.9 for men and 81.9 for women (Japan, An Illustrated Encyclopedia, 1993:1220). A series of laws were passed in the early 1990s which clarified the illegality of certain yakuza activities such as money laundering and enforcing payments for “negotiating” incidents between parties (Kaplan, 1993:1723). On March 1, 1992, the Japanese government passed the “Act for Prevention of Unlawful Activities by Members of Boryokudan” (yakuza or criminal gangs; also called the Countermeasures Law).

2 3 4

3

THE ECONOMY OF WELFARE

1

Also known by the abbreviated name boshi fukushi-ho; from hereafter, I will use this name as Kotobuki case workers and volunteers use the shorter terminology. Unless noted, all Kotobuki welfare payment figures and practices are based

2

262

3

4

5

6 7

8

Notes on the following sources supplied to me by a Seikatsukan employee: Hau tsu seikatsu hogo (1991), and three 1993 pamphlets: Yokohama-shi Minseikyoku Shakai Fukushibu Hogoka, (a handbook for welfare case workers), the Seikatsu hogo techo (a handbook for counsellors specifically concerning seikatsu hogo) and a photocopy of the actual laws in the constitution (Shin’nipponhoki). However, welfare rules payments vary across regions. A 1995 Ministry of Health and Welfare handbook on seikatsu fujo states that baseline payments may vary from 11,240 to 45,830 yen per month. The householder payments range from 31,740 to 54,670 yen, with bonuses from 1,810 to 10,280 yen (Koseishodaijin Kanbo Seisakuka Chosashitsu, 1995:252). Variations on payment amounts: for elementary shoolchildren, a baseline of 2,040 yen; for junior high school students, 3,970 yen, with extra appropriate allocations made for teaching materials, meals and commuting according to the region (Koseishodaijin Kanbo Seisakuka Chosashitsu, 1995:255). In other cases, medical costs are not entirely covered, and often this form of welfare works in partnership with the medical insurance system. This can happen only if patients are employed by a company with insurance benefits, individually enrolled in an insurance plan, or were employed and enrolled at some time during their working careers. If patients were employed by a company enrolled in a medical insurance program, the insurance company pays 70 per cent of the bill, while the individual pays for the remaining 30 per cent. The welfare recipient enrolled in the insurance who cannot cover the remaining 30 per cent may receive iryo fujo to cover the bill. For those who are not insured, or for those who have conditions such as tuberculosis (considered a public health hazard), iryo fujo provides complete coverage of hospital bills. The medical aid program is an example of how the different programs can be fit together by creative case workers. Flexibility in the system is seen where there are priorities; medical treatment is seen as important enough to make sure the patient is covered. Though tuberculosis is a top priority, hospitalization for illnesses such as liver conditions and diabetes (which stem from alcoholism) does not receive the same consideration. These complications are most often the result of a lack of prenatal care, and doctors who work with women in Kotobuki recommend their obstetric patients get better prenatal care to avoid complicated deliveries. This is one welfare program that is available on a case-by-case basis to unsettled foreign female residents of Kotobuki. By law, foreigners do not qualify for welfare payments in any area, but some ward offices in Yokohama are making exceptions in some Kotobuki cases. Occupational assistance figures come solely from the Koseishodaijin Kanbo Seisakuka Chosashitsu report (1995:257–8). Variations on payment amounts: 130,400 to 149,000 yen for an adult; 104,000 to 119,200 yen for a child; 7,340 to 8,470 for transportation of the corpse and funds ranging from 400 and 600 yen are available for “cremation costs” (ibid. p. 258). These extra funds illustrate the economic strain created by more than two small children in a household.

Notes

263

9 In Kotobuki, the most often claimed benefit under this law is for health services. The first step for most mothers in Kotobuki, whether they are Japanese or foreign migrants, is signing up for a “maternal health handbook”, which registers the mother and child with the public health center. Benefits provided under the boshi kenko techo (also called the boshi techo) program included free pre- and postnatal check-ups and vaccinations. 10 Miura notes that most women who receive welfare under this program are divorced rather than widowed (Miura 1990:340). 11 The following figures are based on numbers given by the Kotobuki Day Laborers’ Union. 12 Yasukuni Shrine is formerly an Imperial shrine which received state funding. After post-war reforms, the shrine became a private institution under the new Constitution of 1947 which required the separation of church and state. Despite this law, the former Emperor Hirohito resumed making official state visits to the shrine by the early 1950s. Conservatives introduced a bill in parliament which proposed “state maintenance” for the shrine in 1969. The bill, fought down by opposition parties, was submitted repeatedly during the 1970s. During the 1970s and 1980s, former Japanese Prime Minister Nakasone and other cabinet members made several official visits to the shrine. Opponents say that the continuing glorification of the war dead in the Shinto tradition provides a route for the re-establishment of state Shinto and state control of religion (see Osamu, 1992).

4

TAKING ACTION

1 See De Vos and Wagatsuma, 1966 for a history of the Suiheisha (“the Levellers’ Society”); Lee’s article in Yoshinobu and Swain, 1991 on the consultation of Christians for buraku liberation and the Ainu Utari Association. Hibakusha (surviving victims of the nuclear attacks on Nagasaki and Hiroshima) formed the Japan Confederation of A-Bomb and H-Bomb Sufferers Organizations (JCSO) in 1956. 2 For a complete list, see Appendix. 3 The labor union is included in this list of groups in which I participated in because of the influence the union had on all volunteer activities in Kotobuki. 4 There is a “neighborhood association” building in Kotobuki, but the chonaikai does not hold meetings there because there is only one person who claims membership to the group: a resident who lives above the Labor Center in the subsidized housing. The group has no activities or distinctions except for the ownership of two vans which are constantly borrowed by other groups. 5 It is a small operation; the manager most frequently worked with a small core of volunteers: eight female church members, a young minister from Kawasaki and one retired male church member. Two male elderly residents and one mentally handicapped young man also regularly assisted with the center’s paper work. 6 This card gives the elderly discounts and other privileges such as free rides on the public buses and the municipal subway system.

264

Notes

7 In 1994, the group consulted with 29 cases: 25 Filipina, 2 Thai and 2 Korean. 8 One of the male Iryohan leaders often contributed to group projects, but always insisted he should not be referred to as a “member” of the group, for perhaps he was concerned about the political relationship between the Iryohan and SABAY. 9 The 1983 incident in Yokohama was not an isolated one. When I visited the Kotobuki-cho Community Center in early 1996, Ms Ishii showed me a collection of newspaper articles she had been gathering on violence towards the homeless. Around Kanagawa Prefecture, there were several incidents of harassment: firecrackers thrown at the homeless (“Hanabi de shugeki, mi no kiken ga petto botoru kakaete ‘boei’” Asahi Gurafu, August 18, 1995, number 25), a failure to convict a man who injured a homeless man by throwing beer cans (“Shogai kiso no dansei, muzai”, Yomiuri Shimbun, September 1, 1995). Most shocking, however, was the murder of a homeless man in Osaka on October 18, 1995. Three youths were charged with beating the man and dumping his body in a river in Osaka’s Chuo Ward (“Kawa ni nagekomare dansei boshi”, Mainichi Shimbun, morning edition, 19 October, 1995). 10 One of the young women used the Japanese phrase “katsudo o shiteiru hito” (literally, a person who performs activities) to express her identity as an “activist”. 11 I have not included numbers of volunteers for each group because few volunteers belong to only one group. I encountered roughly 24 regular volunteers during my fieldwork; most appear (under pseudonyms) in the following chapters. However, there were perhaps hundreds of visitors who drifted in and out during the year, most whom never returned. They did not, in my opinion, rank as “Kotobuki volunteers”.

5

THE HUMAN SIDE

1 This gentleman was the individual whose memorial service was held at the Seikatsukan in 1996 (see pp. 93–4). 2 Toride told me in 1996 that this hospital was planning to convert to an old-age rest home, as its function as a mental institution continued to be unprofitable. 3 Ventura’s memoir is the only published English language book about Kotobuki, but he does not focus on volunteer activity. He refers twice, briefly, to “Communists and other support groups”; they are probably the union and Kalabaw-no-Kai (Ventura, 1992:87, 124). He believes the volunteers are communists probably because of the close ties between the Filipino student movement and their own Communist Party (p.65). The book was also translated into Japanese; Toride had read it, and scoffed at the labelling. In his opinion, the union and Kalabaw were far from communist organizations. 4 Divorce in Japan is not as common as it is in America and the UK. According to a newspaper article in 1993, the divorce rate is 1.3 divorces per 1,000 couples, compared to the United States’ figure of 4.7 divorces per 1,000

Notes

265

couples (The Japan Times, 1993b). Divorce leads to economic complications; maintaining two households is difficult during a housing shortage, and the divorced woman struggles alone, finding a great disparity between men’s and women’s wages. Divorce is not a desirable option to a troubled marriage. 5 Male homosexuality in Japan was generally not censured before the Meiji Period (1868–1911), when contact with Western countries influenced Japanese sexual morality. Male homosexuality had been regarded as a routine form of entertainment for the religious and military élite since the Heian Period (794–1185). During the Edo Period (1600–1868), homoerotic literature and culture flourished in Japanese cities and homosexual relationships were common among the Buddhist clergy and samurai and merchant classes. These relaxed attitudes disappeared when Japan made concerted efforts to appear “Westernized”, not only developing their industry and military but also changing Japanese morality. Today, homosexual culture, both male and female, is flourishing in the entertainment world, but is not generally accepted outside the theater walls. There are no laws protecting the civil or legal rights of homosexuals. Many homosexuals find it difficult to express their sexual orientation freely; because there is no protection against discrimination at the workplace, many gay men feel they cannot reveal their homosexuality for fear of dismissal. 6 Personal communication, March 1996; translation from the Japanese is by the author.

6

RITUALS “ORGANIZED” AND “DISORGANIZED”

1 Because there is no Buddist temple located in Kotobuki, doya residents are not able create a new affiliations and establish a new ancestral tomb. 2 “Watashi ni totte no yoseba/ yoseba ni totte no watashi”. 3 Kyoto is technically not a yoseba because there are no employment markets in the city, but nevertheless the area was represented by social activists who work with the elderly and homeless living there. 4 In reality, I did not know how my Kotobuki “family” would respond to a real crisis, as at that time as I had not experienced any yet. 5 The recession had worsened before the 1993–94 Etto, and there were increased numbers of homeless during the holidays. The event organizers set up shelters in Kotobuki Park again but did not use the narrow lot in Matsukage-cho for the second shelter, moving to a larger empty lot closer to the train station. 6 For a detailed account of 1992–93 Etto statistics, refer to the Appendix (pp. 248–9). 7 This kind of mochi is a preserved version of the soft cakes eaten in zoni. They are roasted in order to soften them. 8 “Jumbo” soon began drinking again, and after the Etto period I often saw him hanging around the Seikatsukan fourth floor lounge. At the 1993–94 Etto, “Jumbo” was a patient at the Iryohan, suffering from a head wound, the result of a drunken brawl.

266

Notes

9 Death had visited the Etto before; during the 1991–92 Etto, someone had committed suicide by jumping off a doya on New Year’s Day, and on January 1, 1994, a laborer suffering from the same liver condition as the man who died during the 1992–93 event was rushed to the hospital by two Iryohan members, only to die later that night in the hospital—an eerie coincidence. 10 I, too, became ill after my first Etto, suffering a severe sinus infection, and after the clean-up I spent several days recuperating at the Shizuoka communal farm. 11 The MC, a longtime Kotobuki resident, was Japanese-Korean and understood the remark; he translated the singer’s message to others afterwards.

7

HELPING OUT AND HOLDING BACK

1 Members of the labor union were occasionally involved with demonstrations and officials took the responsibility of organizing individual volunteers in protest; see the demonstration at Yokohama Railway Station (Chapter 6) and the 1993 Shin-chan court appearance (Chapter 2), but the other volunteer groups confined their expressive activities to publishing. 2 Surprisingly, the Fukushi Senta director and alcoholism counselor, another middle-aged man with a high level of training and commitment, did not enter this structure. He and his colleague were outside because of personal conflict with leaders of the other groups, which cut across ideology, age and gender.

8

CONCLUSION

1 As there is no appropriate Japanese word to convey the meaning of the word “volunteer”, this borrowed term is often used.

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Index

agape 233 aging 4, 18, 52, 62, 77, 79, 85, 115, 117, 120, 123–4, 126; the elderly 17, 24, 29, 34, 38, 49, 52, 60, 81, 85, 116, 124, 151; in Kotobuki 109, 168, 172; and the laborer 123; males 124; numbers living alone 124; pension programs 124; position in Japanese society 123; public institutions for the aged 61; rates in Japan 123; and ritual responsibility 123, 172; support for Kotobuki elderly 94 Ainu 81, 250 alcohol abuse 18, 37–8, 62, 77, 81, 90, 117, 119, 120, 126, 173, 186, 203, 222; attributes of alcoholism 120; counselling 94; in Kotobuki 32; at New Year’s celebration 187; the selling of alcohol at the summer festival 196, 220–1; to “slip” 120; treatment at the summer festival 191, 195–6; treatment for 69, 122 alcohol: and culture 121; and decision-making 220; in Japan, 121–3; and masculinity 121 Alcoholic Recovery Center (ARC) 94 Alcoholics Anonymous 86, 94, 118, 122; in Kotobuki 121; meeting 119 anthropological research: effects on the community 109; and enryo 225–6

Appignanesi, R. and Garratt, C. 261 atom bomb survivors 263 Barry, Norman 52 Barthes, Roland, 261 Batson, C.D., Fultz, J. and Schoenrade, P.A. 233–4 Baudrillard, Jean 261 bazaars 36, 85; social function of 85 Befu, Harumi 9, 10, 19, 79, 120, 231–2 Belmonte, Thomas, 260 Ben-Ari, Eyal, 82 Benedict, Ruth 7, 15, 231 Bennett, J. and Iwao, I. 66 Bestor, Theodore C. 46–7, 84, 169 Bikle, George B.Jr 72 Buddhism: care of ancestral remains 168–9; ordered ritual 171; ritual etiquette 171 burakumin (the “untouchables”) 10, 16, 81, 263; definition of 251; hinin 16 Burridge, Kenelm 109–10, 242; definition of Christianity as culture, 109 Caldarola, Carlos 16, 48 children: in Kotobuki 33, 46, 52, 55, 92, 117, 126–32, 134, 151, 196, 210; nutrition 128, 138; in the yoseba 174 chonaikai (neighborhood association) 83–4, 231–2, 261, 263

Index chonaikaikan (neighborhood association building) 32, 35, 97, 197, 201, 208, 218 Christianity 20, 70–4, 83; attitudes about homosexuality 158; the Catholic Church 2, 4, 87; Catholic shelters for foreign women 29; Catholic-sponsored workshop in Kotobuki 235; charity 233; Christian activity in Kotobuki 73, 108–10; Christian social activists 17; Christian social work 52, 70–4; Christian volunteers 145–6, 190; Christian volunteers and Buddhist belief 172; Christian volunteers and Buddhist ceremonies 168; church-supported welfare services 70; criticisms of 110; empathy 233; and ethics 52, 73–4, 148–9; evangelism and conflicts in the yoseba 111; evangelism in the yoseba 108; Japanese Christians 151; lack of evangelism in the yoseba 74; as “meta-culture” 109, 242; missionaries 71, 108–11, 242; as a moral system 69; multiple ritual practices for Japanese Christians 171; parallels between anthropological research and missionary work 109; and political identity 71; problems with methodology 113; profiles of Christian volunteers 145–52; Protestant churches 88; relationship between Christians and non-Christians in Japan 70; sense of religious community 151; as a social force 70; social status of 73; in social work 70; supererogation 233; surveillance of Japanese Christians during the war 72; universities in Japan 72; in the yoseba 70; yoseba attitudes about Christians 70 class: indicators of in Japan 121; and volunteering 213, 216, 224–5, 244

275

colonization of Korean Peninsula (1910) 44 community: characteristics of 48; consciousness 172; definitions of 46; Japanese 47; in Kotobuki 17, 20,46, 49; sub-groups 47; see also volunteer/resident community Construction Employment Reform Law 66 crime: petty 38, 118; murder 122–3; violence towards the homeless 103, 264 Dale, Peter 11 day care in Kotobuki 33, 90, 94 day labor: “culture” 78; images of 48; jobs performed 26 day laborer 16, 17, 21, 52; appearance 26; benefits 68; dekasegi (migrant) 27, 37; former laborers 34; illegal labor brokers 26, 30, 67; illness 37; injury 37; Japanese 37, 45, 47, 53, 74; legal rights 32; market 11; public employment agency 22, 26, 43, 45, 67; relationship with yakuza 30; rights 72; salary 67; social status 53; unemployed 63; view of Japanese Christians 73; working in postwar occupation 43 day laborer’s shiro-techo (white handbooks) 26, 67 De Vos, G.A. and Wagatsuma, H. 263 de Saussure, Ferdinand 261 decision-making 19, 219–23, 227 dependency 74 depression (1929) 42 Derrida, Jacques, 261 disability 5, 16–7, 24, 29, 37–8, 49, 52, 58–62, 69, 77, 79, 81, 85, 89, 116–17, 126, 136–7, 151–2, 164, 186, 211; and children in Kotobuki 129; in Kotobuki 109; psychological handicaps 117; treatment of those with handicaps 149; workshops for the handicapped 38

276

Index

divorce 145, 162, 189, 264 Doi Takeo 7 Dore, Ronald P. 11, 46, 231 Douglas, Mary 16 doya (flophouse hotel) 24, 61, 63, 82, 85, 89, 96, 106, 117–18, 122, 126, 133, 156, 169, 175 239, 240; description of room 28; different types in San’ya 176; establishment of Kotobuki hotels 44–5; linguistic origin 28; manager 28–9; owners 44–6; precedent (suijo-hoteru or floating hotel) 43, 258; prices 28; structure of 176 doya-gai (flophouse district) 22, 45, 48; images of 28 doya-ken 63 drug abuse: counselling 91, 94 Drummond, Richard 72 Durkheim, Emile, 260 Eames, E. and Goode, J. 53 Edo Period (1600–1868), 265 education 11, 89, 95, 112; and Christian social reform 71; importance of in Japan 120; juku (cram schools) 153, 157; about Kotobuki-cho 86; problems for children from welfare families 117; about social issues 84; in the yoseba 120; see also fukushi roppo, students Embree, John F. 6, 46, 231 enryo (polite hesitation) 19, 206–7, 215–28, 231, 239, 242; and age 224; and class 224; as a communicative tool 215; as a display of social manners 222; as ethical 19; and experience 224; as a nonconfrontational mode of communication 207; in response to imbalance of power between volunteers and residents 242; as a safety net 216; and social responsibility 222; and students 225; volunteers’ opinions 221 empathy 233–4 Erikson, Erik 235, 238–9;

psychological model of ideological movements 239 ethnic tensions: in Kotobuki 203 family 18, 20, 48, 77, 125; changing residential patterns 123; disputes 145; relationship between migrant and 143; relationship with the community 155; relationship with extended family 155 fieldwork process 15 Ford, R. and Chakrabarti, M. 52 foreigners: children in Kotobuki 92; Filipino 26, 28–30, 34, 36, 47, 87, 91, 137–41, 143–4, 151, 240; Filipino community in Kotobuki 87; fingerprinting of 211; illegal laborers 17, 26, 67, 69, 240; in Japan 4, 73, 86, 137–44; in Japan during the eighteenth century 40; Korean 26, 35, 36; in Kotobuki 24, 35, 38, 46, 49, 236; laborers 26, 116, 117; Middle Eastern 26- 7, 182; Thai 28, 30, 240; in Yokohama after the 1923 earthquake 41 Foucault, Michel 13, 261 Fowler, Edward 16, 28, 74, 176 Fox, Sherwood 18 Fukushi Senta (Welfare Center) 32, 38, 90, 94, 122, 266 fukushi roppo (Six Laws of Welfare) 52–62, 75; boshi oyobi kafu fukushi-ho (Mother, Child and Widow’s Welfare aw) 54, 58, 261; disability pension 59, 117–18, 133; iryo fujo (medical assistance) 56–7, 68; jido fukushi- ho (Child Welfare Law) 54, 57, 253; jutaku fujo (housing assistance) 55–6, 61; kyoiku fujo (education assistance) 55; rojin fukushi-ho (“Old Age” Welfare Law) 54, 60–1, 257; seigyo fujo (occupational assistance) 56; seikatsu hogo-ho (Livelihood Assistance Law) 54–7, 61, 68,

Index 257; seikatsu fujo (livelihood assistance) 55; seishin hakujakusha fukushi-ho (“Mentally Retarded” Welfare Law) 54, 59–60, 257; shintai shogaisha fukushi-ho (Physically Handicapped Welfare Law) 54, 58–9, 258; shussan fujo (childbirth expenses assistance) 56, 262; sosai fujo (funeral xpenses assistance) 56; see also social welfare funeral practice 169–71, 204 Gakudo (day care center) 33, 91–2, 126–7, 131, 173, 196, 199 gakuensai (school fair) 153 gambling 32, 35, 37 Gans, Herbert 77 Geertz, Clifford 167 gender: and Kotobuki 223 Gordon, Peter 66 Great Kanto Earthquake (1923) 40, 41, 43 Guzewicz, Tony 16 Hammer, Raymond 71 Hane, Mikio 79 Harris, Marvin 6, 260 Heian Period (794–1185) 265 Hendry, Joy 47, 84, 168, 218, 221 Hester, Jeffry 16 hierarchy 18 Hiroshima 81 hogai enjo (Extra-legal Assistance) 52, 62–5, 75, 182; definition 252 homeless 64, 130, 165, 173, 191, 200, 210–11, 222; during the Etto 180, 183; in Kotobuki 38, 49, 81, 86, 102; people 2, 3, 4, 53; people and welfare 76; postwar 43; public shelters 69; records of in the Mokuyo Patrol newsletter 211; in the US 77; volunteers as advocates for 181 homosexuality: attitudes about in current Japanese society 159; gay rights activist groups in Japan

277

158; Japanese government policy on 158; male homosexuality in Japan 265; as a source of marginality 145 hospitals: in Japan 51; accepting welfare cases 119, 136; discrimination against residents 185–6 Howes, John F. 71 illness 18, 62, 73, 124, 182; hepatitis 119, 122; in Kotobuki 69, 98, 121; mental illness 69, 133; see also disability and tuberculosis image of Japan abroad 143 Imamura, Anne 47 Imatani Akira 39 immigration laws 141, 142 immigration office: procedures for repatriation of illegal migrants 140–1 informant/interviewer relationship 3, 14–15, 226 International House of Japan, Inc. 1 “internationalism” 236–7 Iryohan (medical team) 29, 81, 82, 97–9, 107, 118–19, 122, 127, 129, 132, 134, 152, 158–9, 173, 180, 188, 191, 195, 197–200, 207–9, 214–16, 219–20, 237; conflict in 159, 162; conflict with uncooperative patients 200–1; consultation 31; ethics 132, 195; media policy 211–12; newsletter of 211; special activities during the Etto, 181 Iwao, Sumiko 124 Japanese folk belief 108 Japanese imperial system 44, 71, 73, 153–4, 184, 194 Japanese kinship system 125; fictive kinship in Kotobuki 109, 150 Japanese language 47; complexity of 121; gender differences 127; honorifics 121; keigo (honorifics) 157

278

Index

Japanese Self Defense Forces 133, 211; 1993 participation in Cambodia 236 Japanese-Koreans 16, 44–5, 47, 87, 116, 184; incident at summer festival 191, 201–2; JapaneseKoreans and doya ownership 45, 240 JVC (Japanese International Volunteer Center) 236–7 Kagawa Toyohiko 52, 71, 73, 74 Kalabaw-no-ai (foreign laborers’ support group) 81, 86–8, 93, 144, 182, 193, 195, 237; translation of name 86 kanji (Chinese characters) 119, 121 Kato Yuzo 24, 40, 41, 42 Kawamura, Nozomu 10 Kobe 71; Kobe earthquake (Hanshin Daishinsai) 20 Korean War (1950–3) 45 Koryukai (discussion meetings) 182– 3, 188 Kotobuki Rodosha Shienkai (Kotobuki supporters’ committee) 107, 195, 198–9, 201, 254 Kotobuki-cho Chiku Senta (Community Center) 46, 83–6, 118, 146–8, 151, 173, 208–9, 212, 215, 217, 223; newsletter of 211 Kotobuki: destroyed during 1923 earthquake and again in WWII 43; history of 39, 41; life in 24; location 23; meaning of kanji 261; meaning of name 39; perceptions of 36; population 23–4, 45, 52; population in the 1960s and 1970s 45; population in the late 1970s 46; postwar 44; seasons in 35; as socially marginalized area 240; as a “welfare town” 178 Koyanagi Nobuaki 28, 45 Krauss, E., Rohlen, T., and Steinhoff, P. 19 Krauss, Ellis S. 223

Kumazawa Yoshinobu 135–6 kumi (cooperative labor and support group) 231 kyodo hoikuen (foster home for children) 129, 134 Kyoto University 157 Labor Center 26, 32–8, 49, 66; public housing above 127; official name 26, 254 Labor Standards Law 66; official name 256 labor union (kumiai) 2, 15, 30, 32, 36–7, 48, 54, 63, 81, 83, 86, 93, 105–7, 111, 118, 145, 161, 180–1, 193, 195, 201, 214, 224, 243; and demonstrations 266; dispute with yakuza in San’ya 30, 176; leaders 160, 162–3, 170, 190, 209, 235; national chapter 30; newsletter 211; power structure and status in volunteer community 214; profile of the leader 160–3; at the yoseba conference 173 Lacan, Jacques 261 Lebra, Takie Sugiyama 207 Levi-Strauss, Claude 260 Lewis, Oscar 53 liminality 17 literacy 119 living conditions in urban Japan 143 localism 47 Lyon, Larry 46–7 Lyotard, Jean-Francois 261 Mackie, Vera 261 Manchurian Incident (1935) 42 Marshall, Robert 19 mass media 125; “black outs” 211; distrust of 211 Matsuda, Mizuho 141, 144 Matsuzawa Tetsunari 16 Mauss, Marcel 232, 260 Mayer, Enrique 261 medical insurance 52, 68, 262; program for day laborers 68–9 Meiji Period (1868–1912) 41

Index Merry, Sally E. 48 Ministry of Health and Welfare 124 Ministry of Labor 26 Morioka, Kiyomi 70 Mouer, R. and Sugimoto, Y. 12 Mukyokai (non-Church Christianity) 71, 255 Murphy, Jane 121 Myers, David G. 233 Nagasaki 81 Nakamura River 24, 40 Nakane, Chie 8, 15, 19, 47, 208 Nakane Mitsutoshi 16 National Anti-War League 72 National Health Insurance Program 68 nationalism 71 nemawashi 217; definition of 255 New Year’s activities 21, 106, 107, 127, 132, 135, 162, 168, 179, 205; demonstration 184–5; the Etto 178–90; the Etto as a festival 186–7; history of 180; intolerance of alcohol 183, 187; media requests 211; as a refuge for both clients and volunteers 242; in San’ya 176; table of information of 1992–3 event 248–9; timing 180; violence 187 New Year’s customs in Japan 179, 187; changes in 188 New Year’s Day 1, 5, 36, 49 Nihon University’s Population Institute 124 Norbeck, Edward 18 North Korea 44 nuclear disarmament 73 Nygren, Anders 233 o-bon (All Souls’ Festival) 169 Oe Kenzaburo 221 Oil Shocks (1973–4) 46, 62, 180 Orientalism 13, 15 Osamu Tsukada 263 Palmore and Maeda 123 pan-ken 63, 182, 184

279

peace movement in Japan 72 Pearl Harbor 42 Pelisek, Christine 28 perceptions: of Kotobuki 48; of yoseba 48; of yoseba residents 49 Perry, Admiral Matthew 40 Pharr, Susan 207, 222 Plath, David W. 124 police: discrimination against residents 185–6; at the Etto, 185–6, 190; in Kotobuki 92–3; and political demonstrations 212 postwar occupation 43–5 poverty 2, 4, 5, 18, 20, 49, 73, 77, 79, 81, 84, 115, 124, 145, 164, 186, 203, 222; attitudes about 76; “culture of poverty” theory 53; low-income families 17 privacy: in Kotobuki 36–7, 125; and welfare applications 77 prostitution: gay prostitution in Kotobuki 158–9; of Southeast Asian women in Japan 159 Radcliffe-Brown, A.R. 7 recession 12, 66, 106, 116, 178, 203, 265; in the 1970s 46 Reid, David 72 Reischauer, Edwin 49, 221 Reiter, Rayna R. 261 religions in Japan 70 religious identity 145 Rengeso (“the Lotus House”: an assisted living home) 134, 155 residents of Kotobuki: as activists 235–6; associations (juminkai or juminkonkaidan) 48, 93, 118, 162, 208; attitudes about mass communications industry 161; disabled 235; different groups within 151 ritual 167–9, 204 Roba-no-Ie (mentally handicapped workshop) 85, 88–90, 107, 109, 119, 133–4, 147, 148, 149, 150–1, 170, 173, 195, 208, 215, 217, 223; translation of name 88 Rohlen, Thomas 46–7, 223 Rojinkai (Senior Citizens’ Club) 32,

280

Index

36, 38, 47–9, 85, 94–7, 107, 109, 118, 148, 151, 170–1, 173, 199, 208, 214, 217, 243; and the summer festival 192 SABAY (foreign mothers’ group) 49, 99–101, 141, 208–9, 215–16, 237 Sahlins, Marshall 232, 260 Said, Edward 13 seikatsu hogo (Livelihood Assistance Law) see fukushi roppo; see also social welfare Seikatsukan (municipal welfare services building) 32–3, 37, 85, 90–4, 97, 106, 118, 126, 134, 154, 158, 160, 162, 173, 174, 180, 200, 209, 214, 219; counselling at 33; employees of 33; employees as volunteers 103; as the home of the o-mikoshi 193–4 sexual harassment 173–4, 222; in Kotobuki 99 Shinto 71; beliefs 193–4 Snow, D. and Anderson, L. 53, 77 social discrimination 73, 81, 85, 117, 124, 126, 158, 161,164,182,222, 235; class 117, 120; in the community 117; against the handicapped 89; in housing 89; in the yoseba 130–1 social ideology: conflict 19; conflictresolution 19; of Kotobuki 48; social discrimination 4, 5, 10, 18; social marginality 4, 6, 15, 16, 18, 240–2; marginalization process 18; marginalized people 17; in Japan 17, 37, 74; power 18; reciprocity 19; upper-middle class values 112, 241 social interaction 18–19 social marginality 236; causes of 145; and volunteering 189; of the volunteers 189 social pressures: on Japanese Christians 240; on students 239– 40; on women 240 social relationships: cooperation 83;

fureai (human encounter) 85, 95, 99, 103, 230, 232; harmony 83 social roles: flexibility 244–5 social solidarity 47–9 social structure: in Kotobuki 179 social theory: altruism 148, 231–33; collective model of Japanese society 222; conflict studies 207; cultural materialism 6; Culture and Personality school 7, 231; definition of class culture 260; definition of cultural materialism 260; definition of feminism 261; definition of Marxism 260; definition of postmodernism 261; definition of structuralism 260; feminism 6; group identity 8–9, 19, 20; “group society” 82; Marxism 9–10, 15, 109, 162; modernization 10, 231; motivation 232; Neo-Marxism 6; Nihonjinron 11, 15; postmodernism 6, 109; reciprocity 20, 82,164, 231–2, 242, 244; social exchange 9, 19–20, 231, 235, 242–4; structuralfunctionalism 6; structuralism 6 social welfare 11, 16–18, 20, 24, 51, 79, 113, 241; application process 53, 74, 77; attitudes about 79; case worker/client relationship 51, 74, 76; case workers 51, 75, 133; childbirth expenses assistance 56; conditions 89; definition 55; disability “handbook” 59; and the elderly 96, 125; employees 17, 18, 29, 145; families on welfare 117; a fictional case 61; and illegal foreigners 262; in Japan 53; in Kotobuki 38, 52, 241; insurance 68; life expectancy rates 24; Naka Ward Welfare Office 23, 24, 54, 75–6, 91, 94, 181; payments 67, 262; recipients 34, 53–4, 75; requirements 62; residents as active participants 236; senior citizens’ benefits card 94; services 90; structure of 75; occupational training 56; termination of

Index payments 62; unemployment insurance 26, 36, 52, 68; unemployment payments 37, 65–8, 91, 250; welfare lifestyle 77; see also fukushi roppo society: Japanese 2, 19; class 19; definition of maturity 147; increasing materialism in the twentieth century 71; as viewed by Japanese Christians 73 soto (outside group) 47 South Korea 44 Starn, Orin 261 Steinhoff, Patricia G. 212–13, 223 Steven, Rob 10 Steward, Julian 260 student movement 153, 212, 221; definition of gakusei undo 252 students 2, 4, 49, 145, 234–5; student profiles 152–60 summer festival 36, 38, 49, 106, 168; alcohol abuse during 198; description of 190–203; first-aid for fans 198; jikkoiinkai 191, 202–3; the o-mikoshi 193–4; omikoshi parade 199–200; participation of residents 196–7, 199; rock concert 191–2, 197–9; and stress 203, 205 Taira, Koji 16, 66 Taisho Period (1913–1926) 41 Tanaka Toshio 41, 43, 45 Thursday Night Patrol (Mokuyo Patororu) 3, 97, 102–5, 107, 118, 132, 159, 180, 197, 208–9, 212–16, 219; newsletter 211 Tokugawa Period (1600–1867) 41 Tokyo 39, 41 Tokyo University 81, 97, 152–4, 157–8, 160, 165, 189, 212, 239 Treaty of Kanagawa (1854) 40 tuberculosis 68–9, 129, 262 Turner, Victor 16 UCCJ (United Church of Christ in Japan) 52, 72–4, 84, 88–9, 148, 217

281

uchi (inside group) 47 Uchimura Kanzo 52, 71, 73–4 unemployment 90; in Kotobuki 121; during the 1973–4 oil crisis 180 Unification Church in Japan 153 Valentine, James 16, 240 van Gennep, Arnold 16, 235 Ventura, Reynald 143, 264 Vogel, Ezra 46 voluntarism 18 volunteer groups: age as a determining factor 217; as an arena for inter-class relationships 165; characteristics of 101; common features 206; compromise in 132; conflict in 132, 169; conflict and cooperation 215–23; cooperation 174, 179; decisionmaking in small groups 220; gender as a determining factor 217; interdependency 208; interpersonal relationships in 206–7; in Kotobuki 4, 18–19, 29, 81–2; meetings 132, 206, 213–17, 222; membership in 209; in New York 2; nonChristian religious groups 200; number of groups in Kotobuki 246–7; pace of meetings 217; publishing 206, 210–13; ranking within as seen in meetings 213–15, 227; structure of 206, 208; typical scenario of meetings 219; total numbers of in Japan 229 volunteer/client relationship: interference 222 volunteer/resident community 93–4, 179 volunteer/resident relationship 8, 38, 47, 49, 70, 77, 82, 169, 177–8, 179, 187, 242–3; with children 132 volunteer/volunteer relationships 70 volunteering 18, 20, 79, 229–30; definitions of 113–14, 229–30;

282

Index

ethics in 87–8, 132, 191; as empowering action 243; as an expression of a world view 237; filling emotional and social gaps 190; in Kotobuki 76; nonChristian motives 113; as an opportunity to overstep social boundaries 244; purpose of 243; and responsibility 222; and role flexibility 244; and social exchange theory 232; social functions for Christian volunteers 111; as a social statement 238; as stressful activity 240 volunteers 17; Christian volunteers’ socializing 111; and Christians mediating between cultures 242; construction of identity 112, 244- 5; difference between “parttimers” and “full-timers” 114; female 223; immaterial benefits for 232; in Kotobuki 3, 17, 20, 29, 33, 46, 47, 49, 116; as mediators 79; motives 157; new definition of term 113; nonChristian volunteers’ socializing 112; numbers 264; in Osaka and Kyoto 20; in political demonstrations 185; power relations 114; problems with hypocrisy 163; ranking of 214–15; reasons for leaving Kotobuki 234; relationships between Christians and non-Christians 109, 111–12; relationship with government and business 179; social characteristics 145; and social responsibility 164; and social welfare 53, 75–7; total numbers of in Japan 229; volunteers’ motives 108 Weiner, Michael 41, 44 westernization of Japan 41 White, Leslie 260 women’s issues: in the yoseba 163;

foreign women migrants 137–41, 142 women’s roles: aging women 124; at the Etto 181; ideals 148; as seen by Japanese Christians 73; at the summer festival 202; in volunteer activities 149; working women 124 women’s status as housewives and mothers 149–50 World War II 40, 42, 71–2; bombing of Tokyo (March 1945) 42; bombing of Yokohama (May 1945) 4; Japanese colonialism in Asia 237; and the Ministry of Education 211 yakuza (gangsters) 16, 30, 34–5, 37, 46–7, 63, 67, 93, 105, 128, 139, 142–3, 177, 243; anti-organized crime laws 30, 261; chinpira (part-time gangsters) 31, 251; control over business in yoseba 243; identifying characteristics 31; practices 31; tattoos as markings of 31, 194 Yasukuni Shrine 73, 263 Yokohama: history of 39–46; Naka Ward 23 yoseba: 116, 173; and alcohol 121; as a cheap and anonymous place 34; Chikko 22, 28; comparing San’ya and Kotobuki 177–8; definition of 22, 38, 95, 259; description of San’ya 176–8; inter-yoseba conference 168, 172- 8; Kamagasaki 10, 22, 28, 117, 131; Kamagasaki 1990 riots 177; Laborers’ Welfare Hall 72; lifestyle 53, 241; mainstream attitudes about 122, 168, 244; Matsuzawa’s definition of 22; other yoseba 48; San’ya 10, 22, 26, 28, 30, 38, 74, 95, 113, 154; San’ya Laborers’ Welfare Hall 174; Sasajima 22; society 74; welfare in 76