I’ll be speaking from 2-4pm on November 26th at the Suginami Ward Public Library on some of the food justice & community-building things I worked with in LA. While the concept of “food justice” doesn’t have the same ring in Japanese, and it is not as geographically based (e.g. food deserts) as in the US, many people are aware of stratified access to good, tasty, fresh affordable food. And are starting programs and informal orgs to deal with it. I touch on some of those common connections, and on some neat projects I found in a recent trip to Alaska, in this talk…no reading required, but a reservation is good–call the library at the # on the poster.
The higanbana, equinox flower, is the traditional back-to-school foliage in my part of the world. My campus used to be a medicinal herb garden for the Tokugawa shogunate. Even today, it is impeccably maintained, though more for passers-by than healers at this point. Though who is to say, really.
Higanbana‘s name is a compound of “the other shore” + “flower,” and the other shore is, of course, a metaphor for shades, the dead, and the marker of days that now gradate into more dark than light–the equinox. It blooms and dies within a few days. For obvious reasons, it is also a good marker for the return to school and the dwindling days, and light, of summer.
The toggling effect of the higanbana–poised between day and night, life and death, nature and culture–is one I tried to keep in mind as I made up this semester’s syllabi. As a patron flower, you could do worse than picking one that moves between two planes. A flower that, in other words, code-switches pretty effectively (and who knows what lurks on the other side, really…).
Code-switching was initially an idea in socio-linguistics, to refer to the ways that people moved between languages of genres of language (dialect, formality, etc)–and the ways that mattered, by fostering doubled identities and linguistic worlds in one person. More recently, it’s appeared in pop culture to point out how people move between different languages as they traverse different worlds of formal culture, informal culture, street culture, and/or subculture, especially as those worlds are racialized and work through different expressions of gender. It’s a pretty common feeling for anyone who has lived or been abroad, even if “abroad” is just down the street.
This semester I find myself teaching 2 grad research methods classes, in addition to 6 UG classes. A pretty typical Japanese-professor load, 8 all together. One is in what “professionalization” means for grad students starting out in English-based literary studies in Japan; the other is on eco-cinema, with films from Japan, US, northern/indigenous Canada, and China.
In literary studies, recent years have seen a mini-boom in the field of object-oriented literary studies. On one hand, this lit-crit approach is an effort to de-center the exclusive humanism of some lit-crit, to guide attention to relations in texts, and thus the world, that provide contexts for humans–not only history, per se, but objects such as one typically finds in realist lit, in categories like machines, tools, furniture, dwellings, non-human and non-animal beings.
This line of thought, often described as object-oriented-ontology (OOO, a fun acronym to add to typical academic prose!), has, understandably, been prominent in Romantic literary studies, which tends to privilege consciousness, imagination, and the vernacular human when it treats poetry and poetics. (Maybe it goes without saying, but the transcendental, in the age of the anthropocene, is mostly bracketed as a fiction in OOO, if not out of the picture altogether. Timothy Morton’s writings on “ecology without nature” are a good reference and his book of the same title does an awesome job of breaking down how modern Anglophone writing (including some non-western texts in English, and a separate body of Romantic-influenced, non-western, modern fictional works) understands “nature,” in great part, in ways that stem from Romantic poetics.
Personally, I’m not as interested in the ontological questions (nor do I have the philosophical/linguistic training to root out a lot of the textual disputes and work with them) that reprise things that, in the end, still seem idealist to me. Questions like: “What Is X?” or “What Is Being?”. Defining, therefore fixing, ontology seems at odds with making the new relations vis-a-vis the “natural” world, to keep up with things like climate change, population flows and displacements, and resource depletion. I’m more interested in how the meanings, and the undertow of narratives, are constructed, and arguments made (in abstracted systems, such as the voices, POVs, and textual moves we use to put narratives and reading experiences together.)
It’s a long way from a flower, per se, but natural objects as portals to alternate cosmologies is a familiar dynamic that traverses Japanese classical lit, to speculative fiction of today, to the edited film-objects that make up doc films that, in turn, put us as viewers into new relations to this world (or try to). Many recent pushes in the “keep Humanities alive” trajectory involve treating texts as objects, within which other objects might be found, classified, and later read–so-called “Distant Reading.”
Being able to use Big Data to trawl for possible words and phrases across many texts, as first-stage research, is appealing, as one of many research tools. But it’s not a substitute for reading closely for patterns and style that are essentially genre-driven–all about context and fit with convention. This semester, I hope to keep that higanbana in mind, as a port of entry into another world, as I continue to read and watch stories of natural objects in a changing world, and work with my students to open, read, and re-link the archives to this world.
In early afternoon on a Monday, a crowd and an array of microphones and video-cameras assembled in the basement hall of the Hibiya Public Library, for a post-verdict press briefing on the three counts of obscenity that Rokudenashiko was charged with in 2014.
In this blog post, I pull together some contexts of the trial, some excerpts and observations from the press briefing, and some AV materials. Given that both prosecution and defense will appeal, it is not “game over” yet. At the end, I pull out some concepts that the academic- and activist-minded could use to help build a rhetoric of advocacy for the next stage of the game.
Mapping the space of conversation
The setting is the edge of Hibiya Park, a short walk from many government ministry and official buildings. The verdict of Rokudenashiko’s trial was scheduled for 1:00pm at the Tokyo District Court, one of these buildings; the press briefing started a little after 3:00pm. As we ponder the significance of the verdict, and how the de-briefing worked, let’s first look at the locations of these events.
Hibiya Park is a big chunk of greenspace in an otherwise heat-island prone part of the official paper-moving part of Tokyo, its ministries and government buildings. The city’s Bureau of Construction describes it as a “green oasis in a business town.” Tom Havens writes, in his book on parks in modern Tokyo since the 1870s, that “starting with the Hibiya demonstrations of 1905 some city parks also served as “spaces of representation.” He sees Hibiya Park through geographer Henri “Lefebvre’s terms, where commoners aired views on public affairs and reconfigured parklands to create geographies of opposition to officialdom” (5). A “geography of opposition” can mean many ways of inhabiting pre-existing urban space and forms. Hibiya Park is notable because the 1905 demos that Havens refer to catalyzed a large wave of public protest after a treaty was passed that left Japanese people holding the (money) bag at the conclusion of the Russo-Japanese War, and resulted in outrage after word reached the streets. As historian Andrew Gordon writes,
On September 5, 1905, a massive three-day riot erupted in Tokyo protesting the disappointing terms of the peace treaty that ended the Russo-Japanese War. A decade earlier, after emerging victorious in the Sino-Japanese War, Japan had demanded and received a huge indemnity from defeated China. Although the war with Russia was far more costly in casualties and money, both sides were exhausted by 1905 and Japan was in no position to demand an indemnity from Russia. Because the Japanese public had been bombarded with reports of victory after victory, expectations of a profitable peace settlement were high and the outrage when this did not materialize was enormous.
In the case of Rokudenashiko’s trial and her team’s advocacy for her position, the “opposition” is less than it was in 1905 about streaming in from the outside and sparking damage to the governance who betrayed them, rippling into its environs. It is more about changing the terms of this governance that unjustly limits and stabilizes the meaning of sex and bodies by engaging with the legal structures that define and sculpt the kinds of representations–kinds of art and symbolic production–that are allowed in the public sphere.
As lawyer Yamaguchi Takashi noted, the imagined “character” (my word) of the trial, as we imagine its impact on a real person, is “a regular person” (一般人). It’s not the hypothetical person who has an appetite for niche kinds of pervy things (変態性欲), such as, say, a photo-book of powershovels. (An audience member in Q-and-A gave this example to maintain that anyone can be excited by anything, and defining sexual parameters is difficult. Yamaguchi said that this was not the definition the court sought.) The key point in this trial is a definition of morality for the typical, general, average person–who presumably is not turned on by powershovels. The definition attempts to assert, but not to expand, a definition of normal sexuality.
The venue itself
Some music and videos gave a feisty and slightly hectic vibe, playing to the room of reporters, writers and regular people. (I mention these types because they identified themselves as such in the Q-and-A period). Below is a version posted May 10, the day after the verdict. It incorporates the “split decision” nature of the verdict.
Draped over each empty seat was an A3-sized copy of the Manko shinbun (Pussy Paper), below. This issue is pretty text-heavy.
The text-to-image ratio actually reminded me of the weekly-magazine graphics like this one that Gordon includes in his article.
I was curious what kind of entry the team would make, as the doors, like most auditoriums, were at the rear, and the venue was perfect for the sort of hip-hop triumph stride, or avant-garde theatre “surprise” stride down the aisles. But in fact, what happened was that most people read about the verdict on Twitter, some cameras vanished to get Rokudenashiko on film as they approached the venue, and the team walked in like regular people, before assembling on the stage, with computers (for fact-checking with Google-sensei), water bottles and regular professional gear.
Nashiko herself wore a modest but elegant black dress not inappropriate at a funeral, or a cocktail party. I had a pretty great viewing position, a clear shot to the stage, right behind Fuji TV and TBS cameras.
…to be continued, when I have wrapped up some student projects and other deadline-driven work.
I got an alert on my phone yesterday from Yahoo weather–they’re the service I use to alert me of disasters, insofar as things can be broadcasted ahead of time. Typically, it’s about typhoons, but they also have a shaky-house icon they use after a major earthquake, anywhere in the nation. If you’re really close, your phone will ring. Sometimes in classrooms, a whole bunch of phones will go off, and get everybody into a tizzy, slightly before the earth starts to move in your exact vicinity.
The reason I got this new alert is to announce some changes to the settings. Apparently people in Kumamoto–which got hit by 2 big quakes recently–have been woken up night and day by the many, many aftershocks and settlings of these 2 bigger ones. Many people, especially older people, have now been living in temp housing for more than a week, spawning new outbreaks of old ailments, such as economy-class disorder, from people sitting inside immobilized, whether because of trauma, rain, fear, mobility difficulties, or all of the above. It seems like this communal life will be in effect for some time to come.
In addition to contributing in whatever way to volunteer efforts, it makes sense to think about how a similar disaster could play out in one’s home turf. Of course, nobody ever expected this to happen in Kumamoto, as Kyushu has never registered a level-7 quake before. But this is as good a reason as any to get things together at home, and to know what a range of possible realities is in various situations. One thing that’s clear is that canned bread and onigiri (the bulk of Abe’s promised 90,000 meals) may be comforting at first, but you can’t live on them for more than an immediate emergency.
I’ll be posting findings later on disaster food resources in Tokyo (and ones I brought from CA, where gourmet tech yuppies have ensured that REI and similar stores have an ample supply of coconut curries and various eclectic offerings that far outstrip what I have found here, at even higher prices.)
Here is an article I translated from a Nikkei publication, in which a reporter lives for a week on emergency foods, picks some better options, and finds some limits. Disaster, it seems, is bad for your stomach…so, all the more to support volunteer operations that are carting fresh food to underserved people in Kumamoto, as the physical and psychic costs of crappy nutrition are pretty apparent. Comments welcome!
HOME AND LIVING
SAFETY•PEACE OF MIND
LIVING ON EMERGENCY FOOD FOR A WEEK
What I Learned and What to Do About It—Canned by Canned Foods
2013/2/8 Nikkei shinbun Plus One
More and more households have started to stockpile supplies of emergency food since the 3/11 disasters. In the past, people had to make do with what they had on hand if they got stuck at home due to getting whacked by something like new strains of the flu. What kind of food supplies should people have on hand so they can get through a disaster of this kind?
This reporter (34) set out to see what it would be like to live on emergency foods for a week. I decided to keep the rest of my life “business as usual,” changing only my eating habits to fit the disaster scheme. On weekdays, I brought my emergency food as a bentō to work. I was lucky enough to spend my time in rooms with adequate heating, and to be able to jump in a warm bath—which I certainly wouldn’t be able to do in a regular disaster scenario, but I figured I would still be able to take some lessons from the situation.
Lifeline Sticking it out for 3 days
I spoke to professor emerita OKUDA Kazuko of Kōnan Women’s College, an expert in emergency food. She advised me, “you should experience what it is like to go three days without basic services (lifeline, in Japanese) like gas, water and electricity.” I decided to use a regular gas stove to heat my food after the fourth day, and to drink mineral water for the whole stretch of seven days.
At first, I had to think about what volume a week’s worth of food actually consisted of. SATŌ Kyōko, a nationally registered dietician from Sendai versed in emergency food, who advised me to eat, “staples like rice and bread, fresh foods like fish and meat, and side dishes featuring vegetables.” She added, “keep an eye out, as it’s easy to get constipation due to a lack of vitamins and fiber that you typically find in vegetables.”
I limited my food to those that had a shelf life of at least six months. As a reference, I used a menu plan for a week (21 meals) that Okuda-san made, and set out for a store that stocked a range of emergency foods. I was able to buy items that included canned bread and packaged food in pouches that you add hot water to. That cost about 10,000 yen (about $90 USD) for about a third of what I would need. It seems that things sold as emergency food are pretty pricey.
The rest I picked up at my local supermarket. Fish, like saba in miso, and canned vegetables like kiriboshi daikon were about regular price. I also bought freeze-dried spinach and dried fruits like prunes. Okuda-san also told me, “make sure to have some treats, sweet things that you like, to keep your spirits up,” so I also picked up some canned fruits, cookies and coffee candies.
You Can’t Drink Cold Minestrone
Finally the big day arrived. I cracked open a package of congee (okayu) with ume (plum) sauce, some sweet braised chicken stew (鶏のうま煮) and some canned kiriboshi daikon. It was kind of cold, but I managed to get it down.
NAKAZAWA Takashi, of the National Institute of Science and Technology Policy, commented that “on a spacecraft, you eat that day what you want to eat from a set supply of food.” He adds, “you pick according to your mood.” I started with things that you can eat even when they’re cold.
There were some flops. Like the minestrone with an oil slick floating on top that was impossible to eat lukewarm. And the packaged curry that was advertised as “good to eat even cold” was pretty awful.
The best of the bunch was definitely the congee. It was good even when cold, and since it was full of liquid, it was easy to swallow. With bread you really need water, and I didn’t really like it cold. On the evening of the third day, I started to want to eat hot things. I tried to warm a package of congee by sticking it in my futon when I went to sleep, but it didn’t get warmed up.
On the night of the third day, I ate some packaged food warmed up with a heat pack. In about 30 minutes, my dinner of white rice and stew was piping hot, and I was able to eat a hot meal for the first time in three days. The heat conducted the cooking smell, and for the first time in a while it sparked a real appetite. It actually brought a tear to my eyes. Packaged food warmed with a heat pack is pretty expensive, but when you have no access to real heat it can make a difference. I vowed to make sure some of these were in my next stash of emergency supplies.
Sodium in Canned Foods—After 4 Days, My Stomach Hurts
On the fourth day, I started to use a gas stove. I thought that would really give a boost to my eating habits, but just then my stomach started to hurt. When I consulted Sato-san, she explained, “you were living on salty canned foods for a while, so maybe your system just got tired.”
For the three days that I couldn’t use the stove, even when I didn’t have a real appetite I tried to keep a good nutritional balance, eating canned fish, meat and vegetables that I wasn’t used to eating. Without noticing it looks like I pushed it too far.
Satō-san recommended that I, “plump up some freeze-dried vegetables with hot water and add a little weak broth, to make a dish that’s easier on your body.” I felt a little better after I did, and this mild taste suffused my body.
Contrast to my expectations at first, I felt the worst around days 5 and 6. My stomach went back to normal, but I had no appetite. In my case, the intake of meat and fish was harder than vegetables. Even with the same canned product, the taste varies from brand to brand. I figured out that it would be best to start from the things that your family liked eating and work from there, so that you’re already eating things you’re used to.
Okuda-san says that, “eating things that are close to what your family usually eats helps give you strength to deal with things, especially in times of emergency.” My experience during this week really brought that idea home for me.
Time and time again I thought to myself, wow, I really had no idea. Before, what I had in the house for 3 people was 2 bottles of water, 10 packages of prepared “alpha” rice, and 2 packs of biscuits for kids. I had a portable gas stove, in but retrospect, that seems pretty optimistic.
When the end of my experiment with emergency food was in sight, I spewed complaints at my family. The whole experience really forced me to rethink how hard it is to live when you’ve been hit with a disaster. This has been a real learning experience for me.
Originally published in Nikkei Plus One, February 2, 2013
…aaaand, below is the audio, in MP3 format. 3 versions–collect them all!
Text and audio from scratched talk @ UCLA, for a conference in June 2015 on robots, called Machine Dreams. It was a great event organized by Margaret Rhee with tons of poets, art people, scholars…a great event I was supposed to participate in, over these high wires. As it turned out, I got sick, for the first time in–15? 20?–years, and the new software and hardware I was learning to record the talk for broadcast only came together at the very last minute (neighbor’s dog going off during recording, my stupid dyslexification of the actual time difference, everything happening sooo slowly), and I showed up an hour late to my 2am time slot. I ended up delaying the whole thing, as they waited patiently, and then never gave the thing. So I blew it. BUT, it’s still a good summary of a book chapter I just published, and pulls in some current events from Japanese diplomatic use of robots, and is a decent archive.
This is the Japanese text of a talk, with PowerPoint slides, that I did about a year ago, just after I arrived in Tokyo. My school has an active program in environmental humanities (環境人文学), of which this was a part. This year, we continue with projects–growing mushrooms, assessing the campus, screening films. This prez gives a sense of how I am translating some concepts from my time in LA, both in universities and in the field, to work in Tokyo.
Here is a shot of a neighborhood shrine, caught on the fly, walking down a hot noonday street. I went down for a workshop this week, the first road trip after my first official year of work/teaching was over.
It was the yellow “police line” protective barrier that caught my eye–the shrine is on the corner of a highway-esque main street as it turns into a small alley. One of those streets that is basically a 400-year-old road, now half a foot wider…I had to wonder at what brought on the neighborhood decision to shelter the shrine with this mild barrier…
This weekend I took a tour of Edo-era waterways, getting to know the way that the civil engineering projects of the city of Edo (now Tokyo) sculpted the landscape, ferried people, connected spaces, and shuttled goods around the city. Edo was the biggest metropolis in the world in around 1800, surpassing Paris and London (and presumably other cities…). The “great unifier” Tokugawa Ieyasu had big plans, which included not only the first national tax systems and surveys, but city planning of his new roost to a massive extent. As a counterpoint to the grid-like development of major Euro cities, Edo has been a point of reference for people who want to balance growth and sustainable relationships with building and resources. The rivers were part of a huge development project in which land was excavated the re-located, and where the port life of Tokyo extended all the way into the city, far from its fringes. (For more on the kinds of settlement, firebreak and entertainment districts that cropped up, see Jinnai Hidenobu’s Japan Echo article here.)
Anyway, the trip was pretty great. It was led by a design/planning historian who has been doing this for a few years. He had to take a break a few times from narrating, a reality check moment in the life of Japanese academia. The face-time and on-time for talking and public speaking is so much more lively and important here than in the R-1 hermit culture of US universities that my field encourages. (The North American kind of work setup rewarded in a lot of the Humanities really discourages interaction apart from official pedagogical events, like classes and conferences, things that go on a CV. The versions of public intellectual in Japan are more market-responsive in interesting ways, more social and differently ‘productive’ in a lot of cases…but that is another post.) I felt a pang of sympathy, the throb of killing off my character from an earlier teaching-job life, as my throat was literally raw from all the teaching and public talking I had to do my first week at my new job. I was glad not to have to be verbal, but just to slosh around taking in the landscape (ok, and some new engineering vocabulary).
The timing of our trip was lucky, as some of the locks on the rivers had only recently started opening on Saturdays, meaning we could get through that part of the laced network of waterways. We passed through fishing villages, party-boat districts, varying degrees of small-scale wave (the Sumida-gawa was the choppiest, but only in contrast to the utter placidness of the rest), rock walls still standing and bordering the river from the 1600s, tons of scenic views, and under a whole array of historical bridge styles.
The headroom was, apparently, precisely 23cm on top in this one.
The most fun part for me, apart from starting to put together these unfamiliar parts of the city with a different linking system, was the locks. I’m familiar with them from midwestern rivers, but had never been on the boat side of things (as opposed to the car side of things). There was some fancy boat-work necessary when other boats passed–kind of like driving in the Silver Lake hills, you have to negotiate with your neighbor. First, you wait…
..and then it rises. I literally watched the markers on the side of the canal rise meter by meter as we floated up with the loosing of the water flow. It was pretty cool.
A feature of the boat ride was the dispatch of umbrellas in time for the “rain”–the water that inevitably comes dripping off the lock when it is raised.
There are yet more topographies–the rebuilding after the great 1923 fire, for one. But what really impressed me was how much the city had since the 1964 Olympics been re-engineered to make car traffic flow. There was a consistent horizon of car-movement on the surface of the city, things adapted to that horizon of lateral movement that we could see pass by overhead. No doubt 2020, the upcoming Tokyo Olympics, will bring new changes to the water-highway nexus.
For me, this was a great introduction to earlier eco-thought as well as parts of the city I don’t know that well. I am not great at transcendental perspectival viewing–I am much better at immersive perception, and this gave me a way to toggle back to the birds’ eye view of maps. Some day soon I hope to get to Higashi-ojima, the only “subway” station located smack on top of a river, and see the other flip side.
…is the sea of humanity. Of which I saw a lot today. What was I doing? Oh yeah, I was on my way to get a haircut, and got distracted.
Here, another accidental matsuri (festival), a procession of folks from the local Kumano Jinja temple. This is one of the wilder sects of Shinto, very local–also, whose big three sites are the stomping grounds of the guy I wrote a book about. Anyway, the mascot of the Kumano sect is a three-legged crow, which has since gotten famous since the national soccer team took it on as its mascot.
The mikoshi, the palanquin that people/a bunch of men are carrying, is the central object of the procession. But today, there was also a horse.
Each day I have been trying to make one foray out into a new natural space or thing–a way to explore my neighborhood, the things and people in it. The geography around here has changed vastly, I am told by an 85-year-old man I met yesterday. I went over to Zenpukujigawa Ryokuchi kōen (park), about 5 minutes away. I had heard it was a great place for cherry blossoms, and in general, a greenspace not to be missed, as it snakes along the Zenpukuji River. One of the neighborhoods around here is called Horiuchi–“within the moat.” This moat no longer exists, due to the massive public works projects of post-1860s modernity that buried various water functions underground. But the geography is still dotted with names that recall that waterworks system.
Anyway, I was standing looking at a big map of the park–I had actually mixed it up with another park, and was getting squared away. The guy already looking at the map, on a bike, started talking to me, and telling me about the neighborhood. He said when he was growing up, and even after the war, it was really spooky–really dark, no real road, a path not big enough even to drive a vehicle through. He said he had just been thinking of an event that took place caddy-cornered from where we were standing. I could only imagine how dark and forlorn a dusty place it would have been, before baseball fields, a real road, and street light. In the year the war ended (1945), a JAL stewardess–one of the real glamour jobs of the time–had been stabbed to death, and buried, by a Belgian priest. The priest then took advantage of diplomatic immunity (I am fuzzy on these details) and skipped the country without a trace, and “justice was never done.” At that point, a policeman rode by on a bicycle, clocking the conversation. You may understand why I forgot to take a picture of urban nature at that point!
I walked back to the train, and off to work, where I took the above photo–some of the higanbana splashed all over. They are said to signal the beginning of cold weather, and also mark the equinox, which is a big day for encountering the dead. Yes, there is the obon festival, with all its dances, in August, but as a colleague reminded me, the equinox is the day WE go to THEM, they don’t come to us–to do the maintenance of gravesites, memories, and ongoingness. (There is a whole literary lore of the higanbana, which I hope to get to at another time.)
The effort at place-foraging goes hand in hand with also setting up my own roof garden, and figuring out how to extend into a more bona fide “community gardening” mode, both at home and in work. I was initially elated at seeing how many pins for “nursery” there were nearby–it turns out that they are actually day care centers (保育園). Yay for day care access, but places to get plants and supplies in hand are a bit scarcer, alas. So I had the latter-day urban natural experience of mail-ordering soil, along with a mini-composter the likes of which we could sure use in the US. The delivery guy saved me from carrying heavy-kilo bags a mile from the nearest Home Depot-like place in the ‘hood, where the available soil was all hopped up with chemicals anyway. There is a whole world of things to conceptually translate, making an edible garden on a roof in Tokyo, and calculating food-miles in a very different way…that is one of them.