ALFP e-magazine issue 2: Climate Change

Fire, Water, and Soil: The Simple Life as Resistance and Renewal
Kamata Yoji1 (Japan)
Representative, Soranoie Living and Learning Center of Cosmos / ALFP 2006 Fellow
Climate change is a symbol of human stupidity. We go on destroying the very foundation of life,
but we are too deluded to stop—and pretty soon, we will basically be living on borrowed time.
The way the world works now is a tyrannical setup, one where people exploit others’
shortsightedness and enable the same behavior to put themselves in an advantageous position. I
can’t just sit by and let that happen, though. When I think of future generations, the world they
will be dealing with, I know that I have to do something. Trying to keep my body healthy and mymind sound, I push myself forward with a determination to believe in, and seek out, a path ofhope for the future. I will never be able to change the fact that I am a part of the world’sproblems, but that inescapable culpability does not mean that I cannot also be part of thesolution. If I envision a better world, I need to live by my word. That’s my personal policy, nomore, no less—but it fosters a kind of joie de vivre for me, one day at a time.
I am challenging myself to a kind of social experiment: adopting a “one planet” lifestyle, a modeof living that stays within Earth’s natural limitations. It is just one of the things that I can do tohelp make the world a sustainable place, so I thought I would give it a try—and it has been wellworth it. It is a rejuvenating, rewarding way to go about daily life. I do virtually all of my cooking
on a wood-burning rocket kitchen stove. My fuel supply relies partly on bamboo, which I getfrom the grove out back. I head out, pick up some dead stalks and crack them apart with myhands and feet. Using the bamboo on my property does more than just provide a sustainablesource of energy; it keeps the grove tidy, for one thing, and healthy, too. If you let a grove growwild and neglect proper care, you will end up with weak-rooted bamboo that could pose asignificant hazard—overgrowth makes the entire grove susceptible to landslides. A well-kept
backyard grove can literally be a lifesaver.

My rocket kitchen stove, developed by a friend who runs a natural farm nearby
Representative of Soranoie Living and Learning Center of Cosmos, Representative of Ancient Futures
Network-Japan, and General Manager of International Relations at the Slow Food International Japan Office.
1© 2018 International House of Japan and Japan Foundation

ALFP e-magazine issue 2: Climate Change

Fuel is just one benefit of bamboo. Every April and May, I have been able to pluck loads oftakenoko (bamboo shoots) from my grove. The haul is always way more than I can eat, so I havebeen sending my surplus supply of takenoko to my friends in radiation-contaminated areas in theTohoku and Kanto regions. It is my own little take on the gift-economy concept, I suppose. Thatis still not enough to use up all the takenoko, though, so I dry the rest—and it tastes fantastic. The
texture is what does it, I think; it is a chewy, tough consistency, kind of like dried squid (surume),
so I call it “Neo-Ninja Food: Mountain Surume.” Why “Neo-Ninja”? Well, part of the reason isthat I live in an area with a rich ninja history. Speculation abounds on how and where the ninja
tradition started, but one popular theory traces the start back to a local ruling clan that thought
the Imperial Court was spying on them. The family had iron-making technology—which, at thetime, was still a cutting-edge rarity—and decided to use its arsenal to wage a hit-and-run,guerilla-style campaign against the suspected spies. The drama all took place in a mountain village,
they say, right around where I now make my home. That is enough about ninjas, though—backto the topic at hand. Using the bamboo from out back to cook food has such a rich range ofbenefits: it keeps the grove in good, healthy condition, forms a vital link in a small-scale,
self-sufficient economy to call my own, and even gives me a veritable bounty of great-tasting
food. It is incredible how good it feels to know that my bamboo consumption is not perpetuating
any vicious cycle; the more bamboo I use, the better the cycle actually is. Fire is a primordial thing,an element that’s been a vital strain of human life since time immemorial. The fire in my home,so central to everyday life, kindles a real, warm appreciation for that heritage.
I get all my water—for both cooking and drinking—from a bucket-type well. Some wells go dry
when there is not enough rain or get muddy when there is too much, but, luckily, my well neverhas any weather-related problems. Although raising and lowering the bucket obviously makes formore work, you would be surprised at all the advantages that come with the bucket style:hand-drawing not only prevents stagnation but also jostles the surface of the water, aerating thefluid as it moves up and down. In a way, it is like the well and I share a kind of symbiotic, parallel
connection: when I go to get water for my own health and well-being, I am actually benefiting thewell’s health and well-being, too. That is why every sip of water from the well is sorefreshing—for my body and my soul. The water stays pretty much the same temperature
year-round, making for a warm, soothing effect in the winter and the perfect splash of coolrefreshment during the summer months. It is great for the occasional outdoor bath, too.
The water around me is full of less happy memories, however. The fresh stream near my house,flowing in its pristine, idyllic beauty, takes on a forlorn hue when you see the monstrous
anachronism of the Kawakami Dam towering over it and know about the sprawling network ofsewer lines around it. Locals, tapping into the spirit of their ninja heritage, steeled themselves inresistance to the dam plan when it first reared its head. The fight was all to no avail, though; theplan was a zombie, for lack of a better word, with the government resurrecting it time and timeagain until it finally quashed the resistance fifty years ago. My refusal to use those waterworks, mycommitment to using my own water, my determination to keep my surroundings healthy andviable for future generations—they are all forms of my modest attempt to sustain the resistanceagainst centralized, destructive water development.

© 2018 International House of Japan and Japan Foundation

ALFP e-magazine issue 2: Climate Change

I answer the call of nature out in my garden. “Nature’s way” is such a great way to relieve
yourself. When I lived in the city, I always felt like I needed to use a flush toilet. It was some kindof gut reaction to a natural urge, I guess. The weird thing, though, is that the actual act of it all
felt so wasteful; I would deposit a bit of myself, as it were, in the receptacle of the toilet, like it
was something to get rid of—worthless trash. Then I would flush it away along with some
precious water and valuable energy, using all those resources just to empty myself. It eventually
hit me: I was a waste machine. Going to the bathroom in my garden, on the other hand, is theopposite. It is a productive exercise, with each and every trip (many times a day!) making the soil
more fertile and my harvests more plentiful. Ever since coming to that realization, I cannot help
but feel like I am missing a chance to better the earth if I am ever out of the house and need touse the facilities. I wish I didn’t have to. My new bathroom routine works great for me, but it has
not really caught on with my family or the other people living at the house. For women, there are
the privacy issues that come with a completely exposed setting. I can’t build any barriers to blocksightlines because it would be pointless to fertilize a single area of soil over and over again; the“bathroom” needs to be room-less and nomadic. The other big snag is how the idea of food andhuman excrement sharing a common habitat just does not compute in people’s minds. I keep mypersonal waste away from any ripe vegetables, obviously, but I can understand why it could be
hard for people to feel comfortable eating the produce from the garden—even if they know that
there is nothing to worry about from a hygienic perspective. It is a mental hurdle that is hard toclear. That is why I never force the issue; I let people choose whatever they want to eat. I drew up
some rules, too, to make sure that the other people at the house know where and how I go about
my business. There is no point in making a big fuss about it. I am content to enjoy my policy inprivate—it is a sensitive topic, after all.
I live in a traditional, folk-style house that isabout two centuries old (as far as I know) andfar too big for just my family to live in, so wehave always got people staying with us. As they
help out with the rice fields, the garden, andother everyday tasks, they learn what it means tolive with their roots in the earth, how to coexist
in harmony with others, and how to put a visionof a better world into practice. That is the goal,at least. The house doubles up as a dwelling anda hands-on laboratory, a place where people canlearn about the soil, the human spirit, and theworkings of society. Those are the three main
foundations of what we do. It is a richenvironment, bursting with insights, so we try toshare the wealth through workshops that anyone
can take part in.
With my daughters Nausica and Sita

© 2018 International House of Japan and Japan Foundation

ALFP e-magazine issue 2: Climate Change

When I calculated my ecological footprint, factoring in all the different steps I have taken tominimize it. It came out to 0.8 earths—about one-third of the Japanese average. At that rate, I
can go on living my life without destroying the global environment. I am not too starry-eyed,
however. Adopting the kind of lifestyle I have taken up isn’t for everyone, obviously, nor is theapproach easy to switch to. I am not a living solution, by any means. Still, I know firsthand how
fulfilling the lifestyle is. It is a constant source of enrichment for me. It is proof, I think, that we
can live within the earth’s natural limitations. There are other ways to make the future asustainable one, I am sure, but I think the way I live my life could be somewhere to start.
Younger people seem to engage with the whole concept more than adults do, actually. Theteenagers around the community get it; they find meaning and value in the idea without any filters,no tired cynicism clouding their perceptions. What I am doing isn’t anything big—but there is noquestion in my mind that it is a beneficial path. If it has the power to propel a virtuous cycle, thepower to deliver real, heartfelt joy, and the power to speak to and energize younger generations,
how could it not be?

The contents of this article reflect solely the opinions of the author.

© 2018 International House of Japan and Japan Foundation