Festivals | Shoichi Maeda, Head of the Major in Public Health, Sport and Health Sciences, Graduate School of Health Management
July 2, 2024
Today is Sunday, June 9. I remembered I had homework (writing this "Okashira Diary"), so I opened my computer, but as usual, the words wouldn't flow. I turned on the TV for a distraction and happened to see a festival from my hometown being broadcast. This is a festival in Kyushu, Fukuoka, called the "Kawatari Jinkosai," where about ten floats enter a river, cross to the opposite bank, and then return through the river again the next day. It's held every year in mid-May, and I've been watching it since I was a child.
This is not unique to my hometown; various festivals, large and small, are held all over Japan. In the area where I grew up (which was called a "mura," or village), there was another small festival separate from the Kawatari Jinkosai. When I was in elementary school, I would play the gongs and drums inside the floats. This festival is also held in early summer. When the new school term begins, the children gather after school in the mura's tutelary forest (a small hill) and start practicing the gongs and drums. Because the location is on high ground, the sound of the gongs and drums echoes throughout the mura, and the people of the mura begin to feel the arrival of early summer. It seems that back then, people also relied on the sound of the gongs for crop cultivation, and I often heard things like, "Since the sound of the gongs has started, we'll sow the seeds for XX." While the children practice the gongs and drums, the adults begin making the decorations for the floats. These decorations are made by attaching strips of colored paper, shaped like the end of a duster, to flexible 10-meter poles of split bamboo with many incisions cut into them. These are then hung from the top of the float, draping down in all directions. Looking back, I think they resembled ears of rice and were originally intended as a prayer for a bountiful harvest. During this time, the people of the mura, young and old, men and women, gather almost every night, enjoying lively conversation while making the decorations. Sometimes they share and exchange produce from their homes. This is a scene from the life that has been nurtured in this mura. In my hometown, after this festival, the events continue with the Obon ceremony, the autumn harvest events, and the year-end events to welcome the Toshigami-sama (New Year's deity).
For some reason, mura events like festivals are etched into the hearts of children, and this seems to strengthen their feelings for their hometown even after they become adults. The program I mentioned featured a man who said his strong feelings for the festival led him to make a "U-turn" back from Tokyo. I, too, often feel nostalgic for my hometown's events. For some reason, even now, I hesitate to schedule work on that day each year and try to go home (though in reality, something always comes up, and I've never made it).
What is a festival? If you type "matsuri" into an internet search, you'll find explanations for various kanji characters like "祭り" (festival), "奉り" (offering), "祀り" (enshrinement), and "政り" (governance). (Incidentally, I am not religious, but during the New Year holidays, I thoroughly enjoy Christmas cake, go to a Buddhist temple for the ringing of the New Year's Eve bells, and visit a Shinto shrine for the first prayer of the year). This is a diary, not a place to discuss the etymology of the word "matsuri." Whatever their origins, festivals across the country have been passed down through generations by local people. They continue to bring people together, strengthen their bonds, and deepen their affection for the places where they gather. They are something that should be passed on to the next generation.
Population decline is advancing in various parts of Japan. My hometown is no exception. What can be done to protect the traditions of the mura and pass them on to the next generation? As someone who has now lived in Tokyo for much longer, I feel I might be scolded for casually pondering and discussing this, but it's what I found myself thinking about on a Sunday morning. I sometimes hear about "mura-okoshi" (village revitalization), but I imagine this is no simple task either. With these thoughts in mind, I find myself looking at next year's calendar on the back cover of my planner.
P.S.
By the way, the program I mentioned was produced by NHK, and its title is "Chiisana Tabi" (A Little Journey). I watch it from time to time. The theme music moved me, and I had been a little curious about who composed it (I'm embarrassed to say I didn't know until now, as I'm not very familiar with music). This time, I checked the end credits of the program and found it was by Yuji Ohno. Just recently, I had the opportunity to see, from a distance, composers Akira Senju and Kan Wakamatsu, as well as violinist Mariko Senju. All of them are graduates of the Juku. Today was also a day I was strongly reminded of the diverse talent the Juku produces.
And so, following the previous entry , this has been my rambling diary entry for June 9, 2024.