On homelessness

 

It’s estimated that there are 100 million homeless people in the world today, though in reality the figure is more likely over 1,000 million. Different countries define ‘homelessness’ using different criteria, and so a homeless person in London may not count as a homeless in, say, Africa or other parts of the world, thus making the job of counting the world’s homeless a very tricky task indeed.

Defining ‘homelessness’ helps to identify those who need assistance so that policies and preventative measures can be developed, though defining ‘homelessness’ is far from simple. One has to consider the difference between being ‘homeless’ and being ‘houseless’. Just because someone has a roof over their head doesn’t mean that that environment is stable and habitable in the long-term. Domestic violence, for example, can turn what would be considered a liveable space into an inhabitable hell.

Under the Special Assistance Act of Self Support for the Homeless, Japan defines its homeless as ‘Those who live in city parks, riverbanks, railway stations, and other public areas not of their possession’. Yet, for those who have seen the numerous down-and-out communities throughout Japan, with whole neighbourhoods consisting of shelters of blue plastic sheets complete with entranceways, rooms and ample storage space, you’d be hard pushed to deny their inhabitants the public space they occupy and treat with such care and respect. Though it’s illegal to squat in public places here in Japan, the police will rarely do anything more severe than warn those occupying the parks and train stations, and so leave them in relative peace.

Japan began counting its rough sleepers only five years ago, and today that population stands at 16,018, compared to 750,000 – 2.5 million in the US and 800,000 in the UK. Whereas in New York the average age of a homeless is 35 and the population is 68% male, in Japan the average age is 55, with males making up a massive 90% of those sleeping rough. Fukuoka has the third highest homeless population in Japan at 782 compared to Tokyo’s 3,436 and Osaka’s 3,647. In Fukuoka city itself, 312 homeless live in 45 different parks, and a significant 60% of those are from outside the prefecture. Obviously, the bigger cities tend to attract the homeless and the better ‘service’ a city can provide for them then the more homeless people it’s likely to attract. It’s been known for some of those sleeping rough in Fukuoka to be handed a one-way ticket to Osaka – with its massive homeless communities and shelters – as a means of getting rid of them which, of course, is a waste of both time and money and in no way seeks to address the problem at hand.

The Big Issue is a street magazine that was founded in the UK in 1991 by A. John Bird and Gordon Roddick as a response to the huge numbers sleeping rough in London. After initial success in the UK, the Big Issue is now an international force with its magazines being sold in Australia, South Africa, Namibia and Kenya. The Big Issue Japan was established in 2003 with the primary objective of helping homeless people to ‘live a stable life on their own’ and, according to their website, is ‘a business response to a social problem: homelessness.’ It publishes a high-quality magazine that is sold by homeless people who, having proved they are homeless, are given ten free copies of the magazine to sell. After that they buy each copy for 140 yen and sell it for 300 yen. Fukuoka was the 11th Japanese city to begin selling the Big Issue in May 2007 and was swiftly followed by Sapporo and Kumamoto. The Big Issue stresses that their goal is not to sell magazines, but is instead focussed on the long-term goal of securing accommodation and employment for their vendors.

Some argue that in Japan homelessness may be more of a social and cultural problem than a material one. The idea of bringing shame on one’s family is an especially prickly issue for the Japanese, and by becoming a Big Issue vendor and therefore effectively admitting that you’re ‘homeless’ is, for many, very difficult to come to terms with. One man here in Fukuoka, on becoming a vendor, was so ashamed when some old friends passed him on the street that he resigned from his position. That said, we should be careful about singling out Japan as a special ‘cultural’ case where, in reality, many of the same causes (poverty, eviction, alcohol, drugs and mental illnesses) and issues are shared with other nations’ rough sleepers across the world.

According to the Big Issue Japan website, by May 2007 2.05 million copies of the Big Issue had been sold in Japan which provided a total of 225.5 million yen in income to homeless vendors. What’s more, 15% of the Big Issue Japan’s vendors have gained employment and now live in their own accommodation. The lot of the homeless here in Japan in certainly improving, though there is still much, much more that can be done.

Definitions of homelessness are pretty redundant when, face-to-face, Big Issue vendors, and the homeless communities around them are first hand evidence of the problem at hand. Tanaka-san, one of Fukuoka’s Big Issue vendors who treads the pavements near Shintencho in Tenjin, reckons he sells 40-60 magazines a day which, considering the number of people who are likely to pass him everyday, is pretty appalling. The next time you’re in Fukuoka – or anywhere in the world for that matter – and you pass a vendor, think about how you’re likely to spend that loose change in your pocket and then go and exchange it for a copy of the Big Issue instead.

Why I don’t wear Crocs

a) I’d look like a twat.

b) According to this piece from The Guardian, I’d be putting my health at risk.

and…

c) I’d look like a twat.

At the end of the world

On Monday, we received some letters from some kids from Finland. They’re doing an exchange with the second graders at School K, and it was my job to read out some of the letters we received, with my colleague translating as I went. It was great fun, though the Finnish students’ fondness of death metal, World of Warcraft and leaf steak was lost on our lot.

When I explained to the students that we call people from Finland ‘Finnish’ one of them asked if that was because Finland was at the end of the world.

Bless ‘em.

Preparations

This afternoon I received a booklet detailing the various procedures I’ll have to go through before I return home this August, and it suddenly dawned on me that I don’t have very long at all before I’ll be back in England.

Four months might sound a lengthy stretch, but considering I’ll have to cancel memberships, subscriptions, my mobile phone, internet and such like at least a month in advance, and taking into account that time seems to be flying by at a frightening pace, I can’t really afford to muck about. Having forgotten to give my brother my guitar when he came here last month, I also have to work out a way of getting that home, too, as well as all my books, Prince LPs, and random bits and pieces I’ve picked up along the way throughout my time in Japan.

In fact, I was so worried about getting everything in order that my living room floor is now home to three large boxes, piled with books, DS games, CDs, DVDs and more boxes that make it appear as though I’m plotting an escape tonight rather than in four month’s time.

Hisashiburi

Indeed, long time no see. So much for the consistent blogging I promised come April, eh? But fear not, I’m on the case. And in the meantime, you can take a look at what we got up to in Tokyo here. Enjoy.

Photo of the day

I’m in the middle of packing for my trip to Tokyo tomorrow, where I will meet my brother and a very good friend and spend the next few days enjoying the sights, sounds, food and drink of Japan’s capital. I really can’t wait.

With no time to write up a convincing post on today’s events, I’ll instead direct you to this picture, and perhaps elaborate on it at a later date.

I’m unlikely to update the blog while my boys are in Nippon, but expect a veritable photo explosion over at my Flickr page on my return, and hopefully some more consistent blogging come April. 

Runny

Snot is ‘hanamizu’ (鼻水) in Japanese which translates literally as ‘nose water’.

It’s on days like this where the language makes perfect sense. 

Bumpkins

Though I was at my least favourite school this week, I always look forward to my trip to work as the music teacher of said school is kind enough to pick me up near my house and take me across to the other side of my city in the mornings.

It’s in these small fifteen-minute car journeys that I enjoy some of my best Japanese conversation practice, and understand a fair amount of what I’m being told. Frequently, I encounter Japanese people who will throw me a super-fast sentence in fluent Japanese and, on clocking my confused reaction, will give up all hope of me understanding anything that comes from their mouths, as opposed to understanding that if they spoke a little slower and gave me the opportunity to actually hold a conversation with them, we might be able to make some progress. This appears to be the case with a lot of my colleagues who ignore the shades of grey and seem to think that you’re either fluent in the language or a lost cause.

This music teacher doesn’t see me as a lost cause, however, and appreciates that while I may not be able to produce the most fluent responses, if she speaks using simple sentences and gives me a bit of time to think, then a basic conversation is within my capabilities. I enjoy our chats not least for the practice they give me where my second language is concerned, but also because she gives me little insights on Japan. 

On Thursday, for example, she was comparing the people of Tokyo and Kyushu in that quintessentially Japanese fashion whereby several hundred thousand people of a particular Japanese prefecture, city or town are herded under one convenient heading or label. Hokkaido (in the north) is cold, for example, so the people have cold hearts. Kyushu (in the south), however, is warm, so the people have warm and friendly hearts (and, of course, some people - people in Hokkaido - say the reverse is true). In Japan, it seems that people have a very definite sense of where they’re from and where their home is which, I think, serves to play up these regional differences, as unlikely and down-right ridiculous as they may seem.

She reasoned that people in Tokyo are quiet because they are forced to live in close quarters, and are therefore wary of upsetting those around them (though I doubt this applies on the Tokyo subway), whereas people down here in Kyushu have more space and live further apart and so speak in loud voices. She also reckoned that people in Tokyo are less inclined to help a stranger, again because of their heightened sense of personal space, whereas down here in Kyushu, people are much more friendly and willing to help any Tom, Dick or Harry; probably bellowing as they do so.

She referred to the people of Kyushu collectively as ‘inakamono’ (田舎者), which translates as ‘people from the country’ or more colloquially, and perhaps more appropriately where I’m living, as ‘country bumpkins’ (and I of course mean that in an affectionate way).

It was my last day at this school last Thursday, and I don’t know when I’ll be going back, if at all. In the meantime, I’ll miss my conversations with the school’s music teacher, as well as her patience and kindness, which for fifteen minutes in the mornings, give me hope that one day I might be able to master this complicated bastard of a foreign language.

Love story

On thanking my travel agent for sorting out my Tokyo tickets for me the other day, she told me a cheeky little anecdote.

While working yesterday, her section received a call from a female customer who had recently flown back from Germany. She claimed that she had in her possession the camera of the chap who had been sat next to her, and so wondered if the travel agency could give her his information so she could return it to him. According to the travel agency’s policy, my travel agent was unable to divulge such information. However, the woman was so persistent in her demands that she eventually gave in and, after searching the records and finding the only possible candidate, called the chap herself, only for him to tell her that he didn’t own a camera.

When my travel agent relayed this information back to the woman, she confessed that she didn’t have a camera in her possession, but had apparently fallen in love with the chap she was sat next to on the plane and so wanted to meet him again. Once my travel agent had told this to her boss, he took it upon himself to call the bloke back and tell him about this girl who had fallen for him. On hearing this, the chap instantly remembered the woman from the plane and so agreed to meet her next week.

And I thought stuff like this only happened in really bad films.

Secret weapon

One of the benefits of having a basic grasp of kanji (Chinese characters), combined with the fact that at most schools the students have their surnames sewn into their uniforms, is that it’s quite easy to address the little darlings by name. This is especially useful for someone like me who visits four junior high schools that have a combined student population of over a thousand.

So today, when Mr. Nosaki up out of his seat and decided he fancied a stroll about, it stopped him in his tracks when I referred to him by name and politely asked him to sit down.

‘What? Can he read this?’ he said, turning to his friend and pointing to the name sewn into his blazer.

His friend looked as confused as Mr. Nosaki himself, but it wasn’t long before the latter was sat quietly back in his seat again.