'Sexlessness' wrecks marriages, threatens nation's future

In its cover story last month, The Economist newsmagazine looked at the issue of "Asia's lonely hearts: Why Asian women are rejecting marriage and what that means." It offered many reasons — including economics, education level, changes in family structures and gender roles, divorce difficulties, and demographics — for why many Asian women (and of course, by extension, Asian men) are marrying later or not at all.

I commend The Economist's well-intentioned attempt at dealing with an important social issue. But its discussion left one major stone unturned: sex.

At the risk of turning this month's scribbling into a Hugh Hefner column, I think it incumbent upon those of us planning a life in Japan to consider a fundamentally unhealthy social phenomenon: how sexuality in Japan is downplayed, if not encouraged to be omitted completely, from many married lives.

First, an axiom: Healthy adults have sex throughout their lives, and this should not necessarily change just because people get married.

However, in Japan it often does.

A "sexless marriage," according to the Japan Society of Sexual Sciences, is generally defined as one where couples have sex less than once a month.

Sumie Kawakami, in her book "Goodbye Madame Butterfly: Sex, Marriage, and the Modern Japanese Woman," cites a 2006 joint survey by the Ministry of Health, Labor, and Welfare and the Japan Family Planning Association that found more than a third (34.6 percent) of all Japanese married couples could be classified as "sexless."

This is a rise from earlier surveys and should be discussed in Japan as a social problem. After all, Japan has a falling population and a birthrate at the bottom of the world's scales — demographic trends that garner more than their fair share of media attention.

But sexlessness is hardly seen as problematic in Japan. Quite the opposite. Hark back to the 1990s, when the sekkusuresu state was portrayed in the media positively, even as a natural outcome of marriage.

There is of course plenty of coupling and intimacy before matrimony (as I'm sure many of our readers can attest), but once kids are in the picture (people are even discouraged from having intercourse while pregnant), sex can decrease markedly or even become nonexistent for a habit-forming period of time.

Ask why and the reasons are usually forthcoming: One side is often "too tired," "It's a nuisance," or the kids are sleeping in the same bed, etc. The more cynical cite the cruel aphorism, "You don't need bait for a fish already caught".

But there is a fundamental difference here from attitudes in other developed societies, where sex even into old age ("orgasms at sixty!" on supermarket shelves, and don't forget Oprah, Dr. Phil, etc.) is seen regardless of family lifestyles as a healthy and essential part of a relationship.

Not in Japan, oddly in this "must try harder" society.

Then this discouraging set of expectations gets recycled back into our media and becomes self-perpetuating. Group-think gets people off the hook from trying to maintain intimacy, while people made to feel they "want sex too much" are sometimes told to take their loins elsewhere. No wonder sleeping around in Japan is a national pastime.

One might say this is just an outcome of modern life in a crowded society. But similar modern pressures and overcrowding exist in other countries.

Consider a more worldwide sampling of the issue.

In 2005, Durex, the world's largest condom maker, conducted a Global Sex Survey (see www.durex.com/en-jp/sexualwellbeingsurvey/documents/gss2005result.pdf) involving 317,000 respondents in 41 countries. The survey found that Japanese had the least sex in the world, at 45 times a year — far less than second-from-bottom Singapore (73 times a year), and even farther from the world average (103 times a year, meaning twice a week).

Moreover, less than a quarter (24 percent) of Japanese surveyed said they were "happy" with their sex lives, significantly lower than the global average of 44 percent.

Durex's more recent Sexual Wellbeing Survey, involving 26,000 interviews from 26 countries, found Japan at the bottom again with even lower results (15 percent satisfied).

One might counter that everyone exaggerates or is reticent about their sexuality, skewing the stats. But in international comparisons, Japanese are rarely shy about presenting an upbeat image of their society to the world. Such low figures for Japan say to me that people are being brutally honest about sex, or that a lack of sexuality is not perceived as something negative.

This matters. It is one more disincentive to marry in Japan. Indeed, why lock yourself into a marriage to someone who becomes a sibling instead of a spouse?

Sex life is not part of the dialog on the decline in Asian marriage. But in Japan's case, it should be.

It is Japan's worst-kept secret.

Debito Arudou's novel "In Appropriate" is now on sale (www.debito.org/inappropriate.html) Just Be Cause appears on the first Community Page of the month. Twitter arudoudebito. Send comments to community@japantimes.co.jp. Responses to last month's column, "The loneliness of the long-distance foreigner," will be published and posted online next Tuesday.

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Thatching plans for an ecological future

Such is the march of progress. Concrete, metal, wood, carbon slats and clay roof tiles define the way homes are built today.

But over the centuries, one technique has endured: the thatched roof. Not only is it one of the oldest building techniques known, it offers the added advantages of durability and protection from the elements -- although one cannot downplay the risks of fire hazard.

The work of creating a thatched roof from scratch also fosters community spirit, still alive and well in rural Japan but less so in the nation's cities.

Although many regard thatching as a dying art, a new generation of craftsmen in Japan is trying to keep it alive. One of those is Minoru Shiozawa, a representative of Kayabuki-ya, a company that runs thatching workshops.

"I don't think it will ever disappear," says Shiozawa. "As well as being a symbol of tradition and living in harmony with nature, it fulfills the requirements of modern architecture: It's sustainable, requires no gas or electricity and produces zero carbon emissions."

This summer, efforts to conserve energy in Japan have sharpened people's appreciation for traditional ecological practices. Although for some that merely means turning the air-conditioner up a notch or two, a more extreme step would be to live in a thatched house--assuming one could afford one -- since they are naturally cool in the summer and warm in the winter.

This was well-known in the Edo Period (1603-1868), when thatched houses were the norm. Back then, thatching was a social activity that sustained "yui," or community bonds.

Villagers got together to harvest grasses and reeds grown on communal land, before identifying the neighbor's house that most needed renovating, and working on the roof together. As neighbors knotted straw, they also metaphorically knotted together in a social sense, bound by relationships of obligation and goodwill.

As ecologist Azby Brown wrote in his book, "Just Enough," thatching was a "microcosm of village society and its values," since it involved free materials, cooperative labor, extensive re-use and zero waste.

It also preserved the environment.

"Human intervention, in the form of harvesting the reeds and grasses, is actually a form of conservation. It keeps the fields and paddies healthy, and used thatch can be used as compost, feeding the natural cycle," explains Shiozawa.

One of the reeds used, "phragmites australis," or "yoshi" in Japanese, also cleans streams and paddy water by absorbing phosphorus and nitrogen, preventing mold.

Thatching went into sharp decline after the Meiji Era (1868-1912) triggered a wave of modernization. The number of experienced craftsmen declined dramatically.

However, after the village of Shirakawa-go in Gifu Prefecture, which is full of unique "gassho"-style thatched houses, gained U.N. World Heritage status in 1995, thatchers experienced a swell in demand, and a new generation of craftsmen was born.

"Even though there's no longer an expert thatcher in every village, there's a growing number of specialists in the construction industry," says Shiozawa. "Many traditional restaurants, and hotels like to have thatched roofs because it evokes a kind of nostalgia for the past."

Although the process is both time- and labor- intensive, Shiozawa estimates that it would take seven full-time staff and five part-timers two months to complete a short course in thatching a 300-meter-square roof. The course, which typically lasts three days, teaches the basics of the craft.

"A thatched house is a piece of cultural heritage that you are in charge of preserving for the next person to use," says Shiozawa. "If we don't teach the next generation how to live sustainably, we will inevitably reach a state where we have exhausted all our resources. That's why we're trying to educate the next generation with our workshops."

* * *

To learn more about Kayabuki-ya and to book courses, please visit (http://kayabuki-ya.net)

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Nuclear refugees struggle to cope with uncertain future

Like thousands of other people, Miwa Kamoshita's life was turned upside down when the March 11 tsunami struck the Fukushima No. 1 nuclear plant, leading her and her family to voluntarily evacuate their home in Iwaki, some 40 km south of the crippled power station.

For the past five months, Kamoshita and her two children have lived a life in exile, moving five times — from a relative's house in Yokohama to an apartment in a western suburb of Tokyo, from the Grand Prince Hotel Akasaka to another hotel in Shibuya Ward, and finally to an apartment in Chiyoda Ward in late July that the metropolitan government has made available until the end of next July.

Although Kamoshita is relieved to have a secure abode for the next 12 months, the family has no idea where they will go when the exit date comes, still unable to figure out how to establish a stable family life now ruined by the nuclear disaster.

"There are too many things that I need to think over," Kamoshita, a 41-year-old stay-at-home mother of two boys, aged 4 and 8, told The Japan Times in late July.

"It's been like having a very long dream. I still get confused if what's happening is real or not, because things have been so extraordinary."

While the nuclear crisis drags on at the power plant, thousands of evacuees from Fukushima Prefecture — both forced and voluntary — have been in chaos, not knowing when they can return home and live there without fear of radiation exposure.

As of Tuesday, 51,576 Fukushima residents were living outside the prefecture, according to the prefectural government. The number is expected to increase by the end of this summer because many families with schoolchildren plan to move out before the new term begins.

According to a survey by the prefectural board of education, 1,081 children at public elementary and junior high schools plan to leave Fukushima during this summer holiday.

While those who have left may no longer need to worry about radiation exposure, many say life as evacuees is still highly stressful.

Kamoshita's husband, Yuya, said before March 11 he had been planning to start a farming business in Fukushima next year.

The crisis has ended that dream. Instead he returned to Iwaki in early April to maintain his current job in the education industry, leaving his family behind in Tokyo.

Since then, he has been driving back and forth — a round trip of some 400 km — almost every weekend to spend time with his family. But five months of this double life is eating away at him, both physically and mentally.

"I'm not feeling well. Before (March 11), I never had a car accident, but recently I rolled my car on the capital expressway and my car was totaled," he said. He was interviewed in late July in Tokyo while he was visiting his family.

"It's getting tough . . . I don't know" what to do.

Kanako Nishikata, a 33-year-old single mother of two who voluntarily fled the city of Fukushima for Yamagata Prefecture, said in early July it was much better for her children to be there because they can play outside without wearing a mask. But she was concerned about their future and she was having trouble finding a new job.

"I want something that gives me a sense of security and convinces me that I can make my own living in the future," said Nishikata, who was in Tokyo in late July to participate in a demonstration headed by several citizens' groups urging the government to include voluntary evacuees in its compensation guidelines.

Without knowing when she will return, Nishikata is still paying rent to keep her apartment back in Fukushima, fearing otherwise she won't have a home to go back to.

Yukio Yamakawa, director general of the volunteer group Tokyo Saigai Shien Network (Tossnet), said the government should give evacuees better information about contamination in their hometowns and when the radiation will drop back to normal levels.

"What people really want to know is how long it will take for their hometowns to be free of contamination. (But) they don't have that information," Yamakawa said.

If people are told they can't go back for the next five or 10 years, as long as that's the truth, they can make some plans and move on with their lives, Yamakawa said.

But without concrete information about the future, the only option left for those who want a stable life under the current situation is to choose between giving up on Fukushima and starting a new life in another prefecture or returning home, she said.

The choice to return to Fukushima is available only for voluntary evacuees.

Prime Minister Naoto Kan, who will step down next week, plans to visit Fukushima on Saturday to tell residents that some areas near the nuclear plant are likely to remain off-limits for a long time, but details remain unclear.

Five months after the disaster struck, local governments have started closing shelters. This is forcing evacuees to scatter to separate apartments and temporary housing built by authorities.

The Fukushima Prefectural Government plans to shut down all shelters by the end of October.

Yamakawa stressed the importance of helping evacuees form a sense of community and provide a means of communication so they won't be isolated.

Tossnet has set up an Internet-based mailing list for evacuees in Tokyo that allows them to share useful information, such as when gatherings and other events will be held.

About 50 people have signed up for the mailing list so far, Yamakawa said.

Yuya Kamoshita said he's at a loss for ideas about what he should do for the future of his family. But he is adamant that his children will not return to Iwaki for at least a decade, considering that radioactive cesium-137 has a half-life of 30 years.

Their youngest son often yearns to go back to his "real home."

But Kamoshita said "almost everything" that gave them joy in their life in Iwaki has been contaminated with radioactive materials, ranging from the mushrooms they used to grow to the blueberry bushes in their garden.

"Iwaki is still a wonderfully beautiful place," he said. "The air tastes much better than in Tokyo. If you don't know (about the contamination), even the food tasted better than here.

"But for me, they no longer taste better. I have lost my appetite."

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Commodities fall on worries about future demand - BusinessWeek

By SANDY SHORE

Commodity prices fell Thursday after fresh economic reports added to concerns about a weak global economy. Gold was a notable exception as it hit a new record near $1,830 an ounce.

U.S. economic news was discouraging: consumer prices and claims for jobless benefits rose, existing home sales fell and manufacturing weakened in the mid-Atlantic region. Overseas, Japan's exports fell for the fifth straight month in July and European leaders continued to grapple with sovereign debt problems.

Investors sold contracts for everything from oil to wheat and industrial metals as they worried about the potential for future demand if the global economy continues to slow.

Kingsview Financial analyst Matt Zeman said debt issues are key concerns for investors. "Add to that these just extremely weak economic numbers that we're seeing and it spells trouble and that's what we're seeing," he said.

The government said the number of people applying for unemployment benefits rose last week. The Consumer Price Index increased 0.5 percent in July as Americans paid more for necessities like fuel and food.

Gold prices rose for a fourth day. The precious metal is considered a relatively stable asset during economic turmoil. Gold for December delivery rose $28.20 to finish at $1,822 an ounce after hitting $1,829.70 an ounce earlier in the day. That was a record in dollar terms but still below the 1980 peak after adjusting for inflation.

Several analysts have predicted that gold could reach $2,000 an ounce if economic troubles deepen.

Gold's increase benefited silver and platinum, which are traded both as precious and industrial metals.

September silver rose 33.7 cents to end at $40.688 an ounce and October platinum increased $6.90 to $1,847.70 an ounce.

In other trading, September copper fell 6.6 cents to finish at $3.966 a pound and September palladium fell $18.90 to $757 an ounce.

Oil and other energy products dropped. Benchmark West Texas Intermediate crude for September delivery declined $5.20, or 5.9 percent, to finish at $82.38 per barrel on the New York Mercantile Exchange.

In other Nymex trading for September contracts, heating oil fell 8.68 cents to end at $2.8748 per gallon, gasoline futures lost 8.71 cents at $2.7832 per gallon and natural gas fell 4.1 cents to $3.892 per 1,000 cubic feet.

Wheat for September delivery fell 19.75 cents to $7.0775 a bushel, December corn lost 12.5 cents at $7.13 a bushel and November soybeans fell 5.75 cents to $13.61 a bushel.

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