I recently took a walk through a neighborhood
in Western Japan. The 15-storey buildings on
either side were new: attractive apartments
in soft, pastel colors. The first floor of each
building was dedicated to a lively variety of
stores facing onto the street. Trees ran the
center of the boulevard, and the people on the
street were talking in cheerful pairs and
clusters. With its boutiques and restaurants,
the street bore every sign of being an upscale
shopping arcade.

I walked another block, crossed a narrow street and suddenly the
neighborhood was transformed into a tangle of dark, two-story
buildings that looked as if they had been there since the war. They
were clean. The street was clean. But the paint was faded. The
concrete was cracked. Adjacent buildings lay check and jowl,
without a seam between them. All of this spoke one word: poverty.
The physical distance between the two neighborhoods was less than
five meters. The apparent economic distance might as well have been
a continent.

Around Japan, as the recession lengthens further into its second
decade, neighborhoods are sinking into disrepair, inhabitants into
despair. As of the writing of this article, the Japanese stock
market has been rising for about 3 months, but the local
neighborhoods of the country have yet to feel anything; 13 years of
damage takes a bit more to repair.

All over the country, municipalities are sounding the desperate
rallying cry of machi zukuri saisei or "rebuilding and
rebirth." Most places seem to be banking on domestic tourism and
local crafts to spur their economies back into the black. However,
with a national population that is clutching more and more firmly
onto its dwindling cash, the number of people traveling into the
countryside is dropping drastically. It does not help that it is
more expensive to travel within this country than to fly to many
places overseas.


It is at periods such as these, when the country is struggling the
most, that neighborhood development projects stand out the most. It
is at these times that Kyotei-funded groups shine.

The two neighborhoods above were a perfect example of Kyotei work.
They were not different because of the kind of financial
polarization that creates the differences between most
neighborhoods. In fact, despite appearances, the people living in
the two places had the same general socio-economic background.

Instead, the neighborhoods were an example of Kyotei-funded
rebirth. The older-looking, more cramped neighborhood (which was
representative of most of the city) had not yet been touched by
Kyotei money. The newer one had. And not only had it been touched,
its original charm had been preserved--the shops that filled the
bottom floor of the apartment buildings had been there for decades.

When the planners came in and redesigned the area, they made a
point of retaining all of the shops that had once brought it life
and variety. The convenience, charm and warmth that filled the old
neighborhood had NOT been replaced with a generic shopping mall-
style.

Since Kyotei funds are distributed by groups that value the beauty
of traditional Japan, the neighborhoods created are much more
livable than if they had been designed by firms whose thinking was
more globalized.