FLASH
Shkruar nga Auron Tare
When I saw our delegation sitting at the long table, I thought that perhaps the long journey to Japan would finally bring serious philosophies, models, and policies to save the Albanian countryside and national heritage. But after seeing and hearing that there had been no interest in the revival of the countryside, I realized that in fact our biggest problem is not that ministers take the journey to Japan, but that they return as empty as they left.
A photo of the Albanian delegation in Japan caught my eye today. Sitting around a long table were several ministers, advisors, and specialists, serious about the importance of state affairs, who had traveled all the way to distant Japan.
Surely some major problem should have pushed half the government, I thought. In the photo of our delegation, the profile of the Minister of Local Government also caught my eye. While pondering, I suddenly remembered that Japan is actually one of the countries with a significant government program for the revival of rural areas. After World War II, Japan has faced a major contraction of rural areas, with nearly 9 million abandoned houses in the mountains of the country. Surely, I thought that our problem of rural depopulation and the Japanese experience would have pushed our ministers far enough to see how a serious state is trying to restore life in the countryside, preserve the rural landscape and protect its culture. Curious, I waited on the news to hear some conversation about this issue. Some word. Some request or, finally, some curiosity.
Never.
I waited with curiosity for the evening news. I waited to hear some idea. Some project. A wise question. Even a sincere surprise at the way the Japanese are trying to save their villages.
But nothing.
Years ago, in Butrint, I was fortunate to work closely with a Japanese organization. With their help, a school was built for the community of Vrina and Shën Dëllia in Butrint, the Libohova hospital was restored, as well as the Gjirokastra technical school.
From that experience, I was left with a conviction that the Japanese are people who do not treat the state as a decoration, but as a responsibility.
It is for this reason that I have followed with interest the way Japanese governments have attempted to rebirth their rural landscapes.
Seeing the massive movement to cities, the aging population, and the dramatic decline in birth rates, Japan realized that abandoning the countryside is not just an economic loss. It is a loss of culture, memory, and national identity.
Therefore, for decades, Japanese governments, left or right, have pursued a common national strategy in defense of their nation.
In 2009, Japan launched the Rural Renaissance program “Chiiki Okoshi Kyōryokutai,” which encouraged families to return to the countryside by funding:
restoration of houses;
fiscal incentives;
covering up to 50% of restoration costs;
payments for several years for families who returned and engaged in agriculture, agritourism or the local economy.
Many Japanese municipalities today offer:
grants for returning to the village;
free agricultural land;
support for raising children;
financing for abandoned houses;
support for rural startups.
Japan even created what is called the "Abandoned House Bank", a national database that records all empty houses in rural areas.
Through this program, people can choose the area where they want to live and view grants and funding opportunities.
And the results began to show. Many farms were restored.
Many villages regained life. Inns and cafes opened.
Abandoned schools were turned into art centers or co-working spaces.
The wastelands were used for organic farming and agritourism.
But the Japanese understood something else: the countryside cannot be saved by subsidies alone. It also needs cultural pride.
Thus were born artistic programs like the “Echigo-Tsumari Art Triennial,” which transformed forgotten rural areas into world-renowned art destinations.
Artists, exhibitions and modern installations were set up in abandoned villages, empty schools and natural landscapes.
Likewise, the Setouchi Triennale revived entire abandoned islands through art and culture.
While the "Satoyama" program focused on preserving traditional rural landscapes: forests, rice fields, streams and waterfalls, as well as historic villages.
The Japanese parliament has passed laws to protect these landscapes, considering them part of the national identity. The Japanese colleagues sitting across the long table did not raise a hand to demolish protected areas and fill them with concrete. In contrast to the Albanians sitting opposite, they are proud of their culture, historical landscapes and Japanese tradition. If the Albanian delegation had asked, they would have learned that the “Satoyama” program funds nature conservation, traditional restoration and organic farms, involving the local community in each project.
The philosophy of the Japanese is simple: the traditional countryside, natural landscapes, and national culture are not an old burden that should be forgotten, but a national asset that should be protected, but also used for economic renaissance.
Therefore, the state program "Shunran-no-Sato" became an international example of how traditional architecture and rural life are preserved through thematic tourism.
These policies and many others have certainly turned Japan into a model that is studied today by many countries around the world.
So, when I saw our delegation sitting at the long table, I thought that maybe the long journey to Japan would finally bring serious philosophies, models and policies to save the Albanian village and the national heritage. But after seeing and hearing that there had been no interest in the revival of the village, I realized that in fact our biggest problem is not that ministers take the journey to Japan, but that they return as empty as they left. Therefore, we do not need Japan as a backdrop for exotic photographs, but as a school of ideas. Because the country needs concrete projects, serious models and courage to save rural Albania from great abandonment.
Erdhen, erdhen qe ne fillim Niponet, po, ne uzinen e montimit te televizoreve ne Durres. I dhane nje detyre te veshtire nje tekniku per te fiksuar nje qark elektronik per te pare aftesite tona. Ai e beri perfekt detyren e Niponet i thane beje perseri, ai e beri prapa perfekt e Niponet prape, perserite. Shqipua u nevrikos e u tha taneve ne Shqip, cfare dreqin ka ky, se me ngriti nervat. Niponet mbyllen dosjet e thane, jeni profesionale por nuk beni per elektronike se jeni nevrike e te paduruar e iken nga erdhen. Pra askush nuk na e ka fajin pervec kokes tone qe e kemi me gunga. Dhe me e keqja eshte se e dime qe e kemi koken me gunga e gjithnje fajesojme te tjeret e jo ta kerkojme te vehtja difektin.