Page 8 RAIN Spring 1986 Degawa. I'm impressed by his English. Some schooling at Oxford, and a research internship at the Brookings Institute in Washington, D.C., have produced a unique Japanese-English. After a quick trip to a hot springs inn, Okada and I drive to the Metamorphosis office. The office is one of the weirdest I’ve seen. In the faint moonlight I can see a half-filled swimming pool, that even in this light appears green with algae. The building is a four-story hotel with maybe 40-50 rooms. Down one of the hallways in one of the few inhabitable rooms is the Metamorphosis office. Inside, with the roar of a small river just outside the window, we drink whiskey and I again attempt to find out what Metamorphosis is; this time with the help of a learning aid I came to appreciate a lot in Japan, the organization scrapbook. I see photographs of people working together on volunteer aid programs, an international Christmas celebration party in Odwara with the mayor chumming it up with Metamorphosis staff, classes and workshops, and most of all many visitors. One of their favorite themes was trying to bring international awareness to this small, rather economically frail town. Many of the photographs are of Okada's grandfather who is the leader of a religious group, the Sekai Kyusei-kyo. This religious background helps me understand the group, and Okada in particular. This is kind of a New Age Japan. Spiritual growth and political action in the same eclectic breath. In the morning, I help Degawa translate an article into English from Japanese about the legal stmcture of a farmer's association. When it is done, on a word processor, it is sent to a Tokyo bank on the telefacsimile machine that was donated to Metamorphosis. Shizuoka Citizens Center One of the most delightful times I spent in Japan was my journey to Shizuoka and Nagoya, cities about one-third and two-thirds, respectively, between Tokyo and Kyoto. At Shizuoka I met with people who run the Shizuoka Citizens Center. After some difficulty getting proper instructions to the t^i driver, I arrive at the center, greeted by Mr. Nayamora, the director. The center's office is very small. It opens onto the street in a way that makes it feel like a retail shop. It turns out the center is, in fact, “selling” something. One part of the office is a typical Japanese grassroots office—a little more chaotic than one would expect for a country with a reputation for being industrious and efficient. Two desks, a telephone, and lots of paper. On the other side of the office is a food distribution center. I only find this out after some people show up to pick up food orders, walking out with milk, vegetables, and bread. The center serves as a distribution center for 230 families who want to get food more directly from farmers rather than through large franchised grocery stores, and most importantly, food that is grown without pesticides and chemical fertilizers. They are also aware of making a political statement: they do not want to buy food grown outside their region. The center provides assistance to several independent citizen’s groups in and around Shizuoka; groups that were started around such issues as a petrochemical plant development, a golf course destroying a forest, and a proposal to dump nuclear waste near Shizuoka. The center staff is mainly one person, Mr. Nayamora. He and volunteers run what we might call a resource center. Since a lot of the work involves networking. The Other Japan
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