海角大神

Loyalty to rice, loyalty to customer.

These are the driving motivations behind Koichi Ogawa鈥檚 tenacity as a Tokyo shopkeeper. 鈥淚鈥檇 be very sad if I had to close听鈥� I鈥檝e grown up with this store,鈥� Mr. Ogawa says of the Kinsei Ogawa rice shop, a trade that鈥檚 been in his family since the 1940s.

Located down a tiny street in bustling Shinjuku, Kinsei Ogawa has seen it all: The bubble economy of the 1980s whose deflation caused corporations to fail, but spared the mom-and-pop vendors supplying staples of everyday life. The 2011 earthquake whose tsunami washed away rice farms, driving up wholesale prices and forcing him to purchase black-market rice.

Today, Mr. Ogawa struggles with a new conflict: the tension between the economic realities of a dying industry, and a stubborn devotion to the 70 customers he has left.

鈥淚鈥檓 barely staying afloat,鈥� he says, perched on a stool in his shop, surrounded by the tools of his trade: a rice mill, large metal scale, and burlap sacks. Kinsei Ogawa is doing a third of the business it did three decades ago, and it鈥檚 Mr. Ogawa鈥檚 pension听鈥� not profits听鈥� that covers basic expenses. Still, he keeps his doors open, even as others of his generation declined to take over their fathers鈥� businesses.听

In Japan, rice is more than just a staple: It signifies the pride of a country and culture. Over the centuries, the grain has morphed from a store of wealth to the focal point of the dinner table. Rice is at the center of the most formidable agricultural lobby in the world, not to mention one of the most hotly-debated items in national policy.

Yet cultural and demographic shifts have left rice merchants like Mr. Ogawa behind. A declining and aging population, along with a shift toward fast food and Western tastes, means less demand overall. Now his loyalty to the grain听鈥� and its buyers听鈥� harkens to a bygone era.

鈥淩ice has cultural cachet,鈥� says University of Chicago professor Thomas Talhelm, who鈥檚 spent a decade studying the connection between rice agriculture and cultural behavior in Asia. 鈥淚 can imagine that if [Mr. Ogawa sold] beans, it would be easier for him to give it up.鈥�

鈥楻ice as Self鈥� 听听听听听听听听听听

In Japanese, the word for meal听鈥撎�gohan听鈥� is actually the word for cooked rice.听

Rice is so intertwined with culture and language that it鈥檚 central to Japanese identity, says Nicole Freiner, a professor at Bryant University in Rhode Island who recently wrote 鈥淩ice and Agricultural Policies in Japan: The Loss of a Traditional Lifestyle.鈥� It has served as money, at a time metal was considered 鈥渄irty鈥�; an offering at shrines; and sustenance, eaten three times a day.听

Rice paddies themselves are heralded, portrayed in everything from Japanese paintings to poetry. They are 鈥渙ur ancestral land, our village, our region, and ultimately, our land, Japan,鈥� writes anthropologist Emiko Ohnuki-Tierney in her book 鈥淩ice as Self: Japanese Identities Through Time.鈥�

Understanding the symbolic-cultural significance of rice is critical to understanding the modern hullabaloo around it. For years, at the behest of the lobbying organization Japan Agricultural Cooperatives, the government has paid farmers to produce rice, and heavily subsidized the crop. As a result, consumers are penalized twice in the name of protecting farmers听鈥� once via taxation and a second time at the counter, with rice prices kept artificially high.

Perhaps the most iron-willed policy of all is a restriction on foreign imports, aiming to prop up the homegrown version. Indeed, the tariff on imported rice beyond set quotas has been, roughly, anywhere between 300 and听700 percent听in recent years.听The government鈥檚听longstanding intervention in rice is, 鈥渇rom a world perspective, unparalleled in its degree,鈥� writes Dr. Ohnuki-Tierney.听

Today, rice derives its symbolic power from day-to-day sharing among family and friends. And it builds community not only at the dinner table, but back at the rice paddy: Rice is more labor-intensive than any other staple crop. In other words, it requires a village to raise it.

In the end, any governmental protections may come too late to save the rice merchant, much less the farmer. Policies that benefitted small sellers like Mr. Ogawa are long gone. Up until about 1970, Japanese bought staples with a food stamp, initially introduced when rationing was required. Effectively, this system required people to purchase at local shops. That system鈥檚 demise, in part, gave rise to the power of the supermarket.

Meanwhile, households in Japan consume only half the rice they did a half-century ago 鈥� down to about 56 kilograms per capita each year. Rice shop owners can seem the final point of contact between a customer and a cultural relic, as both grain and merchant shift toward scarcity.

Loyalty to quality

Back in his Tokyo shop, Mr. Ogawa is more than happy to wait for the occasional customer. After all, working is a form of exercise. 鈥淭hose who closed their businesses go jogging to stay healthy,鈥� he says. 鈥淚 stay active because I carry rice daily.鈥�

The family tree isn鈥檛 an option for succession; his daughter prefers two-minute microwave rice to the slow-cooked version. His son was willing to learn the trade, but Mr. Ogawa talked him out of it, since 鈥渉e wouldn鈥檛 be able to make a living.鈥�

Hiring a foreigner wouldn鈥檛 be an option, either, though immigration has been posited as a salve for Japan鈥檚 labor shortage. 鈥淭here are more than 100 different kinds [of rice] to explain to customers,鈥� Mr. Ogawa explains, and a newcomer might not grasp the ins and outs.

Meanwhile, the shop grows quieter, year by year. Two years ago, the elementary school down the street shuttered its doors, as young families moved in search of more affordable housing. Where schoolchildren used to parade past Mr. Ogawa鈥檚 line of vision twice a day, like clockwork听鈥� just before 8 a.m. and a touch after 3 p.m.听鈥� there鈥檚 now silence.

鈥淭he kids used to say, 鈥楪ood morning, rice shop man!鈥� when they walked by,鈥� Mr. Ogawa says, fondly. 鈥淎nd in the afternoon, 鈥楬i, rice shop man! I鈥檓 done for the day.鈥� It was lively in this neighborhood. It was fun.鈥�

He waits for his few customers. 鈥淭hey鈥檙e all rice lovers,鈥� he says with gratitude: patrons who appreciate the texture of the grains in their hand, and purchase three kinds just to try a new variety.

鈥淚 can鈥檛 do anything about societal changes,鈥� he says. 鈥淏ut I can sell quality rice.鈥�