Tokyo Today: Old Wine in New Bottles

Many of the differences between traditional Japanese urban design and that of the West relate to the fact that, unlike Europe’s cities, Japan’s were never protected by walls. Indeed, even the ancient capitals of Heijôkyô (present-day Nara) and Heiankyô (Kyoto), though laid out in close imitation of the great Chinese cities of the time, differed from their models in precisely this respect—they were not walled. From the very beginning, Japan’s urban centers were “open cities.” Edo—present-day Tokyo—was no exception.

In the absence of the clearly defined boundaries created by walls, the area within the city connects organically with that lying without, and population growth tends to translate into sprawl. In fact, metropolitan Tokyo has spread out so far that many people who work in the central part of the city have to spend an hour to 90 minutes just to get from their homes to their offices. In recent years, urban sprawl had become such that city planners began working to strengthen Tokyo’s center of gravity through redevelopment projects focused on the construction of skyscrapers in such districts as Tameike, Shinagawa, Roppongi, and Marunouchi. Unlike earlier projects, which featured the construction of office space, these undertakings have shared an emphasis on bringing together in one place a variety of urban functions, including living space, shops, restaurants, and cultural facilities like museums and theaters. In short, they represent efforts to create little cities within the city.

The open structure of the Japanese city echoes the open structure of traditional Japanese architecture. In the West, just as cities were walled off from the outside, individual buildings displayed a closed structure, with solid walls—the basic unit of construction—clearly separating the interior from the exterior. Traditional Japanese architecture is supported not by walls but by posts and beams. The walls are not weight-bearing members but partitions, and they are often both movable and removable: shôji (translucent paper-covered sliding screens), fusuma (sliding doors), and amado (sliding shutters). Remove these partitions, and the exterior space connects directly with the interior.

Accompanying this structure, the open veranda and the area under the eaves help effect a smooth transition between inside and out. Indeed, the area under the eaves can function as an extension of either interior or exterior space. For the inhabitants, it can serve as a temporary storage area or as a porch for enjoying a cool breeze in summer. At the same time, it serves as a quasi-public place where passers-by can take shelter from the rain. This intermediate space creates a concrete link between interior and exterior.

One manifestation of this continuity of interior and exterior is the charming custom of sweeping the street in front of one’s home (or shop) each morning, a practice still observed in parts of Kyoto and other places where the old neighborhoods have been preserved. The idea is that this portion of the street is an extension of one’s own home. Since the occupants of the neighboring houses are often similarly engaged, this ritual provides an opportunity for socializing and builds a sense of community. The streets of a neighborhood can thus be thought of as the space that binds the residents to one another, a function further reinforced by neighborhood street fairs and festivals. Note also that in Japan festivals tend to center on street processions, such as the parade of elaborate floats for which Kyoto’s Gion Festival is famous, or the ox-cart parade of its Aoi Festival. In other words, the street is also a festive space that links members of the neighborhood.

In the typical Western city, with its rows of tightly closed structures, the streets function rather to partition the space inside the city. It is the square or plaza rather than the street that serves as a place for people to get together and engage in social intercourse. In Japan, however, the homes on opposite sides of the same street traditionally formed a close-knit community, as suggested by the expression mukô sangen ryôdonari, literally, “the three houses across [the street] and the two on either side,” which is the common way of referring to one’s closest neighbors. In the vast metropolis that was Edo, numerous such street-centered neighborhoods existed, each one of them a kind of self-sufficient microcosm. Many of the redevelopment projects undertaken in Tokyo over the past two decades can be seen as attempts to revive this sort of self-sufficient urban community on a much bigger scale. Centered on clusters of super-high-rise buildings but including residential, retail, and cultural space as well as offices, these developments are appropriately dubbed “island universes” by Suzuki Hiroyuki, author of one of the two articles featured in this section. With their emphasis on multifunctionality, the new districts repudiate the long-standing practice of zoning cities into separate residential and business areas, a concept imported from the West in the Meiji era (1868–1912). They use the latest technology to create something like the diversity and liveliness of the traditional community.

A typical example of this new trend is the redevelopment of the Marunouchi area around Tokyo Station. In the interview featured here, Fukuzawa Takeshi, a pivotal figure in the project, clearly articulates the thinking that has driven the area’s transformation. For around a century following its development in the late nineteenth century under a master plan for Tokyo’s modernization, the Marunouchi district was a business district with the emphasis on office space. As a result, it bustled with white-collar workers during the week but turned into a virtual ghost town on the weekends. In approaching the construction of the new Marunouchi Building directly across from Tokyo Station, Fukuzawa and company sought to change all that with an emphasis on distinctive restaurants and shops as well as offices and further to turn Marunouchi into an open, “interactive” district linked with the neighboring areas of Ôtemachi and Yûrakuchô. The plan has been a huge success, attracting great crowds of visitors to the district every weekend, and it promises to become a vital model for urban planning in the years ahead. (Takashina Shûji, Professor Emeritus, University of Tokyo)

© 2004 Japan Echo Inc.