Harie & the Dish Cleaning Fish

The villagers do not consider these fish as dangerous invaders, or indeed as pets. They simply say that the fish are friendly neighbours that help to keep everything moving.

August 10th, 2018:

Darting through Kyōto railway station, I look around anxiously for my host - I am already late. Seita Mori is his name, and he greets me with the biggest grin on his face, clutching his A4 folder and our train tickets. "We have little time, let us make our way to the platform" he tells me, and so we shuffle through the horde of commuters and onto the platform. Our train to Takashima arrives obediently on time, and we squeeze ourselves in amongst the mass of white-collared passengers. Seita is a local landscape researcher, and he has agreed to take me to a little-known village just outside of Kyōto, called Harie.

Harie is a fairytale village in the Shiga Prefecture of Honshu - and is home to a very rare and beautiful ecosystem that has been developing in complexity for over a thousand years. The villagers have protected their unique way of life here, following post-war modernisation, and I have come to immerse myself in their collective philosophy and understanding of the natural world. Their rare cultural traditions have emerged through a long process of close co-habitation with other species, and their resulting peri-urban infrastructure is centred around the utilisation of distinctive geomorphologic activity that occurs beneath their feet.

Wet Infrastructure, or 'Kabata'

The village is currently built up of 165 houses, and is located between two major water sources: 1) The Adogawa River, and 2) Lake Biwa. Lake Biwa is Japan's largest freshwater lake, known for its abundant fish population, migratory water birds and wetland regions. And the ground beneath Harie, which slopes down towards the lake, is built up of several layers of clay and sedimentary rock. This multi-layered geological composition passively purifies water from the river, and creates a constant underground channel that flows into Lake Biwa.

Harie's industrious villagers have tapped into this underground network by drilling boreholes through the clay to draw freshwater springs up into their houses. These freshwater springs have become an essential feature of the village, and they inform the urban plan and local architecture as a result.

Of the 165 houses in the village, 110 own a private kabata within their residential plots. There is also a network of public kabata which many of the locals use during festivals and community gatherings. A kabata is a flooded room (or small hut which extends from the house) that has a constant flow of spring water into it, which is connected to the central public canal system. The room acts as a kitchen and/or wet room, which the villagers use to store and prepare food. Like a cold running tap, a kabata is constantly flowing and flushing out impurities.

However, the most pioneering technology that makes the kabata special is not the spring water network, but the inhabitants that live within it. Hungry carp swim along the man-made central canal and inside the private kabata rooms, purifying the water as they move. Carp are bottom-feeding scavenger fish, and they feed on the left-overs that residents leave on their dishes. Because kabata are used not only to prepare and store food, but also to clean dishes, bowls, cups, and other utensils - the fish have become volunteer dishwashers, living in a wonderfully balanced circular ecology.

The villagers do not consider these fish as dangerous invaders, or indeed as pets. They simply say that the fish are friendly neighbours that help to keep everything moving.

On Mutualism and Design

Seita is a much-loved figure in the community, because he regularly helps with the village's seasonal canal dredging events that clear algae from the water. He introduces me to some of the local villagers, and they each encourage me to taste the cold spring water from their respective kabata. There is a real sense of pride and collective obedience in Harie. And I begin to wonder how this mutualistic bond with carp is inadvertently playing a major role in shaping the more traditionally 'cultural' facets of their lives. How could this deep symbiosis be scaled up and translated into cohabitation with other species? And is mutualism (a mutual reliance) a better model than commensalism in the post-industrial urban age? It certainly works here.

Water conservation in Harie has become an on-going cross-species process. And the model of 'mutualism', of building a core infrastructure that allows control to be shared amongst humans and carp, has created a very resilient urban ecology on a small scale. But behind this infrastructure are some beautifully crafted details that architects were best placed to design. After the second world war ended, Harie's canal system needed to be re-excavated and re-built. The government put forward a new plan, but according to Seita, the villagers rejected it. They saw the smooth concrete design of the canal, and rightfully pointed out to the developers that the carp would not thrive in such conditions, and the sealed concrete canal-bed would stop water from springing up to the surface. The developers were also informed that due to the strong current of the water, the carp would need recessed pockets in the canal wall to hide and lay eggs. They went back to the drawing board, and the pockets were later designed into the canal through a decoratively patterned facade that now adds both formal and functional depth to Harie's signature architecture.

More recently, the local community have banded together again to change the aesthetics of the sewage infrastructure in the village. Sewage pipes are buried underground horizontally, because the water table is so high that it is very difficult to dig a deep hole. The sewage water is then sent by a vacuum pump, and the vacuuming system has lots of vents throughout the village, which are silver-coloured metal pipes sticking out of the ground. According to Seita,

"The villagers didn't like the cold appearance of those vents, so they made street lights and covered the vents with them. There are more than 10 streets lights in the village now. Power for them is generated in ways with no CO2 emission, such as turbine, solar panels, and the waterwheel."

The proud little village of Harie is a model of resilience, and proof that we can consciously co-habit with other species and welcome non-invasive creatures into our homes. And the diligent villagers are testament to the benefits of cultivating a strong community of place, and a complex circular ecology. Long live their cleansing neighbours.

Written by Steven Hutt

Special thanks to Seita Mori

Refuge in the Embassy: The Four Pests Campaign

To capture the essence of the primitive matter that is continually filtered out of the modern city - we need look no further than the specks of debris that smear onto our office windows over time. This very slow occurrence is a byproduct of living in the natural world - and we filter it out by cleaning our windows once a fortnight, or paying someone to do it for us. The physical presence of debris is hardly inimical or hazardous, but it is largely considered to be an unwanted phenomenon that we would certainly eradicate if we could. Living with debris is a reality for all cities around the world. But hiding this reality is the mark of a modern city. The presence of debris is positively absent in the glossy rendered images that architects and designers produce to sell their ideas. We actively design out this sub-natural reality from our buildings. But what would happen if we took a more conscious approach to curating and reshaping this occurrence? Could the gradual formation of debris be an asset to an architect's design? And how would this asset change the aesthetics of the urban landscape as a whole, and our ability to live with primitive matter?

The desire for the eradication of things deemed to be too primitive is a common theme in the history of modernity. And occasionally, attempts to remove primitive forces have been met with devastating side-effects. During China’s ‘Great Leap Forward’ from 1958 to 1962, Chairman Mao spearheaded a series of campaigns to rapidly transform the country into a modern socialist society through rapid industrialisation, bans on private holdings, and the eradication of primitive pests. One of the first nationwide campaigns introduced was the infamous ‘Four Pests Campaign’ in 1958. Mao considered the existence of rats, flies, mosquitoes, and sparrows to be a nuisance on the modern Chinese society - and urged his people to completely eradicate them from the country. Rats, flies, and mosquitoes were demonised as disease-spreaders. While sparrows were declared to be a “public animal of capitalism” that steal grain seed and fruit. Chinese citizens dutifully came together to hunt and kill these four creatures; banging pots and pans to scare sparrows from their nests, and holding informal competitions on the collection of rat-tails. According to an article in TIME magazine on Monday, May 05, 1958: “No warrior shall be withdrawn until the battle is won, proclaimed the Peking People’s Daily. At dawn one day last week, the slaughter of the sparrows in Peking began, continuing a campaign that has been going on in the countryside for months. The objection to the sparrows is that, like the rest of China’s inhabitants, they are hungry. They are accused of pecking away at supplies in warehouses and in paddyfields at an officially estimated rate of four pounds of grain per sparrow per year. And so divisions of soldiers deployed through Peking streets, their footfalls muffled by rubber-soled sneakers. Students and civil servants in high-collared tunics, and schoolchildren carrying pots and pans, ladles and spoons, quietly took up their stations. The total force, according to Radio Peking, numbered 3,000,000.” (article: “Red China: Death to Sparrows”)

With nowhere to hide from the public, entire flocks fell from the sky due to exhaustion, and were collected as trophies. But a few sparrows found an unlikely safe haven in the only place where Chinese citizens could not enter. The grand architecture of diplomatic missions were utilised as safe houses, and sparrows began to fill embassies and consulates from around the world. Most notably, the Polish embassy denied requests from the Chinese to enter their premises in order to scare away the sparrows. As a result of their unwillingness to cooperate with Mao’s campaign, troops surrounded the building armed with drums. After two days of constant drumming, the Poles were forced to open their doors to clear the embassy of all the dead sparrows that had piled up inside.

The campaign was aggressive, but short-lived, as ornithologists began to warn Mao of the damage that would be caused to the wider ecosystem. It was thought that by killing off the sparrow population, the country benefit from an increase in rice yields. But instead, rice yields and other agricultural industries plummeted dramatically - as locust populations grew exponentially, swarming across the country and destroying crops. With so few preditors to manage the locust population, the ecological imbalance was compounded. The entire country suffered as a result, and the campaign was later seen as one of the key causes of the Great Chinese Famine.

The primitive elements of our societies are an essential part of a wider ecological network that we often take for granted. And the urban terrain, especially, is postulated as a cultural phenomenon, despite the very real fact that it relies on, and informs, the wider web of nature. Our obsession with drawing distinctions between the natural and the cultural is itself, a primitive act. Rather than striving to purify ourselves from the natural environment - perhaps the most modern approach we can now take is to identify ‘primitive’ matter, and consciously design with it.

Written by Steven Hutt

A Bridge Causing Troubled Waters

Just off the coast of Lantau in Hong Kong, a new mega-infrastructural project is currently being completed, as marine wildlife conservationists look on anxiously. The Hong Kong–Zhuhai–Macau Bridge (HKZMB) is a bridge-tunnel system which consists of a series of interconnected cable-stayed bridges, undersea tunnels, and artificial islands. The new mega-infrastructure links the three cities with its 6 lane carriageway - and will theoretically reduce high-speed commuter boat activity to free up the congested bay area.

The HKZMB network

But one area of the bay in particular is catching the attention of nervous marine conservationists, as it is home to a rare and rapidly diminishing population of pink dolphins (Inia geoffrensis). The dolphins currently reside in a small silty patch of water between Tung Chung and the HK Gold Coast - but their territory has been reduced with the construction of the Hong Kong International Airport on Chek Lap Kok (an artificially reclaimed island that has been strapped onto the north of Lantau Island). The latest reduction in territory now comes in the form of the tunnel system and artificial islands of HKZMB, which cut directly across their hunting ground. And plans to build a third runway on Chek Lap Kok will inevitably disrupt the waters further.

Marine life in the Pearl River has suffered in recent years due to overfishing, overcrowding, and offshore construction work - but with no concerted effort being made by the local government to invest in marine research, conservationists can only estimate populations and breeding grounds. I meet with Janet Walker, a local dolphin conservationist, as she takes me to observe the dolphins up close in their natural habitat. Janet has lived in Hong Kong for over 20 years, and visits the dolphins regularly to learn more about their daily activities, and to teach others how to interact with them. We set off early, and I am lucky enough to spot a few pink fins circling the boat. But Janet informs me that sightings are becoming increasingly rare, and that figures have plummeted to an estimated 29 since construction work began on the bridge. The bridge itself causes little damage to the dolphin's habitat - but the associated construction work, and increased transport activity has, and will, continue to disrupt their ability to effectively communicate and hunt.

Janet Walker, Dolphin Conservationist

Pollution is believed to be one of the major reasons for their declining numbers. But Janet believes that another major contributing factor is the high-speed tour boats that chase and startle the species, for the benefit of eco-tourism. Since the practice of trawler fishing was banned in Hong Kong in 2013, to allow fish stocks to recover, an entire community of local fishermen needed to find other ways to make a living. Nowadays, many ex-fishermen have revamped their boats, and are cashing in on selling dolphin tours to stay afloat. The pink dolphins are very popular amongst tourists, as the species became the official mascot of the 1997 sovereignty changing ceremonies in Hong Kong. But if the government wants to avoid the embarrassment of losing its own mascot, then it needs to act fast to protect this small patch of water.

And with eco-tourism on the rise, GovHK would be wise to start looking for new ways to drive their tourism industry forward. Earlier this year, China's President Xi Jinping, approved plans to turn the neighbouring city of Shenzhen into a new sustainable showroom and window into China. This should scare Hong Kongers. The city has long been a key transport route into China - but with the country now opening up new windows into their world, Hong Kong will need to find new and unorthodox ways to compete with Shenzhen as the most attractive place to live and work in the region.

View of the bridge from Lantau Island

Both cities boast beautiful surrounding mountains and vast wildlife reserves; but Hong Kong benefits from the addition of its wonderfully diverse islands and Bay Area. The new artificial islands that connect the HKZMB have clearly been designed on a tight budget though - with little to no concessions being made for new wildlife habitats to emerge. This is a missed opportunity for the government and the people of Hong Kong. With so much traffic set to pass through these islands, much more could be done to develop new miniature ecosystems that utilise the island typology. The nearby tourist destination of the Tian Tan Buddha (on Lantau Island) has already proved that there is an appetite for animal cohabitation amongst international tourists. The steep steps leading up to the Buddha statue are filled with tourists taking selfies with the wild cattle that roam the area. So why not replicate this phenomenon elsewhere?

With a little more conscious effort, and a willingness to invest in ecological research, the new islands of HKZMB could become a beacon of progressive urban ecology. For now though, the islands remain in hot water, as the pink dolphins struggle to survive.

Under the bridge: fishermen utilising the pillars to fish

Aerial view of Hong Kong's land reclamation

HKZMB - a vast network

HKZMB - reconfiguring the urban landscape

Written by Steven Hutt