Hello. Right now, the cherry blossoms in Tokyo are very beautiful. So until a few days before coming to China, I went to the park every day to see them. And I drank sake with friends until morning. So now I’ve caught a bit of a cold. Sorry. My name is Matsumoto Zai. My Chinese isn’t very good, so today I’ll speak in Japanese. Sorry. Fortunately, I found a wonderful interpreter today, so I can speak freely and comfortably.

The first trigger was when I entered university. I went to Hosei University in Tokyo, which is a crazy university full of strange people. It’s open 24 hours; people hold drinking parties on campus at night, start band live performances spontaneously, and there was a very active student movement — massive demonstrations that clashed with university staff. I myself come from an old neighborhood in eastern Tokyo, which was like a rural village — only elderly people and children lived there; once you grow up, you immediately get a job. So encountering this kind of counter-culture was my first experience — I was completely shocked.

Another thing I want to introduce is kusaya — a fish with an incredibly horrible stench. We used it as a weapon in our struggle. There was a night division at the university, which cost very little and made almost no profit for the school. The administration planned to shut it down, leading to serious conflict with students. When they completely cut off negotiations and closed all communication channels, we said: “Alright, leave it to us.” We brought the kusaya, lit a fire under it — the smell became unbearable. We placed it right in front of the closed windows, brought out giant pots, opened all the university windows, and let it stink to high heaven. The staff came rushing out shouting, “Ugh! This smell is unbearable!” We grabbed them and said: “Now you have to talk with us.” In the end, they lost — the night division was abolished.

So I opened a recycling shop, named "Ran of the Amateurs" — meaning people who do things without knowing what they're doing. Why did I open a recycling shop? First, the modern world is completely obsessed with profit — capitalism has gone too far. We produce massive amounts of goods, consume them massively, and throw them away massively. I wanted to resist that. Also, a recycling shop isn’t like a convenience store where you just exchange money for goods — it’s about selling, buying, repairing, talking with customers: “What is this?” You visit their homes. It’s a job full of human connections. And recycling shops aren’t for people who come from far away — they’re used by locals, so it’s great for becoming friends with neighbors.

And then, when I was thinking about this, there was a small bar run by an old lady just three minutes away on the same street — where local elderly people often went. One day she said, “I’m old and my health is declining — I think I’ll close it. Is anyone interested?” At the time, I was completely drunk and mistakenly said: “I’ll do it!” The neighbors were thrilled: “If you’re doing it, that’s great! Go ahead!” I went home and slept. The next morning I woke up in horror: “Oh no, I promised to rent the place!” I panicked. I asked friends and neighbors: “Can anyone take over? I can’t do it.” But everyone said, “I’m busy with my job, but I can help once a month.” Thirty people volunteered. So we decided: “Let’s do a daily rotating landlord system!” — that’s the “Nantoka Bar.” Every day has a completely different atmosphere. One day it’s all musicians, the next day artists, then young girls, then old men — even a Mongolian came and ran it for one day. The menu was in Mongolian, completely incomprehensible. It’s incredible how much people from different backgrounds don’t interact — but here, they mix completely.

For guesthouses, my inspiration came from China. I started going to China alone on poor trips back in 1994 when I entered university. Back then, when you needed to stay overnight, you’d go to places labeled “guesthouse” or “lodging,” which were dirt cheap. Those places were extremely casual — when you entered the front desk, there’d be an old man sleeping. A kid would be playing games nonstop. Even if you apologized, they wouldn’t care at all. So because the old man was sleeping, I’d say: “Excuse me, can I stay here?” He’d get up reluctantly: “Huh? What now?” And he’d just throw you a key: “Yes, 20 yuan. Over there.” When I went to the room, it leaked rain — so I went back and told him: “It’s leaking.” He said, “Well, whatever,” threw five towels and a bucket at me: “Fix it yourself.” But I was deeply moved. I thought, “Wow — this is what Chinese guesthouses are like.” In Japan, when you go to such places, they say “Welcome!” with a smile — but I hate that. It feels fake. Even if they’re smiling, you have no idea what they’re really thinking. But in China, with the old man sleeping at the desk, you know: “Ah, he doesn’t want to work.” And that honesty moved me. So when I opened my guesthouse, I wanted it to be like that — low quality, but real. If you come to Japan, definitely don’t stay here! But when guests come, we take them out for drinks. We tell them: “That restaurant over there is delicious.” We value connection — not service.

And then, since opening my shop in Koenji, I’ve also been doing demonstrations. The theme is basically always about rent being too high or “don’t make the town pretty.” Basically, it’s resistance against the town becoming more polished, more restrictive, and unable to do anything. The most important theme now is opposing Koenji’s redevelopment plan — next month, May 11th, there will be another demonstration in Koenji. If you’re interested, please come play and join us! The redevelopment plan is to build big roads and commercial buildings in this old neighborhood, bringing in endless boring chain stores. That’s not what we want — we want a town where free people can freely play. Musicians perform on truck stages, artists bring strange artworks, regular drinkers enjoy their sake in the streets — it’s like a festival. The police were initially strict: “Don’t cross this line!” But gradually, they started enjoying it — saying things like, “This is kind of fun,” or “I want some sake too!” Eventually they asked: “When’s the next one?” Japan’s police are probably the weakest in the world — so don’t be afraid of them when you come to Japan.

And now, with the passage of 20 years in Koenji, everyone here has become an acquaintance. No matter what — we’ve been doing this stuff for so long. But at first, there was excitement among young people doing wild things — but after 20 years? Not so much. Now, you make friends with adults too. I’ve become an old man myself — and people who used to work at regular companies, or just ordinary workers in Koenji — they’ve all become connected. Koenji isn’t even that big a town, so if you walk or ride your bike around — you just keep seeing people saying “Hi! Hi!” Now, if I think about it: how many acquaintances do I have in Koenji? Probably over a thousand. The world today is mostly about online connections — we get to know people through the internet. But I really wonder: Is that okay? The internet only shows your best side; real connection is very rare. But when you know people in the neighborhood — you know them fully, including their messy parts. That’s what makes friendship real.

Last year, I turned fifty — so I started a new group called the “Old Man Suicide Squad.” We make traditional Japanese clothing and walk around in it. The idea is: everyone who turns fifty must wear this outfit and wander around — because I think it’s common everywhere to do wild things when you’re young, but many people suddenly become serious after growing up — they get a job, buy a house and car, start a family — and give up on their wildness. But we’re not giving it up! We made this outfit as a commitment to never stop being crazy. Japan is becoming an aging society — there are so few working people, and young people are suffering terribly. So the government and economy keep saying: “It’s a 100-year life! Seniors should work!” But we say: “No, we’re not working anymore. We’ll just do things carelessly.” China will soon face aging too — so if you turn 50, please join us anytime!

So now, I think the world is not necessarily a good place — but most people want it to become better. And I think so too. But in Japan, many people still say: “Let’s work hard now for a better future someday.” But after 20 or 30 years of Japan’s economic decline, we realize: maybe the world won’t get better. So I think it’s better to do small things we can do right now — not wait for the future. For example, I think: wouldn’t you like it if being 30 minutes late wasn’t scolded? Or if drinking one beer during lunch was okay? Let’s do these little things. Here’s an example: our recycling shop has no fixed hours — we just post a sign saying “Open.” Twelve is borderline; around one, it opens. By two, definitely open. At night, usually until eight — but after that? Friends might come over, or I might get lazy and close early. So if someone asks: “Is the shop open tomorrow at one?” I say, “About 70% chance.” So doing everything you can — even small things — I think this works. Everyone has different thoughts, but if everyone does just one thing they really want — slowly, the world will change. Even small things matter. Then the profit-obsessed society shrinks slowly; people who love rigid control feel more confined — and that’s good. Let them become slaves to capitalists — go enjoy making money! We’re not doing that. I think it’s more fun when people like us increase.

So I think, finally — the world is full of people obsessed with making money. But I believe this system has begun to end. In the past, if you worked hard and chased money, you could become moderately rich. But now? Even if you work hard, you don’t get rich — and if you fail, you become poorer. The system is reaching its limits globally. Look at Donald Trump — he’s completely lost it! If you go to the world like that, it’s dangerous. So we must build our own society — visibly, concretely — right here, and live like this. That’s incredibly important now. So please buy a ticket to Koenji — come visit us! Our crazy people in Koenji welcome you with open arms. I’ll bring all the crazy people from Koenji to you — and if crazy fools from every country and region in the world become friends, become drinking buddies — I believe a wonderful world will come. So let’s keep doing things this way.