協同の力──日本の歴史からの教え
On the banks of the Chikugo River in Kyushu, a great story of cooperation unfolded. In the seventeenth century, five village leaders and countless villagers joined hands to build a massive weir and canal, turning barren fields into fertile land. Their effort reminds us that prosperity is always the fruit of shared responsibility.
A calm view of the Chikugo River in Kyushu, Japan, with wide waters reflecting the sky and green fields stretching to the mountains—symbol of the historic irrigation project built through cooperation.
Introduction
Modern life often celebrates the individual—the one who stands out, competes, and wins. Yet behind every road, bridge, and field we rely on today lies a different truth: communities built them together. What we inherit from the past is not only material wealth, but also the spirit of cooperation that made such achievements possible.
In Japan, this cooperative spirit once had a special name: yui—the act of joining forces for the common good. Though the word is less familiar today, the practice shaped countless towns and villages. One story from seventeenth-century Kyushu reminds us how powerful cooperation can be when people unite their strength, their responsibility, and their will for the sake of others.
Problem / Question
Across the world, great rivers flow through nations, and along their banks rise massive levees stretching far into the distance. Japan is no exception. As a volcanic archipelago, its rivers may appear gentle in ordinary times, but after heavy rain they can turn into raging torrents that swallow nearby villages.
Even today, when visitors come to Japan, they notice that every major city is built beside a great river lined with enormous levees. What is remarkable is that most of these structures were built long before modern machinery—constructed instead by the hands of countless villagers working together.
Such vast projects were never easy. They demanded resources, labor, and above all, trust. In early modern Japan, villages often faced hardships that no single person could solve—whether it was irrigation for rice fields, protection from floods, or the rebuilding of homes after disasters.
The question was always the same: how can people act together when the burden is too heavy for one, yet essential for all?
Facts and Observations
At that time, five village leaders—Kuribayashi Jihei, Honmatsu Heeimon, Yamashita Sukesaburō, Shigetomi Heeimon, and Inoyama Sakunojō—resolved to change the fate of their land. They decided to construct a massive weir and canal to draw water from the Chikugo River into the fields. It was an unprecedented undertaking, requiring enormous labor and cost, with great risk of failure.
The five swore an oath: “Having once resolved, we will see this through no matter what. If we fail, we will atone with our lives.” They returned to their villages and called upon the people. Farmers pledged their labor, and even women and children offered to carry stones and timber. Other villages wished to join, but the five leaders, fearing the burden of responsibility, declined—yet those villages still signed the petition to the domain in solidarity.
The domain officials hesitated. The plan was sound, but the cost was staggering. The domain’s finances were already in deficit, and even an appeal backed by villagers’ very lives could not easily win approval. Opposition also arose from downstream villages, who feared that if floods were controlled upstream, their own lands might face greater danger.
Still, the five leaders pressed on. They petitioned repeatedly, explaining their plan with passion and proposing countermeasures, such as diverting part of the torrent elsewhere to ease flood risks. Their persistence reached the lord himself, and at last permission was granted—though with a stern warning: “If you fail, you will be severely punished.”
With this in mind, the villagers labored day and night. At last, the great weir was completed, and water flowed into the canal just as planned. The once-barren fields filled with life, and the joy of the people knew no bounds.
Thoughts and Interpretation
What shines through this story is more than technical achievement. It is the spirit of cooperation—leaders willing to stake their very lives for the community, villagers laboring side by side, even children carrying stones, and finally, generosity toward those who once opposed the plan.
This spirit is not about excluding or punishing dissenters. The five leaders could have insisted on rewarding only the loyal, yet they chose a broader vision: the well-being of the entire region. True cooperation does not shrink into narrow self-interest. It expands to include even those who resisted, transforming division into unity.
The lesson also lies in responsibility. The leaders did not demand that others risk everything for them; instead, they placed the heaviest burden on their own shoulders. That sense of accountability gave people the confidence to join. Cooperation is strongest when responsibility and sacrifice are first embraced by those who lead.
Looking at the fields of the Chikugo basin, once barren and later abundant, we see more than fertile soil. We see the legacy of countless acts of trust, effort, and mutual care. It is a reminder that every bridge, levee, and community space we inherit today was once built through the same unseen hands of cooperation.
Conclusion
The story of the Chikugo River is not only about five leaders or one region. It reflects a truth that shaped Japan for centuries: communities endure and prosper when people act together, guided by responsibility and trust.
Every road, bridge, and park we rely on today is an inheritance from such cooperation. They were not built by isolated individuals, but by generations who worked with the awareness that their efforts served both the present and the future.
To recover this spirit is not nostalgic longing; it is a necessity. In an age where individualism often overshadows community, remembering the power of cooperation reminds us that prosperity is never the achievement of one, but the gift of many.
The Japanese once called this spirit yui—the binding of lives for the common good. Its name may fade, but its message endures: when people unite in purpose, even the heaviest burdens can be lifted, and barren fields can be turned into fertile ground.
[Author’s Note]
When I reflect on the story of the Chikugo River, I do not see it as distant history. I see it as a mirror of what we still need today. Cooperation is not simply about building canals or levees; it is about recognizing that our lives are tied to one another, and that responsibility begins with each of us.
In Japan, this was once called yui. The word may sound old-fashioned now, but its meaning is timeless: we are stronger, kinder, and wiser when we act not for ourselves alone but for the good of the whole.
As I write, I ask myself whether we are still teaching this lesson. Do we remind our children that every street, every bridge, every park was made possible by those who came before, working together for people they would never meet? To remember this is to honor our ancestors—and also to accept our duty to those who will come after us.
I hope that this story, simple though it is, may inspire readers to rediscover the quiet but powerful strength of cooperation.
