The Naked Festival

(Big Danger in Little Osaka #17, 2009)

Nudity is not really a big deal in Japan. At public bath houses, for example, everyone just gets naked and hangs out like it ain’t no thang. Thus, is it only natural that Japan should have hadaka matsuri, or ‘naked festivals’, which are held at various locations throughout the country. Festivals vary depending on the region, but they all essentially involve hundreds of Japanese men wearing nothing but loincloths. I had heard about a naked festival being held at a temple in Okayama prefecture and I thought I might as well embrace the local culture, as unusual as it sounded. I didn’t really know anything about the event, but hey, it sounded like a bit of light-hearted fun.

“This is an extremely dangerous event” warned our guide on the bus as we approached the temple several weeks later. “People have been seriously injured or even killed.” Right. While I pondered the physics of leaping from a moving bus, the guide went on to explain how the festival works: essentially, priests throw sacred sticks into a crowd of naked men, two of which are worth an incredible amount of prize money (the exact value of which was unclear, but I heard estimates of up to NZ$20,000). When the sticks are thrown, a riot essentially breaks out. This is when injuries occur, as people are pushed down the temple stairs, crushed against pillars or, as some claim, knifed by Yakuza members.

After arriving we had to strip down and have loincloths fitted by a Japanese dude, which was every bit as weird (and much more painful) than it sounds. After doing an obligatory run through freezing water, it was time to enter the temple for the stick-drop. Wanting to avoid serious injury or, y’know, death, I hung back and watched with the rest of the sane participants as the temple was filled way past capacity with thousands of loincloth-clad men. The wait for the sticks to drop was interminable, especially since I was completely frozen in the winter air. Teeth chattering, I watched the gathering crowd surge left and right, spilling cascades of men down the temple stairs every few minutes. Medics had to fight their way through the crowd to rescue people who had collapsed or been injured in the crush.

After what seemed like almost an hour of waiting, the sticks were finally dropped and everyone went nuts. The crowd eventually spilled outside as guys lucky enough to grab a stick attempted to run to safety while fighting off dozens of other men. Afterwards, I spoke to guys who had fallen to the ground and been trampled, or who had been crushed against pillars and were unable to breathe. Apparently the Yakuza had been there, identifiable by their black loincloths, though I hadn’t seen any. In the end, the mass nudity was eclipsed by the sheer chaos and brutality of the event, the likes of which I had never seen (outside Castle street). That such a raw, primal event still exists in Japan blows my mind, but at least it further dispels the tedious myth that Japan is a nation of excessively polite and reserved people.