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Men-only mountain rises above conflict

At 5 a.m. on a summer day already sticky with humidity, three dozen ascetic priests known as yamabushi _ "those who lie down in the mountains" _ have gathered at the foot of this mountain in southern Japan to pray before climbing its sacred slopes.

Peaking at 5,640 feet, Mount Omine is far from the highest mountain in Japan. But the yamabushi who follow the Japanese religion of Shugendo and other pilgrims have been climbing it since the ninth century, drawn by a belief that the two-hour ascent up its rocky trails will help them touch the spiritual world above, while leaving their earthly concerns below.

And that means leaving women behind, as well.

Women are not welcome on Mount Omine. For 1,300 years, only men have been allowed to huff and puff the rutted paths leading to the Buddhist temple at the top.

With a final clap to draw the attention of the mountain's spirit, the yamabushi pass without pause through the "Off Limits to Women Gate."

The barrier is hardly imposing, little more than a stumpy marker forged from three old logs. But in a culture where conformity rules and few dare to cross its invisible lines, the gate is a psychological maze of barbed wire.

The ban's logic is rooted in sex. The yamabushi and, later, trainee Buddhist priests on the mountain were supposed to be engaged in a test of strict self-denial _ at least until they came down to avail themselves of the numerous brothels awaiting them at the bottom. Women on the mountain would be a distraction.

"We still believe this, that the mountain is only for men," says Kosho Okada, a 34-year-old Buddhist monk who is deputy to the chief priest at the Ominesanji Temple that crowns the mountain. "We have been protecting this mountain for some time now, and we are going to defend its tradition."

The gender ban persists despite an 1872 Japanese government decree that struck down ancient conventions keeping women off many of the country's mountains _ including national icon Mount Fuji. Across the mountain-ripped Japanese landscape, only Mount Omine has ignored that order, its uniqueness nurtured by generations of like-minded monks and municipal officials who insist they are defending tradition, not discriminating against women.

The locals can now point to a 21st century endorsement of their views, from an unlikely source. This summer, the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization declared the entire Mount Kii range _ which encompasses Mount Omine _ a World Heritage site.

The United Nations says that the sacred sites and pilgrimage routes across the mountain range reflect Japan's fusion of Shinto and Buddhist spirituality and that universal access is not a requirement for World Heritage status. The decision dismayed Japanese women's groups that had lobbied the government and the United Nations against enshrining what they see as discrimination on Mount Omine.

"UNESCO didn't even seem to think this was an issue," says Junko Minamoto, 57, of the Institute of Human Rights Studies at Kansai University. Minamoto says her interest in the mountain was stirred by her academic study of Buddhism, which alerted her to what she saw as the religion's enduring bias against women and its tenets requiring women to obey men.

The ban on allowing women up Mount Omine symbolizes that second-class status, says Minamoto, who campaigned against World Heritage status for the mountain and managed to get some national media attention for the cause.

But she also ran into a backlash, especially around the mountain.

"It is really, really difficult to argue for women's rights in Japan," the soft-spoken lecturer says. "The Japanese have an allergic reaction to feminist issues. I don't think Japanese women think about things that affect them."

There is virtually no sign of sympathy for her crusade in Dorokawa, the one-street town at the base of Mount Omine where local businesses are wondering whether the U.N. designation will usher in a tourism boom.

"This is a convention, a custom we have kept for 1,300 years, and we are happy the U.N. has decided to help us preserve and recognize it," says Genichi Masutani, head of an innkeepers association and the local official most identified with the push for World Heritage status.

The innkeeper is a friendly 46-year-old who seems to know everyone in town. They, in turn, associate him with the local campaign to keep Mount Omine's slopes women-free.

Some women do occasionally sneak onto the mountain _ activist Minamoto walked unimpeded across the demarcation line with seven other women one sunny October afternoon a few years ago. They took pictures to document their act and left without climbing to the top.

"I quite often have men who have been climbing the mountain come to me and say: "Mr. Masutani, I saw some women on the mountain today.' " He looks disgusted. "They do it just for self-satisfaction," he says.

So the mountain is not just for Japanese men? Foreigners are welcome?

"Of course," he says, with a huge smile.

Muslims?

"Yes, yes."

Jews?

"If they are men," he says, laughing.

Homosexuals?

"Of course."

Dogs?

"Yes."

Female dogs?

"Fine." He is laughing hard now. "Look, we've even had men on the mountain dressed as women. That's okay, too."

But no women?

"Never."

Masutani says townspeople got nervous a year ago when they learned that UNESCO was sending inspectors out to report on whether Mount Omine met the criteria for World Heritage status. What if they sent a female inspector?

"We discussed what we would do if the U.N. had a woman in the committee, and we concluded we would not let her on the mountain _ even if that meant losing it," Masutani says.

In the end, the United Nations sent a single official _ a male South Korean professor _ to inspect the mountain.

"I climbed it with him that day," Masutani recalls. "He asked me, "Okay, I understand the mountain has this tradition.' And I waited. And he asked me, "Do you think this small gate will be enough to keep them out? Women could just come up here at night and there is nothing to stop them.' "

Masutani smiles at the memory.

"I told him the same gate had kept them out for 1,300 years."

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