The Lowest and Highest Path

Continuing from last time, I would like to introduce the poem in the title, which I have cherished throughout my teaching career. It was published in the Ministry of Education textbook 'Secondary Japanese I (Part 2)' issued on August 6, 1946. It is said to be available now in 'Complete Works of Japanese Literature 15: Hakushu Kitahara, Kotaro Takamura, Kenji Miyazawa.' Incidentally, I found it online under 'Collected Poems of Kotaro Takamura'.

I tried searching for the book on Amazon, but while books like 'The Journey' and 'Chieko's Sky' are available in paperback editions, I could not find a book containing the poem I was looking for. I also have no memory of when or where I first encountered this poem. As for Mr. Takamura's work, I had only read 'Tattered Ostrich,' which was included in my junior high school Japanese textbook.

One year after the end of the war in 1945, the aforementioned textbook was published. Then, in the following year, 1947, a major reform took place with the enactment of the 'Fundamental Law of Education' and the 'School Education Law,' establishing the 6-3-3-4 system and making elementary and junior high school compulsory education.

At that time, it is said that this poem was not included in the textbooks for the new junior high schools. Japan was under GHQ occupation at the time. Perhaps there was an instruction to withdraw it. I will quote this controversial poem below. Note that I have created it in vertical writing on B4 landscape. If you are on a PC, that is fine, but if you are on a smartphone, please view it with the screen rotated horizontally.

Is it just my own assumption to interpret this poem as a warning for the distant future by Kotaro Takamura? As the Showa era ended and the Heisei era began, I started to arbitrarily believe that it contains all the words I want to convey as a teacher and as a parent, especially to junior high school students.

The troubles that are bound to happen in group life at school seem to be addressed repeatedly in this poem with the phrase 'Let's stop it.' Before I knew it, regardless of my position in my teaching career, I had been posting this poem and appealing to others just as Mr. Takamura did.

I mainly introduced the poem in the prologue of my classical literature classes. It also served as practice for historical kana usage. I also posted it in a huge size in the place where students would see it first when they arrived at school in the morning. However, I felt in my bones that it was not really sinking in.

When I was assigned to my final school before changing jobs, I posted it at the entrance of the grade building. It was a school with over 500 students in total. At that time, it was the largest school in a region where the declining birthrate was becoming serious, with only 1,500 junior high school students in total. Upon my arrival, I was appointed as the grade head for the six classes of incoming freshmen.

This school was a controversial junior high school. Above all, there were many truants. The composition of the students' elementary schools was the worst I had ever experienced: two small schools and one large school. Each class consisted of a large number of wild children and a few children who were treated like delicate flowers raised in a greenhouse. There were six such classes. In this state, there was no way it would settle down peacefully.

I had already decided to quit in five years. I made a straightforward resolution that for the next three years, I would ensure that all the students who came to the entrance ceremony would graduate together. And so, a simple yet most difficult challenge began. Despite various twists and turns, my wish was fulfilled. Some people mocked it as a miracle grade, but this was truly the lowest and highest ending. I would like to tell the story of how it happened.

It was in 1990 that I heard the principal tell the entire student body, 'Let's try to do the obvious things in an obvious way.' It was the school I introduced earlier with the 'Cleaning the Toilet' poem. I gave the same talk at the first grade assembly.

In their first classical literature class as first-year students, we suddenly started practicing reading this poem aloud. The students looked blank, not even understanding the meaning of the words. Even so, I repeated the reading of this poem at every milestone, such as after summer vacation. Gradually, an atmosphere began to emerge where they vaguely understood the message.

It sounds like a cliché of some politician, but I dealt with things on a case-by-case basis. In particular, I spurred the teaching staff on, saying that we must never overlook words or actions that trample on people's hearts. If there is something that bothers you, do not leave the scene. I gave a firm order to the homeroom teachers.

There were homeroom teachers in the six classrooms, and I stood in front of the grade counseling room in the center. I was in a position to rush over if there was any sign of trouble. I only took breaks during free periods between classes. I left it to the subject teachers' eyes. During the 10-minute intervals and lunch breaks, my only goal was to prevent and discover trouble.

The homeroom teachers were tied to their classrooms and expressed dissatisfaction. At that time, I grilled them, asking, 'Can you take responsibility?' And then, I established the maximum surveillance system. At that time, it was my 24th year of teaching. I believed in myself, having seen rough schools and rough students. I knew it would never end like this.

What I can say now is the fact that the eyes of the elementary school teachers were like sieves. Just by setting up a high-alert system here, the pus that had been flowing endlessly from the past before they entered school came out one after another. When they caused a problem, the apologies from students from the large school were, surprisingly, the same template word for word. I had judged that by making them say that, they had reflected. There was no heart in it. I didn't feel a shred of emotion anywhere in their words.

I thought this group was in a state of psychological paralysis. I also thought they were sick. I judged that they were in a state far from the poem in question. The lowest and highest path was a very, very long road. I told the 175 of them many times, 'Let's stop it now.' However, it did not sink in easily.

At that time, in the upper grades, there were more truant students than could be counted on both hands. I thought it was undoubtedly the teachers themselves who had created a situation where there was nothing to be done. No concrete efforts were visible. The school itself had that kind of mood. I thought, 'I won't lose.' However, the hierarchical relationship that continued endlessly from elementary school, like the current dark part-time jobs where there are those who give orders and those who execute them, remained unbroken.

One student became unable to come to school. Reminded of the story of a hole in the Dutch dike, I issued a warning that the guard we had built up until now would collapse. It was bullying. The one giving the instructions just grinned without doing anything, and the homeroom teacher in question just panicked. Treating them as criminals or pursuing responsibility is counterproductive.

To protect the class, I asked the homeroom teacher to strengthen casual conversation. And I made home visits every day. Both parents worked, so I met with the grandmother every day. The student himself would lock himself in his room and not come out. Every day, I would have tea and chat before leaving. I did this because I thought it would be the end if the connection was broken.

Before they became second-year students, I asked them who they wanted to be in the same class with. Some might think this is just indulging selfishness, but it is a standard practice in this industry. I did as they wished. However, they still could not come to school.

In the new school year, I was removed from my position as grade head and appointed as the student guidance director. One of the former homeroom teachers took on the role of student support and took over the baton of ensuring connections. My focus shifted to the third-year students, where there were concerns about the grade collapsing. I also became the Japanese teacher for all four classes of 40 students. Even there, I persistently taught this poem. It was already a case of 'too little, too late'.

The day before the ceremony, when we had finally managed to get through the graduation ceremony rehearsals and the venue preparation had settled down, a violent shaking occurred. It was the Great East Japan Earthquake. The power outage lasted until around noon the next day, and the graduation ceremony was postponed. Then, in the following school year, I was ordered to return as grade head. Because the Shinkansen was out of service, the school trip destination had been changed to Hokkaido. Please refer to the details below for more information.

Once again, I printed the poem in an extra-large format and posted it in front of the grade building. The students seemed to notice that I was returning to the position before the opening ceremony. It had permeated their consciousness without me realizing it.

At the beginning of the school year, there was a transfer student. A female student from Minamisoma City, Fukushima Prefecture, which was hit by the disaster. When I told her we would lend her items kept at school for her uniform, she flatly refused. I didn't dwell on that. At the time, there were frequent news reports about students from disaster-stricken areas being treated terribly. It was said that they were showered with words that no human should ever say, such as 'You'll spread radiation.'

Until she transferred, I held grade meetings repeatedly, appealing to them to 'live broadly,' and the homeroom teacher continued to provide follow-up talks in the classroom. After she started attending school, I transformed into a stalker-like figure and watched over her thoroughly. Fortunately, nothing happened, and she returned to Fukushima.

Another grade meeting. I kept thanking the students and praising them. Then, I brought up the poem they were already sick of hearing, and with all my heart and soul, I appealed to them again to aim for a graduation ceremony with everyone present. My consciousness was directed only at one of the ringleaders. He had a good expression. I thought, 'This might work.'

After summer vacation ended, just when we were discussing how to raise awareness for high school entrance exams, big news came in. I heard from the student support staff that he had decided to come to school. I had been continuing home visits as usual. He had become a presence that was taken for granted, even being treated like a houseguest, but the student support staff had managed to get close to his heart.

In September, he slipped into his place. The class organization for that was the result of careful consideration by the entire grade staff. I was grateful for last year's members. It was the result of deeply grasping the interpersonal relationships between the students. At that time, I was focused on somehow getting the grade, which was on the verge of collapse, to graduate.

I stood at the entrance of the grade building until the day before the graduation ceremony, and I was almost never in the staff room. The grade staff meeting after winter break. It started with attendance confirmation. The procedure was for the vice-head to call out the class name and the homeroom teacher to answer. I was in charge of the final lecture.

I began to feel the premonition of a miracle. In the cold of midwinter, every day was perfect attendance. As that piled up one after another, we repeated small cheers. I don't think it should be compared, but the grade below us had 15 students who couldn't come. It became my role to always talk about negative things at the end of the meeting to make everyone tighten their belts.

Every single day was supplementary lessons and interview practice. March arrived in the blink of an eye, and we conducted graduation ceremony rehearsals while forcing thorough cold-weather measures. And in the 77th issue of the grade newsletter the day before the entrance exam, we included a message from all the faculty and staff, and distributed it with the slogan 'We have done everything we should do. There is no way we cannot pass!' written in large letters.

And four days after the entrance exam, the graduation ceremony. There were no empty seats among the 175. My role was only to announce 'Graduates of the 2011 school year' and 'Boys: X, Girls: Y, Total: 175.' After that, during the piano intro of the graduation song 'On the Day of Departure,' I just looked down and let tears fall like a leaking roof onto the floor.

It was the moment the lowest and best path opened up. We were able to do the ordinary things in an ordinary way. A successful experience of 'all-ism.' This is what they call the true reward of being a teacher. My strength is not worth mentioning. Only one thing was carried through: the school has a reason to exist because the students come. That is all.

In this day and age, it is definitely better to leave studying to experts with excellent know-how rather than coming to school. I won't go so far as to say that studying is secondary, but it would be good if the school could be a support for their long lives, even if only a little. It is thanks to them that I was able to be convinced of that. Even now, feelings of gratitude overflow.

After that, I served in a management role for two years and then retired. It was a career change with eight years left until retirement age, but I have no regrets at all. To those currently working in junior high schools: especially those who are worried about school non-attendance. Is the school where you work a comfortable place? If it happens to be an uncomfortable place even for teachers, the sensitive students must be feeling it many times over.

That is all, a message from an old man who retired long ago, with his memories thoroughly beautified. May there be happiness for all the teachers who read this trivial writing!