It was the day after my graduation ceremony when I was 18 years old. I had a hazy feeling.
Three years had passed very quickly since the enrollment ceremony that I attended after passing the entrance examination of the super elite school dubbed the “Hibiya High School of Aichi.”
When I entered my classroom for the first time, I found a flier on my desk encouraging students to support the Sanrizuka Struggle.
“Nagoya University students from the Kakumaru-communist league are coming to organize us,” I heard someone say.
I could scarcely believe my ears.
At the school with the most liberal atmosphere in the prefecture, one out of every three students in the upper grades wore their own clothes.
My pride and pleasure as a student of the super elite school evaporated before the end of the first half of my first year. Although I had been an honor student at my rural junior high school, I was quickly downgraded to just “one of many mediocre students.”
My grades fell to 360th place out of the 400 students. Although I first felt relieved that I was not at the bottom, I found that 40 students belonged to the art course, meaning that I was in last place of all the students in the regular course. Realizing this fact, I was devastated. I learned that when people were utterly depressed, they would give a wry smile.

At the graduation ceremony, my memory of those three years made me feel sad.
In those days, traces of the atmosphere of the students’ Anpo struggle in 1970 remained strong. When students were encouraged to sing the national anthem Kimigayo in unison with the hoisting of the Rising Sun flag on the stage, no students stood up. Everyone remained seated wearing a sardonic smile. The teachers also smiled bitterly. We had been asked by the central committee in advance not to stand up, making me feel that I would be treated as a traitor if I stood up.
It was then that a sudden sound erupted. I saw a solitary female student standing up. She began to sing Kimigayo alone, with her cheeks slightly glowing. A quiet buzz spread throughout the venue.
The student was Kan-san. I was in the same class as this Korean girl in the first year. She was an energetic, cheerful, big-sister type student, popular among the few female students, making her highly recognizable even among the male students.
I thought she was great. To support her, I wanted to stand up, but since nobody seemed to follow her, I ended up failing to do so.
I had a hazy feeling about my lack of courage. Why did she stand up? I assumed that she was against authority and far removed from the so-called reactionary conservatives, who would stand up for the national flag. Also, even though I felt that I was not a reactionary conservative, either, why did I have a hazy feeling in that situation and want to stand up together with her?

Continuing to ask myself these questions again and again from the previous day, I went to school to pick up my things that I had left in my club room.
At the school gate, I ran into Kan-san, who was running from outside.
“Kan-san!”
“Hi!”
She said that she was at school to participate in her club’s last training.
I asked her the questions that I had had from the previous day.
“Kan-san, why did you stand up yesterday? I didn’t expect you to do that.”
“I felt it was somewhat weird.”
“Weird?”
“Yes. All the students are forced to behave the same way. Isn’t it weird?”
I felt that was why I had a hazy feeling. It was weird that all the students obeyed the order and pressure stemming from the premise that those who did not refuse to stand up were not “young people.”
I agreed with her, saying “That’s not rock and roll.”
“Well, maybe not,” said Kan-san with a bitter smile.
“Didn’t the central committee say anything to you?”
“I told them, ‘It’s John Smith.’ Then they smiled and said it was just like a student of this school to behave that way.”
We had learned about John Smith in the previous month’s current history class covering a Republican Party episode during the U.S. presidential campaign in 1956. All the delegates were expected to vote for Eisenhower as the candidate, but one delegate voted for a fictious “John Smith” in opposition to the totalitarianism.
“Great! You’re definitely worthy of this school! I admire you. I didn’t have the courage to do that.”
“But you had a hazy feeling, right?”
“Yes, in a big way. I feel hazy when I’m forced to do something, even if it’s for the sake of justice.”
“That’s because you’re a student of this school after all. We are always thinking what freedom is.”
So saying, Kan-san waved to me and returned to her training.
Her remark “you’re a student of this school after all” dispelled my hazy feeling.
In the school yard, where she was running, there was a line of cherry trees. I saw the blue sky through their branches, which bore swollen, pale-pink buds. I thought that when the buds opened, the school would welcome new students.

　モヤモヤとした十八歳の春だった。卒業式の翌日だ。
　愛知の日比谷高校と言われる超進学校に合格した入学式の日から、あっという間の三年だった。
　初めて教室に入ったとき、机の上に「三里塚闘争を支援しよう」というわら半紙のビラが置いてあった。
「名大の革マルがオルグに来るんだってさ」という声が聞こえた。
「すげえな」と思った。
　県下で一番自由な校風を誇るだけあって、上級生の三人に一人は私服だった。
　超進学校の生徒だという誇りや嬉しさは最初の半年で消えた。僕のような田舎の中学の優等生は一気に凡庸な「その他大勢」のキャラに転落したのだ。
　一時は四百人中で三百六十番にまで成績が落ちた。最下位ではないと思ったけど、全生徒のうち四十人は美術科なので、普通科の生徒の最下位だと気づいて愕然とした。とことん落ち込むと苦笑いが浮かぶことを知った。

　卒業式ではそんな三年を思い出して苦い気持ちになっていた。
　七十年安保の学生運動の名残りがまだ色濃く残っている。日の丸の掲揚されたステージに向かい、国歌「君が代」の斉唱が告げられた時も、起立する生徒は一人もいなかった。みんな薄笑いを浮かべながら椅子に座っている。教師も苦笑いだ。事前に中央委から「起立は拒否せよ」というお願いも来ていた。立ったら非国民扱いだろうと思った。
　そのとき、がたりという音がした。見ると一人の女生徒が起立している。ちょっと頬を染めながらたった一人で君が代を歌いだした。静かなざわめきが広がった。
　カンさんだ。一年の時、同じクラスだった韓国籍の女の子。元気で陽気で数少ない女子生徒たちの間では姉御のように慕われていて、そのため男子生徒からも一目置かれる存在だった。
「やるなあ」と思った。彼女を応援するために立ちたくなったが、誰も立とうとしないので、結局、僕も立てなかった。
　その自分の勇気のなさにもやもやした。第一、彼女は何故起立したんだろう。彼女はむしろ反権力で、国旗に起立するようないわゆる保守反動ではないはずなのに。そして同様に保守反動でないはずの僕は、どうしてあの状況にモヤモヤして彼女と一緒に立ちたくなったんだろう。

　昨日から何度もそんな問いを繰り返しながら、部室に忘れた私物を取りに登校してきたのだった。
　校門に着いた時、外から走ってきたカンさんと鉢合わせした。
「カンさん！」
「あら！」
　聞くと、部活の最後のお別れ練習に来たのだという。
　僕は、昨日からの疑問をぶつけてみた。
「カンさん、なぜ昨日、起立したの？君らしくなかった」
「私ね、なんだか気持ち悪くなったの」
「気持ち悪い？」
「そう。だって全員一致で右にならえって気持ち悪いでしょう？」
　そうか、と思った。僕のモヤモヤもそれなのだった。「起立を拒否しない奴は若者ではない」という命令や圧力に「全員一致」で従う気持ち悪さ。
「そんなのロックじゃないよね」と同意すると、「まあ、そういうことかな」とカンさん苦笑い。
「中央委から何か言われなかった？」
「ジョン・スミスです、って言ったら笑ってた。それもうちの生徒らしくていいや」って。
　ジョン・スミスとは先月現代史で習った五十六年の米大統領選の共和党のエピソードだった。候補者アイゼンハワーで全会一致だったのだが、それは全体主義っぽいということで、一人の投票者がジョン・スミスという架空の候補に投票したのだ。
「すごいなあ、さすがにうちの生徒だ。君がうらやましい。僕は勇気がなかった」
「でも、モヤモヤは感じたんでしょう？」
「うん、すごく。なになにすべきって強制されるの、もやっとするんだ。たとえそれが正義でも」
「それは、やっぱり君もうちの生徒だからだよ。自由が何か、いつも考えてる」
　そう言うとカンさんは手を振って練習に戻っていった。
　彼女の「やっぱり、君もうちの生徒なんだよ」って言葉でモヤモヤが消えていた。
　彼女の走る校庭には桜の木が並んでいる。枝を透かして青空が見えた。枝には薄桃色のつぼみが膨らんでいる。あのつぼみが開くころに、また新入生が来るのだろうなと思った。