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Students from a Neighboring School Harvest the Tea Fields of a Closed Branch School—Who Designs the ‘Succession System’?

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In March 2022, Iwakuni High School Hirose Branch was closed. While the school building fell silent, the tea fields on the premises remained untouched. Tea trees do not rest for human convenience. When spring arrives, they sprout new buds, waiting for harvesters.

Now, students from the neighboring Sakagami Branch are visiting these tea fields. The events of a closed school are taken over by another school—this can be summed up in a single line, but before it can actually happen, someone has to organize the arrangements, and someone has to step up and say, “We will take care of it.” This article aims to explore that process.

The Tea Fields Remain, but the Events Have Moved

For many years, Hirose Branch collaborated with local tea farmers, allowing students to participate in tea picking. The harvested tea leaves were shipped to local tea factories, and the processed tea was sold at local direct sales outlets and school events. It was both a part of the school curriculum and a practical contribution to local tea production.

When the decision to close the school was made, the question of what to do with the tea fields arose. Maintaining the tea fields requires year-round management, and if left unattended, they would become overgrown within a few years. While there was an option for individual farmers to take over, ultimately, Sakagami Branch assumed that role.

Here, I want to pause for a moment. Behind the fact that the tea fields were “taken over” lies a series of adjustments. Who holds the responsibility for managing the tea fields? How will transportation for the students be secured? Can the shipping contracts with the tea factories be continued? How will this be positioned within the educational curriculum? Moving an event from one school to another means transplanting a bundle of practicalities.

During interviews, a teacher from Sakagami Branch remarked, “The tea picking itself is a half-day task. However, the preparations to make it a viable class take place throughout the year.” The essence of succession lies not in the glamour of the event but in the behind-the-scenes arrangements.

The Design Philosophy of ‘Preserving Through Systems’

In Japan’s mountainous regions, the consolidation of schools is accelerating. According to statistics from the Ministry of Education, Culture, Sports, Science and Technology, approximately 9,000 public elementary and junior high schools have decreased nationwide over the 20 years from 2002 to 2022. When a school disappears, not only the school building and facilities vanish, but also the events, memories, and relationships that the school had nurtured in the community.

What is crucial here is whether the succession of events is designed as a “system within an institution” rather than relying on “individual goodwill.” The transfer of tea picking from Hirose Branch to Sakagami Branch was not merely due to the presence of enthusiastic teachers. Stakeholders explain that it was the result of the Iwakuni City Board of Education having a policy regarding the handling of local resources after the closure and facilitating coordination between schools.

Consider the meaning of preserving through systems. Succession that relies on individual enthusiasm can falter when that person moves on. Succession embedded within an institution continues even when personnel change. Of course, there are criticisms that relying solely on systems can lead to a loss of warmth. However, to maintain that warmth, a system is necessary first. People can pour their passion into something when they have confidence that the foundation will not crumble.

Iwakuni High School’s Memorial Service—Another ‘Memory System’

In Iwakuni City, there is another example of a school functioning as a memory succession device: the annual memorial service for mobilized students held at Iwakuni High School.

Towards the end of World War II, Iwakuni was subjected to air raids, and students who were mobilized for labor became victims. This memorial event has continued as a school event even nearly 80 years after the war. Local residents and alumni also attend, participating in flower offerings.

The reason this memorial service continues, according to those involved, is that it is incorporated into the educational curriculum as a school event. In other words, as long as it is positioned within the curriculum, the event will continue, regardless of changes in the principal or faculty. Individual memories may fade, but memories placed within an institution remain even as people change.

Here, we can see a common structure between the succession of tea picking and the memorial service. Both embed their events within the “educational curriculum of the school,” transforming from personal succession to institutional succession. The angles are entirely different—one is an agricultural experience, while the other is a memory of war—but the design philosophy of the system is the same.

Comparison with Hiroshima’s Atomic Bomb Experience Successor System

Broadening the perspective a bit, the “Atomic Bomb Experience Successor” training system promoted by Hiroshima City also exhibits the same structure. As the survivors of the atomic bombing age, the day when there will be no one left to directly recount their experiences is inevitably approaching. Since the 2012 fiscal year, Hiroshima City has begun training successors, with approximately 200 individuals certified as of 2024.

What is intriguing about this system is that it nurtures “storytellers” not solely relying on individual initiative, but within a framework of training programs and certification systems. Certified successors, after three years of training, take on the role of “holding and narrating” the experiences of the survivors. The ownership of memory and the storyteller are separated—this design bridges that gap through the system.

The tea picking in Iwakuni, the memorial service, and the Hiroshima successor system all share the same underlying question: “What kind of system can we prepare to preserve this memory and this activity even after the current bearers are gone?”

The Limitations of Systems and What Remains

However, I also want to note concerns about entrusting everything to systems.

Institutionalized events are always at risk of becoming mere formalities. The possibility that tea picking becomes “an annual event” and the memorial service turns into “a time just to read the program” looms as long as the system continues. While systems guarantee continuity, they do not guarantee the renewal of meaning.

To what extent do the students of Sakagami Branch feel that the tea picking from the Hirose Branch is “theirs”? This cannot be measured in numbers. However, during interviews, there was one particularly striking moment. A交流会 (exchange meeting) was held where students from Sakagami Branch learned tea picking tips from former students of Hirose Branch. Graduates from the closed school demonstrated the techniques to current students. Within the framework provided by the system, there is a moment where skills and memories are passed from hand to hand.

Systems are vessels. Because there is a vessel, one can pour content into it. Without a vessel, even the richest content would seep into the ground and disappear.

The Question of ‘Who Does This System Benefit?’

As students from a neighboring school harvest the tea fields of a closed school, what I want to consider is not whether it is a “beautiful story.” Rather, it is, “Who does this system benefit?”

It reduces the burden on farmers who take on the management of the tea fields. It preserves the connection to the land for students who were on the verge of losing their ties to the community due to the school closure. And above all, it quietly addresses the concerns of local residents who were worried about “What will happen to that tea field?”

Systems exist to alleviate someone’s worries. Embedding succession within an institution without relying on individual efforts is not a cold matter; rather, it is a design that is kind to people.

As school consolidations progress nationwide, the decisions about what to preserve after a school closure and what to transfer where will increasingly become challenges faced by many municipalities. The Iwakuni case is small. However, it is precisely because it is small that the underlying structure becomes visible.

The new buds of the tea fields are once again waiting for someone to harvest them this year. The fact that that “someone” is determined not by chance but by a system—that is, I believe, the warmest part of this story.