電車の中でも寝る前のベッドの中でもサクサク快適に。
もっと読みたい！がどんどんみつかる。
「読んで」「書いて」毎日が楽しくなる小説アプリをダウンロードしよう。
タイトル、作家名、タグで検索
ストーリーを書く
タイトル、作家名、タグで検索
ストーリーを書く
電車の中でも寝る前のベッドの中でもサクサク快適に。
もっと読みたい！がどんどんみつかる。
「読んで」「書いて」毎日が楽しくなる小説アプリをダウンロードしよう。
テラーノベル
アプリでサクサク楽しめる
The year was 20XX. It was the early morning on a Monday of a series of holidays in September — while the lingering summer heat was still intense — when the National Defense Force launched a coordinated coup d’état at multiple key locations in Tokyo, seemingly timing the strike to catch the public off guard.
Rebel units from the Army, Navy, and Air Forces, led by young officers, seized the Prime Minister’s Official Residence, the National Diet Building, the Metropolitan Police Department headquarters, and the Ministry of Defense headquarters by force in just one hour, detaining every Cabinet minister in the process.
The government district of Kasumigaseki was blockaded by the insurgent forces — equipped with numerous tanks and armored vehicles — effectively locking out central government bureaucrats from their workplaces, save for the few who happened to be working through the holiday.
Caught off guard, the Joint Staff of the National Defense Force scrambled to organize a suppression unit; however, with the Ministry of Defense headquarters under occupation, the chain of command had collapsed.
They could do little more than issue directives to Defense Force garrisons across the country, ordering them not to join the insurgents.
A brief firefight broke out between police units and the insurgent Defense Force troops at the Metropolitan Police Department headquarters.
Police weaponry stood no chance against the heavy arms of the Army units, and the situation became hopeless when an attack helicopter — armed with missiles and autocannons — landed on the building’s rooftop helipad, forcing the Superintendent General to surrender to the insurgents.
Having secured key strategic points, the insurgent force advanced into the city’s central business district. Major media outlets — including newspaper companies and television stations headquartered in the capital — shut down their headquarters and prepared to barricade themselves inside.
However, the insurgents marched right past these media headquarters and stormed the offices of major IT giants like Goolgle and Yahuu, bringing them under control in an instant.
They subsequently announced the imposition of information controls; in short, they had never intended to engage with old media outlets in the first place.
The Secretary-General of the ruling “Free-Spirited Party” requested that the U.S. military stationed in Japan mobilize, citing the U.S.-Japan Security Treaty.
Yet, just one hour later — despite it being the middle of the night locally — the U.S. President held an emergency press conference at the White House, declaring the coup an internal Japanese matter and stating that the U.S. would remain neutral for the time being. A total curfew was imposed on all U.S. military bases across Japan.
While everyone watched in stunned helplessness, the insurgent forces seized control of the core functions of Japan’s political and administrative systems.
Television news, newspaper extras, and online footage of the insurgents captured by citizens circulated without restriction, and the entire nation held its breath, watching to see how events would unfold.
Online, numerous civic activists called for protests against the insurgent troops; that evening, tens of thousands of citizens gathered around the National Diet Building, which was under siege by the uprising force.
The area was filled with placards bearing spirited slogans such as “Protect Democracy!”, “Stop the Military’s Rampage!”, and “No to War!”
While there were some clearly incongruous signs mixed in — demanding things like “Raise Wages!” or “Stop Anime and Manga Censorship!” — the fact remained that a vast number of ordinary citizens were literally putting their bodies on the line to confront the National Defense Force insurgents.
However, when the insurgent troops blockading the National Diet Building opened fire simultaneously with automatic rifles as a warning, the elderly men leading the protest were the first to flee; the demonstration collapsed instantly, and in the ensuing scramble to escape, a crush occurred, resulting in numerous injuries.
It was later revealed, however, that the warning shots fired by the insurgents had all been blanks; consequently, no one would ever again heed the activists and organizers who had called for the protest yet fled at the first sign of trouble.
At 9:00 a.m. the following Tuesday, inside the House of Representatives chamber of the National Diet Building — with reporters from all major media outlets present — the leader of the insurgent forces, an Army colonel, declared a transition to military rule.
The declaration began with the announcement of the immediate dissolution of both the House of Representatives and the House of Councillors, as well as their indefinite suspension.
The army colonel, sporting a magnificent mustache, declared on the spot that he was assuming the role of Prime Minister of the provisional government.
Next, the colonel-turned-Prime Minister announced the suspension of certain provisions of the Constitution of Japan, listing the specific articles affected.
Although the news repoters had anticipated this, they leaned forward, stretching out their arms to bring their digital recorders even a fraction of a millimeter closer to the provisional Prime Minister.
The Constitutional articles to be suspended were as follows: Article 14 (“Equality under the law”); Article 15, Paragraph 3 (“Guarantee of universal suffrage”); all articles from 41 through 75, which concern the Diet and the Cabinet; and Articles 93 and 95, regarding local self-government and referendums.
Having concluded his announcement, the colonel-turned-Prime Minister stated that the Military Government Headquarters would issue subsequent notifications regarding any necessary amendments to subordinate laws resulting from these constitutional suspensions.
When the interim prime minister invited questions, veteran reporters remained silent out of fear; yet, a female newspaper reporter in her twenties — clearly a novice — bravely stepped forward to challenge him.
“There has been absolutely no mention of Article 9 of the Constitution. What is the meaning of this?”
Article 9 — which mandates the renunciation of war and prohibits the maintenance of armed forces — remained unamended in both its first and second clauses. The interim prime minister replied in a commanding tone.
“Our uprising was not intended to amend Article 9 of the Constitution. That is all.”
The female reporter pressed the issue.
“If you are going to stage a coup like this, surely that would be the objective? So, what exactly is the purpose of these actions?”
“I see. To avoid causing the public unnecessary anxiety, it seems best to be specific. Our objective is …”
As not only the reporters but the entire nation — watching the live broadcast — held their breath, the interim prime minister solemnly declared:
“The suspension of voting rights for citizens aged sixty-five and older!”
With that, the interim prime minister unilaterally ended the Q&A session and left the room. The reporters, unable to comprehend what had just transpired, stood frozen in the chamber, their mouths agape.
Subsequently, the military administration headquarters dismissed all senior officials in central government ministries who were over the age of sixty-five, forcing them into retirement.
Heads of local governments — prefectural, municipal, and town — as well as elected assembly members aged sixty-five or older, were automatically notified that they had lost their positions.
When municipalities whose leaders had been ousted timidly inquired whether they could hold elections to choose successors, the military administration headquarters replied that they were free to do so, provided that both voters and candidates were under the age of sixty-five.
Furthermore, the Military Government Headquarters issued a directive to companies listed on the Prime Section of the Tokyo Stock Exchange stating that “a generational shift in management is desirable,” albeit with the caveat that they could not legally compel private enterprises to comply.
With the exception of companies whose management teams were highly acclaimed, the affected private firms held a succession of extraordinary board meetings and extraordinary general meetings of shareholders, resulting in the dismissal of one executive after another aged sixty-five or older.
This wave of events — which spread from the initial purge of public officials to the private sector — came to be known among the public as the “Silver Purge.”
At the Tokyo Stock Exchange, where trading had resumed two days after the coup, stocks had frequently hit their daily lower limits; however, as the Silver Purge spread through private industry, share prices rebounded. By the end of that year, the Nikkei Average had surpassed the record high set since the bubble era.
Other economic activities and the daily lives of the citizenry returned to a state largely unchanged from before the coup, and Japan appeared, on the surface, to have returned to normalcy.
The public began to grow accustomed to life under military rule, and some bureaucrats started openly currying favor with the Military Government Headquarters through blatant flattery.
However, the Military Government Headquarters proved to be surprisingly sensible. For instance, the Administrative Vice-Minister of Education excitedly proposed to the Headquarters that the kanji characters used to express (shrimp) — currently consisting kanji characters literally meaning “sea” and “old” — be changed to those meaning “sea” and “young” and that this change be mandated across all schools.
The Military Government Headquarters immediately detained the Vice-Minister and dismissed him from his post that very day. Citizens of Ebina City, Kanagawa Prefecture, flooded the Headquarters’ public relations department with letters, emails, and online posts praising and thanking them for this “decisive and wise action.”
However, in January of the following year, other Group of 7 major nations announced they were considering expelling Japan from the group, citing its status as a military dictatorship.
Although U.S. mediation temporarily postponed a formal decision on expulsion, the business community — fearing adverse effects on trade — expressed “grave concern.”
The governments of the People’s Republic of China and South Korea issued a joint statement declaring that “Japan’s remilitarization has become a reality.”
They temporarily closed their embassies in Tokyo, recalled their ambassadors, and notified the Japanese military government headquarters that they were prepared to sever diplomatic relations entirely.
At this juncture — late January — the Imperial Household finally expressed its “deep concern” regarding the state of the nation through the Imperial Household Agency.
The military government headquarters immediately dispatched an envoy to the Imperial Palace. The palace gates were firmly barred; behind them, the entire staff of the Imperial Household Agency stood their ground, armed with bamboo spears and a grim, desperate resolve.
Anticipating that military units might storm the Imperial Palace, they had resolved to protect the Imperial Family at the cost of their own lives.
Yet, the messenger who appeared alone at the Otemon Gate — clad in full military dress — simply delivered a formal statement:
“We take to heart the words of the personage who serves as the symbol of Japan, and we offer our deepest gratitude for such profound consideration.”
He then left, saying only that they should await the official announcement from the Military Government Headquarters the following day.
Left dumbfounded and feeling the wind taken out of their sails, the Imperial Household Agency officials collapsed right there on the ground. The Grand Chamberlain — who had remained in office as an exception to the elderly purge of public officials — found himself unable to regain the strength in his legs and had to be rushed to the Imperial Household Agency’s hospital.
The next day, with every television station broadcasting live, the interim prime minister first bowed deeply toward the Imperial Palace before making the momentous announcement:
“In humble obedience to the words of the personage who serves as the symbol of the State of Japan and the unity of its people, we, the Military Government Headquarters, have decided to return the sovereign authority of our nation to democratically elected representatives of the people exactly eight years after the day the coup d’état was launched. On that day, all provisions of the Constitution of Japan — currently suspended — will be restored to full effect, and the voting rights of citizens aged sixty-five and older will be fully reinstated.”
Whether the choice of an eight-year period — equivalent to two terms for members of the House of Representatives — was a mere coincidence or the result of a hidden agenda remains a mystery of history.
Nevertheless, the majority of Japanese citizens under the age of sixty-five finally grasped the true objective of the coup.
This was because every attempt to resolve issues — such as the declining birthrate and aging population, or the ceaseless rise in government spending on elderly welfare — through legislative amendments or referendums had been thwarted by the opposition of the elderly, who constituted the overwhelming majority of the population.
In other words, suspending the voting rights of the elderly for those eight years meant that referendums for necessary reforms could be held without interference from “silver democracy.”
Referendums and municipal ordinance revisions were promptly carried out across Japan, while at the national level, young experts appointed by the military administration rapidly enacted a succession of legal reforms.
Bold reforms — previously unthinkable under the era of “silver democracy” — were steadily enacted: reductions or suspensions of public pension payments for elderly individuals with significant assets, large-scale municipal restructuring to merge existing city boundaries, and the consolidation of abandoned farmland into larger agricultural plots.
In this way, Japanese society — slowly but surely — began to regain its vitality. By the fourth year following the coup, the total fertility rate — the average number of children a woman bears in her lifetime — had surged significantly for the first time in decades.
The time was finally approaching for the military government to end — it was the year before that scheduled September — and two elderly men, both around seventy, were sharing drinks at their favorite local pub.
One man, whose gray hair was still thick and full, poured beer for his friend — whose head was completely bald on top — and said:
“How long are you going to sulk? Everything’s going back to normal next year, so isn’t that a good thing?”
“Hic … damn it. I know that, but still …”
“It’s not like our pensions have been cut or anything. Besides, isn’t it the right move to leave politics to the younger generation for a while? We old folks have a natural aversion to change, after all.”
“This is what I can’t stand!”
With that, the old man pulled a small calendar from the inside pocket of his jacket. It was the calendar for September of the year the coup took place.
“You’re still clinging to that thing? Thanks to all the reforms, our children and grandchildren have a bright future ahead of them — isn’t that enough?”
“I don’t have a problem with that part. But this is just too rude.”
He pointed to the date on the calendar when the coup had been carried out.
“The third Monday in September, right? So what about it?”
“If that was the kind of coup it was, then it makes it even worse.”
The old man kept pointing at the calendar as he spoke.
“Surely they didn’t have to pick ‘Respect for the Aged Day’ of all days to pull it off!”
(End)
コメント
1件
菊池川詠人さん、第一話読ませていただきました。 クーデターの描写が克明で、まるでドキュメンタリーを見ているような緊張感がありました。でも、その真の目的が「65歳以上の投票権停止」と知って、思わず「えっ？」と声が出ました。皮肉とユーモアが効いていて、最後の「敬老の日」のオチには笑ってしまいました。設定のリアリティと遊び心のバランスが絶妙です。続きが気になります🌷
