Banning hereditary politicians

Koga Makoto, the LDP's chief election strategist, spoke in Fukuoka on Monday, where he suggested that the government might not wait until September 2009 to call an election after all. He noted that the prime minister might instead decide to call an election in early 2009, before the start of the ordinary Diet session, or in March or April following the passage of next year's budget.

But the more interesting portion of his remarks pertained to the role of hereditary Diet members. A recent column by Shiota Ushio in Toyo Keizai notes that there are 180 hereditary members between the upper and lower houses, amounting to a quarter of the total membership of the two houses of the Diet. Of the past ten prime ministers, all but Murayama Tomiichi and Mori Yoshiro have been second- or third-generation members of the Diet. 40% of LDP members of the Diet are, according to Shiota, hereditary Diet members.

Mr. Koga, not a hereditary politician himself, sees this as a problem. Indeed, he sees the prevalence of hereditary members within the LDP as a source of the party's fragility.

"Hereditary Diet members are not well acquainted with hardship — born in Tokyo, raised in Tokyo. Even if theirs is a rural electoral district, they don't really understand the area. This has led to the LDP's weakness."

Undoubtedly a certain portion of the party sees the matter differently.

Has the LDP been mortally wounded by its hereditary members? Would the LDP have governed differently, especially over the past twenty years, had its ranks been filled with more members who hadn't been born into politics? The LDP is weak not because its members are weak (or weak-headed), but because the system it engineered and used to stay in power is crumbling. One could even argue that hereditary politicians make better politicians, having learned the art of politics from a young age. (I don't actually believe this, but one could logically make the argument. Why don't I believe it? Exhibit one: Abe Shinzo. Exhibit two: the Hatoyama boys.) Non-hereditary members are little better. "Understanding the area," in Mr. Koga's terms, has often meant knowing the right people to deal with when it comes to rounding up votes and passing out favors (AKA public funds). No group of politicians is inherently better or worse than the other.

It is with this in mind that I read a recent Mainichi editorial on a proposal being mooted by the DPJ. A subcommittee of the party's headquarters of political reform headed by Noda Yoshihiko, charged by reviewing the Public Office Election law, wants to submit a bill to the autumn extraordinary session that will make it illegal for children to run in seats once held by their parents. (I suppose the bill would apply only to parents and children. No word on whether this would apply to other relatives [grandparents, aunts, uncles, etc.].) Mr. Noda hopes to secure LDP agreement on this issue. Mainichi applaudes this idea, and suggests that even if the bill doesn't become law, the DPJ should go ahead and write this provision into the DPJ's party laws, noting that this is a good way for the DPJ to distinguish itself from the LDP. Given the aforementioned ratio of hereditary to non-hereditary Diet members in the LDP — not to mention that presence of hereditary members in important positions in the DPJ — this bill is unlikely to be introduced to or passed in the Diet. And it won't make it into the party rules.

Is this such a bad thing? The Mainichi editorial suggests that the rise of the hereditary member is indicative of a drying up of the political talent pool. But is the prevalence of hereditary members a cause or an effect of the lack of talented candidates for public office? Does the party turn to hereditary members because it can't find anyone else, or do good people stay away from politics because of corruption, the inheritance of Diet seats included?

But as I argued before, hereditary members are not inherently better or worse than non-hereditary members, and I'm not certain that Mr. Koga's claim that hereditary members are more out of touch from their districts than non-hereditary members is true. I suppose that the reason why people — and Mainichi — have a problem with hereditary members is not that they dilute the talent of the political class or anything like that, but that they are an offense to democratic sensibilities. And they are! If hereditary members are not inherently superior to non-hereditary members, why not give non-hereditary candidates a chance to screw up rob the people blind represent the people. Some readers may recall that I had a certain grudging respect for the late, unlamented Matsuoka Toshikatsu, who clawed his way into politics and who was sacrificed in order to save the government of Mr. Abe, that exemplar of hereditary politicians.

But it seems to me that a bill along the lines suggested by Mr. Noda and encouraged by Mainichi would be unconstitutional. The first part of article 14 of the constitution reads, "All of the people are equal under the law and there shall be no discrimination in political, economic or social relations because of race, creed, sex, social status or family origin." Banning second- or third-generation politicians from running in certain districts looks to me like discrimination in political relations based on family origin.

The Japanese people will have to continue to tolerate the presence of hereditary politicians in their midst. After all, it is the people who are responsible for the existence of hereditary Diet members. Mainichi neglects to mention this, instead pointing to the advantages enjoyed by hereditary members in terms of money, name recognition, and preexisting campaign organizations. But the people still ultimately have a choice whether to elect a hereditary politician.

Instead of banning hereditary members, perhaps Mr. Noda and the DPJ should consider more substantial revisions to Japan's election laws that make it easier for challengers to contend with hereditary politicians. Why not lift restrictions that make it difficult for candidates to interact with voters one-on-one? Why not loosen restrictions on when, where, and how a candidate can compete for public office — Japan's incumbency protection laws? Arguably the job security enjoyed by incumbent Diet members is a greater threat to Japanese governance than hereditary Diet members.

DPJ ranks swell

Nikkei reports that the DPJ now has more "party members/party supporters" than ever before.

The total number at the end of May was 270,000 members/supporters nationwide, compared with 244,000 in September 2006 (when Ozawa Ichiro's current term as party leader began) and 201,000 in 2007 (the month isn't specified).

What matters is where these new members are located. If they are concentrated in the rural districts targeted by Mr. Ozawa, they could be a sign that Mr. Ozawa's efforts in rural Japan are bearing fruit, a sign that rural Japan's "allergy" to the DPJ is vanishing and that the party is set to make major inroads in the next general election. The surge is less significant if it is comprised mostly of urban and suburban floating voters who have been pushed from the "leaning DPJ" category into the "firmly DPJ" category.

Unfortunately the party isn't sharing the geographical distribution of this influx of members and supporters.

Nevertheless, it is a sign that the DPJ is doing something right. Regardless of its internal squabbles, the party will profit from deepening discontent with the LDP-Komeito coalition's management of the government.

Meanwhile, for those wondering about the difference between party members and party supporters, the rules are spelled out in section two of the party's rulebook. Both members and supporters make contributions to the party in their applications for membership. Party members are attached to a campaign office — one per single-member election district — while party supporters apply to local campaign offices and prefectural chapters. Both members and supporters have a vote in party leadership elections. The biggest difference is that members "take a part in planning party administration, activities, and policies" (and are expected to agree with the party's principles and policies), while supporters "can [emphasis added] take part in planning party events and activities" insofar as they are inclined (but don't necessarily have to agree to principles and policies).

The money involved is negligible: members pay 6,000 yen annually, supporters pay 2,000 yen annually.

More important than money, the members and supporters provide bodies, ensuring that DPJ candidates will have volunteers to distribute fliers, stuff envelopes, and make phone calls. Again, if enough of these new members and supporters are in districts in which the DPJ has never won before, they could make the difference between victory and defeat for the DPJ.

Off to the races in Yamaguchi-2

Today marks the official start of campaigning in the by-election for Yamaguchi's second electoral district; the election will be held on 27 April.

The election, to fill the seat vacated by newly elected Iwakuni mayor Fukuda Yoshihiko, pits the LDP's Yamamoto Shigetaro (59) against the DPJ's Hiraoka Hideo (54). Mr. Hiraoka is a three-term Diet member who first won election in 2000, winning 104,372 to 97,355 votes over the LDP incumbent, Sato Shinji. He was reelected over Mr. Sato in 2003, widening his margin of victory to 109,647 to 91,087 votes. In 2005, however, he was narrowly defeated by Mr. Fukuda, 104,322 to 103,374, although he was returned to the Diet via the Chugoku PR block.

Mr. Yamamoto, competing in his first election, is a recently retired bureaucrat who began his career in the construction ministry in 1972 and as of 2007 was coordinating regional revitalization policy at the office of the chief cabinet secretary.

As Sankei notes on the by-election, the campaign is the primary battleground now as the road construction/gasoline tax fight reaches a climax (the HR will be able to vote again on the tax bill from 29 April), with major figures from both parties trekking to Yamaguchi to campaign on behalf of the candidates. The election is, of course, also a test for Prime Minister Fukuda. If Mr. Yamamoto can win, Mr. Fukuda may be able to shore up his position within the LDP on the basis of his ability to get LDP candidates elected.

I feel confident predicting that Mr. Hiraoka will regain the seat he lost in 2005. Given his history of success in the district (winning his seat by defeating an LDP incumbent first elected in 1979), his narrow defeat in 2005 (a terrible year for DPJ candidates, making his close margin of defeat a point in his favor), and the general loss of confidence in the Fukuda governmen, Mr. Hiraoka will win an impressive victory over the newcomer Mr. Yamamoto. Mr. Hiraoka's previous election results attest to his skills as a campaigner and his support in the district, something that Mr. Yamamoto — even with the backing of LDP heavyweights like Aso Taro and Koike Yuriko — will be unable to top. In fact, I expect that Mr. Hiraoka may equal or better his 2003 total of 109,647 votes and will likely be aided by the absence of a JCP candidate in the race. (Yamanaka Ryoji, the JCP candidate in 2005, received 13,499 votes, more than enough to make a difference in the narrow race.)

The Japanese media's take on this by-election is that it's rooted in national dynamics. Maybe, but I would argue that the national dynamics hurt Mr. Yamamoto far more than they help (or hurt) Mr. Hiraoka. It would take a fair wind in the LDP's favor to neutralize Mr. Hiraoka's advantages. That's what happened in 2005, after all, and even the LDP won by only the slightest of margins. The fundamentals of the race favor the DPJ.

The LDP's candidate surplus

Sato Yukari, the "assassin" denied the LDP's nomination for Gifu-1, will receive the party's endorsement to run in Tokyo-5, which includes Meguro ward and part of Setagaya ward. The district's current representative, Kosugi Takashi, a former education minister, will be retiring at term's end.

The LDP had considered endorsing Dr. Sato for other districts, but ultimately decided that her best chance is in an urban district.

All's well that ends well, I suppose, but this episode illustrates one of the biggest problems facing the DPJ in its campaign for regime change. The LDP, for all its struggles and sagging popularity, is still able to field competent, attractive candidates — even candidates attractive in urban districts. The DPJ, meanwhile, is still unable to field candidates for every single-seat HR district, let alone competent, attractive candidates.

If the mood is overwhelming anti-LDP when the general election finally comes, the qualities of individual candidates may be less important, but even in that scenario, strong candidates with the three bans on their side could make the difference between falling short or winning enough seats to form a government.

As discussed by Ethan Scheiner, among others, the challenge for the DPJ is to win seats in prefectural assemblies, setting up a "farm system" so that when general elections are held it has a stable supply of experienced politicians upon which to draw.

In the meantime, the LDP is still able to draw able, young candidates with a desire for "reform," candidates who might otherwise fit naturally in the DPJ. Of the many blows dealt by Mr. Koizumi to the DPJ, giving the LDP a veneer of reformist credibility (and raising the prospect of reforming the LDP from within) may be the worst, in that it has undoubtedly made it difficult for the DPJ to entice candidates like Dr. Sato into the DPJ. The LDP remains the party to join if one wants to "make a difference."

Of course, Mr. Koizumi's successors are doing the best they can to make the party less attractive.

Not your father's (or grandfather's) LDP?

Asahi reports that the LDP has leaped into the twenty-first century and set up a YouTube channel of its own, with Kono Taro, third-generation LDP member of the House of Representatives (and third-generation potential party leader) as the party's face on YouTube.

The innovation is not in putting videos on the Internet — there has been no shortage of videos released by the LDP and the Kantei — but in doing it through YouTube, which necessarily means making the party videos open to public comment (and criticism). If the old party Internet strategy emphasized one-way communication, this step could signal the LDP's, or at least its young members', embrace of technology to enhance multi-directional communication between the party and Japanese voters.

The content currently available at the channel by no means suggests a revolution in Japanese political communication, but it's a start. At this point, any step taken to open the political system to the Japanese people is a good thing. This effort does suggest that at least some LDP members realize that the party needs to broaden its appeal. It cannot afford to write off urban and younger voters.

Could the next LDP presidential election — or the next general election — be Japan's first YouTube election?

Thinking about Japanese democracy

With the Upper House elections now a week away, it is worthwhile to step back and think about Japan's political system. At least that's what I did recently, reading Bradley Richardson's Japanese Democracy: Power, Coordination, and Performance — this month's recommended book.

Published in 1997, Richardson's book is obviously not the place to go for analysis of the latest developments in the Japanese political system. Rather his book is useful for his elaborate illustration of what is enduring in postwar Japanese politics. How is power distributed in the political system? How do actors reconcile clashing interests? What role for special interests? Political parties? Bureaucrats? Richardson provides a thorough portrait of the 1955 system, and with the LDP reverting to old ways, perhaps his book might be becoming more current by the day.

My biggest problem with it is that Richardson spends the book demolishing a straw man. He conceived the book as an argument against the idea, popular among polemicists in the 1980s and early 1990s, of a monolithic Japan, Inc. in which bureaucrats, the LDP, and big business collaborated to formulate policy that would make Japan "number one." While that idea may have gained popular currency at one time, enough academics — Richardson's audience, for this is an academic book — had done work illustrating the various ways in which Japanese politics were more pluralistic than commonly thought. As such, Richardson wastes plenty of ink explaining the straw man of a top-down, monolithic, "undemocratic" Japan and then demolishing it, when he would have been better off documenting the problems with Japanese democracy as he describes it (more on this later).

The thrust of his argument is that although the long, uninterrupted rule of the LDP made Japan appear to be less than democratic, the reality is that at each stage in the policy making process the LDP dominance was challenged and the party was forced to compromise (and even with the LDP there were, and are, considerable divisions that frustrate efforts to impose policy top-down).

For our purposes, the most useful chapter in this book is probably the second chapter, "Political Culture and Electoral Behavior." With scores of data breaking down Japanese voting patterns throughout the postwar period, Richardson provides an excellent look at how Japanese voting behavior has changed and become more unpredictable, concluding that there is considerably more to how the Japanese vote than economic actors lining up behind different parties, especially as Japan has urbanized. His discussion of "political alienation" in Japanese political culture particularly resonates for us watching this Upper House election campaign, with the two major parties both struggling to overcome strong negative perceptions among voters. His section on mobilizing Japanese voters is also useful, supplementing and updating the description of Japanese campaigning found in Gerald Curtis's landmark study Election Campaigning Japanese Style.

Meanwhile, one table — "Cosmopolitanism Versus Parochialism in Japanese Political culture" — suggests that the LDP may really be in trouble next week, with Mainichi finding the DPJ leading the LDP 31% to 21%. Why? Because according to Richardson's data, only 29% of voters surveyed said they voted on the basis of the candidate in Upper House elections, as opposed to 49% saying Lower House elections and 57% saying Prefectural Assembly elections. Of the 29%, slightly above-average percentages were found among farmers and those living in rural areas (as opposed to urban areas). In the years since Richardson compiled that data, I have to imagine that that figure might be even lower as party identification has fallen. All of which leads me to wonder if we might be witnessing the beginning of a new, more competitive era in Japanese politics (or perhaps it began earlier but had been obscured by Prime Minister Koizumi, and is now returning in his wake).

The most interesting thing about this book to me, however, is what's missing. Namely, the phrase "liberal democracy" does not appear outside of being part of the name of that impeccably liberal organization, the Liberal Democratic Party. It seems that the absence of liberalism would be worthy of comment, but Richardson is silent on this score. The differences between liberal democracy and plain, old democracy (or illiberal democracy or whatever other variety of democracy imaginable) are substantial, and if Richardson had taken his argument in this direction this book could have made a valuable contribution to discussion about democratization. It is this absence of liberalism — which for our purposes can be thought of as the expression of the individual citizen and his or her rights in politics — that makes Japanese politics problematic, especially when American advocates of democratization try to use the US occupation of Japan as an example of successful democratization (not to mention when the Japanese government talks about democracy promotion; I don't think this is what most people have in mind). In fact, Richardson's "bargained distributive" democratic Japan owes much to a style of social organization that existed in prewar Japan. For you see, it is groups that matters in Japanese democracy, even as elections are apparently decided on the basis of personality. The mechanism has worked to resolve differences between parties, interest groups, businesses, and government ministries, and the individual has been forced into the background.

This is not meant to be taken as criticism, but I still find that the absence of liberalism in Japan is not easily explained. Richardson indirectly points to that absence, but does not get any closer to giving a convincing account of why it's the case. Is it culture? Political culture? "Sticky" institutions? Education?

This is not merely an academic question. With politicians struggling to figure out how to make Japan a dynamic economy in which individuals "can challenge again and again," answering the question of why Japan is not a particularly liberal democracy can help predict whether and how efforts to reform the Japanese economy along more individualistic, dynamic lines can succeed.

(I will pick up this thread in my next post.)

What does beautiful country mean anyway?

Writing about the LDP's keys to victory on Monday, I suggested that LDP candidates might benefit from Prime Minister Abe's leaving the campaign trail to go to Niigata, and that in any case one might expect to see candidates try to distance themselves from the prime minister and his deeply unpopular cabinet (and that the longer the tenure, the easier time they'll have of that).

Now, Mainichi reports, Tamura Kohei, the two-term LDP representative up for reelection in Kochi Prefecture, who I predicted could be at risk of defeat, has stated publicly that he "does not really understand the meaning of 'beautiful country.'"

Expect more of this. And expect that if the government scrapes by with a majority in the Upper House, Abe and company will be taking credit for a victory that will be earned on the basis of LDP candidates effectively deserting the party president. Makes one wonder exactly what kind of mandate that would be.

Is the DPJ losing steam?

The DPJ's leadership, apparently looking at the same material I've been looking at, only more so, has concluded that its previously stated aim of fifty-five seats in the July 29 Upper House elections is too high. Says Mr. Ozawa, "In conditions like these, we will not reach our target of fifty-five seats."

What I find interesting is that the pattern of support identified by Secretary-General Hatoyama follows pretty closely with the predictions I made in my analysis of the twenty-nine single-seat districts: "In Tochigi and the Sea of Japan coast, 'a good environment is developing' (Mr. Hatoyama) and support is strengthening. They are thinking about plans to shore up [support] in closely combated Chugoku [central-southern Honshu], Shikoku, and Kyushu."

By shoring up support, of course, the DPJ triumverate means that the obstacles it is facing in the south of Japan are substantial, contrary to the media mood (even Yomiuri, albeit ruefully) that seemed to make a DPJ landslide a foregone conclusion. Yomiuri made its own contribution Tuesday to the reassessment of the DPJ's election prospects with an article about the turmoil among the DPJ and the SDP in Kyushu (although the article seems to have vanished from the Yomiuri website).

Less than twelve days to go...is the DPJ running out of steam, or is there a second (head)wind to come before the election day?

(For more election speculation, check out this post by Adamu.)

What kind of debate does Yomiuri want exactly?

The Yomiuri has published its editorial on the official start of the Upper House election campaign, and, as has been its ken for much of the past nine months, it argues on the need for a debate on the nation's strategy in the face of new challenges.

Sounds good, right?

Except Yomiuri's idea of good governance in the face of national challenges is that of Prime Minister Abe.

"The Abe Cabinet has revised the Fundamental Law of Education, the 'Constitution of Education,' and raised the Japan Defense Agency to a ministry. This year, the sixtieth anniversary of the promulgation of the constitution, it also passed a 'national referendum law' determining procedures for revising the constitution.

"For more than half a century, successive cabinets have been unable to achieve these victories. They are part of the prime minister's 'freeing [Japan] from the postwar regime' program. At the prime minister's first speech in the Tokyo metropolitan area, he enumerated this and emphasized the 'acceleration of reform'; the greatest results have probably come from this."

The editorial goes on to list how the government's bills have drawn support from one opposition party or another.

No mention, of course, of the unprecedented size of the government's majority, which has enabled the Abe cabinet to pass all of these "historic bills." No mention either of the changing balance of power within the LDP, with those who had opposed these measures in the past marginalized within the party. And Yomiuri's citation of opposition support for government measures serves only to show how the role of the opposition in the Lower House has become of that of mere window dressing on the government's untrammeled power.

For all the talk about the Abe cabinet's legislative achievements, however, Yomiuri actually says rather little about how this government is formulating a national strategy to cope with twenty-first century challenges.

See, I actually agree with Yomiuri on that; Japan faces a number of challenges that demand from the government wisdom, prudence, and steady, far-seeing governance, combined with concern for the people in a time of substantial change. But I look at the government that has been in power since last September and I see a government that possesses none of those qualities, and what's more is beholden to interests and steeped in corruption.

I am not arguing that a DPJ-led coalition government, if and when it comes, will be necessarily better than the current government — that remains to be seen. But political competition is necessary (well, necessary but insufficient) to make better parties. What impetus is there for a party to change unless there is a real chance of losing an election?

That decision, of course, rests in the hands of the Japanese voters. While I don't want to generalize, especially since the people quoted are in Tokyo, two articles in English-language sources have me less than convinced that the Japanese people are ready to punish the Abe cabinet.

First, the Japan Times ran an article about the first day of campaigning in Tokyo, quoting voters as to their preferences for the 29 July elections. It included this quote from a sixty-eight-year-old retiree: "I've always voted for the LDP and plan on sticking with them again, despite the problems with the pension premium payments. The DPJ has relied too much on blaming the LDP, when there isn't much the DPJ has actually achieved as a party." How many of this retiree's compatriots share his forgiveness for the LDP? (This is more or less the Yomiuri editorial line.) And will enough of them turn out to vote in sixteen days to give the election to the government?

Second, the BBC, in an article on Japan's restrictive campaign laws that focuses especially on restrictions on internet usage (the picture of Suzuki Kan's shuttered Second Life campaign office is priceless), quotes some younger Japanese talking about campaigning. Once again, I caution against generalizing from these quotes, but I cannot help but wonder if the sentiment expressed is not altogether uncommon:

In Japan, 95% of people in their 20s surf the web, but only a third of them bother to vote.

Some, though, do not seem keen on politicians using the web to try to win their support.

"I believe that internet resources are not very official," says Kentaro Shimano, a student at Temple University in Tokyo.

"YouTube is more casual; you watch music videos or funny videos on it, but if the government or any politicians are on the web it doesn't feel right."

Haruka Konishi agrees.

"Japanese politics is something really serious," she says. "Young people shouldn't be involved, I guess because they're not serious enough or they don't have the education."

There cannot be many places in the world where students feel their views should not count. Perhaps it is really a reflection of the reality - that they do not.

Here in Japan, it is seen as important to treat politicians with respect.

But such is the deference paid to them, it is hard for anyone to challenge them to try new ways to make the political system better.

I think the BBC is way off to conclude that the Japanese political system is unique for the deference and respect with which voters treat politicians. While Japanese politics may be politer than other democratic countries, it is a mistake to conclude politeness for respect. I have talked to a number of people about politics — including, no joke, people who work in politics — and what I have found is widespread discontent, disgust, and loathing for how politicians have misgoverned Japan. (Perhaps the reality is respect for individual politicians as individuals, disgust for politicians collectively — if so, that's not altogether different than the US, where voters consistently give their own representatives higher ratings than Congress as a whole.)

Nevertheless, the quotations from students suggest something important, that I've mentioned before: for voters, Japanese politics remains a spectator activity. Until this changes, the debate that Yomiuri says is necessary will be a stunted debate, a conversation among isolated elites that largely ignores the interests of the people and gives them no place in the discussion.

No one benefits from the pensions scandal?

The Asahi Shimbun published a chart today that shows public opinion regarding responses to the the pensions crisis (sadly, it does not appear to be online).

Asked if they appreciated the Abe Cabinet's response to the pensions scandal, 59% of respondents said they did not appreciate it to 24% who did.

That's not so surprising, but the following is:

Asked if they appreciate how the DPJ has wrestled with the pensions scandal, 45% said they did not appreciate it to 27% who said that they did.

The poll also shows that insecurity caused by the scandal has diminished only slightly.

Consider that given a scandal of massive proportions, the DPJ still cannot spark enthusiasm among voters for its program. Consider also that despite the three years since the last Upper House election, the LDP and the DPJ are in the exact same range of popularity that they were a month before the election three years ago (2004, DPJ-25% to LDP-24%; 2007, DPJ-25% to LDP-19%).

I think this illustrates a point I made yesterday: the public doubts the entire political class. After the mismanagement of the post-bubble economy, the clumsy responses to the Hanshin earthquake and the Aum subway attack, the worsening financial crisis in the late 1990s, and then the tease that was Koizumi, the Japanese people have had enough (and who can blame them). The pensions scandal is just another brick in the wall, and it was a mistake to assume that it would automatically cause a surge of support for the DPJ. And so while the LDP feels the loss of public trust more acutely than other party, clearly voters are not all that discriminating when it comes to casting doubt on Japan's political class.

And so now that the Abe Cabinet's "162 days of achievement" — the title of this week's Abe mail magazine (I kid you not) — are over, the political environment will become a little more ambiguous, and more challenging for the DPJ. Stories about the government's ramming bills through the Diet will be replaced by light-hearted stories about Koike Yuriko's experiences in her new job (like her struggles to find what to wear to her first review of the troops). The emanation of decrees from the Kantei will be replaced by the realities of the campaign. Politics will become local, momentarily, with candidates and their supporters interacting with voters, calling in favors, emphasizing their incumbency and long service to the people. Remember, this is what the LDP is good at: the DPJ is still not even close to the LDP when it comes to local organization, although the gap has closed somewhat. While Abe will do his best to make life difficult for LDP candidates — an article the other day, in Yomiuri I believe, quoted an LDP candidate in Shikoku discussing how inconvenient the prime minister's visit will be — in general the campaign machines will do their job, counteracting to some degree the pervasive gloom in the government camp.

The government may still be due for a blow, but a few weeks of softball news stories and asinine (dare I say apolitical) campaigning, combined with an election date selected to ensure that no one will be around to vote, may be enough to make the blow more like that of a pillow than a boxer's first.

And yet the DPJ just revised its target upward from 50 to 55? (Over)confidence? Braggadocio?

Calling out the generalissimo

The DPJ has issued another campaign flier featuring a comic strip that tells the story of how the Abe government learned of disappearing pension payments in December 2006 and covered it up until questioned by DPJ Diet members in May.

Here is the last panel:


This panel asks, "For what purpose is the election postponed?" In the foreground, Abe says, "The Diet session was extended in order to pass the administrative reform bill," to which the DPJ bluebird replies, "What administrative reform law! Didn't you just make a state-managed 'amakudari temporary staffing company [haken kaisha]?" In the background, meanwhile, Abe and his cackling LDP cronies talk about the real reasons for delaying the elections: "Let's delay the election by all means. The people will soon forget." "If we make it in summer," says his advisor, "no one will be here." The bluebird replies, "I wonder to what extent they look down upon the people."

This panel is interesting as much for what it reveals about the DPJ's fears approaching the election as for what it reveals about the DPJ's thoughts about the Abe Cabinet. Undoubtedly the DPJ leadership is gravely concerned that Abe's Diet extension stunt will work: the month will pass, memories of the government's incompetence will wilt in the summer heat, and the government will emerge from the election a bit scrapped up but still in command of the Upper House — with two years to do whatever they wish before having to face the voters again. But the party also, of course, sincerely believes that the Abe Cabinet's vision of Japan is one wholly at odds with the concerns of the people they claim to represent. Just in case readers are unclear on that, the flier's back cover removes all doubt:


There he is, the commander in chief himself, resplendent in a uniform not unlike those favored by Latin American strongmen (and labeled with his favorite phrase — hint, it contains the word beautiful), surrounded by symbols of his government's dismal failures: the lost pensions, which "broke future dreams;" the juminzei tax hike, which bullied the weak; the decision to approve textbooks that claimed that the military had nothing to do with ordering Okinawans to commit collective suicide; and the renewed dispatch to Iraq. And then there's the mug shots of his advisers, including Foreign Minister Aso, who suggested that Japan consider a debate on developing a nuclear arsenal, former Administrative Reform Minister Sada, who misused political funds, Tax Commission Chairman Honma, who had a discounted love nest in Tokyo, Health Minister Yanagisawa, who insisted that women are baby-making machines, and lastly, the late Matsuoka Toshikatsu and his expensive fresh water. It was printed too early to include former Defense Minister Kyuma in the rogue's gallery. (Meanwhile, the uniform is a not-so-subtle reminder of Abe's family history and the provenance of some ideas favored by him and his cronies.)

This is actually similar to a suggestion I made a month ago: the DPJ should make "a video compilation of all of Abe's apologies for gross mistakes made by his government, with a cameo or two from Ministers Yanagisawa, Kyuma, Aso, and, of course, Mr. Nakagawa." While this flier is considerably less effective than a video that would let Abe and his ministers speak for themselves, the idea is the same. Time and time again, the government has given the opposition ammunition for its campaign. It's about time they put it to good use, although, that said, it is unclear how exactly voters will respond to this. Will it be enough to make them put off their vacation, or else submit an absentee ballot to register their disgust with the generalissimo's government?

Speaking of campaign advertisements...

The LDP has produced its campaign CM (easier than trying to say commercial, I guess).

It is available here, at the LDP website.

Abe Shinzo. Pomp and Circumstance. Economic growth.

I really don't think further comment is necessary. At some point it just gets to be overkill.

Elections as beauty contests

With two weeks left in the "non-campaign" season, before candidates officially file, which marks the official campaign season during which candidates can actually ask for votes, I thought it would be worthwhile to share a passage from Gerald Curtis's Election Campaigning Japanese Style. For those not familiar with the book, in 1966-1967 Curtis lived and worked under Sato Bunsei, an LDP candidate in Oita Prefecture's second district (back in the days of multi-member medium-sized electoral districts). With the date of the dissolution of the Diet and the subsequent election unknown, Curtis noted Sato's efforts to build a support base in the rural parts of the district, raise money to sustain political activities, and fight to muscle into the Diet in the face of competition from two senior LDP Diet members in the district.

Not being in a rural district, I cannot speak to changes in rural campaign methods, but I can attest to relative continuity in urban campaigning, in part due to the ongoing constraints imposed by Japan's public election law. While campaigning in other democracies has been transformed by new media, legal restrictions in Japan have limited the impact of television, the internet, and even radio on campaign strategy. And so this passage caught my eye:

The prohibition of pre-election campaigning, restrictions on the distribution of written materials and on the use of the mass media, and other seemingly minor things such as the prohibition of the use of convertibles or other open cars work their greatest hardship against the new and unknown candidate. The incumbent, who receives constant publicity in his constituency through his activities in the Diet, has all to gain by maintaining a law that effectively prevents new candidates from gaining public exposure. It is for this reason that efforts to substantially revise the Election Law have been doomed. Once a man becomes a member of the Diet he has all to gain by maintaining and extending the restrictions on campaign practices.

The Law has another important and deplorable effect. It makes the general voter a mere observer of the campaign. By effectively preventing popular participation in campaigns it inhibits if not actually works counter to the political socialization of the electorate that should be a major function of election campaigns. The Election Law's ideal campaign is much like a beauty contest. When the official begins the contestants, supposedly having had no pre-contest opportunity influencing the judges, walk out on the stage and go through a rigorously supervised series of performances that gives each an exactly equal opportunity to demonstrate his attributes to the judges. They then all leave the stage for the judges to make their decision. The voters are in the position of passive judges. They can read posters and listen to speeches but can take almost no direct part in the contest. Not only does this make an election campaign unbearably dull for the average voter. It makes a fundamental function of systems of representative government frightening to the politically concerned electorate because of the fear that efforts in support of a candidate may result in a violation of the Election Law.

In the time since Curtis wrote this, Japan has become the world's number two economy, inspiring fear in the US, and seen its bubble burst, the LDP briefly driven from power, the economy dip into crisis in the late 1990s, and the Koizumi revolution come and go — and still the restrictions on campaigning exist. Whatever tinkering with the details of the law, the pattern of Japanese campaigning remains largely unchanged, critically undermining the role elections ought to play in relations between government and governed.

The Japanese art of campaigning

Yesterday I finally made it to see Soda Kazuhiro's acclaimed documentary Senkyo [rendered in English as Campaign], in which he followed a university friend, Yamauchi Kazuhiko, as he campaigned as the LDP candidate for a city council seat in Kawasaki, Kanagawa Prefecture. (The film's official site can be viewed here.)

Filmed with one camera and lacking cuts, fades, and other editing gimmicks, the film has a raw quality — and at no time did it seem like the persons filmed broke the "fourth wall."

And I can attest to the reality of it. Senkyo is a fairly close approximation of my own campaign experience: a city council by-election in a smallish city in Kanagawa Prefecture. The difference is, of course, that I was on the DPJ side and this film shows an LDP campaign.

However, what one can see in this film is the extent to which the Japanese art of campaigning is ritualized. A number of details in Yamauchi's campaign were familiar to me, some less obvious than others. The sashes with candidates' names; the sound trucks; the white gloves on candidates; the grimy, tiny, dimly lit offices covered with endorsement posters from senior party officials and posters of the candidate; the brightly colored windbreakers worn by campaign staffers; the banners lugged from place to place; the endless amounts of bira (fliers); the utterly meaningless slogans; the very active involvement of sitting officials in getting their party's man elected; the intervention of national politicians in a tiny, largely insignificant campaign — and the otherworldly quality of Japanese campaigning, a kind of ball of noise and frenetic activity that descends upon some place and vanishes a short while later, restoring calm.

What one also sees in this film is the gossip and the pettiness and the heavy-handedness of the LDP machine — and Yamauchi's utter unsuitability for campaigning — but that is not what I want to discuss here.

Rather, Soda's film rises an important question: what is the value of elections if they do not act a transmission belt for the priorities and concerns of voters? There is, of course, a ritual and repetition to campaigning in any democracy — although Japan probably has more than most, and there is less use of media, admirably so, than in other mature democracies. But ideas and policies are almost incidental in this film, and so in all Japanese election campaigns. Yamauchi's policy commitment is basically "I support Prime Minister Koizumi [this was in October 2005] and reform," which cannot make all that much difference in how Kawasaki is governed. While recent election law changes (finally!) permit candidates to produce detailed election manifestos, Japanese electioneering is still rooted in the mindless repetition of the candidate's name, the party affiliation, and a short slogan. In fact, what is striking about this film is that for a film called Senkyo, there is remarkably little interaction with voters, who are for the most part indifferent (or altogether absent). The only expression of interest in politics from citizens can be seen when Koizumi came to Kawasaki to campaign for LDP candidates, prompting crowds to greet him like a rock star. But is that democratic participation, or is it demagoguery, as some Koizumi skeptics and critics claimed?

I fear that for many Japanese citizens, politics is something for other people, not them. It does not concern them. Governments come, governments go, and life goes on. And meanwhile, actual decisions that affect citizens' lives are made far away from the eyes of the public, making government seem that much more like a natural phenomenon — like the weather — that comes and goes, sometimes for ill, sometimes for the better. So elections serve neither as a vehicle for holding officials accountable nor as a transmission belt for public concerns. Neither politicians nor voters seem to take their responsibilities seriously, meaning that election campaigns, for all the ritual, are remarkably hollow, full of sound and fury but signifying nothing.