政治議論とファースト・カルトPolitical Debate and the First Cult
Personally, I find myself looking upon the American condition with a profound sense of envy. It is not for the facile reason that my generation constitutes a demographic majority there, thus allowing our voices to be easily reflected. Rather, it is because there is no other nation, save for the United States, where political discourse is so vividly alive.
Among the developed nations, America alone has avoided the demographic trap of a super-aging society. As evidenced by the fact that Millennials and Gen Z will constitute the majority of the electorate in the 2028 and 2032 elections, America stands unique in possessing an abundance of youth and a genuine progression of generational turnover. Of course, for those who truly care for their country and the world, the current state of affairs likely brings intense anguish. Yet, regarding this specific vitality, living here in Japan, I find it deeply enviable.
In stark contrast, when we gaze upon Japan, we see a nation that has already plunged into a super-aging society, where generational succession has failed completely. It is a decline so steady that it is ridiculed with the prophecy that the very existence known as "the Japanese" will face extinction in the near future. While Japan has its own complex circumstances, when viewed against the premise of America’s vibrant society of discourse, one is forced to realize that here, "political discussion" fundamentally does not exist.
Or, to speak with greater honesty: what unfolds here is a politics so formalized, carried on by parties and factions made up of so-called "career politicians" and a segment of their supporters, that one cannot even summon the will to debate it. To put it clearly, even the act of discussing Japanese politics has completely lost its significance. The sentiment that using words to debate politics is a waste of energy better spent elsewhere is one agreed upon not only by myself but by many Japanese people. Indeed, I rarely write about contemporary Japanese politics in Shitsurae precisely because there is no meaning in doing so.
Viewed through the lens of demographics, assuming we proceed with peaceful methods of reform, the probability of our generation’s voice being reflected in politics is zero. Likewise, the probability of our generation changing politics is also zero. This is self-evident. It is a consequence of the violence inherent in democracy continuing to function even within a super-aging society; the zombified logic of sheer numbers shuts down the very soil of debate without recourse.
Generationally speaking, the elderly stratum that forms the overwhelming majority in Japan has largely retired from direct social activity. It is, therefore, natural for them to wish to die without the society around them changing. Criticizing this as the selfish egoism of the old achieves nothing. Since this type of opinion carries significant weight in politics, the logical conclusion for youth who espouse reform is that no effective means remain within the framework of consensus building.
In other words, regardless of whether we call it democracy or something else, the traditional method of determining state governance through consensus building does not function in a society with a declining birthrate and aging population—as Japan is demonstrating to the world in advance. Instead, it becomes the driving force of national ruin. In such a social condition characteristic of Japan, politicians inevitably become like bureaucrats, maintaining their vested interests by doing nothing. After all, if the majority of the electorate desires nothing but the absence of change, one secures votes precisely by doing nothing. Conversely, those who attempt to change something cannot garner votes. For the demand of the majority is nothing other than stasis.
Once accustomed to such a distorted situation, it is only natural to lose the will to discuss politics. The apathy of Japanese youth towards politics began to be loudly propagated around the mid-to-late 2000s, when I was a high school student. And what have today’s politicians and parties begun to do in response? At every turn, they utter the word "First."
There is "Tokyo Citizens First" (都民ファースト), led by Tokyo Governor Yuriko Koike; "Japanese First" (日本人ファースト) by the Sanseito party; and most recently, "Consumers First" (生活者ファースト) by the newly formed centrist reform coalition of the Constitutional Democratic Party and Komeito. We are witnessing a politics so laughable it invites scorn, where everyone boasts of being "Something-First." Riding this ridiculous tide, the current administration led by Prime Minister Takaichi—who leads the election-loving Liberal Democratic Party—has once again announced a dissolution and general election. Including this instance, there have been approximately six dissolutions and general elections in the mere thirteen years since the LDP regained power in December 2012. Consequently, the media today has begun to use the term "Takaichi First" as the next iteration, exposing the grotesque reality of the "First Cult" in Japanese political trends.
The defining characteristic of this "First Cult" is that they always speak of the First, but never of the Last. Fundamentally, if one is to declare what comes first, one must also declare what comes last. For prioritizing something inevitably means relegating something else to the end. Yet, to my knowledge, while I have seen countless politicians speak of the First, I have never seen one speak of the Last. Ignoring the disgrace of presenting such an anachronism—abusing the word "First" to feign a political trend—to the international community, no one speaks of the Last. While they tacitly agree to never voice the fact that it is merely "Vested Interests First," they also know, yet refuse to speak, the inconvenient truth: that what is being put Last is, in fact, the Japanese citizenry.
Since interest in the games of politicians has vanished from the hearts of the people, they might as well openly declare: "Vested Interests First, Citizens Last." That would feel far more honest and suited to the times, yet they never will. As a result, sophistry piles upon sophistry, creating the illusion that something has been established. This is the mechanism by which kuki (空気) is brewed that Shichihei Yamamoto once fiercely criticized. The Asahi Shimbun mocks the Takaichi administration’s dissolution as "Prime Minister’s Self-Interest First rather than Citizens," but it is precisely because the citizens are Last that parties like Sanseito, proclaiming "Japanese First," can make such leaps.
What must not be overlooked here is that if the Japanese citizenry itself is placed Last in Japanese politics, then foreign residents living in Japan are not even in the picture. In other words, what politicians are doing is hiding the existence of a stratum that falls into neither First nor Last, expelling them from the discussion by failing to present the Last. This will certainly become a problem later. The foreign residents in Japan, who already constitute a significant number, are placed outside the sphere of First and Last in current politics. Should something happen, those whose very existence is omitted from the political calculus have no means of recourse. History teaches us that we should not underestimate this omission.
In fact, a tragedy occurred with this exact structure approximately one hundred years ago: the Great Kanto Earthquake. Although politicians still refuse to officially admit it, during the chaos of that earthquake, the police, bureaucrats, and town vigilantes colluded to spread disinformation that Koreans, agitated by socialists, were rioting across the Kanto region. The earthquake struck at 11:58 AM on September 1st. Astoundingly, amidst the turmoil of a paralyzed Tokyo, this rumor was already being spread through Tokyo and Kanagawa on that very day, reaching the entire region by noon the next. As a result, the slaughter of Koreans ran rampant; atrocities were committed, heads were severed and left on riverbanks. The targets were not limited to Korean immigrants but extended to anarchists and socialists. It was a massacre orchestrated by the collusion of police, officials, and vigilantes, exploiting an unprecedented disaster.
Many still refuse to acknowledge this massacre. However, considering that Masahiko Amakasu, a military police captain, murdered the anarchists Sakae Osugi and Noe Ito under the cover of the earthquake, it is a fact that massacres took place, even if the scale remains debated. Personally, I believe the problem of the "Political First" lies in the stratum that is erased from the foundation of discussion precisely because the Last is never spoken of. Dismissing this as merely "far-right" obscures the reality. Furthermore, in Japan’s case, the soil is peculiar; the environment makes it difficult for a typical Western-style dictator to emerge. History reveals that those who plot such dictatorships almost without exception seek to install the Emperor.
Now, setting aside for a moment whether the soil for discussing domestic politics is good or bad, there is something intriguing in the contrast: the American soil, where political debate is hyper-active even by global standards, versus the Japanese soil, where debate itself fundamentally does not exist. Which is better or worse is not the issue for us right now. In any case, one thing is certain: we must continue to live, even if the ship sinks, even if the nation perishes.
From this perspective, the current states of these two developed nations, Japan and America, seem to occupy extreme positions regarding political discourse—one intensely active, the other intensely inactive. Indeed, the fact that this Substack has an independent category for "American Politics" shows there are many who care; the heat is far higher than for European or British politics. We have entered an era where we must survive with the strong will not to equate the nation with the motherland. When we solidify this will, one important thing becomes visible from these two great extremes. That is the "significance of debate."
Looking back at Japan one hundred years ago, in contrast to the present, political debate was extremely active. It was the twilight of the era known as Taisho (1912-1926). There was a feverish atmosphere where some people engaged in fierce political debate day and night. Among them, the one who left a deep impression on me is the writer Akiko Yosano (1878-1942). Born in Sakai, Osaka, she is a compatriot of mine, so I have known her name since childhood. However, recently investigating her work and reading her writings on tanka poetry, I found something that resonates perfectly with this article. She wrote the following regarding tanka:
"I fundamentally do not like to argue about poetry. The reason is that I consider argumentation and creation to have almost nothing to do with each other. Even today, there are many arguments among professional poets. Yet, in the works of those who argue, there is surprisingly little that enlightens us. The reason there are few outstanding poets among those who have long discussed poetry and verse tediously is that they use their energy on useless arguments, getting angry in disputes with others, and neglecting the essential toil of creation."
Criticizing thus at the beginning, she continues regarding poetry:
"Poetry is a product of sensibility; it does not sprout from poetics or rhetoric. If one wishes to create a song, one must first face life and nature, feeling them with a vibrant heart. Only for the person who accumulates the hardship of expressing this experience through the music of words will a song be harvested that is worthy of being signed with their name and called a 'creation'."
This text was published about one hundred years ago, but the essence remains unchanged. In this sense, while an abundance of debate may be socially healthy, it also reveals a problem: the existence of people who do nothing but debate. In reality, they may not only be debating, but they are so busy with daily arguments that they neglect and disdain what they should be doing—creating, thinking, executing.
The current international political discourse appears to be a typical symbol of this. Usually, those invited to international discussions are people with a certain degree of influence, so wherever you look, it is mostly the same people, moving only the venue of the debate, engaging in similar arguments. In short, it is merely rampant recycling. Ideally, a specific argument made by a debater need only be made in that specific place; streaming it or updating it should suffice. Yet, incredibly, in the modern age—including YouTubers—there is a proliferation of people who want to monetize through their channels. Problems arise because anyone can set one up. Since the objective inevitably shifts to increasing subscribers by inviting these famous, influential people to debate, they necessarily demand similar arguments from the speakers.
This means the speaker becomes accustomed to the idiotic act of reheating what they have already said on another channel and continuing to speak it to a different interviewer. Why? Because it easily becomes income.
Since the interests of income and fame align for both parties, this method alone is patterned, diffused, and reproduced, presenting the miserable spectacle where, even after a year, what the speaker says has not changed at all. However, because these people possess influence, this debate—specialized in reheating and refusing development—is narrated as the opinion of international intellectuals and becomes standardized. Then, people influenced by it multiply in the same manner.
Everyone admits that debate is important. But that does not mean one should spend all one's time debating; rather, it should not be so. What meaning is there if debate is not faced with earnestness, as a once-in-a-lifetime encounter, after deep contemplation and daily struggle, when the time is ripe? To discuss the same arguments tediously is meaningless to the world; there is no life in it. My suspicion is that these people, having grown accustomed to easy monetization, have abandoned the daily internal contemplation that is indispensable for elevating the quality and development of debate. This is nothing but a blight upon the world.
After all, no matter how much the modern age ostensibly claims to reflect diverse voices, the dominant perceptions, views, and statements of the world are actually constructed around this small circle of people. The problem is that these types of people establish the world’s discourse by being passed around in a specific, narrow space. Viewed consequentially, if we premise our understanding on their debates, we fall into a reverse effect where nothing progresses, and we become gridlocked. This is because they do nothing but debate, overwhelmingly losing the time allocated for creative acts and creation. If they are saying the same thing a year later, they should immediately step down from the stage for the sake of humanity, but they cannot let go of the system that allows them to earn so easily.
When this state is reached, it inevitably follows that the words of nameless people are far more likely to strike at the heart of the matter, even in political debate. As social media symbolizes, the modern age allows anyone to speak, and there is no doubt that this is beginning to show a very strong weight, like a counter-punch. In fact, the phenomenon of a person who was nameless until last year suddenly assuming a significant position as a politician has now become commonplace.
Behind this reactionary symptom lies the fact that influential and famous people are wasting time being passed around in the name of debate, achieving no development. They do not realize that their resting in this structure, petty cash in hand, is the source creating this troublesome soil. That troublesome soil is one where nameless people—neither politicians nor intellectuals—rise like a counter-force, and the brakes fail. Here, it is unavoidable that debate will radicalize to the extreme. Thus, the locus of responsibility for what is currently viewed as problematic comes into range: it lies in the sloth of those who hold global influence.
Meanwhile, another great current must be visible here. That is ryuko (流行), the passing trend. A trend can be expressed by the ebb and flow of tides. At high tide, the momentum is magnificent, but it is a principle of nature that low tide follows. At this time, if the tide floats things useful to humans, they are gathered, but useless things drift in mixed together. The useless things are eventually carried away to the oblivion of the offing by the low tide. Some remain like seashells on the beach, useless, picked up by no one. Those who encounter a good trend are fortunate, but since most trends contain much floating foreign matter, those who embrace them as supreme treasures are left stunned when the trend passes.
In short, a trend has the great movements of high tide and low tide; this is the true nature of the phenomenon. Therefore, even if new ideologies and thoughts are produced one after another, most do not possess the stamina to last three or five years. In an era where speed is as abnormal as it is now, it means they meet their life expectancy in mere months.
No matter how disastrous the politics of one’s motherland may be, as stated before—even if the ship sinks, even if the nation perishes—we must continue to live.