Why Japan’s upcoming lower house election feels like a race to the bottom

While the elections mark a policy shift, many see that as just another spectacle

Originally published on Global Voices

While the rise of social media and the resulting surge of populism are global trends, in Japan, this phenomenon takes on a unique and troubling form, as populist politics is intertwined with a silent democratic crisis of political apathy.

Japanese culture has long valued the aesthetic of silence. We are a society that prides itself on 空気を読む, directly translated as “reading the air” or reticence and reserve, which is a form of high-context communication that prioritizes harmony over loud, confrontational debate.

However, as an ethnic Chinese, born and raised in Japan, I see the virtues of reticence and reserve being weaponized to hollow out our democracy, in particular during troubled times.

Elections with a 16-day notice

On January 23, Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi moved to dissolve the House of Representatives. The next election is now set for February 8. Voters have been thrown into the shortest campaign period in postwar Japanese history. 

Takaichi became Japan’s first woman prime minister on October 25, 2025, with popular support. During her campaign, she promised tax cuts, subsidies, and economic reforms, using a nationalistic rhetoric that blames immigrants, tourists, and China for the country’s economic and diplomatic woes. The opposition parties fear that her politics would fuel inflation and xenophobic sentiments and destabilize the region by antagonizing China.

Her decision to dissolve the Lower House aims to secure a strong majority in the 465-seat chamber for her ruling coalition of the Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) and the newly established Japan Innovation Party (JIP), so as to push through her economic and security policy agenda.

Within 16 days of the announcement, Japanese voters must decide on a major political shift from a previously centrist stance to a right-leaning one, with a fiscal stimulus package and a hawkish stance toward China, that will have a long-lasting impact on the country. Yet, amid the “culture of silence,” public deliberation is lacking.

For years, political apathy has been a well-acknowledged challenge in Japan, especially among the youth. But recently, I have noticed a shift.

Populism amid a culture of silence

While the majority has remained silent, a loud, exclusionary brand of populism has recently emerged on major social media platforms.

During the Upper House elections in July 2025, misinformation claiming that foreign residents are “over-privileged” spread widely on the internet, and the xenophobic sentiments somehow helped right-leaning political parties, including the newly established far-right Sanseitō party, to secure a significant number of seats under the slogan “Japanese First” — a clear homage to Donald Trump’s “America First” policies. 

Takaichi has also built a fan base among younger generations by using similar political rhetoric targeting foreign residents during last year’s LDP leadership campaign.

The impact was immediate: my family and I suddenly became less welcome in places where we were once accepted. Lately, we have started concealing our nationality when meeting people for the first time. Young people are no longer “disinterested.” Instead, they are eager to find targets to pour out their “strong words” and soothe their daily frustration.

Why are these slogans spreading so quickly and creating such a substantial effect? The absence of public deliberation on these controversial political allegations suggests, to some extent, that we have never been taught how to debate.

Most Japanese schools lack training in public debate or political philosophy, prioritizing rote memorization instead. Discussing politics with friends or even within a family is considered an unspoken social taboo. In this vacuum of debate, voters tend to choose charismatic “idols” who offer simple answers.

Hence, most people consume political news as entertainment. We can see this in Sohei Kamiya, a leader of the right-wing populist party, Sanseitō, who introduced the Japanese First rhetoric, and has a large cult-like following, many of whom believe in anti-vaccine and antisemitic conspiracy theories.

More recently, a subculture called “Sana-katsu” (サナ活) has emerged among young women, who admire and idolize Takaichi and mimic her fashion and cosmetic style, treating the prime minister like a J-pop star or an anime character.

The younger generation reads political news as a commodity and consumes political rhetoric, style, and sentiment without a critical mindset. I once saw my classmates use the word “kawaii,” which means “cute” in English, to describe politicians’ daily behavior on Instagram. It seems to me that many young people don’t see politicians as their representatives who should be accountable to them, but rather position themselves as spectators watching their “idols” vent their frustration, believing they can magically solve their problems, as happens in TV dramas. 

This culture of “reading the air” and treating politics as entertainment has created a dangerous blind spot for more important policy issues.

Unification Church and the ruling party

What has concerned me in particular is that for months, investigative reports have detailed the deep, systemic ties between the ruling LDP and the former Unification Church — a religious cult founded by Sun Myung Moon in South Korea in 1954 and expanding to Japan in 1958, which became a political powerhouse in the country by funding politicians, in particular from the LDP.

A major South Korean newspaper, Hankyoreh, recently revealed that the Church helped fund at least 290 out of 295 LDP candidates during the Lower House election in October 2021.

The money very likely comes from scam-like donations, known as “spiritual sales,” to the Church, as the criminal investigation of the assassination of former Japanese Prime Minister Shinzō Abe in 2022 revealed: the murderer is a victim of the Unification Church's excessive donations, who took revenge on Abe for his family’s collusion with the Church. In March 2025, a Tokyo court ordered the dissolution of two Church-related organizations, the Family Federation for World Peace and Unification, for manipulating followers into making huge donations and other financial sacrifices.

Yet, a number of lawmakers who benefited from the cult still hold power, and they have yet to publicly explain their ties to the illegal religious business and political power house.

政治とお金の問題、統一教会と自民党の関係、いろいろあるから、それを隠すためには解散が一番早いと思われるんでしょうけど。これだけの費用をかけてやる問題ではないと思います。

With ongoing issues surrounding political funding and the LDP’s ties to FFWPU, dissolution is the quickest way to camouflage them. But this is hardly a matter worth spending such a vast amount of public money on.

As a foreign resident, I’m frustrated that misinformation and populist rhetoric have incited many Japanese people to view their neighbors as threats, while a more serious issue receives less attention: a foreign-based religious cult has penetrated the country through NGOs and established systemic ties with the ruling party through funding.

Elections as a spectacle

Now the media is flooded with news about snap elections rather than corruption probes. Among my peers, reactions to this 16-day political storm range from shallow fascination to total annoyance, as if the elections were just a spectacle.

The election campaign has generated a lot of viral content. For example, a video about the snap elections, edited to the latest opening theme from the popular anime Jujutsu Kaisen, surpassed 100,000 views in a single day upon release. Yet, as reflected in the comments, most viewers consumed the video as entertainment, with a chilling detachment, as if the election result would not affect their lives or society.

One popular comment with over 2,900 likes said:

ここ半年間の政治がマジで面白すぎる ダメだけどエンタメ気分で普通に楽しんでる私です

The politics over the past six months have been seriously entertaining.
I know it’s bad, but I’m just enjoying it like it’s entertainment.

On the other hand, some find the snap elections a nuisance and a distraction. Since the campaign overlaps with the peak of the university entrance exam season, social media is flooded with students complaining that the blaring noise from campaign cars is a “disturbance” to their studies.

Whether the election is taken as a battle anime or a loud noise to be blocked out, the result is the same: the actual political stakes are ignored.

I do not have the right to vote in Japan. Yet, observing the current situation, I feel a chill running through my body, fearing that my Japanese friends and neighbors will choose to surrender their will to a “King” without fathoming out the implications of their policies. 

As I write this, the loud, repetitive chants of the right-wing party candidate, Sanseitō, echo through my window from an election car. Outside, at the nearest station and in local squares, these vans are everywhere. A campaign staffer, unaware of my Chinese heritage, hands me a flyer with a smile. It reads: “Protect the lives of Japanese people.”

I accept it with a complex swirl of emotions. I wonder what kind of choice Japanese voters will make after 16 days are over. And in the future they choose, I wonder — do I even matter?