Japan’s tomboy-ish iron lady illustrates the contradictions for its women
Sanae Takaichi in anime style, courtesy ChatGPT
Success is a magical serum, changing even a dour 64-year-old conservative woman with rheumatoid arthritis into a fascinating diva whose every pronouncement symbolises blessed political realism.
Consider the way Sanae Takaichi is being described in the aftermath of Japan’s February 8 election.
The Economist calls her “The most powerful woman in the world”.
Bloomberg says: “Sanae Takaichi Has Everyone Shutting Up”.
The New York Times is clear: “Takaichi’s New Superpowers”.
The Brookings Institute notes that Japan had a “thunderbolt election: Takaichi resets politics, economics, and diplomacy”.
In Persuasion, Tokyo-based Quico Toro hails “Japan’s Iron Lady” and records this moment in Japanese politics as follows: “If the TV news is to be believed, young women are copying her outfits, and teenagers are tracking down the exact model of her pink ballpoint pen. She placed third in the annual trend rankings for junior high and high school girls, wedged between an influencer and a boy band. Her nickname, ‘Sana,’ has spawned ‘Sana-katsu’—essentially, fan activities—a term borrowed from idol culture…”
Indeed, Ms Takaichi has played an audacious game – being herself. But she has won big and that’s what counts. She has led her Liberal Democratic Party to an historic election victory: more than two-thirds of the seats in the House of Representatives. In the postwar era, no single party has held a two-thirds supermajority in the lower house…until now.
It was an incredible feat. First, Ms Takaichi had been prime minister for just three months when she called the election. Then, she did so for the dead of winter, a traditionally impossible time to campaign and hope for a decent voter turnout. Finally, there was Ms Takaichi herself. Her aspect is not especially prepossessing, being more like an ageing female figure in a Manga action series than a real person.
She was also gutsy enough to state and maintain rather un-woke opinions, not least on women’s place in society. In sum, Ms Takaichi believes that if you’re married, you’re best off sticking with the husband’s surname. And there’s no point dreaming of gender equality on the Chrysanthemum Throne.
She doesn’t apologise for her muscular nationalism, including taking a tough stance against China. She has visited the controversial Yasukuni shrine, which honours fallen Japanese soldiers including war criminals from World War II.
She wants Japan to be more relaxed about strengthening its military rather than continue to apologise for WWII.
In the era of first-ism, she’s about Japan First.
But essentially, Japan’s first female prime minister may be seen like a figure in a lightbox; a paradox wrapped in a cultural enigma. Like Elizabeth Taylor, she remarried the man she divorced. She has no children, plays the drums, loves motorcycles and baseball, is a constant presence on social media and champions nationalism with a hard edge. In many ways, she is a tomboy in a culture that prizes traditional preoccupations for women.
But then, the very situation of Japanese women has long been marked by contradictions and paradoxes.
This is a country where female political participation has historically been so poor the upper house of Japan’s legislature did not get a women’s lavatory until the 1990s. And yet, women were empowered in pre-modern Japan. Many classical masterpieces such as The Tale of Genji written by women.
More to the point, Japan has just offered emphatic support to its first woman leader.
