In the summer of 2015, tens of thousands of angry Japanese took to the streets of Tokyo.
Changes to security legislation pushed by then-Japanese prime minister Shinzo Abe were considered by some to be so controversial, so against the spirit of Japan’s pacifist constitution, that protests against them were the biggest seen since the 1960s. In parliament, some lawmakers scuffled in a failed attempt to stop the law from being passed.
International media asked: “Is Japan abandoning its pacifism?”
Pulitzer Prize-winning historian Herbert Bix reflected a commonly held view at the time when he wrote in 2016 that “neoliberals illegally jammed through” the bills, and that increased defense spending was “wasting taxpayer money that is needed to meet the more pressing needs of the Japanese people.”
Just 10 years later, these voices have largely fallen silent. Sure, there are a handful of protesters from time to time in front of the prime minister’s residence advocating for pacifism, and the public is still conflicted about Japan’s place in an increasingly dangerous world.
However, for a country often accused of moving slowly, it is extraordinary how much has changed in just a decade. Serious opposition to defense itself has largely fallen away, despite far more expansive changes. And the international consensus is that Tokyo needs to do more, not less.
Russia’s war on Ukraine, North Korea’s intermittent missile and nuclear provocations, Chinese militarism and a flaky ally in Washington have all conspired to dramatically change public attitude and policy away from the deep pacifism adopted after World War II. This is not the “remilitarization” that authorities in Beijing talk about, but a belated waking up to the security realities in one of the world’s most dangerous neighborhoods.
The legislation that caused so much upset in 2015 now looks almost pitifully inadequate — allowing Tokyo to come to the aid of a foreign country if an attack threatens Japan’s survival. In the decade since, popular pushback was limited against the removal of an informal cap on defense spending of 1 percent of GDP, the introduction of counterstrike capabilities, loosening the exports of arms and other changes that have come to pass or are in the works.
It is a huge contrast to the era of Students Emergency Action for Liberal Democracy, the group that led the 2015 demonstrations. Carrying signs with slogans such as “Youth Against Fascism,” they were often hailed as a symbol of change, and became the subject of fawning profiles that said they “made it cool to protest.”
The group disbanded a year later and their movement faded away. Today’s youth often lean more conservative; more than 80 percent of under-40s in most polls back conservative Japanese Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi. Despite the ruling Liberal Democratic Party’s struggles over the past few years, it is striking how little support has shifted to traditional left-leaning parties that oppose revising the pacifist constitution.
Go back a decade before the protests and the government had a different goal — a permanent seat on the UN Security Council, befitting its economic status. That dream is dead — but so is the idea that the postwar liberal world order would protect Japan.
Russia and China are certainly motivators, but so is US President Donald Trump. His breaking of trade norms and casting doubts on traditional alliances, along with the worry that he might someday decide cooperating with Beijing is better for business, concerns Tokyo.
There is plenty of blame to go around: Senior politicians note the damage done by then-US president Barack Obama’s failure to effectively challenge China’s militarizing islands in the South China Sea.
All that means Japan must learn to protect itself, and taboos are falling away. Next year, Takaichi aims to ease rules to substantially expand exports of lethal weapons. However, the big one is still out there.
Since becoming leader, Takaichi has declined to endorse the non-nuclear principles — non-binding guidelines committing the government to not possessing, producing or permitting nuclear weapons in the country. However, three years ago, she endorsed the idea of having a discussion about allowing nuclear sharing — placing US nuclear weapons in Japan, as they are in Europe.
That debate needs to be held, and done so in public. If it ever is, expect re-energized opposition and protests. I lived for years in Hiroshima, where I maintain strong roots, and know how deeply domestic revulsion of nuclear weapons goes. To say nothing of the international reaction: China, North Korea and Russia would be livid. South Korea would likely accelerate its own atomic ambitions, which have been enhanced by a recent nuclear submarine deal with the US.
Abe helped the country awaken from a fantasy that it did not need to defend itself. Takaichi would have to confront the idea that Japan can shelter forever under another’s protection.
Gearoid Reidy is a Bloomberg Opinion columnist covering Japan and the Koreas. He previously led the breaking news team in North Asia, and was the Tokyo deputy bureau chief. This column reflects the personal views of the author and does not necessarily reflect the opinion of the editorial board or Bloomberg LP and its owners.
President William Lai (賴清德) attended a dinner held by the American Israel Public Affairs Committee (AIPAC) when representatives from the group visited Taiwan in October. In a speech at the event, Lai highlighted similarities in the geopolitical challenges faced by Israel and Taiwan, saying that the two countries “stand on the front line against authoritarianism.” Lai noted how Taiwan had “immediately condemned” the Oct. 7, 2023, attack on Israel by Hamas and had provided humanitarian aid. Lai was heavily criticized from some quarters for standing with AIPAC and Israel. On Nov. 4, the Taipei Times published an opinion article (“Speak out on the
Eighty-seven percent of Taiwan’s energy supply this year came from burning fossil fuels, with more than 47 percent of that from gas-fired power generation. The figures attracted international attention since they were in October published in a Reuters report, which highlighted the fragility and structural challenges of Taiwan’s energy sector, accumulated through long-standing policy choices. The nation’s overreliance on natural gas is proving unstable and inadequate. The rising use of natural gas does not project an image of a Taiwan committed to a green energy transition; rather, it seems that Taiwan is attempting to patch up structural gaps in lieu of
News about expanding security cooperation between Israel and Taiwan, including the visits of Deputy Minister of National Defense Po Horng-huei (柏鴻輝) in September and Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs Francois Wu (吳志中) this month, as well as growing ties in areas such as missile defense and cybersecurity, should not be viewed as isolated events. The emphasis on missile defense, including Taiwan’s newly introduced T-Dome project, is simply the most visible sign of a deeper trend that has been taking shape quietly over the past two to three years. Taipei is seeking to expand security and defense cooperation with Israel, something officials
“Can you tell me where the time and motivation will come from to get students to improve their English proficiency in four years of university?” The teacher’s question — not accusatory, just slightly exasperated — was directed at the panelists at the end of a recent conference on English language learning at Taiwanese universities. Perhaps thankfully for the professors on stage, her question was too big for the five minutes remaining. However, it hung over the venue like an ominous cloud on an otherwise sunny-skies day of research into English as a medium of instruction and the government’s Bilingual Nation 2030