To foreign audiences, Japanese Prime Minister Takaichi is one of the most recognizable Japanese leaders in recent memory. From hugging US President Donald Trump to drumming with her South Korean counterpart, she has drawn attention in a way few of her blander predecessors could.
However, back home, the press is getting restless at its lack of access to the prime minister. Takaichi has spoken with the media on fewer occasions than any leader in the past 15 years, despite the succession of domestic and global events she has faced since taking office. She has largely eschewed impromptu press gaggles and one-on-one interviews, preferring to communicate via tweet instead. That, combined with her habit of avoiding the traditional late-night dinners with politicians and party members, has some commentators dubbing her a hikikomori, a term for recluses who shun society.
Accusations of dodging the media have followed her since February’s election campaign, when she skipped a debate with opposition leaders on the national broadcaster, citing a hand injury related to her rheumatoid arthritis. What some might see as ducking is more a matter of downgrading.
At the risk of drawing too many similarities to Donald Trump, one thing she shares with the US president is a preference for directly reaching voters via social media.
“Since becoming prime minister, I have been trying to communicate mainly through X as much as possible every day,” she told reporters on a rare occasion when they had an opportunity to ask. “I want to inform people in a timely manner, and through replies I can directly receive feedback from the public.”
She is not wrong: Japan has more daily users on X than any other country. When the government has an announcement, such as confirmation a ship had passed through the Strait of Hormuz, it is often via social media post. The Japanese Ministry of Finance has a page on a local blogging platform, with posts explaining the budget and measures to tackle inflation. Takaichi’s press secretary started an X account, directly rebuffing English-language accounts posting fictional comments from the premier. It is a change made more ironic by the fact that Takaichi began her career as a TV news anchor.
The press everywhere are used to having preferential access. Japan has had a particularly cozy system, thanks to the oft-criticized kisha club system, closed groups of reporters with privileged access to ministries and other institutions, sometimes accused of being too close to their subjects. It is a system that might prove just as vulnerable to disintermediation as the media elsewhere, losing relevance in an era where they no longer have a monopoly on the means of transmission.
In corporate communications, companies from Toyota Motor Corp to Nintendo Co are increasingly opting for “owned media” strategies that bypass legacy outlets to deliver information directly to the customer. Artificial intelligence firms like OpenAI go direct to users when they launch new features, sometimes dropped just on Sam Altman’s X feed. Silicon Valley tech executives like Mark Zuckerberg are these days more likely to appear on a three-hour podcast than sit down for traditional media interviews. There is not only less risk of being quoted out of context or hit with “gotcha” moments; audiences increasingly trust these lengthy, loose formats, despite concerns that they are forums for lobbing soft questions.
The Trump administration has courted podcasters and other online influencers, encouraging them to apply for White House accreditation while shutting out traditional media. While the US president was the most prominent early example of a politician announcing policy on social media, he is an avid consumer of legacy media. Future politicians, who are growing up in a very different news environment, might care much less for traditional adulation. Substack has made it possible for anyone to be a commentator; little wonder it is one of the only news Web sites growing as traffic at most others declines.
Those who complained about the protective kisha clubs might cheer this democratization of access. Whether or not that is a good thing, technology continues to change how public figures interact with the public itself. It was only in the early 2000s that Japanese prime ministers began the press gaggle system, an attempt to communicate more directly with the public by leveraging the power of television.
People are now as likely to get their news from TikTok as TV. Newspaper sales have halved in 15 years; YouTubers and rabble-rousing influencers like Internet entrepreneur Hiroyuki Nishimura might have more sway over public opinion than anyone in the traditional press.
The media harbor suspicions about Takaichi, who as communications minister once said the government could curb broadcasters if their coverage was politically biased. Suspicions run both ways: The media might have their own agenda, as Takaichi discovered when a photographer for news agency Jiji was caught on microphone saying he would “only release photos that will lower the approval ratings” of the prime minister.
As the old bargain between the press and power frays, the media still has a duty to demand accountability, but it should not assume politicians still depend on it for distribution.
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.
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