Introduction
The political funding scandal of 2023–2024, during which multiple members of the ruling Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) received undeclared funds from their factions, has renewed scholarly and public attention to the issues of scandals and corruption in Japan. However, the broader consequences of this and similar scandals for Japanese politics remain ambiguous. Whereas some scholars (e.g., Carlson and Reed Reference Carlson and Reed2018) argue that scandals have a transformative force—with post-scandal reforms effectively reducing corruption—the perspectives of other scholars (West Reference West2006; Prusa Reference Prusa2024a) suggest that scandals are better characterized as spectacular media rituals that exert little long-term impact on the processes shaping social and political life.
Carlson and Reed (2018) noted that, owing to the post-scandal reforms in 1994, nothing on the scale of the Recruit scandal has occurred since (Recruit—a massive LDP corruption episode in 1988 that led to the resignation of Prime Minister Noboru Takeshita and contributed to regime change in 1993—is often held as a benchmark). How, then, can we explain the recent LDP slush fund scandal—one of the biggest political scandals in years, dubbed by the media as the “Recruit of Reiwa” (Reiwa no Rikurūto)? This scandal suggests that the reforms have not been as effective as anticipated and that politicians have not always learned from past transgressions. Instead, they have swiftly adapted to new regulations, exploited emerging loopholes, and sidestepped legal liabilities (Iwai Reference Iwai2015). They continued to amass substantial sums of money despite the reforms in fundraising practices (Carlson Reference Carlson2007). When accused of corruption, they tend to deny or minimize the problem. They attempt to placate public sentiment through symbolic reforms, cosmetic adjustments, and televised apologies until the next scandal overshadows the previous one (e.g., Gaunder Reference Gaunder2007; Bosack Reference Bosack2024b). Politicians today have largely forgotten the lessons of the Recruit scandal (NHK, Dec 16, 2023).
In this article, I first review the details of the LDP slush fund scandal and situate it within its historical context. Further, I look at the main actors’ performances during the scandal. I focus closely on two competing blocs. On one side are the lawmakers, their secretaries, political factions, and mainstream media outlets that work to shield the status quo. On the other side are whistleblowers, prosecutors, civic groups, and non-mainstream media that seek to challenge it. Regarding the Japanese mediascape, I distinguish between the conservative “inside media” (dailies, TV, and news agencies) that tend to downplay scandals, and the more liberal “outside media” (weeklies, political press, and foreign media) that usually trigger scandals. Finally, I offer two perspectives on the consequences of the slush fund scandal: an optimistic perspective that the scandal will engender positive change and a pessimistic view that its transformative impact will be limited.
Scandal as ritual
My new book, Scandal in Japan (Prusa Reference Prusa2024a), approaches major Japanese scandals as recurring social rituals that the news media construct into public spectacles to alleviate public indignation and preserve the compromised status quo (cf. Edelman Reference Edelman1988; Kishima Reference Kishima1991). In other words, the media transform potentially disruptive events into manageable, ritualized events. In a culture as ritual-sensitive as Japan’s—where myriad social rituals underpin daily life—a scandal can be seen as one such ritual, designed to manifest and manage transgressions in prescribed ways.
More broadly, “ritual” denotes a rule-governed, symbolic activity expressing dominant values and interests (Lukes Reference Lukes1975; Bell Reference Bell2009). In the political realm, rituals serve as mechanisms through which elites, the media, and the public collectively enact normative behaviors, such as demands for accountability, expressions of public outrage, and temporary resignations. As a form of social control (Gluckman Reference Gluckman1963), the ritual of scandal channels disruptive forces into structured and acceptable forms. It usually contains the fallout without altering the fundamental structure of power.
The process of ritualization transforms ordinary actions into momentous acts, imbuing otherwise mundane events with extraordinary symbolic significance. In this process, politicians assume ritualized roles, recite conventional phrases, and bow deeply amid a barrage of camera flashes. This highly choreographed performance is not merely a personal act of contrition but a culturally prescribed response aimed at restoring collective harmony. It operates as a ritualistic catharsis, allowing society to witness a public figure’s fall and potential redemption.
The ritual of scandal involves several stages: the initial exposure of transgression, the eruption of public outrage, the performative display of apology and remorse, and ultimately the reintegration of the scandalized figure into the social and political order. This ritual serves a dual function: facilitating collective purification (Alexander Reference Alexander and Alexander1988) and updating normative moral models (Thompson Reference Thompson2000). Simultaneously, however, it obscures deeper structural conflicts (Gluckman Reference Gluckman1963) and fails to foster genuine consensus on core values (Lukes Reference Lukes1975). It diverts blame away from systemic corruption and positions the scapegoat (“bad apple”) as an emblem of societal purification.
Adopting a ritual perspective in analyzing political scandals is valuable for two primary reasons. First, it elucidates how symbolic acts—apologies, resignations, and scapegoating—serve as institutionalized responses that contain public outrage and restore a semblance of social order. This perspective highlights the interplay between actors’ political strategies, normative practices, and communicative repertoires (Weeden Reference Weeden2002). Second, it provides a framework for examining the interconnections among media, politics, and society in Japan, thereby revealing the ritualized mechanisms through which power is maintained even in the face of ostensibly disruptive transgressions.
Scandal flow
Since late 2023, former Prime Minister Fumio Kishida (LDP) has faced significant allegations of systematic financial misconduct. Investigations have revealed that certain factions within the LDP had underreported political funds for years while benefiting from fundraising parties. Although such parties serve a legitimate purpose by fostering relationships between businesses and lawmakers, the Political Funds Control Law (Seiji Shikin Kisei Hō) mandates full disclosure of all financial flows. Under this law, politicians must include in their financial reports the names and amounts for anyone who purchases tickets exceeding 200,000 yen per party. In this case, both the sources of political funds and the financial statements were deficient. The legal violation was not, in itself, a major crime; what made it sensational was the extent to which it was both commonplace and coordinated. The problem was not the amount of money but the lack of transparency in its flow (Tomisaki Reference Tomisaki2024). Failing to properly report the money flow is punishable by up to 5 years in prison.
Initially, the discrepancies were portrayed as minor errors; each faction promptly revised its reports and attributed the omissions to inadvertent “mistakes” (misu). However, the situation escalated on December 1, 2023, when the Asahi newspaper reported that, over 5 years, the Abe faction (Seiwakai)—led by Shinzō Abe until his assassination in 2022—had failed to declare hundreds of millions of yen in kickbacks from fundraising parties. This money was diverted into “slush funds” (uragane), effectively channeling millions of yen directly into the pockets of lawmakers.
Although some lawmakers claimed that the funds were allocated for “policy activity expenses” (seimu katsudōhi), critics (Izawa Reference Izawa2024; Tomisaki Reference Tomisaki2024) contend that this designation served merely as a façade for kickbacks—a practice that, according to NHK (Dec 16, 2024), was driven by a sense of arrogance, complacency, and pride. The failure to accurately report the entire flow of these funds prompted prosecutors to launch an investigation for violations of the Political Funds Control Law (hereafter “the Law”). Public confidence in the government deteriorated sharply, as evidenced by Kishida’s cabinet approval rating plummeting to 17%—the lowest level recorded since 2012 (Jain and Kobayashi Reference Jain and Kobayashi2023).
The first individual indicted under the Law was the treasurer of the Abe faction, who, between 2018 and 2021, allegedly submitted “false statements” (kyogi kisai) by omitting nearly 680 million yen in party income. On December 19, 2023, prosecutors from the Tokyo District Public Prosecutor’s Office (Tokusōbu) searched the offices of factions led by Shinzō Abe and Toshihiro Nikai (The Asahi, Dec 19, 2023). Notably, despite senior LDP executives’ underreporting admissions, no charges were brought against these heavyweights (The Japan Times, Feb 1, 2024).
The first lawmaker arrested on these allegations was Yoshitaka Ikeda, apprehended on January 7 after reportedly receiving up to 48 million yen in kickbacks from the Abe faction—funds diverted into slush funds. Since the investigation attracted considerable public attention, the LDP expelled Ikeda, arguing that his involvement had irreparably tainted his reputation. The media thereafter framed him as a “former LDP member” and scapegoated him to “purify” the party. The media usually mute or downplay political controversies related to the LDP. However, if there is enough pressure from the media periphery, the dailies are pushed to participate in the media ritual (see Prusa Reference Prusa2024a). As for Ikeda’s scapegoating, it was rather symbolic: the lawmaker was released on bail (15 million yen) on February 5.
Following Ikeda’s arrest, opinion polls indicated that nearly 80% of respondents doubted the LDP’s capacity to resolve the scandal independently. In response, Kishida accelerated efforts to purify the party. On January 18, he announced the dissolution of his own faction, Kōchikai, to “restore public trust” (shinrai kaifuku). The following day, both the Abe and Nikai factions similarly disbanded, and the treasurers of both factions were indicted without arrest (The Asahi, Jan 22, 2024). Moreover, the Abe faction lost all ministerial posts, while the factions of Tarō Asō, Toshimitsu Motegi, and Fumio Kishida took over the cabinet. Despite these measures, public support for the LDP continued to decline; a Jiji poll conducted 3 days later reported that support had fallen to 14.6%—the lowest since Jiji began polling in 1960.
On January 25, Kishida attempted to mitigate public indignation by establishing the Political Revitalization Headquarters (Seiji Sasshin Honbu). This body subsequently released an interim post-scandal report endorsing the separation of financial and personnel resources from factions (kane ya jinji). However, rather than mandating the dissolution of factions, the report permitted their continuation as “policy groups” (seisaku shūdan)—a reform whose effective implementation remained uncertain (Gendai Bijinesu, Jan 26, 2024).
On the same day, the faction of Hiroshi Moriyama elected to disband voluntarily (The Yomiuri, Jan 25, 2024), a notable decision, given its lack of involvement in the scandal. This move marked the fourth LDP faction to dissolve itself—following those of Abe, Kishida, and Nikai—while the factions led by Asō and Motegi did not announce similar plans at that time.
By the end of January, debates concerning the scandal had coalesced around two primary issues: transforming factions into policy groups and imposing harsher penalties. No consensus was reached, however, mainly because factions led by Asō and Motegi opposed such reforms. In addition, some lawmakers argued that Kishida’s actions had inflicted significant damage on the LDP (The Asahi, Jan 23, 2024). Despite mounting calls for his resignation—a movement referred to as “ousting Kishida” (Kishida-oroshi)—the prime minister persisted in his efforts to retain power.
The scandal was legally concluded on January 26 when prosecutors dropped charges against 65 LDP politicians involved in the scandal—including the so-called gang of five heavyweights (Hirokazu Matsuno, Yasutoshi Nishimura, Kōichi Hagiuda, Tsuyoshi Takagi, and Hiroshige Sekō)—despite evidence suggesting that the gang had diverted fundraising income into slush funds (Asahi Shimbun, Jan 26, 2024). During the investigation, prosecutors uncovered unreported funds amounting to 1.35 billion yen from the Abe faction. Yet, they did not pursue conspiracy charges (kyōbō) owing to insufficient evidence and the relatively minor nature of the offenses. So far, only four politicians and seven secretaries have been indicted.
Public outrage was significant. In Japan, scandals often provoke negative reactions that manifest in protests, online flaming (netto enjō), sending angry letters to media outlets, refusing to pay television fees, and organizing rallies (Prusa Reference Prusa2024a). During the slush fund scandal, many disaffected voters demonstrated in Tokyo. For example, on January 26, the Civic Federation (Shimin Rengō) organized a rally in Yūrakuchō. The official message of the rally was “money distorts politics, benefits a few, and destroys the lives of citizens.” Unsurprisingly, conservative dailies ignored the rally.
Subsequently, 3 days after the rally, Professor Hiroyuki Kamiwaki of Kobe Gakuin University announced his intention to refer the case to the Committee of Inquest for Prosecution, aiming to overturn the decision not to indict implicated lawmakers (Kyodo, Jan 29, 2024). During his press conference, Kamiwaki described the creation of slush funds as a betrayal against the public (haishinteki na kōi) and called for drastic political reforms (bapponteki na seiji kaikaku).
On January 31, the Abe faction admitted that kickbacks distributed to 95 Diet member organizations totaled 680 million yen. Most of these donations—approximately 430 million yen—were directed to individual Diet members’ political organizations, yet these funds were omitted from the official reports (The Japan Times, Feb 1, 2024). In effect, they were redirected as kickbacks to individual lawmakers. Kenta Izumi (CDP) characterized the matter as “a scandal of extraordinary dimension” (ijigen no fushōji) and urged Kishida to produce a “slush fund list” (uragane risuto) detailing all party members who received kickbacks. The opposition threatened to oppose further debate if the list proved inadequate (Jiji, Jan 31, 2024).
In early February 2024, the LDP initiated interviews with implicated lawmakers as part of its “self-cleansing process” (jijō sayō). The party vowed to elucidate the “true nature” (jittai kamei) of the situation, though insiders were skeptical that any substantive new evidence would emerge (Yomiuri Shimbun, Feb 3, 2024). Although the LDP compiled a list of proposed sanctions, many observers doubted these measures would be effectively enforced given the prosecutors’ inability to substantiate a case. Moreover, numerous LDP lawmakers either disavowed responsibility or offered evasive responses. For instance, the chair of the faction leadership committee, Ryū Shionoya, admitted the existence of kickbacks, only to backtrack a few hours later. The former policy chief Hakubun Shimomura maintained that he had not expended any of the funds (issai shishutsu shiteinai) and vehemently denied his involvement in the slush fund system (mattaku kan’yo shiteinai). Although he issued an apology, Shimomura refused to leave the party or resign from the Diet, instead expressing his intention to contest the next Lower House election (Asahi Shimbun, Jan 31, 2024)—a stance many perceived as antithetical to Kishida’s objective of restoring public trust.
At the turn of January to February, the scandal was increasingly overshadowed by various “sub-dramas” that diverted public attention from the slush funds. These included the dethronement of Miss Japan over a reported love affair (Shukan Bunshun, Feb 5, 2024), Masahito Moriyama’s revealed connections to the Unification Church (The Asahi, Feb 6, 2024), a sex scandal involving the comedian Hitoshi Matsumoto (Shukan Bunshun, Dec 28, 2023), and Tarō Asō’s sexist remarks directed at Foreign Minister Yōko Kamikawa (The Guardian, Jan 31, 2024). Consequently, public focus on slush funds waned amid the barrage of concurrent scandals. Instead of deepening the investigation, the media outlets quickly moved on to the next event in the endless news cycle.
In mid-February, another LDP survey concluded that, out of 384 party members, 85 belonging to the Abe and Nikai factions had failed to report political funds totaling almost 600 million yen between 2018 and 2022 (The Asahi, Feb 17, 2024). Of the 85 implicated lawmakers, 53 claimed they were unaware of the funds. The opposition criticized the survey as neither comprehensive nor objective. For example, Kenta Izumi (CDP) denounced it as a “fake audit” (nanchatte kansa) because it failed to clarify the rationale behind the creation of slush funds and the intended use of the funds.
At the beginning of April 2024, the LDP finally announced the results of the self-cleansing process: 39 members were lightly punished, while 2 were urged to leave the party. These punishments were widely considered inadequate, even for the LDP supporters (Jou Reference Jou2024). Consequently, the Cabinet support rate decreased to 26%, while more than 90% of the public believed the scandal had not been clarified. Only three LDP lawmakers have been indicted so far, while faction leaders and senior faction members have not faced any legal repercussions (e.g., The Japan Times, Apr 23, 2024).
Although prosecutors formally concluded the case in January 2024, a subsequent development occurred in June 2024 with the passage of a bill revising the Political Funds Control Law in the House of Representatives. Intended as a transformative measure to address money politics, the legislation was criticized by daily outlets such as the Asahi and Mainichi, arguing that it would do little to eradicate slush funds in Japanese politics. In particular, the LDP’s failure to address opposition demands for a complete ban on corporate donations led critics to question the reform’s efficacy (e.g., The Mainichi, Jun 7, 2024). The new legislation did generate some changes in the patterns of political funding. Still, it did not bring about the kind of fundamental change that was ostensibly its objective (cf. Curtis Reference Curtis1988).
Before the scandal
Some observers have proclaimed that the LDP slush fund scandal is unprecedented in postwar Japanese politics. However, the truth is that history tends to repeat itself. Prime Minister (PM) Kishida claimed that the slush fund system had been operating for at least 10 years. In reality, the system began at least 20 years ago, while the issue of factional corruption within the LDP dates back over 30 years (Yomiuri Shimbun, Nov 2, 2023; Asahi Shimbun, Jan 19, 2024). The kickbacks from fundraising parties were a “standard operating procedure” (SOP), going back to the mid-1960s and peaking in the 1990s (Carlson and Reed 2018). At the core of this SOP was former Prime Minister Yoshirō Mori, who chaired the Abe faction from 1998 (Nikkan Gendai, Feb 23, 2024). This all points to the fact that slush funds are endemic in Japan.
While the slush fund system had a strong tinge of organized crime, it persisted for decades as a normalized political practice. The Asahi (Dec 16, 2023) noted that the LDP kickbacks were “part of the culture.” In this culture, money plays a decisive role; to maintain one’s position as a member of the Diet, “bribes” are necessary to sustain support among local constituents in prefectures, cities, and villages. This is why virtually every LDP politician must actively raise funds for themselves and their faction (Curtis Reference Curtis1988). This constant hunt for funds represents the dark side of Japanese party politics (see Mitchell Reference Mitchell1996; Carlson 2007; Krauss and Pekkanen Reference Krauss and Pekkanen2011; Carlson and Reed 2018).
Political corruption—a deviation from “correct” democratic politics—is not novel in Japan, as financial scandals have frequently brought down prime ministers. The United States (US) journalist Robert Whiting once noted that the history of the LDP is a history of scandal, going all the way back to a shipbuilding controversy in 1954. Indeed, scandals over bribery and illicit donations have plagued the LDP for decades. In the 1970s, Kakuei Tanaka resigned following the Lockheed bribery scandal; in the late 1980s, Noboru Takeshita stepped down during the Recruit scandal; and in 1993, the LDP’s influential figure, Shin Kanemaru, was arrested and imprisoned on tax evasion charges in the Sagawa Kyūbin scandal. These pivotal scandals culminated in the LDP’s loss of power in 1993, a seismic event in Japanese politics that was perceived by many as the dawn of a new political era.
Despite the prevalence of LDP scandals, it must be noted that political scandals were not limited to the LDP. For instance, in 2004, Naoto Kan from the Democratic Party of Japan (DPJ) resigned after failing to pay his pension premiums; in 2009, Ichirō Ozawa (DPJ) was implicated in the Nishimatsu construction scandal, and in the same year, Yukio Hatoyama (DPJ) was undone by illicit campaign finance records.
During Shinzō Abe’s administration, reports of funding scandals continued to surface, but Abe himself was never indicted and managed to survive these controversies. This was not only owing to Abe’s widespread popularity but also his close ties to the Public Prosecutor’s Office (Yora Reference Yora2023) and his covert influence over Japan’s mainstream media, which often downplayed such issues (see Kingston Reference Kingston2017). While Abe faced numerous cronyism-related scandals, such as the 2017 Moritomo Gakuen controversy, the media fervor around them would eventually dissipate, allowing the public to forget. The paradigm shift came in the summer of 2022, when Abe’s assassination exposed his close links to the controversial Unification Church (Tōitsu Kyōkai). This scandal was not just about one “bad apple”; it revealed that almost half of LDP lawmakers were affiliated with the Unification Church, which, in turn, provided significant financial and voter support to the LDP (see Prusa Reference Prusa2024b).
Despite the ubiquity of Japanese scandals, it is important to recognize that Japan is not unique in its challenges with political corruption. As a matter of fact, Japan is often considered to be a relatively “clean” country when compared with other countries (Carlson and Reed 2018). In many Western democracies, the creation of slush funds and the interplay between politics and money foster similar dynamics, with political elites frequently prioritizing “special interests” over those of the broader public. In the United Kingdom, politicians are often perceived as placing party interests above national welfare; in Europe, the rise of populism has been accompanied by increasing instances of shameless corruption; and in the United States, Donald Trump has converted personal scandal into political capital. With the emergence of Trump, Western societies have entered what some describe as a “post-scandal era,” in which transgressions are no longer uniformly condemned and media coverage fails to yield lasting consequences. At any rate, how media scandals unfold in Japan may be influenced by culture-specific factors—such as the national predilection for consensus, stability, and hierarchy—but the underlying phenomena of political corruption and money politics are by no means unique to Japan.
Scandal actors
This section maps the performance of the main scandal actors, including the whistleblowers, public prosecutors, faction leaders, political secretaries, and the prime minister himself. It aims to show how these actors protect or attack the political status quo depending on their positioning and motivation in the discourse. The scandal can be understood as a composite product of collusion or conflict among these actors.
Whistleblowers
Whistleblowers are typically driven by what can be called the “three C’s”: cash, conspiracy, and confession (Prusa Reference Prusa2024a). In other words, leaks can be motivated by financial, political, or moral factors. In the slush fund scandal, the primary whistleblower, law professor Hiroyuki Kamiwaki from Kobe Gakuin University, appeared to be morally motivated. Despite his deteriorating health, Kamiwaki spent a year investigating the income statements of five LDP factions, eventually filing criminal charges in late 2023 (Tokyo Shimbun, Jan 20, 2024; Financial Times, Jan 31, 2024). Without Kamiwaki’s actions, prosecutors may never have initiated their investigation into the matter (Kyodo, Jan 29, 2024).
On December 1, 2023, another whistleblower exposed to the Asahi Shimbun that, over 5 years, the Abe faction had generated illicit income from party ticket sales exceeding 100 million yen. The anonymous whistleblower was described as a “person concerned” (kankeisha), suggesting the leak came from an insider. This leak, therefore, appears to be politically motivated. The “person concerned” may have been a dissatisfied faction member seeking to undermine the Abe faction, or perhaps, as political commentator Yū Satō has speculated, an insider from the Tokyo District Prosecutor’s Office. Although prosecutors are bound by confidentiality, their involvement in political scandals often leads to leaks to the media, and in such cases, they may collaborate with or against specific political figures (Prusa Reference Prusa2022).
Finally, some whistleblowers in the funding scandal certainly had a financial motivation. Commercial media, including tabloid weeklies, are driven by profit, and scandals offer a unique opportunity to boost sales and ratings. Journalists, sometimes operating under pen names, sell tips for a fee, and whistleblowers can be rewarded up to 1,000 US dollars for a valuable leak (West Reference West2006). In this context, leaking sensitive information becomes, for some, a profitable enterprise.
Prosecutors
In January 2024, the investigation into the scandal effectively reached a conclusion when prosecutors from the Tokusōbu abandoned the case against the implicated Abe faction leaders. Citing insufficient evidence, they determined that the leaders could not be charged with conspiring with accountants to commit false reporting offenses. Despite widespread public demands for stringent punishment, senior lawmakers ultimately avoided criminal prosecution, with up to 80% of voters expressing dissatisfaction with the decision (The Asahi, Jan 22, 2024). This outcome raises a critical question regarding the neutrality and fairness of prosecutorial practices in political corruption cases.
Prosecutors face considerable challenges in proving a criminal conspiracy (kyōbō) between faction leaders and their treasurers. To secure charges, it is necessary to demonstrate that a politician actively participated—by giving explicit instructions for the misstatements—yet such evidence is uncommon in Japanese politics (NHK, Feb 9, 2024). Moreover, prosecutorial efforts to investigate political corruption are often stymied by the inherent difficulty of proving that politicians knowingly received illicit funds, as noted by George Mulgan (Reference George Mulgan2010). In addition, Professor Hiroyuki Kamiwaki contends that ample evidence existed, but prosecutors did not exhaust all investigative avenues. For example, the cell phones of the implicated lawmakers were not confiscated, nor were the records of their communications with office staff examined (Tokyo Shimbun, Jan 20, 2024). Even the conservative NHK (Feb 9, 2024) expressed concerns about whether all necessary investigative steps had been completed. Political commentator Tim Langley has suggested that the prosecutors had only told the prime minister how to fix things if he wants them to back off (Japan Expert Insights 2024).
Yū Satō, former chief analyst at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, argues that effectively uncovering and penalizing elite corruption in Japan requires specially trained prosecutors with advanced investigative skills (Asahi Shimbun, Dec 1, 2023). Satō observes that only a few Japanese prosecutors possess the requisite capabilities, a strong sense of justice, and proficiency in what he terms ningenryoku (“human power”). This dearth of competent prosecutors hampers efforts to investigate and sanction structural corruption.
Toward the end of January, LDP executives hailed the decision to drop the case as a “rational decision” (reisei na handan). However, many in the public perceived the prosecutors’ actions as merely “cutting off the lizard’s tail” (tokage no shippo kiri)—shifting blame from the senior figures to treasurers and secretaries (The Asahi Shimbun, Jan 19, 2024). Critics argued that while prosecutors are quick to pursue cases of false accusation (enzai) against ordinary citizens, they appear to retreat when high-ranking LDP members are involved.
Factions
The funding scandal exerted considerable pressure on powerful political factions within the LDP. Historically, these factions (habatsu) have played a vital role in Japanese politics. However, the scandal cast them in a negative light after three of them underreported funds and delivered kickbacks to their members.
A faction is generally understood as a group of lawmakers united by shared policies and interests. Factions serve three primary functions: allocating financial resources, supporting electoral campaigns, and distributing political posts (e.g., Krauss and Pekkanen Reference Krauss and Pekkanen2011). In addition to policy deliberation and training new members, factions leverage their collective strength to lobby the government, enabling their members to secure ministerial appointments and position their faction leader as prime minister. In effect, factions create “kingmakers,” operating as a party within a party in which members typically vote in blocs, despite underlying tensions that persist among them (Yomiuri Shimbun, Feb 8, 2024). Some observers have interpreted the funding scandal as a consequence of the intra-factional struggles.
Factions also serve as mechanisms for obtaining substantial campaign funds by organizing large-scale fundraising parties, which have become a primary source of revenue and a fertile ground for creating slush funds (see Curtis Reference Curtis1988). For example, in 2022, the Kishida faction reported revenues of approximately 230 million yen, 80% of which was derived from the parties. Similarly, the faction led by former Finance Minister Tarō Asō garnered around 290 million yen, with 81% coming from such events (The Japan Times, Dec 7, 2023).
Typically, these parties are held annually in banquet rooms at major Tokyo hotels, with ticket prices ranging from 10,000 to 30,000 yen and attendance often exceeding 3,000 people (Yora Reference Yora2023). In practice, the LDP politicians receive from their faction offices a number of tickets to sell to supporters and donors. If the total revenue from ticket sales exceeds 200,000 yen, the faction is legally obligated to disclose it. The financial gains can be substantial; for instance, a single event hosted by the Abe faction generated more than 100 million yen (Tokyo Shimbun, Jan 19, 2024).
Fundraising parties were always a standard tool used by the LDP lawmakers to raise funds while bypassing the national regulations on political financing (Pugliese and Zappa Reference Pugliese and Zappa2023). Factions began to raise cash through these parties after corporate donations to individuals were banned in the 1990s. For the factions, the fundraising parties represented “legal compliance evasion mechanisms” designed to soak up corporate donations that the law bans, and launder them into money that can be used without legal restrictions (Koga Reference Koga2024).
In an unexpected move, PM Kishida announced the dissolution of factions—beginning with his own—as an attempt to make a clean break from past practices. This decision was characterized by weeklies as a “Kishida Rebellion” (Kishida no Ran), implying that rather than simply banning fundraising events, Kishida had effectively targeted the Abe faction, which, since 2000, has produced four prime ministers (Yoshirō Mori, Jun’ichirō Koizumi, Yasuo Fukuda, and Shinzō Abe). Contrary to Kishida’s intentions, however, the factions led by Asō and Motegi declared that they would remain intact, arguing that their political funds had been managed appropriately (The Japan Times, Jan 22, 2024).
The notion of dissolving factions is not new in Japanese politics. It has been repeatedly proposed in the wake of scandals, yet it has never been fully realized (e.g., The Yomiuri, Jan 26, 2024). In 1977, the LDP decided to disband factions in response to the Lockheed scandal; however, they were effectively revived a year later. Similarly, in 1989, the party announced plans to “dissolve factions” (habatsu kaishō) in response to the Recruit scandal, only for the proposal to become largely symbolic—an “empty document” (Asahi Shimbun, Jan 25, 2024). Following the Sagawa Kyūbin scandal in 1994, the LDP once again proposed the dissolution of factions, but these groups resumed activities by 1995. In 2022, Shinzō Abe called for the abolition of factional slush funds with the slogan “let us be transparent” (futōmei na koto wa yameyō). However, after Abe’s death, LDP lawmakers revisited the issue and rescinded the policy shift (Asahi Shimbun, Jan 19, 2024). These recurring episodes suggest that the LDP may be fundamentally incapable of functioning without factions (The Japan Times, Jan 16, 2024).
Moreover, the dissolution of factions may not address the underlying issues. If factions are formally disbanded, slush funds might continue to circulate in less conspicuous forms (Bosack Reference Bosack2024b; Tokyo Shimbun, Jan 20, 2024). The faction system will likely persist, as new groups with similar functions may soon emerge. In effect, dissolving the existing, problematic factions may result in forming new groups under different guises—such as “policy groups” (seisaku shūdan). This term is somewhat misleading, as factions are not primarily involved in policymaking, a role more accurately attributed to “policy tribes” (zoku) that operate across factional lines (Daily Shincho, Feb 5, 2024). In this sense, proposals to transform political factions into policy groups may be seen as futile attempts to distract voters from the core issues.
Kishida’s sudden announcement to dissolve factions has been widely characterized as a rebellious gamble that has ultimately failed (The Japan Times, Jan 22, 2024). Critics contend that Kishida effectively betrayed the Abe faction—a key component of his electoral coalition—without whose support his premiership would have been unlikely. More importantly, public opinion remained skeptical: a Yomiuri Shimbun poll indicated that 75% of respondents did not expect the dissolution to result in substantive reform. Factions are anticipated to re-emerge as soon as opportunities arise (The Japan Times, Jan 25, 2024). Although the Kishida faction was officially dissolved, its members maintain an informal online presence through a LINE group.
Secretaries
In the slush fund scandal, legal charges were not brought against the politicians themselves but rather against their secretaries (treasurers and accountants), who were accused of violating the Law by failing to disclose information and making false entries. This raises an important question: What role do secretaries (hisho) play in Japanese political scandals?
For instance, after his arrest on January 7, Yoshitaka Ikeda attributed the omission in the income and expenditure report to his secretary, claiming that the secretary “did not report it” (hōkoku shinakatta) and that he was “completely unaware” of the slush funds (mattaku shiranakatta). Similarly, Tsuyoshi Takagi, former chairman of the National Diet Committee, admitted to knowing about the kickbacks but insisted he “trusted his secretary” (hisho ni shinrai shiteita). In another case, Iwao Horii, former vice minister of foreign affairs, stated that his secretary had kept the money (hisho ga hokan shiteita). Even PM Kishida attributed the problem to a “clerical error” (jimujō no misu), thereby shifting responsibility to the secretaries. On January 26, prosecutors concluded that the lawmakers in question were not involved in preparing the funding reports—a task delegated to their secretaries—effectively scapegoating them to avoid direct responsibility.
The ritual of scapegoating secretaries (hisho makase) is a well-established feature of Japanese politics. This practice ensures that, in many cases, politicians suffer at most a summary indictment without arrest or a fine, while the secretaries who handle administrative tasks bear the legal burden. For example, in the 1988 Recruit scandal, a secretary for former Prime Minister Noboru Takeshita committed suicide, whereas Takeshita himself was never charged. In the 2009 funding scandal involving Ichirō Ozawa (DPJ), Ozawa claimed that his funding reports were in the hands of his secretaries (hisho ni makaseta). The secretaries were subsequently arrested, indicted, and given suspended sentences while denying any responsibility (Prusa Reference Prusa2024a). In the 2014 funding scandal involving Yūko Obuchi, the secretaries responsible for accounting were indicted, but Obuchi was not charged. Likewise, during Shinzō Abe’s “cherry blossom” scandal, Abe’s chief secretary was summarily indicted, while Abe remained untouched. In short, secretaries often function as “protective shields” for their bosses.
It is not uncommon for political secretaries to commit suicide in the wake of a scandal. Some may view their self-sacrifice as a “duty” to divert responsibility from their bosses, since their death effectively halts prosecution. Between 1945 and 1989 alone, more than 20 political secretaries committed suicide owing to scandal-related pressures (George Mulgan Reference George Mulgan2010), and such incidents have continued to rise even after 1989 (Prusa Reference Prusa2024a).
Kishida
Turning now to PM Kishida’s performance during the scandal, this analysis distinguishes three confessional strategies observable in Japanese scandal performances. The first is the apologetic strategy (shazai no senryaku), which is characteristic of celebrity scandals and involves fully confessing and accepting responsibility. In contrast, the defensive strategy (mamori no senryaku), typical of political scandals, emphasizes claims of innocence and relies on secretaries as protective shields. Finally, the offensive strategy (seme no senryaku), generally employed by seasoned heavyweights, entails offending others and counterattacking the allegations by filing libel suits (Prusa Reference Prusa2023).
Kishida’s initial response to the scandal combined both apologetic and defensive strategies. In mid-December 2023, he apologized for eroding public trust in politics and promised to address the scandal “with sincerity.” To demonstrate this, he scapegoated four cabinet members (Hirokazu Matsuno, Yasutoshi Nishimura, Junji Suzuki, and Ichirō Miyashita), which led to a temporary recovery in his approval rating (from a record low of 17%), although it did not exceed 30%. Eventually, Kishida shifted to a more offensive strategy, targeting the Abe faction and calling for a “bloodbath” of its senior lawmakers, even ordering the dissolution of the faction. He vowed to become a “ball of fire” (hi no tama) that would purge the corrupt factions. However, his oppositional rivals quickly dismissed this as a hollow gesture, labeling him a “ball without fire” (hi no nai tada no tama), alleging that his actions were purely motivated by self-preservation.
Kishida’s first major public performance came at the New Year’s Press Conference on January 4, 2024. Dressed in his emergency uniform with a red flower on his chest, Kishida diverted attention from the scandal by emphasizing the Noto earthquake. While sincerely apologizing (kokoro kara owabi), he swiftly transitioned to the defensive strategy. He refrained (hikaeru) from answering journalists’ questions and instead promised to “revitalize” (sasshin) the LDP, using a term widely associated with positive, untainted reform—perhaps a calculated diversion. Throughout his speech, the term “restoring trust” (shinrai kaifuku) was repeatedly emphasized, but only 2.5 minutes of his 11.5-minute address were devoted to discussing the scandal.
On January 29, during the Budget Committee meeting, Kishida once again issued scripted apologies, but his reading from a paper detracted from the authenticity of his response. As the questioning intensified, he again employed the defensive strategy, avoiding direct answers. His frequent refrain was “I will consider it” (kentō shimasu), which earned him the moniker “Mr. Consider” (Kentōshi). Besides, some media outlets, including the conservative Sankei Shimbun, noted a “mysterious smile” (nazo no emi) on Kishida’s face as he read from his script. This relaxed, overly confident expression prompted criticism, as a serious, respectful demeanor is expected in the face of a scandal (Prusa Reference Prusa2024a). Various weeklies, such as the Daily Shincho (Jan 31, 2024), criticized Kishida’s performance, arguing that it was ill-timed for him to be smiling during such a serious moment.
Kishida’s strategy thus followed the well-established path of previous scandal-driven political performances: issue an apology, scapegoat secretaries, pledge to reform, and ultimately return to business as usual. Because of his adherence to a script of apologetic clichés, Kishida could not provide a truly heartfelt, authentic apology. By contrast, Toyota CEO Akio Toyoda offered a memorable example of straightforward accountability during the 2024 Daihatsu scandal when he admitted, “We messed up” (yaccha ikenai koto wo yatta) and accepted personal responsibility (sekininsha wa watashi).
In conclusion, Kishida’s performance has highlighted the limitations of repeated apologies in political scandals. Over time, such apologies, no matter how “sincere,” can lose meaning and become “empty apologies.” This was reflected in the reactions of the mainstream media, including the Asahi Shimbun (Feb 3, 2024), which lamented that the phrase “I sincerely apologize” (kokoro yori owabi) had become tedious and “empty” (munashī). In response, some outlets, such as Nikkei (Jan 24, 2024), began using the rarer term chinsha, emphasizing a more thorough explanation of the circumstances. Despite efforts to reframe the apology, many remained baffled that Kishida could avoid legal consequences simply by offering “sincere apologies” and passing the blame to his secretaries.
Media performance
This section assumes a media-centric approach and looks at the actual sphere of media activities during the slush fund scandal. In this approach, the media outlets are seen as agents of change that can alter the course of political events. In other words, they are not only “mirrors” (reflecting social reality) but also “shapers” (constructing social reality). The media-centric approach asserts that scandal does not begin with a transgression but with the activities through which the transgression is mediated. In short, no media exposure, no scandal.
In analyzing the Japanese media landscape, I distinguish between two blocs: “inside media” and “outside media.” The inside media, which include daily newspapers, television stations, and news agencies, are controlled by the Japanese Newspaper Association (Nihon Shimbun Kyōkai) and are governed by the restrictive “reporters’ club” system (kisha kurabu). In contrast, the outside media—comprising weekly tabloid publications, foreign media, political papers, online outlets, local newspapers, and investigative journalists—are located at the periphery of the Japanese media environment and are not bound by the kisha rules. Inside media can be further divided into conservative dailies (such as Yomiuri, Sankei, and Nikkei) and more liberal outlets (such as Asahi, Mainichi, and Tokyo Shimbun). The inside media usually act in concert, but some outlets (Asahi) adopt more critical stances, while others (Yomiuri) are more deferential. Despite occasional tensions between the two groups, substantial collaboration remains through the kisha system.
To sum up, the media’s capacity to report on scandals is under pressure from multiple interrelated forces:
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1. Political forces: The willingness of the inside media to pursue political scandals is restricted by the kisha clubs that maintain close relationships with political sources. On the contrary, the politically independent outside media are excluded from the kisha system, owing to which they can pursue and amplify elite deviances.
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2. Commercial forces: The inside media downplay scandals to avoid alienating advertisers, disrupting commercial relationships, and offending conservative readership. On the contrary, the outside media—especially weeklies—depend on newsstand sales and sensational headlines to attract liberal readership.
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3. Institutional forces: The inside media have a risk-averse culture where reporters practice self-censorship while editors reject or delay institutionally sensitive stories. On the contrary, the outside media have fewer editorial restrictions and more autonomous journalists, which allows quicker, more aggressive pursuit of scandals.
The interplay of inside and outside media shapes the lifecycle of scandals in Japan. The inside media play it safe by avoiding investigative journalism and limiting their coverage to officially released information. It is usually the outside media, particularly weekly tabloids and foreign outlets, that investigate scandals and initiate their coverage in Japan. In other words, rather than covering scandals, the inside media attempt to cover them up, especially when the transgressor is a member of the LDP. They only begin to report on scandals when they are “pushed” by circumstances—for example, when prosecutors step in, when tabloid pressures amplify the issue, when foreign media pick up the story, or when online backlash takes hold through social media.
The slush fund scandal fits this model. It was first reported in 2022 by the Japanese Communist Party’s newspaper Akahata (Nov 6, 2022; cf. Reuters, Dec 14, 2023). Hiroyuki Kamiwaki, a key whistleblower, brought the corruption to prosecutors’ attention. The conservative Yomiuri Shimbun did report the issue on November 2, but its article was placed in a members-only section, making it inaccessible to the general public (Yomiuri Shimbun, Nov 2, 2023). Akahata again exposed the scandal in depth on November 22, 2023. Other outside media, such as Shūkan Shinchō and Shūkan Bunshun, quickly followed, but it took over a week for inside media—specifically the Asahi Shimbun (Dec 1, 2023)—to report the issue.
Among the daily newspapers, Tokyo Shimbun was the most proactive in covering the scandal. For example, when a citizen group re-filed charges against implicated lawmakers on January 20, Tokyo Shimbun was the first to report. In contrast, most inside media were slow to cover the story. Eventually, Asahi, Kyodo, and Nikkei acknowledged the new charges, but their delayed response underscores what has often been termed the “silence of mass media” (masukomi no chinmoku) surrounding the cover-up of scandals in Japan.
This divide between inside and outside media is also evident in the media’s treatment of PM Kishida’s New Year press conference on January 4, 2024. Despite questions regarding the scandal, only two of six media outlets (NTV and Jiji) directly asked the PM about it. Other inside media either ignored the issue or redirected questions toward other topics, such as geopolitical concerns in Gaza, Ukraine, and China.
By the end of January 2024, even the conservative Yomiuri acknowledged that the LDP’s damage control would not prevent the recurrence of scandals (Yomiuri Shimbun, Jan 27, 2024). A day later, a Yomiuri editorial noted that most implicated politicians failed to explain the reasons behind the fraud (fukisai no riyū) or accept personal responsibility (jiko no sekinin). However, in subsequent reports, the Yomiuri returned to its defensive stance, while Asahi drove the moral outrage.
Inside media outlets are part of the restrictive kisha clubs, but they are not entirely monolithic: Asahi is more critical, while Yomiuri is more timid. The ideological divide between Asahi and Yomiuri was most apparent in their editorial approaches. On February 2, Asahi delivered a scathing editorial criticizing the so-called gang of five, demanding they not escape responsibility (sekinin nogare wa yurusarenai). Asahi attributed the fraud to the “arrogance and slackness” of LDP elites who avoided accountability by correcting reports and dissolving factions (Asahi Shimbun, Feb 2, 2024). In stark contrast, the Yomiuri editorial on the same day shifted attention away from the scandal, instead attacking the opposition for failing to focus on more pressing domestic and foreign issues. It reiterated Kishida’s explanation of the violations as “clerical errors” and concluded that Japan’s lawmakers should instead focus on maintaining the Imperial family system (The Yomiuri, Feb 2, 2024).
One might expect that the inside media would have treated the scandal with greater scrutiny; however, conservative outlets such as Yomiuri, Sankei, and Nikkei have proven to be more “servants of the state” than “watchdogs of democracy.” In contrast, the outside media—such as political papers and weekly tabloids—appear to act as de facto watchdogs who expose corruption and challenge the status quo. These tabloids position themselves as morally motivated when exposing political transgressions, but are also driven by the financial incentives of scandal-based media consumption. This being said, the outside media generally assume the watchdog role, whereas the inside media frequently fall short of this ideal.
Scandal consequences
Generally, scandals yield consequences that are symptomatic of and instrumental to the country’s political and media culture. The short-term consequences of the slush fund scandal included the dissolution of the Abe faction, leadership instability, declining public trust, and electoral setback, but the long-term effects were still unclear. Although it remains premature to assess the full social consequences of the scandal, two principal positions have emerged: an optimistic perspective that the scandal will engender positive change, and a pessimistic view that its transformative impact will be limited.
Optimists
Proponents of the optimistic view contended that the scandal represented a unique opportunity for substantive reform. According to this perspective, the scandal constituted a watershed moment that will fundamentally reshape Japanese governance (Reidy Reference Reidy2023), and its repercussions may persist over multiple electoral cycles (Japan Expert Insights 2024).
Optimists argued that the scandal was sufficiently profound to precipitate regime change, potentially paving the way for the opposition to regain power, as occurred in 1993 and again in 2009. They placed their hopes primarily in the potential resurgence of opposition parties. Although the opposition had historically been weak and fragmented, some developments indicated that oppositional lawmakers were coalescing in a manner that poses a significant challenge to the LDP. In addition, some commentators predicted that Komeito may eventually exit the governing coalition owing to the scandal, undermining the LDP’s majority in the Lower House and impairing its ability to secure key cabinet positions.
Finally, some optimists argued that Kishida’s move to dissolve factions could have triggered a new era of Japanese democracy. In the current system, party blocs largely determine legislative voting; however, the dissolution of factions could empower independent lawmakers to evaluate proposals on the basis of their intrinsic merits and personal conscience. Yet, given the deeply entrenched nature of factional politics in Japan, such an outcome remains, at best, an aspirational scenario.
Pessimists
In contrast, pessimists were skeptical that any fundamental changes would materialize, even with the emergence of new leadership (Yora Reference Yora2023; Jou Reference Jou2024). Yu Uchiyama noted that a total change of government was unlikely; voters punished the LDP but will eventually return to the party (The Japan Times, Oct 28, 2024). The voters were indeed growing disaffected but not so angry or bold as to “throw the bums out” (cf. Schlesinger Reference Schlesinger1999, 247). Besides, the scandal did not drive more people to vote in October 2024—the voter turnout of 53.84% was among the lowest in history.
Furthermore, pessimists feared funding scandals would persist because corporations continue purchasing party tickets. Corporations are vested in ensuring that politicians pursue policies favorable to industry interests and articulate industry-friendly positions in the Diet (Asahi Shimbun, Jan 23, 2024). In addition, corporations fear that abstaining from such financial support may preclude access to lawmakers’ offices for lobbying purposes (Yora Reference Yora2023). This enduring collusion between political and corporate spheres is reinforced by the close personal relationships between corporations and not only the politicians but also their family members (Asahi Shimbun, Jan 23, 2024).
The opposition parties have expressed a similarly pessimistic outlook, conceding that they were unlikely to displace the LDP soon (The Diplomat, Dec 22, 2023). They have criticized the LDP for taking virtually no substantive action and diverting attention toward factions’ dissolution rather than addressing core issues. Moreover, some pessimists cautioned that, paradoxically, the funding scandal might ultimately benefit the LDP. They argued that the scandal could further alienate voters from the political process; in the absence of a viable alternative to the LDP, voter disengagement might lead to lower turnout, thereby reinforcing the LDP’s dominance.
For the pessimists, the LDP’s decision to investigate its own lawmakers has been likened to a futile exercise—a dog chasing its tail—likely to persist until public interest wanes and the issue quietly dissipates. According to Gerald Curtis, the public gets bored, the scandal blows over, and things go on as usual (Foreign Policy, March 26, 2024).
To the pessimists, the fundamental substance of Japanese politics remains unchanged, and political corruption is so deeply entrenched that it may be insurmountable (cf. Schlesinger Reference Schlesinger1999). Indeed, efforts to eliminate money politics from the LDP are akin to trying to remove the influence of oxygen from the human body (David Russell, personal conversation).
Electoral loss
In October 2024, the LDP suffered a significant setback in the parliamentary elections, losing its comfortable majority since 2012. Although public discontent with the slush fund scandal appears to have caused the electoral loss, a closer analysis indicates that this scandal was far from the sole factor. In short, the scandal was only one element in the election defeat. The primary underlying causes included stagnant wages, rising consumer prices, and a widening socioeconomic gap (Takahara and Benoza Reference Takahara and Benoza2024; Johnston Reference Johnston2024a). The increasing cost of everyday items—such as rice and ramen—must have been much more disturbing than the existence of slush funds (cf. Escande Reference Escande2024; Harris Reference Harris2025).
Furthermore, the electoral outcome must be partly attributed to PM Shigeru Ishiba’s pre-election missteps. First, his reliance on traditional patronage politics—rewarding allies and penalizing opponents—resulted in a disapproval rating exceeding 30% (Bosack Reference Bosack2024a). Second, Ishiba’s decision to call a snap election proved to be a miscalculation, as he underestimated the electorate’s lingering resentment over the scandal. Third, just days before the election, the media revealed that Ishiba had funneled political funds to local chapters led by candidates stripped of endorsements due to their involvement in the slush fund scandal (Miyake Reference Miyake2024). This blatant disregard for public image just before the election may have inflicted more significant damage on the LDP than the slush fund scandal itself.
Finally, internal dynamics within the LDP further contributed to the electoral loss. Gerald Curtis (Foreign Policy, March 26, 2024) noted that the party had been atrophying for two decades, evolving into an old-fashioned conglomerate of hereditary lawmakers. These lawmakers could not enact structural reforms, build consensus on policy issues, or nurture effective leadership (Gaunder Reference Gaunder2007; Miyake Reference Miyake2024). The LDP’s inability to make political reforms under Ishiba frustrated the public and contributed to the electoral setback (Harris Reference Harris2025).
In sum, the electoral setback should be understood not solely as a consequence of the slush fund scandal, but as symptomatic of a broader crisis in Japanese politics—a crisis marked by deep fissures within the LDP and Prime Minister Ishiba’s failure to address these structural challenges before the election. These factors collectively undermined the party’s long-standing dominance in Japanese politics.
Conclusions
Considering the scale and magnitude of the slush fund controversy, one must ask whether the post-scandal reforms of the past have truly enhanced transparency and reduced corruption in Japan, as Carlson and Reed (2018) argued. Indeed, these reforms did help to limit and regulate the role of private money in Japanese politics, while increased transparency has led to more scandals. However, the slush fund scandal casts some doubt on the notion that political corruption is now significantly lower or that a major funding scandal would be unlikely to recur.
The reality is that Japanese political scandals are ubiquitous. They are no longer seen as anomalies that demand legislative reform; instead, they have become an expected part of the political landscape. Scandals emerge, are managed through ritualized responses, and then fade from public consciousness. Rather than prompting meaningful institutional change or addressing the root causes of corruption, these scandals often function as non-transformative media rituals that preserve the status quo, diffuse responsibility, and generate profit.
Regarding social change, scandals tend to be more “distractions” than genuine “game-changers.” In postwar Japan, an effective post-scandal reform occurred only on two occasions: in 1975 under Prime Minister Takeo Miki and in 1994 under the leadership of Ichirō Ozawa (see Gaunder Reference Gaunder2007). Besides, these legal revisions seem to have provoked changes in funding patterns that well may have exacerbated the problems of political corruption (Curtis Reference Curtis1988, 187; Krauss and Pekkanen Reference Krauss and Pekkanen2011, 117–8).
Once a scandal surfaces, the country collectively echoes calls for “political reform” (seiji kaikaku). Yet, the individuals caught in wrongdoing are merely symbolically scapegoated while the debate shifts to “tightening regulations” (kisei kyōka). Lawmakers typically follow a familiar pattern: they perform a clichéd apologetic ritual, announce formal hearings, issue reports, introduce a “clean” face (PM Ishiba), and close the chapter without addressing the underlying issues. They attempt to stabilize the situation until a new scandal initiates the next cycle (Gaunder Reference Gaunder2007; Bosack Reference Bosack2024b).
This pattern was evident in the LDP funding scandal. All the actors assumed preordained roles, driven by motivations to protect or challenge the compromised status quo. On the protective side, inside media minimized negative coverage, politicians issued evasive apologies, secretaries were scapegoated, and prosecutors ultimately failed to prove any collusion between secretaries and politicians. In contrast, the outside media triggered and amplified the scandal, whistleblowers revealed incriminating data, and civic groups organized public protests against corruption.
Despite the significant public uproar, the conservative guardians of the status quo have prevailed over those who sought to challenge it. This outcome explains why one cannot expect any substantial transformation of the political order. In January 2024, prosecutors dropped the case, and in June 2024, a bill to revise the Political Funds Control Act was passed in the House of Representatives. Although this bill was anticipated to mark a turning point in Japanese politics, it ultimately failed to meet the opposition’s key demands—such as banning political donations from corporations and organizations—and instead offered only cosmetic changes, effectively preserving murky funds under the guise of reform (The Asahi, Jun 1, 2024; The Mainichi, Jun 7, 2024). Besides, by early August 2024, Kishida Cabinet members had resumed holding the fundraising parties (The Japan Times, Aug 9, 2024).
Major Japanese scandals are crafted as heavily mediated rituals poised to effect change, but they usually offer little in preventing future corruption. This ineffectiveness is partly attributable to the lenient punitive measures imposed on implicated politicians—imprisonment is rare, suspended sentences are common, and most scandal-tainted politicians are re-elected (Potter Reference Potter1997; Prusa Reference Prusa2024a). Consequently, while these scandals may temporarily disrupt the political milieu, they do not engender substantive transformation but rather serve to reinforce existing power structures (cf. Lukes Reference Lukes1975; Kishima Reference Kishima1991). Despite isolated reforms, the underlying substance of Japanese politics remains largely invariant (Schlesinger Reference Schlesinger1999). Moreover, the pace of transformative processes is so incremental that advocating for profound change appears almost quixotic (cf. Tomisaki Reference Tomisaki2024; Rich, Ueno, and Kiuko Reference Rich, Ueno and Kiuko2024). Accordingly, it is unlikely that the LDP will undergo any fundamental transformation in the foreseeable future, leaving those who aspire to thoroughly purify Japanese politics rather disappointed (cf. Schlesinger Reference Schlesinger1999, 284).
Such a pessimistic conclusion should not discourage scholarly inquiry into scandal—both as a general phenomenon and a distinct feature of Japanese politics. Despite their regressive character, scandals constitute culturally meaningful products that offer profound insights into the values, tensions, and power structures of the societies in which they occur. In essence, scandals provide a unique lens through which researchers can penetrate the superficial veneer of public life and uncover the intricate dynamics of a society in crisis.
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Author biography
Igor Prusa, PhD et PhD, is a Czech Japanologist and media scholar affiliated with Ambis University Prague and Metropolitan University Prague. He is the author of “Scandal in Japan: Transgression, Performance and Ritual” (Routledge 2024). Prusa worked at the Czech Academy of Sciences and taught at the University of Vienna, University of Zurich, and Tokyo Metropolitan University. Prusa received his first PhD in media studies at Prague’s Charles University in 2010. In 2017, he defended his second doctoral thesis at the University of Tokyo. Prusa’s research interests include media, culture, and society in Japan, as well as anti-heroism in popular fiction worldwide. Besides his academic activities, Igor Prusa is a guitarist and music composer in a Japan-themed band, Nantokanaru.
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