Issue:
April 2026 | Cover story
Sanae Takaichi’s preference for populist messaging has left Japan’s mainstream media struggling to respond
Journalists dream of a viral moment in the White House Oval Office. For Chijiwa Morio it came on March 19. A politics reporter and Kantei bureau chief with TV Asahi, Chijiwa asked Donald Trump why he had not shared the decision to attack Iran with America’s allies. Trump’s off-the cuff reply made headlines around the world. “Who knows better about surprise than Japan?” he asked. “Why didn‘t you tell me about Pearl Harbor?”
That jaw-dropping bon mot was greeted with a now familiar chorus of MAGA cheers and liberal boos. Pro-Trump fans lapped it up: On the X social media platform, his son Eric called it “One of the great responses to a reporter in history!” For others, it was another insult to the leader of a key American ally. In Japan, however, the online mob went after the reporter who asked the question.
Chijiwa was accused of trying to embarrass Trump and the Takaichi for political motives. He was a “disgrace” and “embarrassment” to Japan, said one comment on X, his question not driven by curiosity but to provoke. “TV Asahi is an anti-American, anti-Japanese, anti-Takaichi far-left media outlet, like a combination of CNN and the New York Times!” said another. “The question was a tool of China, intended to sow discord between Japan and the United States.”
Cyber-sleuths pointed out that Chijiwa is a veteran of TV Asahi’s bureau in China, (where he was forced to quarantine for weeks during the Covid-19 pandemic in 2021). Cue more online dogpiling about his pro-Chinese sensibilities, and another chance for rightwing bloggers and YouTube influencers to not only take aim at the Asahi, an old enemy, but the “declining” legacy media.
Takaichi’s devoted online following is a factor not just in her startling popularity but in the growing distrust of mainstream media. The prime minister has over 2.6 million followers across social media platforms and trounced her rivals in online engagement during two elections. Her online devotees have coined the phrase sanakatsu, a mashup of her given name and oshikatsu, a word derived from fan culture meaning devotion to an idol.
Takaichi’s fan base frequently comes to her defense against critics. When she pulled out of a television debate on February 1 with leaders of rival parties ahead of the February 8 general election, citing a hand injury, she was widely accused of avoiding scrutiny of her policies. Her supporters pointed out that her explanation – over-enthusiastic handshaking – was perfectly plausible given that she suffers from chronic rheumatoid arthritis.
A January poll by the right-wing Sankei Shimbun newspaper claimed support for Takaichi among the under-30s, the largest users of social media, at an unheard of 92%. As Wada Ikeda recently argued in the Asia-Pacific Journal: Japan Focus, soaring ratings for a leader that many experts and pundits criticize suggest a total collapse of trust in legacy media.
Despite comparatively high (68.7%) trust in traditional media in Japan and low (10.9%) trust in social media for news, Japanese young people are rejecting institutional journalism, argues Wada, because they’re “actively disagreeing with its framing on grounds they consider more substantive – policy achievements on women’s safety, economic empowerment, and what they perceive as reality versus idealism”.
Testy media ties
Takaichi has form when it comes to hostility toward the media. In 206, while serving as communications minister during Shinzo Abe’s second administration, she threatened radio broadcasters over their political coverage, reminding them that she had the power to revoke their licenses if they indulged in “biased” reporting – a move that would have effectively shut them down.
Takaichi reiterated her threat, citing articles in the broadcasting law that gives the communications minister the power to issue closure orders without the approval of a court.
Her comments prompted many to question the Abe government’s commitment to free speech and a free media. “Serious questions remain about the Abe government's interpretation of the Broadcast Act,” said the Mainichi Shimbun. “If the governing party is to urge broadcasters that are systematically vulnerable to political influence with possibly imposing punishments, it could be viewed as political pressure.”
While she still gives Friday evening press conferences – the bane of reporters and editors praying for the working week to end - Takaichi has taken to posting lengthy explanations of her policy positions on X, most recently about the government’s decision to dip into Japan’s strategic oil reserves amid disruption to tanker traffic along the Strait of Hormuz.
It is a more direct form of communication than remarks carried in newspapers through the prism of the Kantei press club, but also a convenient way of avoiding scrutiny, provided she leaves it to her aides to scroll through the responses.
Takaichi’s relationship with the mainstream domestic media came under scrutiny again after her victory in last October’s election as LDP party president – when a microphone caught a Jiji Press photographer joking during a livestream that he would do his best to ensure her administration was short-lived. “I’ll make sure her approval ratings drop,” he was heard to say.
A clip of the incident, which took place as reporters waited for her to appear, went viral, sparking outrage among Takaichi loyalists and attempts to identify the journalist in question – presumably not for a grown-up conversation about media bias. The public backlash was so fierce that the news agency was forced to publish an apology and announce that it had “severely reprimanded” the culprit.
At the same press conference another reporter, whose employer has not been identified, mocked the victorious candidate’s dependence on Taro Aso, suggesting that she had kept the media waiting so that she could attach an earpiece though which the party grandee would instruct her what to say.
The incidents did little to dispel the belief common among Takaichi acolytes that large sections of the legacy media are gunning for Japan’s first female prime minister.
Jeffrey J. Hall, a lecturer at Kanda University of International Studies in Tokyo, described television coverage of Takaichi as "extremely shallow and largely uncritical".
"This could be a case of profit-driven media reacting to the fact that polls show that Takaichi is very popular," he said. "Airing negative news about the PM could cause people to change the channel. There's also the added problem of the internet rightists who rabidly support Takaichi.
"If someone goes on television and harshly criticizes Takaichi, they could face hundreds or thousands of angry phone calls and e-mails from her fans. Since many guests on 'wide shows' and other news programs are actors and other celebrities, they tend to avoid taking controversial opinions that would be opposed by over 60% of the country."
A shallow trajectory
Critics lament the increasingly wide but shallow and emotion-driven trajectory of online political discourse in Japan. During the winter election campaign, Takaichi’s predecessor Shigeru Ishiba grumbled that campaigning had been “nothing but social media and slogans,” that treated voters like “idiots”. The mainstream media has homed in on symbols of Takaichi’s cult-like devotion, among them manga-themed images and soaring demand for her €735-leather handbag, which has forced Hamano, the Tokyo company that makes them, to put customers on a nine-month waiting list.
“People in general gradually come to be aware of the polarization of news media in Japan – the Yomiuri and Sankei versus the rest,” says Nobuyuki Okumura, a former TV Asahi reporter who now teaches at Musashi University. “But it is also true that fewer and fewer people, particularly younger generations, understand the watchdog function of news media. Such people are prone to be hostile toward the media.”
On the perception of greater bias among journalists, he said: “The majority of reporters and camera persons are still wise enough to refrain from revealing their personal political biases … but the downfall of the news media industry might have caused a rise in fewer journalists with proper training.”
Not all the online traffic goes Takaichi’s way, of course. The same social fluidity that wins her praise for breaking with the staid approach of her nondescript male predecessors, has also generated mocking, sexist online memes. She was widely pilloried in mid-March for literally rushing into the arms of Trump just as his unpopular war threatened chaos and global recession.
Sexist memes
Takaichi came in for particular flak for appearing to join Trump in a joke at the expense of his cancer-stricken predecessor Joe Biden. While viewing a portrait gallery of former presidents, Takaichi was filmed appearing to laugh as Trump pointed to an autopen - a device used for automatic signatures - instead of a portrait of Biden. One Japanese lawmaker said on X he was “embarrassed” by Takaichi.
The Trump White House, no doubt cognisant of the power of a single online meme to shape perception, was criticized for unilaterally releasing such images without considering the potential diplomatic fallout on Takaichi. The press images released by Japan’s foreign ministry were noticeably more formal.
Online debate about such viral images tended to obscure, for some, the substance of the Japan-US summit. Because of the press club system, which rewards journalists with monopolistic “turnkey access” to institutional sources,Japanese media coverage emphasized Takaichi’s substantive achievements and downplayed or ignored Trump’s Pearl Harbor jibe, said one NHK journalist.
“In essence, Takaichi succeeded in convincing Trump of the constitutional constraints on deploying Japanese naval forces to the Strait of Hormuz,” said the journalist, who requested anonymity. “This is being viewed as a success by both the political right and left. The right sees it as proof that Takaichi has built a good relationship with Trump and secured the U.S.-Japan alliance. The left welcomes the fact that Takaichi used the very constitution she seeks to revise to say ‘no’ to Trump, thereby demonstrating the political value of Article 9 as a justification for not joining U.S. wars far from home.”
The difference in perception between legacy media and social media reflects not only political divisions within public opinion, but fundamental differences in the modern media landscape, he adds. “Legacy media tend to be more analytical, while social media are more emotional. It also reveals Takaichi’s political character – while her policies are rooted in the establishment, her messaging is distinctly populist.”
In a TV appearance after his bombshell Oval Office question, Chijiwa was asked to explain what he was thinking. “Well, in Japan too, people are asking, ‘Why do we have to get dragged into a war that the U.S. started on its own?’ he explained “‘Why do we have to be asked to provide support for something the U.S. started on its own?’ And that includes military support. Since we have that sense of unease and frustration, I wanted to confront him with that question: ‘Why aren’t you telling your allies? Japan is in such a difficult situation, isn’t it?’.”
When Trump had finished talking, he asked the Japanese side, “Is he a good reporter?” Foreign Minister Toshimitsu Motegi replied, “So-so”, to widespread laughter.
David McNeill is professor of communications and English at University of the Sacred Heart in Tokyo, and co-chair of the FCCJ’s Freedom of the Press Committee. He was previously a correspondent for the Independent, the Economist and the Chronicle of Higher Education. He is co-author of the forthcoming Japanese Rebels: Non-Conformists in a Conformist Society.
Justin McCurry is the Japan and Korea correspondent for the Guardian. He is the author of War On Wheels: Inside Keirin and Japan’s Cycling Subculture (Pursuit Books, June 2021), published in Japanese as Keirin: Sharin no Ue no Samurai Wārudo (Hayakawa, July 2023).
