The dark side of the rising sun by Mary Long

For decades, Japan has walked a precarious line between economic modernity and political conservatism. Beneath the surface of its orderly democracy, neon-lit cities, and ritualized civility, a dormant force was always waiting, steady, stubborn, and sharpened by grievance. The far-right in Japanese politics didn’t suddenly arrive; it was always there, crouched in the background like a ghost from a war that never quite ended.

Mainstream political parties, the Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) chief among them, have acted less like gatekeepers and more like reluctant babysitters, aware of the far-right's simmering presence but unwilling to confront it directly. Until now, this uneasy containment strategy worked, barely. But that façade is cracking, and the implications are as troubling as they are overdue.

Since World War II, Japan's political identity has been forged under American oversight, pacifist ideals, and rapid economic recovery. The country rebuilt itself on steel, semiconductors, and soft power. But it never fully reckoned with its past. Denialism around wartime atrocities, comfort women, Nanking, colonial brutality, still circulates in nationalist circles and, disturbingly, in some textbooks.

That silence created fertile ground for right-wing extremism to fester—not in protests or paramilitary outfits, but quietly, within think tanks, school boards, and conservative media. It never left. It simply waited for the political winds to shift.

Japan's far-right doesn’t march in jackboots. It wears suits, speaks perfect keigo, and appeals to a sanitized vision of “pure” Japan, one where ethnic homogeneity, obedience, and cultural supremacy are sacred. It's a movement built not on policy, but on nostalgia. It longs for a mythologized Japan, one unburdened by apology or immigration, and where being “Japanese” is less a citizenship and more a bloodline.

The recent rise of ultra-nationalist rhetoric among politicians isn’t a surprise, it’s a culmination. For years, far-right ideologues have been quietly gaining ground, not by storming parliament but by seeding ideas: questioning the “masochistic” view of history, calling for the revision of the pacifist constitution, rejecting foreign refugees, and glorifying a militarized Japan.

When politicians start talking about making Japan a “beautiful nation” again, pay close attention, beauty, in this context, often means ethnic conformity and patriarchal order. When they demand respect for the flag and anthem in schools, it's often a veiled call to erase dissent and enforce nationalism.

Groups like Nippon Kaigi, an ultra-conservative lobby with ties to powerful lawmakers, have pushed this agenda for years. They envision a restored emperor-centered nation, a rejection of “Western” liberalism, and a rollback of women's rights. And now, their talking points have found echoes in parliament.

The triggers of far-right surges are almost universal: economic stagnation, demographic fears, perceived cultural dilution. Japan checks every box. An aging population, declining birthrates, and economic insecurity have given rise to anxiety, a perfect storm for nationalist demagogues.

Immigrants, though few, are painted as threats. Foreign influences are framed as contaminations of the Japanese soul. There’s a moral panic around “un-Japanese” values and a creeping disdain for multiculturalism, despite the globalized world Japan depends on for trade and influence.

In a society that prizes harmony, the far-right offers simplicity: a return to the "real Japan." In a world of ambiguity and economic decline, that message, however regressive, resonates, especially with the young men who feel left behind.

Japan is now at a critical moment. Will it choose to confront its far-right undercurrents, or will it continue to flirt with extremism under the guise of patriotism?

The danger isn’t in one party winning an election. It’s in the slow erosion of norms. It’s in the shrugging off of hate speech, the normalization of exclusionary rhetoric, the quiet replacement of critical thinking with blind loyalty. Once that door is open, history shows us it's hard to close again.

Democracy doesn’t die with a bang in Tokyo, it withers under bureaucracy, silence, and cultural exceptionalism. The far-right’s rise isn’t inevitable, but it’s no longer improbable. The question is whether the political center has the courage to do more than just contain it.

Because the far-right in Japan was never truly stopped, it was simply waiting to be invited in.