Are Second-Generation Politicians Really So Bad?—Japanese Voters Criticize Political Dynasties, Then Vote for Them Again

The minister who recently resigned over a scandal has apparently been replaced by another second-generation politician. Once again, political dynasties remain firmly entrenched.

People in Japan often say:

“Politicians and celebrities always want their children to go into the same line of work.”

The remark usually comes with a sarcastic implication: it must be a very rewarding business.

Indeed, it is hardly unusual to find politicians whose parents and even grandparents were politicians. The entertainment industry, too, keeps producing second-generation actors and television personalities.

But when you think about it, inheriting a family profession is nothing unusual.

The child of a doctor in private practice becomes a doctor. The son of a long-established business owner takes over the company. The son of a sushi chef becomes a sushi chef.

In fact, many institutions and families connected to Japanese history and culture are hereditary, including the Imperial Family and the great kabuki acting houses.

And yet, you rarely hear anyone exclaiming:

“Oh no, not another second-generation sushi chef!”

For some reason, merely being second-generation attracts particular attention only in politics and entertainment.

These two worlds have something in common.

A famous parent’s name clearly makes the road much easier.

Everyone knows that kabuki acting is hereditary, for example, but everyone also knows that the children undergo rigorous training from an early age.

Some celebrity children, on the other hand, appear on television without having made any visible effort at all.

Of course people resent that.

Celebrities Can Inherit a Debut, but Not Popularity

The children of celebrities have an overwhelming advantage.

An ordinary person might have to beat hundreds of other hopefuls at auditions, while a celebrity child becomes news simply with the announcement:

“So-and-so’s son makes his entertainment debut.”

He gets invited onto television, and the producers may even arrange an appearance with his famous parent.

From the perspective of an ordinary person, that is an outrageous difference in starting positions.

The entertainment world does have a cruel side, however.

You can inherit name recognition from your parents, but you cannot inherit popularity.

The novelty may get you work at first, but if you are not entertaining, cannot act, and fail to become popular, eventually the invitations stop coming.

Your parent’s fame is a powerful booster, but it cannot keep you airborne forever.

Politicians, however, inherit something even more useful.

Politicians Can Even Inherit Their “Customers”

Japanese politics has long had the expression:

jiban, kanban, kaban—electoral base, name recognition, and money.

The electoral base means an organized support network; the name recognition is the candidate’s public reputation; and the money is the campaign funding.

An ordinary first-time candidate must build all three from scratch.

They stand outside train stations, make the rounds at community meetings, bow to people, and gradually get voters to remember their name.

A second-generation candidate can inherit much of what a parent spent decades building.

In entertainment terms, this goes far beyond:

“You may use your parent’s name to make your debut.”

It is more like:

“We will throw in your parent’s fan club as well.”

Of course that is powerful.

Would We Be Better Off with a University of Tokyo Elite?

Perhaps we should eliminate dynastic succession and choose politicians purely on ability.

But it is not quite that simple.

Imagine someone who graduates from an elite university, works on public policy in a central government ministry, and then enters politics.

On paper, the résumé is perfect.

But politics is not an examination.

A politician must listen to complaints from local shopkeepers and deal with requests that do not always make logical sense.

If the politician responds by demolishing the argument with the flawless observation—

“Your claim lacks logical consistency”—

that may not make the person particularly useful as a politician.

There are times when a somewhat sheltered political heir functions better as a politician simply by listening and saying:

“I understand. Yes, that really is a problem.”

Academic ability and political ability are different skills.

Eliminating political dynasties would not automatically fill parliament with excellent politicians.

Who Elects Second-Generation Politicians?

There is one thing I always find strange about criticism of political dynasties.

“They are riding on their parents’ coattails.”

“They are a privileged class.”

“Political office should not be hereditary.”

But who elected them?

We did.

In Japan, a parliamentary seat cannot be inherited from parent to child.

When a father retires, the Legal Affairs Bureau does not send his son a notice saying, “The registration transfer of one seat in the House of Representatives has been completed.”

There is a proper election.

There are opposing candidates.

And voters still cast their ballots thinking:

“I feel safer with Mr. So-and-so’s son after all.”

So when we criticize political dynasties, it makes no sense to treat voters as innocent victims with nothing to do with the outcome.

Politicians are not simply passing office down among themselves.

We are choosing them too.

Perhaps We Do Not Actually Dislike Hereditary Succession

On a different note, I recently saw an interesting story on television.

The owner of a world-famous Japanese restaurant had no son, so his daughter’s husband was taking over the business.

In Japan, it is not unusual for a family to bring in a son-in-law to preserve the family business. These days, however, parents can no longer simply choose their daughter’s husband for her.

The young proprietor and the daughter had met and married for love, but until they decided to marry, he had no idea that her family ran such a famous restaurant.

He laughed as he said:

“I felt as though I had been tricked.”

He had thought he was simply getting married, only to discover that the deal also included taking over a world-famous restaurant. It was certainly no laughing matter.

Along with his wife came a course of grueling training.

Hereditary succession tends to evoke an image of people effortlessly receiving something from their parents. In reality, some families cannot find anyone willing to take over and must resort to desperate measures like this.

When you think about it, perhaps hereditary succession itself is not what we dislike.

When the child of a kabuki actor trains rigorously and carries on the family tradition, few people call it unfair.

What people resent is seeing someone apparently use nothing but a parent’s name to take the easy route and claim the rewards as well.

Perhaps, when you get right down to it, that is also the real source of resentment toward second-generation politicians.