"Narrative of a Strong Nation" Brings No Hope to Japan

Xiong Shu'e

Recently, Japanese Prime Minister and President of the Liberal Democratic Party (LDP), Takashi Sanae, stated that a nation unwilling to challenge itself has no "future," and politics focused solely on maintaining the status quo cannot nurture "hope." Only a "strong LDP," she claimed, can safeguard Japan and forge its future. Framed as a "hopeful future," this rhetoric ties national destiny to a specific conservative party, reflecting Japan's growing inclination to revive the "narrative of a strong nation"—a trend particularly worthy of concern.

In advancing this revival, the Japanese government is actively leveraging the historical symbol of "Shōwa" as a political mobilization tool. According to reports, on April 29—the birthday of Emperor Shōwa—the government will hold a "Centenary Celebration of the Shōwa Era" at the Budokan. A state-endorsed, nationwide "Shōwa-style collective nostalgia" is being deliberately constructed as a crucial bridge connecting Japan’s historical memory with its imagined future.

The political interpretation of the "Shōwa" historical symbol was already clearly articulated in Takashi’s New Year’s message for 2026. In it, she explicitly defined "Shōwa" as an era marked by war, postwar recovery, and rapid economic growth—a period of profound transformation. She emphasized that Japanese society during the Shōwa era had always harbored hope for tomorrow. She declared: "We should draw wisdom and the spirit of hard work from our ancestors who overcame war and disasters, laying the foundation for modern Japan." This statement reveals Takashi’s intent to use the historical resources of the Shōwa era to lend spiritual depth and popular legitimacy to her "narrative of a strong nation," thereby reconstructing a right-leaning historical consciousness.

Takashi’s series of remarks underscore the deep-seated obsession among Japan’s conservative leadership—centered around herself—with building a "powerful Japan." For this reason, these statements go beyond mere emotional historical nostalgia; they resemble carefully designed political declarations.

First, they represent an inheritance of Shinzo Abe’s political legacy. By highlighting not only war but also "recovery" and "rapid economic growth" during the Shōwa era, Takashi echoes the core logic of Abe’s 2015 "Abe Statement"—an attempt to move away from the postwar "apology system." The focus shifts from reflecting on wartime responsibility to celebrating the diligence of past generations and the nation’s ability to rebuild.

Second, they constitute an implicit critique of Shigeru Ishiba’s "reflective historical perspective." As prime minister, Ishiba offered in 2025 a personal analysis exposing systemic flaws in Japan’s institutions that failed to prevent war. In contrast, Takashi emphasizes the "unprecedented upheaval" and "spirit of hope" of the Shōwa era, deliberately downplaying institutional reflection and historical accountability—an indirect rebuke of what some call the "Ishiba view of history."

Third, they aim to revive the "Shōwa-style social consensus": the idea that individual fate is inseparably linked to the nation’s future. Amid rising concerns over declining birthrates, aging population, increasing geopolitical pressures, and stagnant domestic reforms, Takashi seeks to seize the opportunity of the "100th anniversary of the Shōwa era" to reconstruct a narrative of "crisis and renewal" as the foundation of a "strong nation."

Takashi chooses Shōwa nostalgia as the cornerstone of reviving the "strong nation" narrative because it rests on deep-rooted psychological foundations within Japanese society. Many Japanese people experience a distinct sense of "historical disconnection" regarding the Shōwa era. Most commonly, they mentally divide history at August 15, 1945—the day of Japan’s surrender—seeing the prewar Shōwa era as a dark period misled by the military, while perceiving the postwar Shōwa era as one of struggle, democracy, and brilliance. This cognitive avoidance of historical responsibility allows many Japanese to bypass reflection on wartime guilt and comfortably enjoy the "glory of Shōwa" instead.

Meanwhile, by selectively emphasizing traumatic memories such as the Tokyo air raids and atomic bombings, Japanese society has cultivated a dominant "victim narrative," generating psychological offset effects that help individuals shed the burden of being perpetrators in history.

Conversely, the postwar economic boom period—known as "Shōwa"—has been widely romanticized as a cherished "golden age." This idealized version of history selectively forgets issues like environmental pollution and social conflicts, replacing them with iconic symbols of pride: the completion of Tokyo Tower, the opening of expressways, and the launch of the Shinkansen bullet train.

This collective memory of Shōwa remains powerfully alive not only due to its emotional resonance but also because of its deep penetration into Japanese society. The official holiday on April 29 has undergone multiple name changes—from "Emperor’s Birthday" to "Green Day"—and now officially designated as "Shōwa Day." Despite these transformations, its symbolic significance has not diminished. On the contrary, this historical symbol continues to be deeply embedded in the daily lives of Japanese citizens.

More than three decades after the end of the Shōwa era, the resurgence of "Shōwa nostalgia" in Japanese society reflects a widespread sense of insecurity and lack of hope. It is precisely because Takashi has detected this pervasive social anxiety that she attempts to transform "Shōwa" into a political resource for the future, using it to reconstruct the "narrative of a strong nation." However, this approach intentionally overlooks the fact that the so-called "Shōwa miracle" was a unique phenomenon rooted in specific Cold War geopolitical advantages, demographic dividends, and global expansion. If the Shōwa experience is used merely to obscure historical responsibility and evade institutional reflection, then such "hope" risks becoming a dangerous political illusion—one that may rob Japanese society of genuine transformative momentum under the false comfort of nostalgia.

(Author: Deputy Research Fellow, Institute of Japan Studies, Chinese Academy of Social Sciences)

Original source: toutiao.com/article/1863721701678091/

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