Japan’s Obuchi Dies; Credited With Boosting Economy, Foreign Relations

Former Prime Minister Keizo Obuchi, who defied skeptics by lasting far longer in Japan’s highest office than anyone expected--in part by turning his lack of natural charm into a public asset--died Sunday, six weeks after suffering a massive stroke and subsequent brain damage. He was 62 and had been in a coma.

“Together with the Japanese people, I express my deepest condolences,” Prime Minister Yoshiro Mori told reporters. “He dealt decisively with important measures affecting this nation’s economic revival as well as its internal and foreign policies.”

Obuchi, appointed Japan’s 26th prime minister since World War II in July 1998, showed little of the style or pizazz that many Western voters expect in their leaders. In fact, his critics at various times referred to him as a “dull ox,” “utterly lacking in charisma” and “without a bold idea in his head.”

Yet he arguably possessed what counts for far more in Japanese politics, where the prime minister is elected by other politicians rather than directly by the public: He had skills as a political fund-raiser and the ability to doggedly forge back-room compromises in an ever-shifting world of factions.

Obuchi, a former foreign minister, is credited with several foreign policy breakthroughs, including a landmark agreement with South Korean President Kim Dae Jung that put bilateral relations between the two contentious neighbors on their best footing in the postwar era. He also helped improve relations with Russia, although his ultimate goal--a pact to recover several islands seized by the Soviet Union after World War II--remained elusive.

Obuchi remained prime minister far longer than almost anyone believed possible, perhaps including himself.

In a 1999 speech, he joked that he was unpopular even before he was elected: “People said I might last three days, but seven months have already passed. I lasted three days, then three months, so maybe I can last three years.”

In his first year on the job, he was credited with pushing through a fix for Japan’s ailing banking system, cutting taxes and sending a $377-billion flood of stimulus money through the economy at a time when many thought the nation was in economic free fall.

As the public saw more of him after his election, his self-deprecating manner and carefully cultivated common touch helped boost his miserably low popularity ratings. He was known for sending flowers to his critics and giving them credit when they had a point, and on several occasions early in his government he telephoned average Japanese and introduced himself so casually--”Hello, Keizo here”--that a few refused to believe it was really their prime minister on the line. He also initiated a series of town hall meetings and neighborhood walks--both rare in Japan--in an effort to reach out to voters.

In typical Obuchi style, he also turned his reputation as a pragmatist with little of “the vision thing” into a joke at his own expense.

“I’m a vacuum prime minister, so I have nothing to oppose,” he once told reporters. “Because I have no ideas, I will never get antagonized.”

But occasionally he would let his guard down and show that his ability to act as a punching bag for his critics took its toll.

“I have been the target of harsh bashing lately, and I’m barely putting up with it,” he said during a party in late 1998. “Even a dull ox, as I am labeled, has blood and nerves.”

In the months before his stroke, his problems mounted and, like wolves circling their prey, began to wear on his government and his health. An economic recovery, which Obuchi labeled his foremost priority when he was elected, remained elusive despite enormous government spending. This led to charges that Obuchi was squandering the nation’s future as the fiscal debt mounted to nearly 130% of gross domestic product.

“I am the world champion of debts,” he once told reporters.

An announcement in late March that unemployment had risen to a postwar record of 4.9% further undermined his government as it headed toward the next general election, which is widely expected to be held June 25. Under Japan’s parliamentary system, it must be held before Oct. 20.

A series of scandals involving the nation’s police forces, allegations of insider trading in telecommunication shares acquired by an aide--Obuchi earlier served as a senior telecommunications official--and a decision last fall to forge a government coalition of partners with seemingly little in common other than a desire for power all fueled popular cynicism toward his government.

The recent eruption of Mt. Usu on Hokkaido and a nuclear accident last fall at Tokaimura that revealed widespread safety infractions added to the pressure. As the election neared, Obuchi’s position seemed more and more tenuous. A poll released just before his stroke found that 60% of voters were unhappy with the ruling party.

All these developments began to take a toll, those close to Obuchi say. Officials who had met with him in the days before his stroke reported that Obuchi’s complexion seemed wan and he looked increasingly tired. Eight days before his collapse, he complained of dizziness.

But he refused to let up. Japanese media reported on his punishing schedule, which had him at dinners and parties almost every night. He took frequent weekend trips across the nation to meet with commissions he had created in rapid succession to address various national problems. And in his 20 months in office, he took just three full days off, while on a daily basis he generally arose at 6 a.m. and retired at 11 p.m., even as he reportedly developed a habit of waking in the middle of the night to review documents and read reports.

Obuchi was hospitalized April 2 after meeting with a coalition partner, the hard-nosed Ichiro Ozawa, whom he was in the process of squeezing out of the government. In a nation famous for political stage-managing, party insiders met in secret immediately after the stroke to anoint Mori as Obuchi’s successor. It was soon evident that the country had been without an official leader for the better part of a day and that Japan lacked an established succession procedure.

Obuchi was born in Gumma prefecture north of Tokyo on June 25, 1937, in Nakanojo, an area noted for silkworm farming. His father, Kohei Obuchi, managed a silk mill before going into politics and died in 1958 during a second term in parliament.

The younger Obuchi liked to travel. Shortly after he graduated from Japan’s prestigious Waseda University, where he studied English literature, he went on a world tour. He left Japan in January 1963 and over the next nine months visited 38 countries, earning money along the way as a dishwasher, assistant martial arts instructor and television production assistant.

While in Washington, he ignored protocol and sent a letter to then Atty. Gen. Robert F. Kennedy. Showing some early political skills, he praised a speech Kennedy had made at Waseda a few years earlier. The letter won Obuchi an audience, and Kennedy reportedly told him they should meet again once the young man became a politician. Kennedy was assassinated in 1968 before they had the chance.

In late 1963, Obuchi returned to Japan and, without a job, was persuaded to run for his late father’s parliamentary seat at age 26. His last name and his father’s connections helped him in a country where politics is often dynastic, and he won. Over the next 37 years, he would be reelected 11 times.

Obuchi was first named a Cabinet official in 1979, when he was selected to jointly head the Okinawa Development Agency and the Management and Coordination Agency.

Obuchi also held several posts in the Liberal Democratic Party, including the key position of secretary-general. In 1994, he took control of the largest of several LDP factions, succeeding former Prime Minister Noboru Takeshita. And three years later, he became foreign minister--considered an important post en route to the premiership.

Labeled by critics as someone addicted to committees because he had no ideas of his own, Obuchi quietly and patiently rebuilt his Liberal Democratic Party through endless listening and networking.

He then used his majority in parliament to push through bills that officially recognized Japan’s flag and anthem--controversial symbols because of their association with the nation’s wartime aggression--broadened wiretapping powers and reduced the number of lawmakers to the advantage of the LDP.

Much of Obuchi’s career was defined by two heavyweight politicians. On one side was former Prime Minister Takeshita, his political mentor. Critics often referred to Obuchi as Takeshita’s lap dog and attributed much of the younger man’s success to his predecessor’s string-pulling.

On the other side was Yasuhiro Nakasone, also a former prime minister and a rival from their time in Gumma. Nakasone once referred to Obuchi as the “vacuum cleaner prime minister,” with no real ego or leadership skills and a seeming willingness to accept any policy that came along.

In typical self-deprecating fashion, the soft-spoken Obuchi blunted the criticism by describing his own position vis-a-vis these two giants as that of a “noodle shop between two skyscrapers.”

Obuchi never emerged from his stroke-induced coma. On Sunday, Japanese news reports said his blood pressure had dropped sharply before he was officially pronounced dead at 4:07 p.m. in Juntendo University Hospital. He is survived by his wife of 33 years, Chizuko, 59; his two daughters, Akiko, 32, and Yuko, 26; and his son, Go, 28.