In Japan, Celebrity Has Hammerlock on Election

Satoru “Tiger Mask” Sayama emerges from his campaign van pulling on his signature pro-wrestling mask in the 90-degree heat and performs a spinning high kick.

“Did you see that impressive blow?” a campaign worker screams over a loudspeaker. A few scattered claps shadow a sweating Sayama back to the van, mostly from his own campaign workers. “Thank you. Thank you. Vote for Sayama,” the loudspeaker blares as the vehicle edges back into traffic.

From wrestlers and former sumo stars to comedians, inventors, TV personalities and folk singers, Sunday’s parliamentary election in Japan is shaping up as a cause celebrity.

The rush to sign up luminaries with no political experience but lots of name-brand appeal follows electoral changes rammed through parliament by the ruling Liberal Democratic Party, or LDP, last fall.

The switch allowing people to vote for individuals--and not just political parties--was supposed to help the ruling coalition stay in power. But that strategy may backfire when voters go to the polls Sunday, because opposition parties are proving far more adept at reaching for the stars.

Of course, using celebrities wasn’t pioneered in Japan. President Reagan was a former actor, as was former Philippine President Joseph Estrada. What’s arguably different, however, are the impressive number--about 30 celebrities are vying for 121 seats--and the fact that most of them had never dipped a toe into political waters before this campaign.

Some believe that the change will draw in voters disillusioned with Japan’s rapid-fire corruption scandals and long tradition of insiders making key decisions in dark corners. Others argue that it undermines serious debate at a time when Japan faces many entrenched problems.

Either way, the stars are shining, at least for now--the jury is still out on whether voters will be wowed by the big names on election day and whether the system ultimately works against the LDP.

Sayama, 43, a member of the fringe party Liberal League, which has fielded two dozen celebrities, isn’t the only Jesse Ventura-wannabe hoping to wrestle his way into Japanese politics.

Wrestlers Take Aim in the Political Ring

His party also is offering up World Women’s Wrestling Assn. powerhouse Yumiko Hotta, who hasn’t quit her day job while she runs for national office. Not to be outdone, the LDP is fielding ex-fighter Atsushi “Fire” Onita--famous for enduring burns while wrestling in rings bounded by electrically charged cables.

Tying their experience to Japan’s political future can get pretty creative. Sayama says his martial arts discipline and mental strength provide an example for the nation’s troubled youth and could help return Japan to “a samurai age without hara-kiri,” or ritual disembowelment.

Comedian Bon Wakai, campaigning under the slogan “laughter and happiness,” has pledged to boost Japan’s mental and physical health by building a combined hospital, hot springs and comedy-arts theater complex in downtown Osaka with all services free. “We think a guffaw is good for you,” an aide explains.

And inventor Yoshiro Nakamatsu is banking on his inventive prowess to spark creativity and innovation--and thereby solve Japan’s unemployment problem.

One of his creations, a yellow, snail-shaped megaphone dubbed the “vote-maker” that supposedly transmits sound at a frequency appealing to voters, is mounted on his campaign van. “Everyone talks about reform, but I have actual ideas, such as ways to decrease traffic jams,” he says. “You know, Thomas Edison had 1,093 patents, but I have 3,200.”

Those rounding out the field include anchorwomen, TV pundits, former figure skaters, literature luminaries, once-great baseball sluggers and rock stars.

Behind all the hoopla are some serious concerns about the impact of all this on democracy. “The real issue is the quality of these candidates,” political analyst Mineaki Yamamoto says.

The upper house election is seen as a national litmus test of the public’s enthusiasm for Prime Minister Junichiro Koizumi’s reform policies and the pain they are likely to engender. The three-party ruling coalition wants to win at least 62 seats to keep its majority in the upper house, although even a drubbing won’t immediately boot it from power given its majority in the more powerful lower house.

For the past two decades under Japan’s parliamentary system, people have voted for parties. As the LDP’s popularity plummeted under the leadership of gaffe-prone former Prime Minister Yoshiro Mori, however, party insiders grew increasingly concerned that anything labeled “LDP” in the next election would send voters racing for the exits.

So they created a modified system under which people could vote for individuals as well as for the party. Officially, the move was designed to tighten party discipline. But some political analysts say their ultimate aim was to essentially trick citizens who might not otherwise dream of voting for the LDP.

In late April, however, the hugely popular Koizumi was elected prime minister and LDP president on a reform platform, significantly boosting the ruling party’s prospects. But it was too late to revert to the old system. “Now that it’s changed, we have to go with it,” says an LDP aide who asked not to be identified.

Another problem the party is grappling with is that its own public approval rating--at 27.9% in one recent poll--is far lower than that of its charismatic leader. “This will be a very difficult election,” the LDP aide adds. “We won’t know how it goes until the lid is opened” July 29.

‘I Can’t Imagine Voting for an Image’

Some view the new system as an insult to Japanese voters. “The star-studded candidate lists are threatening to undermine the core functions of the system,” said an editorial in the Asahi Shimbun daily newspaper, referring to the uses of celebrities as a “cheap ploy.”

Others question the timing, given that Japan faces so many economic, social and political problems. “It’s kind of scary,” says Chiyoko Iwashima, a 50-year-old homemaker in Tokyo. “We need to get out of the recession and gain some faith in the future. I can’t imagine voting for an image.”

While there’s nothing to suggest that celebrities can’t be as adept at politics as anyone else, previous neophyte politicians have often achieved little given their inability to control the wily, battle-tested bureaucrats.

“Getting rid of interest-group politicians sounds great, but they tend to understand the workings of the system,” political analyst Hiroshi Takaku says. “Wrestlers, singers and magicians can get elected, but we don’t need to see magic tricks right now in parliament.”

The system also has put some traditional politicians without broad name recognition on the defensive and raised their campaign costs. In the past, getting tapped by the LDP and a key industry group was often enough. A senior aide to Kuniomi Iwai, an LDP stalwart seeking reelection, says his candidate traveled 10 times farther in this election than in the past.

So too with the biggest opposition party, which once relied on labor union support but now finds the field less predictable. Suntanned Democratic Party of Japan candidate Toshio Terayama, 33, says he’s covered 2,600 miles by bicycle across 23 Japanese prefectures hoping to be known as “Terayama the Bicycle Man.”

One of the few parties that hasn’t proffered up prominent personalities is the New Komeito party, a member of the ruling coalition and one of the few that retains a well-greased political machine.

“There are no celebrity candidates running on our ticket,” New Komeito leader Takenori Kanzaki said at a recent street rally in Ibaraki prefecture. “All of our candidates are intelligent and knowledgeable people.”

Shohei Muta, senior program officer with the Japan Center for International Exchange and an expert on political reform, says he doubts that people will vote for candidates simply for their star power.

“People are more cynical than that,” he says.

The few who do get elected, he predicts, will be those with a solid track record, such as entrepreneur and TV emcee Kyosen Ohashi, an outspoken Koizumi critic running on the Democratic Party of Japan ticket.

This wouldn’t be the first time the LDP risks being hoisted on its own political petard. In last year’s election for the lower house, which came amid growing concern about low voter turnout, Japan’s dominant party extended voting hours to 8 p.m. from 6 p.m. The LDP got a drubbing, however, and exit polls showed that most of those voting in the final two hours chose the opposition.

Taking a break from campaigning, ex-wrestler Sayama says he can’t imagine attaining the heights that Minnesota Gov. Jesse Ventura has, and adds that he has few illusions. He likes the Liberal League, he adds, because it has no real fixed policies, which gives candidates greater flexibility.

Stumping with the trappings of his wrestling past gets a bit tiring, Sayama admits, and in this hot, humid weather he sometimes has an aide wear the mask while they’re campaigning to save himself the discomfort.

“Doing the kicks is a bit more difficult these days,” he says. “I’m getting too old. But people still want to see it.”

Keiko Shinkawa, a 31-year-old homemaker who happens to be on the street as Sayama pulls up, says a professional wrestler may be as good a politician as anyone. “Professional politicians are useless. They just try and control people,” she says. “And as far as the mask goes, a lot of politicians wear one--you just can’t see it.”

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Hisako Ueno in The Times’ Tokyo Bureau contributed to this report.