Diplomacy in Japan is always a source of fascination to the foreigner.
One the one hand, you have half a dozen different ways of saying the same
thing, depending on how polite or grovelling you want to be; the ubiquitous
cushioning-the-blow approach to negotiations that apologetically suggests the
whole thing ‘might be a little difficult’ rather than just saying ‘no’; and a
wonderful service industry whose foot soldiers will always go out of their way
to ensure that the customer is well treated, whether they work in the Hilton
Hotel or at McDonald’s. And then, on the other, you have the politicians and
representatives of major organizations – you know, the ones whose actual job it
is to be diplomatic – making inappropriate comments or embroiled in other sorts
of scandals as if it were going out of fashion, and apparently believing that
the people or countries they alienate simply need to lighten up a bit.
Oversensitive or not, you’d have thought that the top brass in Tokyo
would have learned to be more careful by now. In a country where replacing the
prime minister every year is almost routine, a series of gaffes by the current
incumbent, Taro Aso, have helped shatter the Liberal Democratic Party’s
popularity so spectacularly that its half-century stranglehold on the Japanese
government now looks set to be broken by Yukio Hatoyama’s Democratic Party of
Japan. The Aso Cabinet got off to an inauspicious start last autumn when Nariaki
Nakayama, the newly-appointed Minister of Land, Infrastructure, Transport and
Tourism, was forced to
resign after just four days having referred to the Japan Teacher’s Union as
‘a cancer’ and unwisely suggesting that his country was ‘ethnically homogenous’.
Since then, however, the main man himself has taken things to a new level, with
highlights of
Aso’s brief reign including accusing doctors of lacking common sense,
criticising parents, and wiping out a key sector of the LDP’s support in one
fell swoop by questioning why he should have to pay taxes for the ‘feeble’
elderly when all they do is ‘eat,
drink, and make no effort’. None of this has really come as a shock, however,
given that Aso’s previous bid for the premiership was marred by
allegations that he had questioned the legitimacy of a rival candidate,
Hiromu Nonaka, on the account of his buraku – a social minority group
descending from persons with ‘impure’ occupations in Japan’s feudal era –
heritage. Ironically, the man who beat Aso to the top job in 2001, Junichiro
Koizumi, went on to become the first and, as yet, only of Japan’s 14 prime
ministers since 1987 to survive in the role for more than three years.
All this political turmoil provided a rather fitting backdrop to the
extraordinary scenes at Banpaku the other week, when Gamba Osaka chairman Kikuo Kanamori
was forced onto his own soapbox in an attempt to placate angry supporters
on two separate occasions in just five days. On the first such instance, a
dismal 4-1 thrashing at the hands of Shimizu S-Pulse, the chairman’s day had
appeared to be going so well, with a speech (albeit recorded, and clearly in an
awful lot of takes) about plans for a new stadium being happily applauded by
most supporters before the game. However, sceptical observers would opine that
he had managed to speak for ten minutes without really saying anything, and
when the overall tide turned viciously against the Gamba management following a
fourth home defeat on the bounce, Kanamori’s demeanour was anything but
stately. Approaching the 1,000 or so angry fans that had waited behind for an
hour after the game, the first words he uttered through his little microphone
were ‘shut up’, before subsequently suggesting (once the predictable reaction
had died down) that the paying public that had sung tirelessly for 90 minutes
in spite of the dross on the pitch might want to be a bit more supportive
themselves.
A fifth home reverse, this time in the Nabisco Cup against Yokohama F
Marinos, was enough to trigger an encore performance, and though weekday
commitments reduced the number of protesters to around 300, it was not until
almost midnight before the stand was finally emptied. In retrospect, Kanamori
deserves credit for facing the fans in the first place, and indeed for his
steadfast loyalty to team manager Akira Nishino when others might have pulled
the trigger immediately. Having played by the rules of Japan’s hierarchical
society for 60 years, it must be difficult for him – and for prime ministers
and others in similar positions – to deal with criticism from the masses when
those around him will always defer to ‘Mr. Chairman’. However, just as in
politics, every football club depends on good relations with its public, and
sadly, even if he did back down and show greater cordiality later, Kanamori’s
initial prickly stance merely reaffirmed supporters’ suspicions that their
chairman doesn’t quite get it. Had the run of losses continued this weekend
against bottom club Oita Trinita, one can only wonder just how long into the
night the backlash may have continued.
