Japanese lessons for Nick Clegg and David Cameron

Britain’s leaders face the same problems as Hatoyama’s coalition government did -- until its collaps

The resignation last week of Japan's prime minister Yukio Hatoyama was greeted with a grim sense of inevitability by the Japanese public, which has grown used to a rapid turnover in the country's top office.

Hatoyama's successor, Naoto Kan, is Japan's sixth prime minister in less than four years. But the latest resignation has particular resonance for politicians in Britain. Hatoyama led a coalition government comprising his own centrist Democratic Party of Japan (DPJ), along with the smaller left-wing Japan Social Democratic Party (SDP).

Although Hatoyama's resignation came largely as a result of his own blunders, the final shove was provided by his coalition partner, the SDP leader, Mizuho Fukushima. Hatoyama's nine months in office were dogged by scandal, indecision and missed opportunities, but he was finally forced out over his failure to fulfil an election promise to move the controversial US Futenma marine base, currently located on the island of Okinawa.

His reversal on Futenma was seen by the public as symbolic of a broader inability to deliver on critical issues. When he came to power last August, public support for Hatoyama and his government stood at an astonishing 75 per cent; by the time he resigned, it had fallen to 19 per cent.

Fraught alliance

Hatoyama's failure over Futenma put pressure on his party's already fraught coalition with the SDP, which represents what remains of Japan's socialist electorate. Opposition to the Japan-US security alliance is a central pillar of their pacifist platform, so, not surprisingly, the SDP's Fukushima refused to support Hatoyama's decision to revert to the status quo and allow the US military to remain at Futenma.

The prime minister was thus forced to dismiss her from her post as minister for consumer affairs. The rest of the SDP swiftly followed their leader in leaving the coalition.

Within Britain's coalition government, David Cameron and Nick Clegg claim to have come to an "agree to disagree" arrangement over replacing Trident. But defence-related issues could easily open up divisions at Westminster similar to those that have occurred in Japan.

There are other similarities between the governments. In Japan, as in Britain, the coalition partners garner electoral support in conflicting ways. Elections for Japan's House of Representatives, the more powerful of its two chambers of parliament, are based on a mixture of proportional and single-member seats. The majority of DPJ MPs are elected in the single-member category, so the party must maintain a centrist stance in order to attract a wide variety of voters from as many constituencies as possible.

The SDP finds itself in the opposite position. The number of its members is in single digits, with more than half elected from proportional lists. The party's survival depends on its reputation as a progressive alternative to the two main parties.

Central to this aim is the SDP's unique commitment to reducing the presence of the US military in Japan and retaining the country's pacifist constitution.

Principle or pragmatism?

While the British Liberal Democrats enjoy wider electoral support than the Japanese SDP, their positions are in some ways similar. The majority of partisan Liberal Democrats -- those who vote for the party out of conviction, and not tactically or in protest -- are drawn to what they consider a more challenging agenda than the one offered by Labour or the Conservatives.

Like Japan's SDP, the Lib Dems will be punished by their core supporters if they are seen to compromise on their principles and election promises.

With elections for Japan's upper house around the corner in July, Fukushima's options were either to walk or to face the wrath of SDP voters at the polls. She orchestrated her own dismissal rather than be seen to support the DPJ over the Futenma controversy.

Surely it will not be long before Nick Clegg faces a similar dilemma. Perhaps the moment has already passed; joining a Conservative-led coalition in the first place was a slap in the face to many Liberal Democrat voters.

A departure from government on principle before the next election might mitigate the electoral damage to the Lib Dems. Both Clegg and Cameron should watch developments in Japan with interest.

Dr Tina Burrett is assistant professor of international relations at Tokyo's Temple University.

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Erdogan’s purge was too big and too organised to be a mere reaction to the failed coup

There is a specific word for the melancholy of Istanbul. The city is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. 

Even at the worst of times Istanbul is a beautiful city, and the Bosphorus is a remarkable stretch of sea. Turks get very irritated if you call it a river. They are right. The Bosphorus has a life and energy that a river could never equal. Spend five minutes watching the Bosphorus and you can understand why Orhan Pamuk, Turkey’s Nobel laureate for literature, became fixated by it as he grew up, tracking the movements of the ocean-going vessels, the warships and the freighters as they steamed between Asia and Europe.

I went to an Ottoman palace on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, waiting to interview the former prime minister Ahmet Davu­toglu. He was pushed out of office two months ago by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan when he appeared to be too wedded to the clauses in the Turkish constitution which say that the prime minister is the head of government and the president is a ceremonial head of state. Erdogan was happy with that when he was prime minister. But now he’s president, he wants to change the constitution. If Erdogan can win the vote in parliament he will, in effect, be rubber-stamping the reality he has created since he became president. In the days since the attempted coup, no one has had any doubt about who is the power in the land.

 

City of melancholy

The view from the Ottoman palace was magnificent. Beneath a luscious, pine-shaded garden an oil tanker plied its way towards the Black Sea. Small ferries dodged across the sea lanes. It was not, I hasten to add, Davutoglu’s private residence. It had just been borrowed, for the backdrop. But it reminded a Turkish friend of something she had heard once from the AKP, Erdogan’s ruling party: that they would not rest until they were living in the apartments with balconies and gardens overlooking the Bosphorus that had always been the preserve of the secular elite they wanted to replace.

Pamuk also writes about hüzün, the melancholy that afflicts the citizens of Istanbul. It comes, he says, from the city’s history and its decline, the foghorns on the Bosphorus, from tumbledown walls that have been ruins since the fall of the Byzantine empire, unemployed men in tea houses, covered women waiting for buses that never come, pelting rain and dark evenings: the city’s whole fabric and all the lives within it. “My starting point,” Pamuk wrote, “was the emotion that a child might feel while looking through a steamy window.”

Istanbul is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. In Pamuk’s work the citizens of Istanbul take a perverse pride in hüzün. No one in Istanbul, or elsewhere in Turkey, can draw comfort from what is happening now. Erdogan’s opponents wonder what kind of future they can have in his Turkey. I think I sensed it, too, in the triumphalist crowds of Erdogan supporters that have been gathering day after day since the coup was defeated.

 

Down with the generals

Erdogan’s opponents are not downcast because the coup failed; a big reason why it did was that it had no public support. Turks know way too much about the authoritarian ways of military rule to want it back. The melancholy is because Erdogan is using the coup to entrench himself even more deeply in power. The purge looks too far-reaching, too organised and too big to have been a quick reaction to the attempt on his power. Instead it seems to be a plan that was waiting to be used.

Turkey is a deeply unhappy country. It is hard to imagine now, but when the Arab uprisings happened in 2011 it seemed to be a model for the Middle East. It had elections and an economy that worked and grew. When I asked Davutoglu around that time whether there would be a new Ottoman sphere of influence for the 21st century, he smiled modestly, denied any such ambition and went on to explain that the 2011 uprisings were the true succession to the Ottoman empire. A century of European, and then American, domination was ending. It had been a false start in Middle Eastern history. Now it was back on track. The people of the region were deciding their futures, and perhaps Turkey would have a role, almost like a big brother.

Turkey’s position – straddling east and west, facing Europe and Asia – is the key to its history and its future. It could be, should be, a rock of stability in a desperately un­stable part of the world. But it isn’t, and that is a problem for all of us.

 

Contagion of war

The coup did not come out of a clear sky. Turkey was in deep crisis before the attempt was made. Part of the problem has come from Erdogan’s divisive policies. He has led the AKP to successive election victories since it first won in 2002. But the policies of his governments have not been inclusive. As long as his supporters are happy, the president seems unconcerned about the resentment and opposition he is generating on the other side of politics.

Perhaps that was inevitable. His mission, as a political Islamist, was to change the country, to end the power of secular elites, including the army, which had been dominant since Mustafa Kemal Atatürk created modern Turkey after the collapse of the Ottoman empire. And there is also the influence of chaos and war in the Middle East. Turkey has borders with Iraq and Syria, and is deeply involved in their wars. The borders do not stop the contagion of violence. Hundreds of people have died in the past year in bomb attacks in Turkish cities, some carried out by the jihadists of so-called Islamic State, and some sent by Kurdish separatists working under the PKK.

It is a horrible mix. Erdogan might be able to deal with it better if he had used the attempted coup to try to unite Turkey. All the parliamentary parties condemned it. But instead, he has turned the power of the state against his opponents. More rough times lie ahead.

Jeremy Bowen is the BBC’s Middle East editor. He tweets @bowenbbc

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue