For much of April I had a fever. No, not SARS, so you don't have to drop the Weekly and rush off to get yourself a surgical mask or scrub your hands in alcohol or bleach in case I touched this page. I caught election fever.

I probably picked it up from one of the many leaflets of varying political hues that was thrust into my hand at every station I used, or from one of the shouted "harros." I would have thought they realized that as a foreigner I am not allowed to vote. Perhaps I look so hen-pecked that they assumed I have a Japanese wife and that, impressed by their bilingual ability and cosmopolitan outlook, I would persuade her to vote for them.

I was waved at by so many white gloves that I thought Michael Jackson was campaigning in Setagaya.

Although I've always had an interest in politics, it was the politicians with their quick-fire promises, designer smiles and photo opportunities that I couldn't stomach, that persuaded me not to exercise my democratic right.

But in Japan the candidates are fun. How can you take seriously a masked wrestler, a transsexual, a mayor kicking his heels in jail on a bribery charge, an American English-language teacher? There's no pretense; no image consultants or spin doctors crafting position papers that change quicker than the weather. The only issue is they want to be politicians. They are who they are. They might have no qualifications or experience for public office. They might be as bent as a 7,000 yen note. But here they are, and if the electorate is stupid enough to vote for them, they'll take the job and the perks.

Of course "fun" candidates are nothing new. In Britain, Screamin' Lord Sutch for years stood in every general election, but never came close to winning a seat in Parliament. On his death, his dog, or perhaps it was his cat, picked up the standard as leader of the Raving Loony Party.

In Tokyo, the governor has just been given another term for spending his first four years insulting the Chinese and offending every foreigner who lives in the metropolis. Many years ago Shintaro Ishihara apparently wrote a prizewinning book, but he is perhaps best well-known for having a famous dead brother.

And just in case you think this is an anti-Japanese monologue, there was Marutei Tsurunen, a Finn who lost so many elections you would have thought that he might have got the message that people didn't want him representing them in the Diet. But Kyosen Ohashi, a TV personality-turned-politician, decided politics was too much like hard work and handed Tsurunen his Upper House seat. Tsurunen said he didn't think it was his job as an opposition politician to criticize the prime minister or his policies. No wonder the people of Yugawara, Kanagawa Prefecture, didn't want him as their man in the Diet.

And now when there are such "good" candidates to vote for, I can't vote.

One of my former colleagues in Japan used to roam around the office come election time muttering "no tax without representation." As a permanent resident and taxpayer who is not allowed to vote I understood his complaint, but it always amused me that an Englishman would adopt a call used in the 18th century to rally American colonists against their British overlords.

Of course I would like to have some say in how the hundreds of thousands of yen taken from my salary in taxes are spent, but I doubt whether a masked wrestler, an American English teacher or a sticky-fingered mayor, or any of the other political jokes are likely to represent my views. So I am happy to smile and use my rallying call: "Don't vote, you'll only encourage them."

I'd welcome any comments or opinions, in Japanese or English, about my column. You can write or fax me at The Weekly, or e-mail me at jtweekly@japantimes.co.jp

The Japan Times Weekly: May 17, 2003
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