A Defining Juncture: What Sanae Takaichi’s Premiership Means for Japan

By Chetna Gill

Cover Image Attribute: The file photo of Sanae Takaic, leader of Japan’s ruling Liberal Democratic Party (LDP, 自由民主党) and the country’s first female prime minister, captured during an earlier public appearance. Her rise in 2025 symbolized both progress and continuity within Japan’s conservative political establishment.

The election of Sanae Takaichi as Japan's prime minister on October 21, 2025, marks a defining juncture in the nation's political history. At 64 years old, she becomes the first woman to assume the office, a development that arrives amid the persistent underrepresentation of women in Japanese governance. National Diet (国会), Japan's Parliament, confirmed her leadership with decisive margins — 237 votes in the Lower House and 125 in the Upper House — securing her position as head of the ruling Liberal Democratic Party (LDP, 自由民主党). This outcome follows her victory in the party's internal leadership contest earlier in the month, where she bested four male contenders. Yet the path to this achievement reveals fractures within the political landscape, including the LDP's recent electoral setbacks and a hastily forged alliance that underscores the fragility of her mandate.
Takaichi's ascent occurs against a backdrop of instability for the LDP, which has dominated Japanese politics for much of the postwar era. Her immediate predecessor, Shigeru Ishiba, stepped down after the party relinquished its majority in the Lower House for the first time in 15 years during midterm elections, followed by losses in the Upper House in July. These defeats stemmed from widespread public discontent over a fundraising scandal that eroded trust in the institution. The LDP, once a near-uninterrupted governing force since World War II, now confronts a diminished presence in both chambers of parliament, compelling Takaichi to rely on external partnerships to maintain power. A critical juncture came when the party's longstanding coalition ally, the centrist Komeito, withdrew support, threatening to derail her candidacy. In response, the LDP pivoted to an agreement with the Japan Innovation Party (JIP), or Ishin, a right-leaning Osaka-based entity often characterized as far-right or populist. This deal, finalized on the eve of the vote, ensured her parliamentary success but tilts the coalition further toward conservative extremes, potentially complicating legislative efforts.
Born and raised in Nara Prefecture, Takaichi's trajectory defies the archetype of a political scion. Her father labored at an automotive firm, and her mother served in the local police department, placing her origins in modest circumstances unlike many LDP figures who ascend through familial networks. As a young woman, she demonstrated resolve by funding her education at Kobe University through part-time work, enduring a grueling six-hour daily commute from her family home after her parents declined to finance attendance at an elite institution. This self-reliance extended to her early career: in 1987, she ventured to the United States as a congressional fellow in the office of Democratic Representative Pat Schroeder from Colorado, an experience that equipped her with insights into international affairs despite her conservative inclinations. Upon returning, she transitioned from television presenting—where visibility often serves as a springboard in Japanese politics—to electoral office, securing a parliamentary seat as an independent in 1993 before aligning with the LDP three years later.
Over three decades in public service, Takaichi has amassed a record of ministerial appointments, including roles in economic security, internal affairs, and gender equality. Her tenure as minister of international communications under Shinzo Abe, spanning from 2014 to 2017 and 2019 to 2020, stands as the longest in that post's history, a testament to Abe's reliance on her administrative acumen during his extended administrations. Abe, Japan's longest-serving prime minister until his assassination in 2022, championed "Abenomics" to invigorate the economy and elevate Japan's global posture. Takaichi positions herself as a steward of this legacy, having garnered Abe's endorsement in the 2021 LDP leadership race. Their ideological alignment extended to views on China and interpretations of World War II history, where both espoused revisionist perspectives that diverge from mainstream narratives. As Jeffrey Hall, a lecturer at Kanda University of International Studies, observes, "they definitely were on the same page ideologically when it came to issues like China and the revisionist view of World War II that many of the ultra-conservatives in Japan have."
Takaichi's ideological profile aligns her firmly within the LDP's conservative wing, earning her the moniker "Iron Lady" in homage to Margaret Thatcher, whose influence she emulates through frequent blue suits and a resolute demeanor. This affinity extends beyond aesthetics; like Thatcher, Takaichi embodies a blend of fiscal pragmatism and social traditionalism. She subscribes to modern monetary theory, advocating deficit spending for priorities such as defense, which departs from the party's stricter fiscal orthodoxy. During her campaign, she pledged adherence to a "responsible proactive fiscal policy," a stance that resonates with her endorsement of Abenomics' expansive measures. Her personal tastes add an unexpected dimension: a former drummer in a college heavy metal band, she favors Deep Purple and Iron Maiden, once performed a rock anthem on national television, and retains enthusiasm for motorcycles and automobiles. Hall notes that these elements form "part of the character that is promoted by her, that [she is] more than just the strong Iron Lady, but also somebody who can have some fun."
This persona, however, coexists with positions that have sparked contention, particularly on social matters. Takaichi opposes same-sex marriage and endorses male-only succession for the imperial family, while resisting reforms to permit married women to retain their maiden names—a policy she has navigated personally. Although she altered her legal surname upon marrying Taku Yamamoto in 2004, she persisted in professional use of her maiden name until their 2017 divorce; upon remarriage in 2021, Yamamoto adopted Takaichi as his surname, a uncommon practice in Japan. Critics, including feminist author Chizuko Ueno, view such stances as emblematic of entrenched patriarchy. Ueno remarked on X that the prospect of Takaichi's premiership "doesn’t make me happy," adding, "Takaichi 'sees herself as the Japanese version of Thatcher.' British feminists, who inherited Thatcher, have no illusions about women in leadership positions." She further critiqued Takaichi's surname policy, noting the irony given her own professional choices.
Younger voices echo this skepticism. Ayda Ogura, a 21-year-old student, captured the ambivalence: "Everyone's like, 'Wow, she's the first female prime minister in Japanese history and that's a great opportunity for women's empowerment.' [But] if you look into her political beliefs and what she stands for, you realise that some of the things are very traditional. Instead of creating structural change, she rather perpetuates the patriarchal system." Japan’s gender disparities lend weight to these concerns. The World Economic Forum’s 2025 Global Gender Gap Report places the country 118th out of 148 nations, the lowest among Group of Seven members, with women comprising less than 16 percent of Lower House lawmakers and 10 percent of ministers as of 2024. Women shoulder disproportionate burdens in childcare and household duties, hindering advancement in business and government.
Takaichi's rhetoric on women's issues reveals a selective emphasis. She has advocated expanded hospital services for women's health, drawing from her experiences with menopause symptoms to foster awareness: "so that men can properly understand when women are struggling, whether at school or in the workplace." She has also shared her infertility challenges, noting her role as stepmother to three children and grandmother to four from Yamamoto's prior marriage. On the campaign trail, she proposed elevating household support workers' status and committed to increasing female cabinet representation to "Nordic levels," or near 50 percent. Yet in the immediate aftermath of her election, she appointed only two women to the cabinet, mirroring her predecessor's count. One such appointee, Satsuki Katayama, assumes the finance ministry—a historic first for a woman and another Abe protégé. At a news conference, Takaichi stated, “I place great importance on equal opportunity, equal chances. And also participation from people from all walks of life. I formed my Cabinet with this idea in mind, bringing together the combined strength of all generations.”
Jeff Kingston, a professor of Asian studies at Temple University’s Japan campus, tempers enthusiasm for her milestone: “One would like to say this is a historic moment in Japan. But it’s really hard to make that case, given her rather poor track record on empowering women.” Hall concurs, predicting, “This is not going to be a period when women's equality or other gender issues are aggressively advanced.” He acknowledges a symbolic value: “But there is, I guess, some benefit to having a woman as the leader of your country, to show … young women that in the future they could become prime minister, too.” Takaichi's conservatism, Hall argues, may stem from necessities within a male-dominated party: “She maybe, in a way, has modeled her rise on Margaret Thatcher by being this very strong figure, despite coming [up] in a party of very conservative men who generally do not promote women to the highest positions.”
Beyond domestic social dynamics, Takaichi inherits an economy strained by inflation and structural vulnerabilities. The world's fourth-largest economy contends with soaring prices, including a rice shortage that has driven the staple to record levels, fueling public frustration. Investors have fretted over mounting debt and anemic growth, though her election prompted a rally in the Nikkei stock exchange, closing at an all-time high for the second consecutive day on expectations of stimulative policies. In a move signaling her priorities, sources indicate Takaichi is assembling an economic package surpassing last year's 13.9 trillion yen ($92.19 billion) equivalent, centered on inflation countermeasures, investments in growth sectors like artificial intelligence and semiconductors, and national security enhancements. Core elements include abolishing the provisional gasoline tax rate and bolstering grants to local governments, particularly for small and medium-sized enterprises overlooked by wage-hike tax incentives.
This initiative aligns with her advocacy for expansive fiscal measures, as articulated in her campaign: a commitment to higher spending, tax reductions, and reasserting governmental influence over monetary policy. She has critiqued the Bank of Japan's prospective rate hikes, asserting on Tuesday, "Monetary policy is part of a broader economic policy the government holds final responsibility for," while deferring specifics to the central bank ahead of its October 29-30 meeting. Shigeto Nagai of Oxford Economics views the plan as “consistent with Takaichi's policy list during the campaign,” though he observes continuity with prior administrations in channeling inflation-generated revenues into supplementary budgets rather than fiscal surplus pursuits. Katayama, the new finance minister, emphasized at her news conference that the package's scale remains under deliberation but must suffice for all requisite actions, potentially necessitating deficit bonds if expenditures balloon. The government eyes passage via an extraordinary parliamentary session, with announcement possibly in November.
These economic maneuvers unfold as Takaichi confronts a credibility deficit inherited from the LDP's scandals and the imperative to recapture conservative voters who drifted to the far-right Sanseito party. Her strategy appears to court this base through hawkish stances: advocating tougher immigration curbs, an anti-espionage law targeting potential Chinese spies among residents, restrictions on non-Japanese property purchases, and crackdowns on illegal entry. Such proposals have drawn accusations of xenophobia, amplified by her campaign reference to unconfirmed incidents of tourists mistreating sacred deer in Nara Park. Hall links these to “a general dislike of foreign people and also immigrants who live in the country,” though he anticipates limited implementation due to business demands for labor amid shortages. Domestically, she proposes programs to encourage childbearing, aligning with her traditionalist outlook.
Internationally, Takaichi's docket brims with complexities. Relations with South Korea, recently thawed under prior administrations, face strain from her nationalist leanings. Her admiration for Abe, who pursued a muscular approach to Beijing, positions her as similarly assertive toward China, potentially escalating tensions in the Indo-Pacific. The paramount alliance, however, lies with the United States, where an imminent test awaits: a summit with President Donald Trump during his forthcoming Asia tour, encompassing Malaysia, Japan, and a South Korean summit. Trump, who lauded her as “a highly respected person of great wisdom and strength” in a social media post, shares affinities with her anti-immigration posture and reverence for Abe, with whom he forged bonds over wagyu beef, sumo, and golf. Takaichi reciprocated, posting in English and Japanese: she is “truly hoping to work together with President Trump to make our alliance even stronger & more prosperous, and to advance a Free and Open Indo-Pacific.”
Hall forecasts a deferential approach, emulating predecessors: “You be as nice as possible to the president, you show him the maximum respect, you do not have public disagreements with him. And when you do disagree over policy, you do it in a very subtle way that doesn't seem like you're telling the president he's wrong.” Lingering frictions persist, including Trump's prior skepticism of the security treaty and calls for increased Japanese defense contributions, despite a recent tariff accord. At her news conference, Takaichi outlined her intent: “I will deepen the relationship of trust between us leaders through frank exchanges of views not only on bilateral issues but also on the challenges facing Japan and the United States, ranging from issues in the Indo-Pacific region to the situation in the Middle East, Europe, and Ukraine.” Kingston, however, warns of her constrained preparation: “she doesn’t have a whole lot of time to get ready for a slew of diplomatic activity,” prioritizing “job one is the Japanese economy.”
Takaichi's historical visits to Yasukuni Shrine, which enshrines war dead including convicted criminals, have fueled diplomatic sensitivities, though she has lately abstained to mitigate backlash. Her downplaying of Japan's wartime aggression and critique of Allied tribunals further embed her in controversy. In her victory address as LDP leader, she vowed relentless dedication: “I myself will throw out the term ‘work-life balance.’ I will work and work and work and work and work.” This ethos propelled her through prior unsuccessful bids in 2021 and 2024, culminating in her triumph over Yoshihiko Noda of the Constitutional Democratic Party by 237-149 in the Lower House and 125-46 in the Upper, after narrowly missing a majority initially.
As she assumes office, Takaichi's coalition fragility looms large, with elections slated for 2028 but her tenure vulnerable to parliamentary gridlock. Kingston describes her as “a diminished leader from the get-go,” her premiership at risk of brevity akin to Ishiba's year-long stint. The LDP's bid to reclaim conservatives via her selection may falter if economic relief proves elusive or scandals resurface. Her youth-infused rebellion—motorcycles and metal—contrasts with the gravity of her roles, yet it humanizes a figure often caricatured as unyielding. In a nation where gender parity lags, her elevation disrupts precedents without upending them, offering visibility to aspiring female leaders while entrenching policies that constrain broader equity. Her fiscal boldness promises succor for inflation-weary households, yet it courts debt perils in an overleveraged economy. Abroad, her Trump affinity could stabilize ties, but hawkishness toward neighbors invites volatility.
Takaichi's stewardship will test whether symbolic firsts translate into substantive shifts or merely veneer over enduring divides. Her career, forged in perseverance from Nara's heartland to Tokyo's corridors, embodies Japan's paradoxes: progress laced with retrenchment, ambition tempered by tradition. As markets buoyed by her prospects and skeptics parse her conservatism, the true measure lies in delivery—on inflation's bite, alliances' strains, and equality's slow march. In this fourth premiership within five years, stability hinges not on charisma alone but on bridging a polity riven by scandal, disparity, and doubt. 

With reporting by BBC, NPR, and Reuters.

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