Kishida is so unpopular, he can't even give money away

Prime Minister Fumio Kishida wants to give money back to the people. They’re saying "no thanks.”

Kishida has seen his popularity plummet to worrying new lows in every major poll, with approval dropping almost 11 percentage points to 29.1% in a JNN survey, taken shortly after he announced his latest economic stimulus package.

The prime minister has overcome low polling before, but more concerning will be the opposition to his centerpiece plan for tax cuts: He intends to return ¥40,000 ($267) per taxpayer next year in a one-time reimbursement of the country’s growing tax revenue, as well as hand out cash to lower-income households. But 64% of those polled by JNN say they disapprove. Economists reckon the moves will have limited impact on the economy, with the money likely to end up in savings.

When the public doesn’t even want free money, you know you’re in trouble. The opposition is understandable: Kishida has been unable to effectively sell his plan, leaving residents with the distinct impression that it’s a cynical ploy to win votes, if and when he chooses to call a snap election.The temporary cut feels particularly opportunistic as it’s the type of reactionary step voters have come to associate with Kishida. Japanese netizens have given him the derisive nickname of zōzei megane, which might be uncharitably translated as "four-eyed tax hiker,” due to the belief that he intends to raise taxpayers’ burden to finance his signature policies over the long term, such as increased defense spending.

Kishida shrugged off the name-calling Thursday. "I don’t care what people call me,” he said at a news conference. "No matter what they call me, I will do what I believe is right.”

Nonetheless, his plans aren’t delivering any boost in support. In recent weeks, after a summer dominated by a low-stakes but long-running saga involving data errors with national ID cards, Kishida has attempted to reposition the economy as his top interest, saying he aims to finish the job of beating deflation before spending on defense.

"Under the slogan of ‘Economy, economy, economy,’ I will prioritize the economy above all else,” he said at the opening of the current session of parliament last month. But there, Kishida has already faced the unusual specter of criticism from senior figures within his own party: Hiroshige Seko, a Liberal Democratic Party bigwig and secretary-general for the Upper House, chastised the "weakness in the prime minister’s decisions and words” and said the tax rebate plans were confusing.

Seen from outside the country, this might all be slightly baffling. Japan, after all, is enjoying a moment in the spotlight — gross domestic product growth is forecast to be the second-highest in the Group of Seven this year; stocks are just off 33-year highs; investment is flowing not just into Tokyo’s real estate sector but also to semiconductor plants across the country.

Pay increases in the spring wage talks were also the highest in three decades and tourists — and their wallets — are back, with Kishida having steered the country out of its post-pandemic hangover. Japan’s standing on the geopolitical stage has rarely been higher.

But real wages are still in decline and a nation that is used to seeing cheaper products finds it harder than most to accept the past 18 months of higher prices at the checkout line. Kishida hasn’t helped by seeming reactive, swinging at every feint.

And his foreign policy wins, of which there are many, avail him little, while his signature economic policy of "New Capitalism” puzzles the public. And perhaps like his U.S. counterpart Joe Biden, he struggles to get credit for his accomplishments, while taking flak for issues such as inflation that have causes largely out of his control.

More than anything, Kishida is facing a familiar problem with the voting populace: the two-year itch. Leader after leader has found that after initial high hopes for their administrations, after a while, the public simply loses interest. Shinzo Abe was an exception, though even he found his popularity put under severe strain at times during nearly eight years in office. Kishida seems unlikely to have such staying power.

Luck has been with him so far, though. Opposition parties are at their weakest ebb in decades and, within the LDP itself, Kishida faces little organized resistance thanks in part to the disarray that has consumed the Abe faction since the late leader’s death in 2022. The crises the prime minister has faced so far have been relatively mild, while he also benefits from being seen as relatively squeaky clean.

But should he be considered vulnerable within the LDP, he may face a serious challenge from an opportunistic opponent at the next party election, set for September 2024. The best way to resist that is to call a snap election of the Lower House of parliament: Guiding the party through a vote without losing too many seats (there is no realistic proposition it could actually lose power) would help silence his critics.

To do that, Kishida faces several challenges. He must find a date in a calendar packed with domestic and international commitments. He must create a narrative that justifies a snap poll, with the public indicating they see no rush to hold a vote not required until 2025. And as the face of the party, Kishida must do something to lift his public standing. The prime minister needs some points on the board — or at least something that sticks better than his unfortunate nicknames.