The woman who would one day be named Takaichi Sanae, born into the long, deep peace that followed a disastrous war, never saw the bloodshed, only the prosperity. She did not come of age waving banners for the feminist revolution; her ambitions were political, not social. Her focus was on the nation’s economic and security structure, not on abortion rights or gender quotas. She chose the most difficult path for a woman in Japan: mainstream, hardline conservative politics—the male-dominated world of the Liberal Democratic Party (LDP).
For decades, the halls of the LDP headquarters felt like a relentless obstacle course, an old boys’ club where a woman’s competence was always a question and her voice perpetually a whisper. At 64 years old, the lines etched by those years were visible, but the steel in her posture was undeniable. She had endured the countless patronizing smiles and the subtle attempts to shunt her into ‘softer’ roles. Yet, her fundamental ideals—a strong, secure, and economically resilient Japan—remained her compass.
Her choice was one of uncompromising political survival. To rise in this conservative hierarchy, she had to not only master policy but also speak the language of the powerful faction to which she belonged. It was a language rooted in tradition, history, and a particular vision of national honor—a vision that demanded a nationalistic performance.
Over time, this path led her to embrace symbols deeply resonant within Japan’s unique spiritual landscape. Her increasing closeness to Shinto rituals and, most controversially, her visits to the Yasukuni Shrine, where the war dead and Class-A war criminals are enshrined, became her political signature.
She knew the cost. Every visit, like the one on the 80th anniversary of Japan’s defeat in World War II, fueled the growing concern that she was signaling a red light for South Korea-Japan relations. Criticism from Seoul and Beijing was swift and sharp, denouncing the gestures as a revival of militarism. For Takaichi, however, it was an unavoidable, necessary compromise—a testament of loyalty to the conservative support base she desperately needed to consolidate. It was the price of admission to the inner circle of power, a way to reclaim the LDP’s scattered base and secure her conservative credentials.
The gamble paid off. On the 4th of the month, the LDP’s internal election was held, and the long road of political struggle found its peak. The hardliner, the one who had defied the gender norms of her party without advocating for them, had won. She was the newly elected Chairperson of the Liberal Democratic Party, poised to be Japan’s first female Prime Minister.
But the moment of victory was also a moment of reckoning. As she stood before the press at LDP headquarters, the inevitable question of Yasukuni came. The public stance she delivered was a carefully calibrated statement, a subtle shift from a full commitment to an open-ended promise:
“Regarding the Yasukuni Shrine,” she stated, her voice firm, “it is a central facility for honoring the war dead.”
And then came the necessary political ambiguity: “I hope that judgments will be made at the right time regarding how to honor the deceased and what kind of peace we should seek.”
She pressed on, “The visit to the Yasukuni Shrine is not a diplomatic issue.” Her final words were a challenge to the world, one that justified her compromises: “I want to work hard to create an international environment where we can pay respect to those who lost their lives for their countries by cooperating with each other.”
Now, with the premiership within her grasp, the nation, and her neighbors, waited. Would she, as speculated, move to shore up her base with an early visit? If she proceeded with the visit during her tenure as prime minister, it would be the first such visit since former Prime Minister Abe Shinzo’s visit in 2013. The question of when—the question of “the right time”—was the heavy first challenge of her historic, and divisive, premiership.
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