Takaichi’s supermajority: Power without brakes?

Japan’s snap election in February 2026 bore none of the hallmarks of a routine incumbent victory. It more closely resembled a structural rupture. The Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) swept 316 of 465 seats — clearing the two-thirds supermajority threshold entirely on its own — while its coalition partner, the Japan Innovation Party (Ishin), added 36 seats, elevating the ruling bloc to approximately 352 members, an absolute three-fourths dominance. In a parliamentary system where the lower house already wields decisive authority, this margin signifies not merely a stronger mandate, but a fundamentally different operating logic.

This matters because Japanese politics has always been defined as much by its constraints as by its leaders. The new configuration concentrates agenda-setting power in fewer hands, shifts the centre of competitive pressure decisively rightward, and magnifies Japan’s exposure to external risk at a moment when Washington drives harder bargains and ties with Beijing and Moscow continue to fray.

These shifts will not dissipate once election night fades. They are likely to crystallise into three mutually reinforcing cycles: the “Takaichi-isation” of LDP governance, a structural rightward realignment of policy constraints and the inflation of strategic risk on multiple fronts.

The first is the supermajority itself. Japan’s lower house already possesses the constitutional authority to override the upper house on most legislative matters and sets the rhythm of the parliamentary calendar. With a single party’s two-thirds majority, the very first time in post-WWII Japan, the LDP can compress deliberation timelines, marginalise internal dissent and advance legislation even when other institutions hesitate. Japan is long accustomed to LDP rule; it is far less accustomed to LDP rule without meaningful friction in the lower house. The opposition may object, but it can no longer reliably slow the machinery.

Second, the election consolidated the rightist camp while delivering a systemic collapse of the centre-left. Takaichi’s brand of assertive conservatism now defines the government’s rhetorical posture, and Ishin’s partnership has displaced the former coalition logic in which Komeito functioned as a moderating brake. Sanseito’s ascent to 15 seats adds a mobilised nationalist-right flank with demonstrated vote-pulling power.

Meanwhile, the newly formed Centrist Reform Alliance (CRA) crumbled to just 49 seats — a precipitous fall from the 172 seats its predecessor parties once commanded — and left-leaning forces receded further. This is not evidence that Japanese society “changed overnight”. It is evidence that the party system’s centre of gravity has shifted decisively rightward and that the centre-left failed to offer a competitive alternative.

Third, the campaign assumed the character of a plebiscite. Takaichi called the snap election early in her tenure and framed it explicitly as a test of whether voters wished her to continue governing and whether her policy agenda deserved accelerated execution. Winning under such framing alters how leaders interpret opposition: critics and opponents become people who “refuse to accept the voters’ verdict”, and the temptation to decide first and consult later grows even more formidable. Plebiscites do not merely elect governments; they centralise them.

Post-election surveys reveal that younger voters registered higher satisfaction with the outcome than their elders, and men more than women. In the Yomiuri Shimbun survey, 55% said they felt “good” about the election result, but approval was strongest among younger voters: 63% for ages 18-39 and 58% for ages 40-59, versus 48% among those 60+ (with 38% saying “not good”). Satisfaction also skewed male (61% of men vs 49% of women). This fits broader polling suggesting younger cohorts were relatively more comfortable with Takaichi’s decision to call a snap election.

The same Yomiuri survey also frames the age gap as partly opposition-driven: 80% reported no expectations for the CRA, and even opposition supporters cited weak leader appeal as a key reason for the LDP win. Put differently, the mandate is generational: under-60 voters leaned into “strong leadership”, while seniors were notably more hesitant. 

Against the backdrop of this new political landscape, three reinforcing cycles are now shaping Japan’s politics and hence the country’s future. The first cycle is the “Takaichi-isation” of LDP power: mandate-driven centralisation amid eroded veto points. With the opposition flattened and the lower house locked down, the Prime Minister’s Office can now function even more as the effective policy bottleneck — decide first, manage dissent later — a tendency already evident in the reportedly top-down decision-making behind the snap election. Now, it is expected to see speed in defence posture adjustments, visible “governance capacity” reforms, and reflation-oriented fiscal manoeuvres. 

The virtue of such concentration is coherence; the vulnerability is the magnitude of error. Fewer internal brakes mean missteps may grow larger and reversals more costly. We may soon see cabinet reshuffles that concentrate key portfolios among loyalists, abbreviated party deliberation on major bills, and the disciplined application of party authority on contested legislation.

Cycle two is rightward realignment. The LDP’s traditional checks — competing intraparty factions and a restraint-minded coalition partner — have substantially weakened, while Sanseito’s emergence exerts competitive pressure from the right flank. 

To preempt defections, the LDP now possesses incentives to harden its narratives on identity, immigration and security policy toward China and the so-called Taiwan contingency. Ishin, meanwhile, holds room to bargain for reforms that align with its more assertive tone. None of this guarantees a slide into outright extremism, but it does shift the horizon of what is politically “normal”, rendering once-contested ideas more readily legislated. 

The drift will likely surface most visibly in rhetorical posture, immigration enforcement, and incremental defense authorities; dramatic constitutional revision or an abrupt doctrinal break on nuclear policy remains less probable in the near term, constrained by legal thresholds and public sentiment.

Cycle three is strategic risk inflation — Japan compressed from multiple directions simultaneously. As Takaichi is about to visit the US soon in March with a clear commitment to further strengthen the alliance, the US alliance may well tighten. However, under the Trump administration’s transactional approach to allies and partners, intensified bargaining can coexist with effusive security rhetoric; tariff threats, investment demands and burden-sharing pressure are all compatible with declarations of “alliance unity”. 

As the China-Japan rift over Takaichi’s Taiwan remarks is still going on, China has demonstrated its capacity to raise the costs of hardline political positioning through travel advisories, trade friction, and other calibrated economic signals — particularly when Taiwan occupies the center of Tokyo’s strategic posture. 

Russia contributes a northern vector of military tension, increasingly visible and loud over the disputed Southern Kuril Islands (referred to by Japan as Northern Territories). At a moment when several US partners speak more openly of hedging and strategic autonomy, Tokyo’s decision to lean forward could leave it unusually exposed to pressure from several directions at once. The feedback loop is the deepest peril: external pressure rewards “strong leadership” at home; strong leadership encourages more assertive postures abroad; assertive postures invite retaliation.

None of this portends an inexorable march toward hardline dominance. The upper house retains relevance, constitutional revision still requires an elevated threshold and a national referendum, and public opinion can pivot sharply when costs become tangible. Markets can discipline debt-financed stimulus, and bureaucratic capacity inevitably limits how much policy “speed” translates into implementation. 

In this sense, the supermajority may also enable a degree of stability — clearing legislative gridlock and permitting long-deferred reforms to finally advance. But stability and centralisation are not synonymous, and a government that encounters few obstacles is also more susceptible to the belief that every preference constitutes a mandate.

Japan did not simply re-elect the LDP. It endorsed supermajority politics in a right-leaning electoral field, under a leader who campaigned on decisiveness and velocity. That endorsement confers upon Tokyo rare authority to act quickly — but it comes at a moment when the international environment increasingly penalises unilateral acceleration. 

The question now is whether Takaichi deploys her margin to rebuild trust: tightening political finance rules, widening deliberative space even where she possesses the votes to override, and pairing security upgrades with genuine economic resilience — or whether the three cycles described here compound risk, both at home and abroad.

Related: Beyond China: Japan’s unseen diplomacy under Takaichi | How Takaichi’s landslide win will shape Japan’s China and ASEAN ties