With the July 20 upper house election approaching, the emergence of campaign rhetoric targeting foreign residents in Japan has raised both concern and confusion. Minor political parties like Sanseito and the Conservative Party of Japan (Hoshutō) are gaining attention with slogans that portray foreigners as a threat to public order or economic stability. Meanwhile, the government’s creation of a "Foreign-Resident Command Center"—a name that sounds more like surveillance than support—has stirred unease in Japan’s foreign community.
The tone is shifting. What was once the territory of fringe nationalist groups now echoes through official channels and campaign posters. For many foreign residents who have contributed to Japan’s society, economy, and culture for years, the message is increasingly clear: we are being portrayed not as neighbors, but as problems to be managed.
This shift hasn’t gone unnoticed by longtime residents.
Sheila Ryan, a translator and 30-year resident, notes that this trend began subtly. “It started with complaints about tourist crowds, then the rice shortage, and now we’re seeing a general conflation of visitors and residents. It’s a classic case of being lumped together.”
Even international media have poked fun at this narrative. CNBC, for instance, recently ran the headline "Japan blames sushi-hungry tourists for rice shortage," a satirical spin that nevertheless reflects growing global awareness of how foreign visitors are being positioned as scapegoats in domestic policy debates.
That kind of reduction—treating millions of diverse residents as a single bloc—poses real risks.
As Earl Jackson, a U.S. Marine Corps veteran and distribution process advocate, puts it: "There are over 3 million foreign residents in Japan from engineers to students to military families, each with different ties and contributions. Treating us as interchangeable ignores that diversity and often leads to one-size-fits-all restrictions that don’t address root problems."
Japan is hardly alone in navigating immigration and demographic challenges, but the current rhetoric marks a sharp and troubling shift—one that directly affects the lives of long-term residents. For us, this isn’t just politics—it’s personal. It’s about how we live, work, and feel seen here. We've become central figures in political debates—especially in campaign rhetoric and policymaking—despite having little voice or representation in shaping these narratives. We're being talked about often, yet lack the power to push back or correct the record.
Some Japanese observers may assume that this new rhetoric is aimed primarily at Chinese tourists or specific nationalities. But as I explained to a Japanese colleague recently, these narratives affect all of us. In my case, I carry an American passport, but I am still viewed first and foremost as a Black foreigner. That identity does not make me exempt from suspicion; in some cases, it makes me more visible, and more vulnerable.
Brenda Kaneta, U.S.-born interpreter and translator who has lived in Japan for 28 years, points out that not all foreigners experience this climate equally. “White men seem to be the most unaffected,” she notes. “Add a little melanin and/or don’t have a penis, and you’re in trouble.” For women and racialized foreigners in particular, this rhetoric amplifies existing inequities—both social and economic.
Marcellus Nealy, a musician and university professor who has lived in Japan for 33 years, sees troubling parallels with the U.S. “If the U.S. experience is any indication, this path yields no meaningful benefits for the people… tourism will decline, international business will hesitate, and vital human capital will disappear.”
He adds: "To vilify us as a problem betrays not only reason but also the values at the core of Japanese identity: humility, gratitude, and social harmony. In fact, social harmony—for all who are part of the community—is exactly what is being violated by this new wave of political hostility."
For those who argue that some restrictions are necessary due to the bad behavior of a few foreigners, Earl Jackson offers a perspective grounded in discipline and fairness: "I served 21 years in the USMC, often in joint environments with Japanese forces, and we always focused on the individual’s actions, not their nationality. Punishing an entire group for a few bad actors breeds resentment, not safety."
Shaun O’Dwyer, a professor who has lived in Japan for 21 years, agrees. He warns of the risk of scapegoating foreign residents for structural problems like food shortages or inflation: "Believing that foreigners are in some sort of zero-sum competition for scarce resources with so-called native Japanese does not reflect economic reality."
Ginny Tapley Takemori, a literary translator with over two decades in Japan, calls out the flawed assumptions behind this approach: "There are foreigners from all over the world living here, from very different cultural backgrounds and personal situations. Treating us as a uniform bloc makes no sense." Her point underscores the human cost of reductive policymaking—when diverse individuals are treated as a single group, policies can overlook their unique needs, create unfair burdens, and alienate those who are otherwise deeply integrated into Japanese society.
Jackson also speaks to the emotional toll: “In veteran groups and expat circles I’m part of, it’s a mix of gallows humor and serious anxiety… Some feel powerless to speak up because they don’t want to jeopardize their status here.”
There are reputational consequences, too. As David Hathaway writes, "Japan is an oasis of relative sanity compared to the U.S. and certain other wealthy democracies. Still, it breaks my heart to see some Japanese candidates gaining momentum by heading in that direction. History will see Japan as a symbol of hope if it takes a firm stand against the wave of xenophobia and far-right populism unfolding in other countries."
No one quoted here denies that problems exist—but they stress that acknowledging problems doesn’t justify collective punishment or harmful generalizations. What they argue for instead is accuracy, proportionality, and fairness—values consistent with the Japan many of us have chosen to call home.
So what would a better path look like?
It begins with more accurate public messaging. Japanese media and politicians must distinguish clearly between short-term visitors and long-term residents. They must resist the temptation to use foreign residents as campaign fodder. And they must communicate to the public what many already know: that foreign residents pay taxes, raise families, and often serve their communities in ways that are invisible until they're gone.
As Nealy writes, “Though I still struggle with kanji, this is 100% my home. I have earned the right to be heard, and to have my rights and contributions respected.”
Among the many foreign residents I spoke with—some of whom have lived in Japan for decades—sadly, none expressed optimism. At best, they advised caution and voiced concern. At worst, fear.
'If Japan is heading down the same path as the U.S.—toward exclusion and scapegoating—I’m scared,' says Kaneta. 'Not nervous—scared.'
The stakes are higher than votes. They’re about whether Japan will maintain the values that make it admired globally: stability, respect, and harmony. To protect those, the country must be willing to protect everyone who helps uphold them.
