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In the decade before Pearl Harbor the political process of the Rising Sun was dominated both by the competition for influence of the great ‘zaibatsu’, the giant business conglomerates, and by the infighting among activist military groups. Most  men in the armed forces were demanding wars, especially against China, so that Japan, Asia’s most dynamic player, would acquire territories and resources. In 1931, the high command of the Japanese divisions in Manchuria acted on his own and conquered most of the Manchu region, belonging to China.

When, on May 15 1932, a group of officers killed the prime minister who had not approved the conquest, it became clear that the military were now dominant, that the upper echelons of the civil service supported the insubordinate officers, that the parliamentary parties had lost whatever clout they had slowly acquired. From that moment to the catastrophic end of the war against the United States, the military (not only generals, also forceful lieutenants who were willing to use their weapons against political adversaries) did control the government. A few additional killings confirmed the trend.

Today, some observers love to explain the unusual vulnerability of the Japanese cabinets with the aggressiveness of the press, the modern successor to the officer corps. Not many days ago prime minister Yukio Hatoyama resigned, eight months after an historic victory over the Liberals. Hatoyama’s Democratic party was expected to change the erratic ways of the national politics. Now Hatoyama is just another head of government who was ousted from office by press attacks. Exactly as several of his disgraced peers, he has been the target of allegations of financial misdeeds -accepting money from business people or groups. However, Hatoyama confessed an additional fault: he had won the general elections, in part, on the promise of getting back the air base of Okinawa from the US; he was unable to win the American assent. So, Hatoyama accepted the charge of having obtained votes on an empty promise. Possibly ethics still matters.

A number of observers conclude that Japan’s political scene is unduly perturbed by emotions on scandals. They argue, in particular, that corruption is so common in rich nations that the latter don’t usually topple presidents and ministers because of allegations concerning money. The Japanese opinion, they add, takes scandals too seriously. Top politicians should be judged on their management, not on their moral behaviours.

Possibly said observers have a point. But the opposite may be true -that a large enough section of the Japanese society do not accept unethical actions as a normal feature of public life. Once upon a time Japanese samurai took their life for not serving well enough their feudal masters, so violating their code of honor. How can we assert that the disgust at the venality of party politicians is excessive, when such venality is the malignant evil of most political systems of the world? Perhaps we should imitate Japan in not forgiving robber politicians.

Of course only one method is available to delete career politicians -putting an end to a representative democracy which perpetuates the prone-to-corruption professionals of politics.