Prime Minister Takaichi has declared, “I will never give up on building a strong Japan.” She has also called on the nation to “take Japan back now.” Both are highly appealing slogans that convey a sense of strength and determination.

Yet they invite a fundamental question: what exactly does a “strong Japan” mean?

Does it refer to Japan during the era of fukoku kyōhei (“rich country, strong military”) that followed the Meiji Restoration?

Does it refer to the period of rapid economic growth when Japan became the world’s second-largest economy?

Or does it refer to the Japan of the 1980s, when the nation was riding the wave of the bubble economy?

The reality is that the phrase “strong Japan” means different things to different people. Those who prioritize national defense may think of military strength. Those who value economic growth may think of economic power. Those who emphasize tradition and culture may imagine a nation with strong cultural and spiritual foundations.

In other words, everyone is free to project their own preferred vision of a “strong Japan” onto the phrase.

That is precisely why such a slogan can attract broad support. But this is not because the phrase contains a clear and concrete meaning. Rather, it is because the phrase is vague enough to allow each person to interpret it in their own way.

If that is the case, then perhaps the phrase does not represent a clearly defined national objective at all. Instead, it may function as a convenient vessel into which people pour their own hopes, expectations, and aspirations.

When a government sets national goals, it should explain what “strong” actually means. What benchmarks or conditions would qualify Japan as “strong”? What specific outcomes are being pursued? And above all, what roadmap exists for achieving those goals, including the necessary legal reforms and financial resources?

Yet the phrase “strong Japan” alone provides no answers to these questions.

The same can be said of another slogan: “Make the Japanese archipelago strong and prosperous.”

It certainly sounds appealing. However, the reality is that population concentration in the Tokyo metropolitan area continues unabated. Many rural regions are experiencing declining populations, shrinking public transportation networks, and growing difficulties in maintaining even basic medical and educational services.

If politicians wish to speak of making the entire Japanese archipelago prosperous, they should first present a concrete vision of what kind of national landscape they seek to create and how they intend to achieve it.

To be clear, there is nothing inherently wrong with political leaders using slogans to inspire people. But slogans are not policies.

There is no guarantee that the “strong Japan” envisioned by the politician who utters the phrase is the same “strong Japan” imagined by the voter who hears it.

If support accumulates without that gap ever being explained, it becomes unclear what voters are actually supporting. Are they supporting a specific political program? Or are they simply supporting the idealized image that they themselves have constructed in their minds?

What politics requires is not attractive language for its own sake, but the concrete policies that lie behind the language.

If enthusiasm is generated without the substance ever being clearly presented, it is only natural for people to wonder whether the real objective is not the policy itself, but rather the ability of the slogan to attract support through its emotional appeal.

This is not a problem unique to Prime Minister Takaichi. It is a challenge that transcends parties, ideologies, and individual politicians.

For that reason, voters should not allow themselves to be carried away by the pleasant sound of political slogans. Instead, they must continue to ask what those words actually mean and demand that politicians explain the substance behind them.