なぜ日本では「政府広報」と「選挙」の境界が曖昧なのか ──広告・国家・民主主義の構造比較

Advertising Agencies, Elections, and Government PR: Why Japan Looks Uniquely “Special”

In recent years, claims like “Dentsu controls elections” or “Japan’s democracy is propped up by ad agencies” have spread widely on social media and online commentary.

These debates often polarize. Some dismiss everything as conspiracy theory; others paint Dentsu as a single all-powerful “mastermind.” Both approaches oversimplify.

What matters is this: it is true that large advertising/communications firms are involved in government communications and election campaigns worldwide. The real question is why Japan can appear uniquely “special”—and what structural and historical factors make that perception persist.

Overseas, Advertising Agencies Also Engage in Government PR and Elections

First, as a matter of fact, major advertising and communications firms exist everywhere. In the U.S., the U.K., France, South Korea, and the Nordic countries, governments use private-sector communications expertise for public health, disaster response, and public information. Likewise, in elections, parties and candidates commonly hire professionals for advertising and digital strategy.

The key issue is not “whether they are involved,” but where societies draw the line—what they allow, what they restrict, and how clearly they separate government communication from electoral persuasion.

The United States

In the United States, it is normal for advertising agencies and political consultants to be deeply involved in elections. Digital advertising, targeting, and message design are highly professionalized.

At the same time, the separation between government communication and election campaigning is taken extremely seriously. Government PR is justified as taxpayer-funded public information; election advertising is funded by parties and candidates.

If that line is crossed, it can trigger lawsuits, congressional investigations, audits, and contract termination. In other words, the standard is not only “did you do it,” but also “does it look mixed”—because even the appearance of mixing can undermine legitimacy.

The United Kingdom

In the U.K., open competition and disclosure are central principles in public communication procurement. Even when the government uses external agencies, the purpose, period, and budget are expected to be clearly separated and subject to parliamentary and media scrutiny.

If government communications are perceived as improving the image of the ruling party or the prime minister, they become politically toxic—even if not strictly illegal.

What matters is the shared norm that:

“An unexplainable situation is itself unacceptable.”

This is a combination of institutional design and political culture.

France

In France, social resistance to political propaganda is strong. Government communications are expected to be narrowly tied to administrative explanation, and anything that looks like image management for the government or leaders tends to be harshly criticized.

Beyond formal rules, the role of intellectuals, media, and civil society often functions as a practical deterrent. The key is that “political PR disguised as public information” is treated as a serious legitimacy issue.

South Korea

South Korea is also a country where advertising and digital strategy are actively used in elections. Social media warfare and negative campaigning can be intense.

However, what decisively differs from Japan is the response after problems surface. If government communications or election activity are suspected of improper influence, investigations and verification can proceed rapidly—by prosecutors, media, and civil society.

South Korea is messy. But when things look “mixed,” the system can still break and reset. Even before illegality is fully proven, the legitimacy of those in power can be questioned more directly than in Japan. That creates a stronger kind of “post-hoc cutting power.”

The Nordic Countries

Nordic democracies—Norway, Finland, Sweden, and others—tend to rank very highly on democracy indices.

Their greatest feature is not “breaking after problems occur,” but institutional design that makes problems less likely to accumulate.

Disclosure of government documents is a strong norm; citizens can trace who decided what, and why. Government PR is not expected to slide into ruling-party PR.

In short:

The Nordics protect democracy not by “breaking,” but by preventing the need to break.

Do the Nordics Use Government PR for Elections?

In conclusion, Nordic countries do not use government PR for elections—not as a practical matter.

More precisely: it is not merely “they choose not to,” but they are designed not to, through both institutions and political culture.

Government PR is limited to:

• Announcements of laws and institutional changes
• Public health (medical / infectious disease measures)
• Disaster and safety information
• Guidance on public services

Expressions that connect to government “achievement” or political evaluation are treated as politically unacceptable, even if not illegal.

As elections approach, Nordic practice tends to include:

• Pausing new non-essential government campaigns
• Further restricting the tone of official messaging
• Postponing communications without urgency

This is to eliminate the “possibility of misunderstanding” before it arises.

Additionally, in practice:

• Agencies handling government work, and
• Agencies handling party/candidate election campaigns

are effectively separated. Even within the same corporate group, teams, staff, and contracts are kept distinct, and agencies recognize strict red lines.

The Core of Japan’s Problem

Japan’s problem is not the existence of advertising agencies, government public relations, or the use of advertising techniques in elections. All of these exist in every democratic country.

The core issue lies elsewhere.

In Japan, the boundaries between government, politics, media, and advertising have remained blurred—and that blur has become structurally fixed.

What makes this particularly serious is that the institutional mechanisms to correct the blur, or to decisively sever relationships when problems arise, are comparatively weak.

This ambiguity was not created accidentally, nor is it the result of individual misconduct. It is deeply rooted in Japan’s historical approach to information, governance, and social coordination.

Historically, Japan did not develop information, media, and advertising primarily as instruments to check power. Instead, they evolved as tools to smooth governance, manage social consensus, and reduce friction.

A central symbol of this historical trajectory is the formation and development of Dentsu.

Founded in 1901 by Hoshirō Mitsunaga, Dentsu emerged as an organization that combined communications functions with advertising brokerage from the outset. It did not grow solely as a mediator of corporate advertising.

From its early years, Dentsu was positioned to handle:

• the circulation of official and quasi-official information,
• the dissemination of national policy and direction, and
• coordination between government messaging, newspapers, and advertising.

In this sense, Dentsu functioned as part of Japan’s information circulation infrastructure.

This origin differs fundamentally from the mainstream Western model, where advertising agencies—such as the American firm J. Walter Thompson—developed primarily from competitive corporate advertising markets.

In Japan, by contrast, “state messaging” and “advertising” flowed through overlapping channels from the beginning.

This orientation deepened during the wartime period. Under the mobilization regime of the 1930s and 1940s, advertising, newspapers, and radio were integrated into the state’s information control system.

With the establishment of the Cabinet Information Bureau (Naikaku Jōhōkyoku) in 1940, information dissemination became centrally managed, and private-sector expertise was embedded within that system.

Dentsu’s role expanded to include:

• allocation and coordination of advertising space,
• prioritization of information flow, and
• practical dissemination of national messages.

The critical point is not moral judgment. It is that private-sector organizations became structurally integrated into state information design.

After the war, many countries dismantled their propaganda systems alongside regime change. Organizations were dissolved, personnel replaced, and institutional breaks were made explicit.

Japan, however, did not fully carry out such a break in its private information infrastructure.

Dentsu was not dismantled. Major newspaper companies retained their core management structures. Wartime know-how and networks were not decisively severed, but instead carried forward into the postwar period.

During the Allied occupation, GHQ dismantled overt coercive institutions—military, political police, state ideology— but judged private information circulation and advertising networks as usable within a democratized framework.

Cold War priorities—political stability, anti-communism, and minimizing occupation costs—made the reuse of existing networks a rational choice.

As a result, the logic and “feel” of wartime information management slid into postwar democratic governance without a complete structural reset.

This historical continuity helps explain why, in Japan:

• the proximity of government, media, and advertising is rarely perceived as abnormal,
• boundary ambiguity tends to be treated as operational convenience, and
• structural reform is often postponed in favor of short-term stability.

In other words, Japan’s issue is not corruption in the narrow sense.

It is a democracy that has continued to operate with blurred boundaries, without fully developing the institutional capacity to identify, explain, and correct that blur.

Four Side Effects of “Blurred Boundaries”

When boundaries remain blurred, the following side effects tend to emerge. These are not “accidents.” They are predictable outcomes of a system that leaves lines undefined.

1. Tax-funded communication becomes a political tailwind
   Even if government PR is framed as “policy explanation,” it can easily be received as achievement-promotion or atmosphere-building—especially when it overlaps with election periods. The weaker the institutional design to eliminate “reasonable misunderstanding” in advance (as in the Nordics), the more suspicion tends to linger.
   
   Historically, societies that evolved through a “media–advertising–state” fusion are especially prone to this blur, because administrative messaging and political messaging have long shared the same channels.


2. No one becomes the final responsible actor
   As planning, budgeting, procurement, production, distribution, and performance measurement are segmented, it becomes harder to identify who actually decided what. As a result, even when a problem occurs, the system often does not move unless illegality can be proven.
   
   In Japan, postwar governance has often favored precedent, responsibility diffusion, and stability. That structure is highly compatible with ambiguity.


3. “Invisible influence” grows stronger
   When society cannot draw lines through transparent rules, influence shifts to those who can “coordinate” behind the scenes—individuals and organizations with practical leverage. This is not necessarily a conspiracy; it is a structural consequence of institutional gaps.
   
   The more “unofficial coordination” matters than “official rules,” the harder it becomes to see where power actually operates.


4. Because post-hoc cutting is weak, ambiguity accumulates
   In many Western systems, lawsuits, parliamentary oversight, or social backlash can force separation after problems arise. In South Korea, legitimacy itself may be questioned post-hoc. In the Nordics, systems are designed so that misunderstanding is less likely in the first place.
   
   In Japan, however, the default choice has often been “keep it running without breaking.” That makes structural reform harder, and ambiguity tends to pile up instead of being reset.
   
   In this sense, the postwar model of “stability-first governance” can delay the very accountability needed to protect democratic legitimacy.

Why Conspiracy Narratives Don’t Disappear

Conspiracy narratives are not born simply because “power is strong.” They are born when the system’s capacity to explain itself is weak.

In the U.K., procurement rules and parliamentary oversight; in the U.S., lawsuits and independent investigations; in France, social and media resistance; in South Korea, post-hoc accountability and leadership legitimacy; and in the Nordics, preventive design that minimizes misunderstanding— these can function as institutional answers to suspicion.

When doubts arise, citizens can more easily see:

• where decisions were made,
• who holds responsibility,
• which procedures verify the facts, and
• how problems are corrected.

Because that chain is visible, doubts are processed before they become “stories.”

In Japan, that answer is often harder to return. Why? Because decision-making, responsibility, and verification are structurally dispersed, and cannot be explained as one clear line.

What remains socially is the sensation:

“Something feels wrong, but I can’t tell exactly where.”

To fill that explanatory vacuum, people imagine a “black box”: a mastermind, a hidden force, someone pulling strings. Conspiracy narratives are not purely irrational products. They are often the cheapest explanatory device for a system that fails to explain itself.

The crucial point is not whether conspiracy narratives are “correct.”

The very need for conspiracy narratives signals the limits of a system’s explanatory power.

Takeaway

Japan’s distinctiveness is not that it is uniquely “dirty.”

It is that wartime information governance and an incomplete postwar institutional break overlapped, and democracy continued to operate while blurred boundaries were left unprocessed as a structural problem.

This is not a question of morality—nor a question of blaming a specific company or individual. It is a product of institutions and history.

Therefore, the questions that matter are not:

• Who is evil?
• Who is pulling the strings?

They are:

• Where do we draw the line?
• How far do we make processes visible?
• How do we make the system explainable?

Unless those answers exist, conspiracy narratives will not disappear as an “abnormality.” They will keep resurfacing as a mirror reflecting institutional opacity—again and again.

Why Japan Ended Up This Way: The Origins of Dentsu (Historical Continuity)

A Private Firm Born Closely Tied to State Communication

Dentsu was founded in 1901 by Hoshirō Mitsunaga. From early on, it combined news/communications functions with advertising brokerage, and grew not merely as a “corporate advertising intermediary,” but as an entity intertwined with the circulation of official information and national messaging.

From the beginning, it was positioned to handle:

• Distribution of official information
• Publicizing national policy and direction
• Coordination of information and advertising with newspapers

This differs fundamentally from the mainstream Western trajectory—where agencies typically grew from corporate advertising and market competition (e.g., the U.S. agency tradition represented by firms like J. Walter Thompson).

In Japan, “state messaging” and “advertising” flowed through overlapping circuits from the outset.

A Core Node in Wartime Information Control

Under the mobilization regime from the late 1930s onward, advertising, press, and propaganda were integrated as part of state governance.

After the establishment of the Cabinet Information Bureau (Naikaku Jōhōkyoku) in 1940, the system moved toward:

• Control and allocation of advertising space
• Prioritization and coordination of information
• Standardization and dissemination of national messages

Dentsu played an important role in the practical coordination of this information infrastructure. The point is not moral condemnation (“a company cooperated with war”), but the structural fact that private-sector functions were embedded as a central part of state information design.

The Postwar “Break” That Did Not Fully Happen

In many countries, defeat or regime change created a strong institutional break: propaganda apparatuses were dismantled, personnel and institutions were reset, and systems were redesigned.

Japan, however, moved into the postwar order without a comparable, comprehensive redesign of the private information distribution infrastructure:

• Dentsu was not dismantled,
• major newspaper companies’ structures largely remained, and
• wartime know-how and networks were not institutionally “cut off” in a decisive way.

The GHQ/SCAP occupation dismantled obvious coercive instruments (military, political police, state ideology) but did not fundamentally restructure advertising agencies and private information circulation as a system—often judging that such networks could be “reused” under democratization.

Cold War realities—stability, anti-communism, and low occupation cost—made “using existing networks” a rational choice. As a result, the “feel” of wartime information management could slide into postwar democratic governance without a full structural reset.

Why the “Uniqueness” Was Not Recognized as a Problem

This continuity left Japanese society with several persistent assumptions:

• Low psychological resistance to outsourcing state communication to private actors
• Reduced sensitivity to the closeness of government, media, and advertising
• A tendency to treat a powerful “coordination hub” as a source of stability

After the political tensions of the postwar period (including the intense conflicts around the 1960 security treaty era), Japan often preferred to “process conflict quietly” rather than redesign structures in the open. In that environment, the system was not deeply problematized—it was treated as a “convenient premise.”

The Structure That Continues Today

This historical path helps explain why, in Japan:

• the boundary between government PR and ruling-party PR remains blurred,
• government messaging can continue in “normal mode” even close to elections, and
• post-hoc institutional cutting is difficult when problems emerge.

The “gap” is repeatedly filled by large coordination actors—including advertising agencies—not simply because of ethics, but because history and institutions placed them in that role.

Why Structures in Japan Tend to Survive Even After Problems Are Exposed

In Japan, even when institutional failures or systemic problems are repeatedly exposed, it is relatively rare to see outcomes such as those commonly observed in Western democracies:

• organizations being dismantled,
• institutions undergoing major redesign, or
• responsibility being clearly and decisively assigned.

Investigations are conducted. Reports are published. Preventive measures are announced.

Yet the structure itself often remains intact.

This is not accidental. Nor is it a matter of national character.

It is the result of historically formed institutional logic that prioritizes continuity and stability over rupture.

Responsibility That Spreads Like “Mist,” Not Focused at a Single Point

In Japan’s governance system, decision-making is often carried out through:

• consensus-building,
• division of tasks, and
• reliance on precedent.

This approach is well suited to stable, day-to-day administration.

However, when problems arise, it produces a critical consequence:

It becomes difficult to identify who actually made the decision.

Responsibility is dispersed across ministries, external contractors, coordinating bodies, media organizations, and advisory actors.

Ultimately, explanations converge on a familiar conclusion:

“This is how the system works.”

In that process, no one is personally held accountable. And nothing fundamentally changes.

“Precedent” as a Substitute for Legitimacy

In Japan, legitimacy in decision-making can rely less on:

• legal legitimacy, or
• democratic legitimacy,

and more on:

“Have we done this before?”

As a result:

• “There is precedent” becomes “it’s not a problem,”
• and long continuation itself becomes a kind of justification.

To break structures, one must deny “what has been.” But that also means challenging the validity of many past decisions. Postwar Japan repeatedly chose to avoid that conflict.

Why Media, Advertising, and the Judiciary Converge on “Caution”

In principle, the actors that should break structures are:

• media verification,
• judicial judgment, and
• political institutional reform.

Yet in Japan, several tendencies reinforce caution:

• media dependence on advertising economics,
• a judiciary that often prioritizes institutional continuity,
• politics that prioritizes short-term stability.

The result is a repeated conclusion:

“Not illegal.”
“Not immediately a problem.”

And so the timing for cutting never arrives. This is less “favoritism” than institutions applying brakes to one another.

“Not Breaking” Was Rational for the Postwar Period

Postwar Japan prioritized:

• Cold War stability,
• maintaining high-growth conditions,
• political stability under the long postwar order.

In that context, breaking structures was “right but risky.” The chosen model was:

Keep it running without breaking.
If problems occur, handle them as isolated cases.

That was rational then. But it left a side effect: the repeated postponement of accountability and explanation.

“Unbreakability” as a Historical Outcome

As a result, Japan normalized a recurring pattern:

• problems occur,
• criticism emerges,
• yet the structure remains.

This is not because someone is actively “protecting” the system.

It is the historical outcome of repeated choices in which not breaking the structure was considered the rational option.

For a long time, this rationality made sense. But today, its limits have become increasingly clear.

Structures that cannot be explained produce distrust. Distrust invites conspiracy narratives. And conspiracy narratives exhaust democracy.

At this point, the question we must ask is no longer:

“Who is at fault?”

It is:

“When, where, and by whom should the authority to break structures be exercised?”

As a Democracy, How Should Japan Handle Government PR Related to Elections?

Japan’s issue is not “whether agencies exist” or “whether government PR exists.” The issue is how clearly a democracy separates elections from administrative communication.

Elections are the mechanism by which citizens evaluate and replace power. Government PR is the means by which administration conveys policies and services. Their purposes differ fundamentally.

Therefore, democracies share a principle: government should not place itself in a position to evaluate itself—and communication that could be reasonably perceived as such must be separated from elections.

Where Other Countries Draw the Line

The Nordics restrict non-essential government PR as elections approach—focusing on preventing misunderstanding. The U.K. enforces strict practical separation. The U.S. relies on litigation, audits, and investigations when lines are crossed. South Korea can apply strong post-hoc accountability.

What they share is this:

Preventing suspicion about electoral fairness is the priority—before legality is debated.

What Japan Has Left Ambiguous

In Japan, the line has remained ambiguous, both institutionally and operationally. Government PR is treated as “administrative information,” and election-related issues are often left to a posture of “we will respond if a specific problem arises.”

But that approach has structural weaknesses:

• verification happens only after problems surface,
• influence is hard to visualize,
• responsibility becomes hard to trace.

As a result, a gray zone—“not illegal, but not clearly fair”—can persist.

The Minimum Japan Should Do

What is required here is not moralism or idealism, but minimum democratic line-drawing.

At least the following should be seriously considered:

• Principled restrictions on non-essential government PR for a defined period before elections
• Complete separation between government PR and party/candidate campaigns
• Transparency in contracting, production, and distribution processes for government PR
• Clear rules for post-hoc verification and explanation if electoral impact is suspected

This is not about restricting free expression. It is a democratic safety device: power should not be allowed to stand in the position of judging itself.

Conclusion

This is not an argument to attack specific companies or individuals. Nor is it a claim that “Japan is not a democracy.”

What is being asked is simply:

How seriously does Japan intend to operate democracy?

Preventing suspicion about electoral fairness. Refusing to leave “unexplainable structures” untouched. That is not a demand for purity, but a test of democratic maturity.

Drawing lines is not to punish someone. It is the restraint that power imposes on itself in order to protect democracy.

Final Conclusion — And My View

As shown above, Japan’s issue at the intersection of government PR and elections cannot be reduced to the good or evil of a particular company or person. It is the product of history and institutions: wartime information governance, an incomplete postwar break, Cold War stability priorities, bureaucratic rationality, and a media economy tied to advertising.

That is why I do not align myself with the question “Who is the mastermind?” or “Who is pulling the strings?”

Those questions can sound sharp, but in practice they often become a convenient story that distracts from the harder truth: the system cannot explain itself clearly enough.

My view is simpler—and stricter.

In a democracy, power must not place itself in the position of judging itself.

Even if something is not illegal, even if it has continued as “custom,” even if it is defended as “administrative information,” a structure that reasonably creates doubt about electoral fairness must be dismantled by the democratic side first.

I do not think Japan is a uniquely “inferior” country. But a democracy that keeps treating structural ambiguity as “operational management” is no longer mature.

Building institutions that do not need to be suspected is not about blaming someone. It is both a restraint on power and the act of protecting democracy.

If that is neglected, unexplained structures breed distrust; distrust invites conspiracy narratives; conspiracy narratives exhaust democracy. This is not left vs. right. It is the single question of whether we have the will to truly operate democracy.

I want Japan to be a country capable of that will. That is why I will keep asking—not “who is evil,” but where we draw lines, what we make visible, and how we make the system explainable.