JAKARTA – In Japan, corruption is not just a legal infraction—it is a personal disgrace. Public officials implicated in scandals face immediate and often irreversible consequences, with resignation being the most common course of action. In extreme cases, some have taken their own lives, unable to bear the humiliation of their tarnished reputations. This culture of shame is so deeply ingrained in Japanese society that it acts as an unofficial yet highly effective mechanism for political accountability.
Indonesia, however, operates under a vastly different system. Corruption is a persistent issue, yet the repercussions for those convicted are often short-lived. Many politicians, after serving prison sentences, return to public office, their reputations seemingly untouched. Instead of disgrace, some even receive sympathy and support, highlighting a crucial distinction between the two nations: whereas Japan treats corruption as an irreversible moral failure, Indonesia often views it as a temporary setback.
This contrast is not merely a difference in governance but a reflection of historical and cultural development. Japan’s strict code of honor originates from its samurai traditions, where personal integrity was valued above all else. The practice of seppuku, or ritual suicide, was reserved for those who had failed their duty, ensuring that honor was restored even in death. These principles evolved into modern Japanese political culture, where resignation is the expected response to scandal.
The legacy of this mindset is evident in modern Japan. In 2007, Toshikatsu Matsuoka, the Minister of Agriculture, Forestry, and Fisheries, was under investigation for misusing government funds. Before he could testify, he was found dead in his apartment, having taken his own life. The severity of his response underscores the extent to which shame dictates political behavior in Japan.
Another example is Keishu Tanaka, who resigned as Minister of Justice in 2012 after reports surfaced linking him to yakuza groups. Even without a formal conviction, the social backlash alone was enough to force him out of office. Similarly, Isshu Sugawara, the Minister of Trade and Industry, stepped down in 2019 after it was revealed that he had given lavish gifts to voters—a relatively minor offense compared to large-scale corruption cases in other countries, yet still sufficient to end his career.
The Japanese corporate sector operates under the same principles. Business leaders embroiled in scandals often resign immediately, and in extreme cases, some have taken their own lives out of sheer disgrace. The expectation of personal responsibility is not enforced by law but by the weight of public perception, which is often harsher than any legal punishment.
In Indonesia, however, public officials rarely resign in disgrace. Instead, corruption cases often result in legal proceedings that, even when successful, fail to impose lasting consequences. Some politicians, after serving their sentences, return to office and continue their careers as if nothing had happened. Public perception does not carry the same weight as it does in Japan, allowing convicted officials to maintain their influence and social standing.
Indonesia’s political history has played a significant role in shaping this reality. Unlike Japan, which has long emphasized personal responsibility, Indonesia’s governance structures have struggled with weak institutional accountability. Political patronage and alliances frequently protect those accused of corruption, creating an environment where ethical violations are often tolerated.
While Japan’s shame culture ensures that corruption carries irreversible consequences, Indonesia’s system allows for redemption, often at the expense of public trust. Without a deeply embedded sense of honor guiding political conduct, corruption will continue to thrive, unchecked by the moral and social forces that make it intolerable in Japan.
