In Japan's latest national election, one of the most closely watched candidates began her campaign with two words rarely heard in that arena: "I'm pregnant." Hikaru Fujita, a 35-year-old former diplomat with a Harvard degree, is running for her nation's House of Representatives as a member of the ruling Liberal Democratic Party. In announcing her run, Fujita debated whether to reveal she was expecting, worried it could cost her votes. Late last month, however, she posted on social media that she'd been "blessed with new life," telling the New York Times she wanted to show that "even pregnant women could run" and to "send a message to the younger generation."
The response was mixed: Some applauded, while others told her to be a housewife and warned that maternity leave would squander tax funds. Fujita is part of a record field of 313 women among 1,285 candidates in Sunday's vote, but women still hold only about 16% of lower-house seats in Japan, and pregnant candidates are almost unheard-of nationally. Japan even has a term, matahara, for maternity harassment in the workplace. A recent Mainichi Shimbun story profiles one current House of Representatives member who gave birth in October, but who hid her pregnancy until the 11th hour, noting, "I was afraid to make it public."
The country's first female prime minister, Sanae Takaichi—also from the LDP and generally quiet on gender issues—traveled to Nagano prefecture this week to campaign beside Fujita, calling her "incredible" and urging voters to "give her strength" as the party seeks to secure a majority. On the campaign trail, Fujita stresses policies aimed at women and families: narrowing the gender pay gap, improving child care, and overall easing the load on working parents. Her slogan—"Trying her best without overworking herself"—is a deliberate break from Japan's culture of extreme work hours.
Her spouse, physics professor Tomohiro Fujita, even took leave from his job to campaign in a white beanie labeled "husband" in Japanese. Hikaru Fujita says online attacks are "discouraging" and "disappointing," but she insists she's trying to ignore them. Fujita worries that a loss could reduce prospects for younger women thinking about politics. Her task, she says, is twofold: Run a strong race, and stay healthy enough to prove that pregnancy and power can coexist in Japan's political life. (About a decade ago, some male politicians in Japan did try to commiserate on what it's like to be pregnant.)
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