dkrc Chapter 159 The Spiral of Silence
Chapter 159 The Spiral of Silence
Monday, April 3, 1989.
Shibuya, NHK Broadcasting Center, West Wing Studio 3.
Hundreds of PAR lights and Fresnel spotlights hung overhead, baking the studio area like a midday desert.
Although the central air conditioning vents around the room were blowing out cold air at full power, the physical heat combined with the anxiety before the live broadcast still made people feel thirsty.
"Thirty seconds until the live broadcast! Silence!"
The scene director (FD), wearing a headset and holding a rolled-up script, stood in a blind spot of the camera and shouted loudly.
The floor was covered with tape of various colors, marking the positions of the cameras and the routes. The lens caps on the three huge studio cameras had been removed, and the black-and-white images in the viewfinders were pointed directly at the semi-circular interview table.
Ichiro Osawa sat in the guest seat on the right.
The makeup artist applied blotting powder one last time, pressing down the fine beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead from the lighting. He slightly raised his chin, cooperating with the makeup artist's movements, but his gaze went over the top of the camera lens, looking across at the other side.
Seated on the left is the Vice Minister of the Budget Bureau of the Ministry of Finance, a senior bureaucrat with gray hair and gold-rimmed glasses.
The deputy minister was adjusting his cuffs. In front of him lay a thick stack of documents, each page labeled with a different colored sticky note. This was the armor of a bureaucrat—data, laws, and well-prepared, watertight official rhetoric.
"Ten seconds left!"
FD raised one hand and began counting down with his fingers.
"5, 4, 3, 2..."
At the last second, FD pointed at the presenter, and at the same time, the red tally light on the top of the camera lit up.
On Air.
"Good morning, everyone. This is NHK's special program, 'Consumption Tax Launch: The Chaotic Archipelago.'"
The host's voice was steady and professional, but under the table, his feet were unconsciously shaking.
"Today is the first working day after the implementation of the consumption tax. Retail stores across the country are experiencing varying degrees of congestion, and there are constant complaints about difficulties in giving change and cumbersome calculations. Today we have invited the Vice Minister of the Ministry of Finance's Directorate-General of Budget, Accounting and Statistics, and Ichiro Osawa, a member of the Liberal Democratic Party."
The camera cuts to the second longest.
The deputy minister adjusted his glasses, leaned forward slightly, and adopted a lecturing posture.
"Regarding the current confusion, the Ministry of Finance believes it is a 'break-in effect' during the introduction of the new tax system. Any reform will be accompanied by growing pains in the early stages; this is a necessary cost for the health of the national treasury. The public needs some time to adapt to the new calculation method, and businesses also need time to upgrade their point-of-sale systems."
He glanced down at the documents beside him, his tone as flat as if he were reciting a sutra.
"Regarding the 'tax exemption' or 'rounding down' practices unilaterally implemented by some businesses, although there is still ambiguity in the legal interpretation, such practices undermine the principle of fair competition and even raise suspicions of dumping. We regret this and are studying relevant administrative guidelines..."
A standard bureaucratic response.
It is logically rigorous and flawless, but also devoid of warmth.
In the control room, the director watched the viewership ratings curve on the monitor.
The line was as flat as an electrocardiogram. The audience didn't want to hear these grand principles; what they wanted was an emotional release.
"Switch to camera number two, give Osawa a close-up," the director ordered through his headset.
The red light illuminated on the camera facing Daze.
Ichiro Osawa remained silent. He simply listened quietly, his fingers tapping a silent rhythm on the table.
Until the host turned the microphone towards him.
"Member of Parliament Osawa, what is your opinion on the Ministry of Finance's explanation?"
Ichiro Osawa stopped hammering.
He didn't look at the host or the camera; instead, he turned to the side and stared intently at the deputy minister.
"Adjustment period? Growing pains?"
Daze's voice was deep.
"Mr. Deputy Minister, did you go to the supermarket this weekend?"
"I..." The deputy minister paused for a moment.
"You haven't been there. Your wife may have been, but you were certainly reading the report in an air-conditioned office."
Osawa didn't give him a chance to interrupt, and suddenly sped up his speech.
Have you ever seen mothers carrying their babies on their backs, clutching handfuls of coins, sweating profusely at the checkout counter? Have you ever seen elderly people blushing with shame, being urged on by those behind them in line because they couldn't calculate the 3% tax?
"That's a micro-level reaction to macro policies; we can't generalize from a single instance..." the deputy minister tried to retort, grabbing a document in his hand.
"Don't talk to me about macroeconomics."
Osawa Ichiro reached into the inside pocket of his jacket.
The movements were slow, yet carried a breathtaking sense of oppression.
All eyes were on his hands.
He took out two pieces of paper.
They were two thin, heat-sensitive paper receipts that seemed weightless at the moment.
"Smack."
He slammed the two receipts onto the studio stage. The sound wasn't loud, but it was clearly audible in the quiet studio.
"Zoom in!" In the control room, the director, sensing a climax, shouted, "Get a close-up! Quick!"
The camera zoomed in quickly, filling the lens with the two pieces of paper.
The one on the left is crumpled and has the Daiei Supermarket logo printed on it. A series of complicated numbers are crammed together: "Price of the product: 3478 yen, Consumption tax: 104 yen, Total: 3582 yen." At the bottom, there is a line of glaring small print: "Change: 18 yen."
The one on the right is clean and white, with the S-Mart red square logo standing out prominently. Above it is only a single, crisp line of numbers: "Total: 3500 yen." At the bottom is printed: "Consumption tax: 0 (borne by S-Mart)."
"This is what you call 'labor pains'."
Osawa pointed to the receipt on the left.
"The cashier spent a full two minutes counting those damn aluminum coins for that 18 yen change. The customers behind them waited for twenty minutes. The checkout counter was filled with anxiety and resentment. Is this the 'adaptation' the government instills in its citizens?"
Then, his finger moved to the right.
"And this one, the transaction only took five seconds."
"A private company, Saionji Corporation. They didn't use a single penny of tax revenue, didn't hire a single civil servant, and even had to subsidize it themselves. They simply used their brains to solve this problem that was giving all of Japan a headache."
Ichiro Osawa grabbed the S-Mart receipt, held it to his face, and stared directly into the camera lens of Unit 2.
At that moment, his gaze pierced through the screen, striking the heart of every viewer in front of their television set.
"The Deputy Minister said this is 'breaking the rules'?"
He gave a cold laugh.
"If saving ordinary people money, time, and trouble is called 'breaking the rules,' then such rules are better off not existing."
"The people don't oppose paying taxes. What the people oppose is incompetence."
"Why is it that a company can achieve the same level of 'efficiency' and 'decency' as the government, which we pay so much in taxes to support?"
The studio was deathly silent.
Only the overhead PAR lamp emitted a faint electrical hum.
The deputy minister's face turned a deep purplish-red, his lips trembling as he tried to refute, only to find that all economic theories paled in comparison to those two tangible receipts.
Ichiro Osawa put down the receipt, straightened his tie, and said the line that hadn't appeared in the rehearsal to the camera:
"If the current cabinet cannot resolve the issue of those three coins, then please hand over the power to someone who knows the right thing to do."
"Cut! GG!"
The director's shouts blasted through my headphones.
The live broadcast signal was cut off.
The red lights in the studio went out.
The deputy minister slammed the documents in his hand onto the table, stood up angrily, and the chair scraped across the floor with a jarring sound.
This time he wasn't faking it.
"Oozawa-kun! This part isn't in the script! You're just trying to attract attention!"
Ichiro Osawa ignored his roar.
He slowly took off the microphone and handed it to the recording assistant who was already stunned.
Then, he picked up the S-Mart receipt, carefully folded it, and put it back in his pocket.
"Trying to attract attention?"
Osawa stood up and looked down at the furious bureaucrat.
"No, Mr. Deputy Minister."
"I'm just helping you... make a graceful exit."
……
S-Mart Hikari-gaoka Store, Nerima Ward.
Afternoon sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting its glow on the wooden floor of the lounge area.
The place was packed with people. Rather than a supermarket rest area, it felt more like a community living room. Around a dozen or so white round tables sat housewives who had just finished shopping. In front of them were S-Cafe coffee and oden, and their shopping bags were stuffed with items labeled "tax-free."
The television set hanging on the wall had just finished broadcasting NHK live.
When Ichiro Osawa held up the S-Mart receipt and uttered the word "incompetent," a barely suppressed uproar erupted in the rest area.
"Well said!"
A middle-aged housewife with curly hair slapped her thigh hard, almost knocking over a paper cup on the table.
"Exactly! Yesterday I went to the Seiyu supermarket over there, and I waited in line for half an hour. The cashier was so clumsy, she counted the coins three times! It's so much better here, you can just give her a bill and that's it."
"That's right, that's right! It's just a pity that it's too far from my house, otherwise I would never want to go to that Seiyu supermarket! When will this store open near my house...?"
"That high-ranking official was still talking about 'labor pains,' but it's not him who's in pain!" Another young mother holding her child said indignantly. "They all have chauffeured cars when they go out, and secretaries when they buy things. They have no idea how hard it is for us to count coins."
"The Saionji family is still the most kind."
An elderly woman with gray hair took a sip of hot tea, looked at the shopping receipt in her hand with no change in it, and her eyes were full of gratitude.
"I heard they paid that 3% tax out of their own pocket for us. How much money is that? That's a truly conscientious company."
Discussions rose and fell.
Here, politics is no longer a distant topic in the newspapers, but has become a matter of personal interest, a matter of the coins saved in one's hand.
At this moment, the S-Mart membership card seemed to transform into a ballot.
A vote cast for "efficiency," for "respect," and for the "Saionji family."
In the corner of the rest area.
Satsuki was wearing a beret and holding a cup of hot cocoa. She wasn't watching TV; instead, she was looking through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows at the pedestrians on the street outside, carrying S-Mart shopping bags and with relaxed expressions on their faces.
"That's amazing..."
"I can't help but sigh," Fujita, the butler standing behind her, murmured. Dressed in his impeccably tailored black tuxedo, he stood like a statue behind the young lady, his gaze sweeping over the agitated housewives around them.
"Miss, it seems that Mr. Osawa's words had an even better effect than expected."
It's just a mutually beneficial arrangement.
Satsuki took a sip of hot cocoa, the sweet taste melting on her tongue.
She looked at the spirited Osawa Ichiro on TV and a smile appeared on her lips.
"He needs public opinion to attack his political opponents, and we need political endorsement to stabilize the market. Those two receipts were the weapons I gave him."
She put down her cup and gently tapped the table with her slender fingers.
"Fujita, listen to these sounds."
Satsuki tilted her head slightly, gesturing to the housewives who were cursing the government and praising the "conscience" of the Saionji family.
"This is the sound of the 'spiral of silence' being broken."
"Normally, they don't care who becomes prime minister, nor do they care what those old men in Nagata-cho are arguing about. But when politics reaches into their wallets and takes a coin, they become more astute than any commentator."
She picked up the napkin with the red logo on the table, folded it gently, and folded it to represent the public opinion of the country.
"Now, Ichiro Osawa has become their mouth double. And the Saionji family..."
Satsuki pressed the folded napkin to the bottom of the cup.
"They became their allies."
"This kind of alliance is stronger than any monetary bribe."
……
It was six o'clock in the evening.
Minato, Azabu Juban.
The streets were a bit slippery after the rain, and the air was filled with the aroma of broth unique to high-end restaurants.
The cigar room on the second floor of "The Club" was dimly lit, with only the flickering firelight from the fireplace.
Shuichi sat on a single sofa, holding a glass of whiskey with an ice ball in his hand. Opposite him sat Watanabe, the editor-in-chief of the Yomiuri Shimbun, and Tanaka, the editorial director of the Asahi Shimbun.
There were several newspaper proofs for tomorrow on the coffee table.
The headline for the front page has been drafted: "Wisdom of the People VS Arrogance of Bureaucrats: The S-Mart Model Sparks Heated Debate Among the Public."
"Mr. Saionji, this move was brilliant."
Editor-in-Chief Watanabe exhaled a smoke ring and pointed to the proof.
"By elevating commercial activities to the level of administrative efficiency, S-Mart is no longer just a supermarket engaged in price wars, but has become a symbol of resistance against bureaucracy. Even if the Ministry of International Trade and Industry wants to cause trouble, it will have to consider public opinion."
"where."
Shuichi smiled and shook his head, raising his glass in a gesture of respect.
"We only did a small part of the work. The real heroes are the housewives who still manage to save money in the cold wind."
He put down his wine glass, leaned forward slightly, and his tone became meaningful.
"I think the discussion about the 'S-Mart phenomenon' could be explored in greater depth."
"Don't you all think that the existence of S-Mart proves that inflation is not invincible, as long as someone is willing to make concessions"—this viewpoint deserves a thorough discussion in the editorial section?
The two media professionals exchanged a glance, understanding each other perfectly.
This is creating a "god".
They transformed the Saionji family from a profit-driven zaibatsu into a "corporate citizen" that cares about the country and its people and actively assumes social responsibility.
"An interesting angle." Department Head Tanaka nodded, jotting down a few notes in his notebook. "I think we can steer tomorrow's editorial in this direction."
In this closed room, the direction of public opinion was quietly set.
……
Late at night.
Nagata-cho, House of Representatives Members' Hall.
The lights in the corridor were somewhat pale.
Ichiro Osawa returned from the live broadcast, his face still covered in makeup, but his expression was unusually excited. His secretary behind him was excitedly reporting on the sudden surge in viewership ratings.
As he passed the corner, Osawa saw several former bureaucrats of the Takeshita faction.
The group of men, carrying documents, were slinking along the wall when they saw Daze and his group approaching in a large group. They instinctively lowered their heads, like mice seeing a cat.
Daze stopped in his tracks.
He looked at those hunched backs and a cold smile curled at the corner of his mouth.
He pulled out the crumpled receipt from his pocket, the one he had used to buy things at Darong Supermarket.
That "prop" he showed on TV.
"Smack."
He casually tossed it aside.
The wad of paper flew in an arc and landed precisely in the trash can by the corridor.
In the trash can lay a discarded Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) propaganda booklet by Takeshita, with the words "Consumption Tax is the Future of the Country" printed on the cover, and half a footprint on it.
The wad of receipts landed squarely on the face of the brochure.
"Trash should stay in the trash can."
"It was Daze who said softly."
He didn't look again, straightened his collar, his leather shoes tapping crisply on the marble floor, and strode towards the door at the end of the corridor leading to the core of power.