Takeshi Dylan Sadachi, Writer & Content Producer
In this fourth piece, I turn to contemporary Japan, focusing on queer politicians operating within right-wing politics. I examine how they openly oppose what they frame as “LGBT ideology” and how the Japanese concept of tōjisha-ness shapes their authority and positioning. I also explore how nationalism intertwines with queer identity in Japan, a context not traditionally discussed through the framework of homonationalism. The piece ultimately considers how these figures navigate conservative political spaces in Japan.
When I tell people that one of my research topics is queer individuals involved in right-wing politics, reactions can usually be split into one of two.
One response is, “Oh, that’s interesting”, often noting how peculiar or even contradictory the phenomenon appears. The other is more matter-of-fact, along the lines of, “That’s not strange at all. Sexuality and political ideology have nothing to do with each other.”
I often find myself playing devil’s advocate here. My work is not about proving that this intersection is “weird”. Yet I disagree with the idea that there is no correlation, or that it is entirely misguided to assume queer individuals are statistically and theoretically less likely to align with conservative or reactionary ideologies.
Simply put, being minoritized or marginalized has meant that the status quo and status quo ante of a society or culture is and was not designed for you. Right-wing politics are, in many ways, oriented toward the status quo and the status quo ante, encompassing varying degrees of conservatism, traditionalism, and reactionary politics. In addition, right-wing politics, by definition, see social hierarchy and structure as natural and inevitable. This means, for example, that the gender binary, rigid ideas of family, and the inequalities that arise from them can be understood as systems or social orders that are not to be questioned. This side of the political spectrum is also generally seen as favoring institutions and forms of authority such as religion, the military, and the nation-state. If these traditional institutions are exclusionary to certain populations, those populations are, inevitably, less likely to be invested in them. Hence, for these reasons, while queer people can and do participate in right-wing politics, it remains meaningful to ask why, how, and under what conditions this participation becomes legible or advantageous.
Take the U.S. as an example. Political affiliation is often framed as a binary between Republicans and Democrats, with people of color, recent immigrants (especially from outside Europe), and queer people presumed to lean toward the latter. During the 2016 election, “Gays for Trump” or “Latinos for Trump” circulated as memes, frequently being treated as absurd and sometimes even captioned as “polar bears for global warming”.
The point here is that whether the intersection of queer identities and right-wing politics do clearly exist is not the question. But this crossover certainly does not fit into the most common assumptions of society and the assumptions are not completely random either. Hence, such cases do spark, I hope, one's curiosity, in the same way that “polar bears for global warming” and its variants do. Neither queerness or right-wing politics are monolithic things, and other contexts are also diverse, particularly given that we are, here, primarily talking about Japan.
Is Japan “Pink” Enough to Pinkwash?
In a sense, this shift was always going to happen. As queer individuals are included and gain rights in the society, some reach a point where they are content with the status quo.
Meaning, they gain the opportunity to be “conservative”, for example. To be “conservative” here is not a moral judgment but it is descriptive.
However, this does not happen instantly or happen completely collectively throughout society. While intersectionality is not about establishing a hierarchy of oppression, the ways identities intersect with gender, race, disability, and other axes shape experiences of discrimination and privilege, and subsequently how activism affects individuals. Institutional and societal change tends to reach those who require the least change first, as seen in the waves of feminism or LGBTQ+ activism in many parts of the world, as well as in the civil rights movement in the U.S.
Hence, in theory, as marginalized or minoritized people gain sociopolitical status, the correlation between these groups and the pursuit of change and progress may weaken. But it does not simply disappear, because marginalized or minoritized identities are not monolithic. Even in countries where same-sex marriage has existed for decades (which is not Japan), queer communities have certain associations with progressive politics, especially if you do not fit the homonormative standards. Homonormativity, adoption of heteronormative ideals and constructs onto queer (mainly homosexual) communities, also becomes the norm in the queer community itself.
This selective inclusion of queer people has also resulted in what are often described as pinkwashing or homonationalism.
LGBTQ+ progressiveness is framed as an act of social good and moral superiority, much like greenwashing. These frameworks emerged largely in contexts where LGBTQ+ rights were already legally established and could be mobilized as proof of civilizational superiority, often against those deemed “backward.” They are particularly effective in explaining phenomena in Western nations, where queer rights or existence become entangled with nationalism, such as in discourses on anti-immigration or military projects.
However, Japan does not share this premise. While I am not suggesting that Japan is the only exception, it does present a more peculiar case overall. It remains the only G7 country without nationwide same-sex marriage. Is Japan pink enough to pink-wash? Seeing gay men support parties that actively distance themselves from LGBTQ+ rights cannot simply be waved off as proof that sexuality and politics are now unrelated.
What Makes a Queer Person “Anti-LGBT”?
The right-wing politics I have discussed encompass a broad range of ideologies. In some cases, the way queer people relate to these politics is through their queerness becoming something of an exception.
One such case is the one I discussed in my previous article on Yukio Mishima. His same-sex desire is well known, yet his fascist politics were almost exclusively articulated through ultranationalism and the re-imperialization of Japan. Considering the specificity of its time and place, while his imagery does influence this intersection of right-wing politics and queer identity retrospectively, his sexuality is not central to his ideologies expressed in relation to the political spectrum.
In more recent contexts, however, there is a phenomenon I call “anti-LGBT queers,” in which individuals are not only queer and right-wing, but whose political ideology is explicitly oriented around queerness. By “anti-LGBT queer,” I do not mean opposition to their own queerness. I use “queer” in an expansive sense that does not depend on self-identification. “LGBT” refers to what they frame as “LGBTQ+ activism,” a specific ideology they oppose, to varying degrees and for different reasons.
These positions range from conservative to openly reactionary. Many of the people I focus on are active online, sometimes interacting with far-right or ultranationalist spaces. Their rhetoric often invokes protecting Japan, loving the “good old” Japan, or resisting Western intrusion. Their understanding of history is another topic I will address in future pieces, but it produces a particularly peculiar case. The rejection of LGBTQ+ activism by dismissing it as foreign, Western, or colonial is common in many non-Western contexts, especially in places that experienced colonialism. This often takes the form of a simple argument: that homosexuality, for example, is not traditional in these societies. In Japan’s case, however, a similar rejection emerges from the belief that Japan is already doing well precisely because it was, allegedly, historically tolerant.
I see “anti-LGBT” less as a stable identity and more as a phenomenon. Queer voices are absorbed into broader right-wing discourse, where their authority as queer strengthens an anti-LGBT stance that eventually becomes part of the right-wing project itself.
The Power of Tōjisha
To be “anti-LGBT” as a queer individual can be described as tōjisha politics and this concept of tōjisha is central to understanding Japanese social politics.
Tōjisha means “the person concerned” or “the party involved.” Originally a legal term, it came to describe those directly affected by an issue. In psychiatry, tōjisha-kenkyū emphasizes a peer-based, self-directed understanding of mental health issues, addictions and disabilities rather than the top-down medical authority of doctors. Over time, tōjisha became central to Japanese social discourse. The media also utilize this to refer to certain groups of people without having to identify explicitly.
For example, rather than listing “gay, lesbian, bisexual, and trans people,” coverage often refers to “tōjisha” on the respective topics such as same-sex marriage, gender-affirmative care and so on. Put simply, if you are relevant or affected by this, you are who this is about.
On one hand, its vagueness does generalize and group people into this tōjisha of this “abstract LGBT thing”, without critically thinking how each tōjisha relates to this. However, it does amplify and empower the voices of those who are directly affected by the issue and credit their experience. Tōjisha-sei (Tōjisha-ness) becomes somewhat of an assessment of who is allowed to speak with what weight, depending on their relevance to the issue.T okenism is also amplified when the token speaks with recognized authority. This also means that when members of marginalized or minoritized groups align with right-wing politics, their tōjisha-ness can fortify those positions.
This is not unique to Japan. We see it globally: women influencers telling women to stay home, politicians from immigrant families campaigning on anti-immigration. Their positionality makes their claims feel both contradictory and convincing, and it also functions as a shield. In Japan, however, tōjisha-ness is particularly pronounced. Hence, the phenomenon of anti-LGBT queer becomes rather consequential.
Tōjisha Politicians on "LGBT"
Japan has several politicians who are openly queer, mainly cis gay men, lesbian women and transgender women. When it comes to queer politics, they are tōjisha in both ways as they are queer and are also involved in politics as their profession.
One of the most familiar figures in this category is Daigo Matsuura. He is a former member of the House of Councillors and came out as gay in 2017. After years in more liberal parties, he joined the conservative Japan Innovation Party in 2022. He is now a frequent media commentator on LGBTQ-related issues and is often introduced explicitly as an “LGBT tōjisha” in politics.
Similarly, Itaru Tomita is an openly gay editor-turned-politician who is affiliated with the Conservative Party of Japan, a new party founded in 2023. Before entering politics, he was a prominent editor, best known as a former editor-in-chief of G-men. G-men was part of Japan’s vibrant gay magazine culture, though it emerged later, in the 1990s, and focused on more macho aesthetics such as gaten-kei (blue-collar worker) and kuma-kei (bear). The magazine often included erotic illustrations, pornographic manga, and erotica. As discussed in a previous article, these queer outlets were often primarily lifestyle-oriented. Later, in 2017, Tomita was also involved in the launch of the new LGBTQ+ media outlet Oriijin, which positioned itself as a magazine centered on diversity and inclusion.
Both of these politicians are openly gay, yet they express opposition to what they respectively define as the ideology of “LGBT.” The point is not to simply group them into a single category. Rather, I hope to show that being both anti-LGBT and queer is not merely an outlier within Japanese society, but a position that exists within the Japanese political scene. These two figures, though limited in number, illustrate how similar yet varied their approaches to this issue can be.
Respectability: “Not Radical Like Them”
In 2021, Matsuura published The Inconvenient Truth About LGBT: Is Media Reporting That 100% Blindly Believes Activists’ Words Really in the Public Interest? [1]. The book was positioned as a response to the wider controversy surrounding politician Mio Sugita’s remark that same-sex couples “don’t produce children,” therefore “lack productivity” and “should not receive legal protection in the same way” as others.
Matsuura was critical of this remark. However, he also argued that while inequality exists, labeling people “phobic” and amplifying outrage only deepens division. He positioned himself as a bridge between queer people and the rest of society, who might be against them.
In 2025, he published his second book, The Defeat of Liberalism: How LGBT Activists Divide Society [2], which frames LGBTQ+ activists as radical leftists who do not represent “real” tōjisha. He recounts telling former Prime Minister Shinzo Abe, “Most LGBT activists are left-wing and do not represent tōjisha.” Abe allegedly replied, “That’s why tōjisha like you need to speak.” Matsuura recalls this anecdote as the foundation of his work.
It is very clear that his tōjisha-ness is central to his opinions. What makes this particularly ironic is that Matsuura’s ability to exist publicly as a “gay politician” is because of “radical and left-wing activism”. Yet he frames activists as dangerous and socially divisive. As administrative scrivener Shibun Nagayasu described on BuzzFeed Japan, this functions as a straw-man argument [4]. By framing others as “radical activists”, he can occupy a safe, moderate, respectable position.
He also frequently uses the term shisō (ideology), or tsuyoi shisō (strong ideology), to frame certain ideologies as excessive and radical while positioning others as neutral. He has stated: “There are many people [protesting against Sugita] who also advocate abolishing the monarchy and overthrowing the Abe administration. LGBT activism is tangled with ideologies.” He repeatedly deploys this framework, suggesting that LGBTQ+ activists “have ideologies,” as if he, as a self-proclaimed conservative politician, does not.
Tomita also claims that LGBTQ+ activists or media representations work adversely against tōjisha like himself, specifically citing the prominence of effeminate gay men or trans individuals, suggesting that some queer individuals are damaging the reputation of “sexual minorities”. He once tweeted, “When can normal gay men succeed on TV?”, referring to the dominance of drag queens among queer celebrities.
And his online supporters do prove that his own portrayal is working. Comments include:
“He looks normal but he is actually gay.” [5]
“Perhaps because I had never interacted with LGBT people before in my life, my image of gay people was shaped by figures like Osugi and Peeco. I had a negative impression of them as mean-spirited, selfish, and generally unlikable. But Tomita is different. He is gentle, sincere, and very likable. If he hadn’t said so himself, I don’t think I would have realized he was gay.” [6]
Opposing the “LGBT Understanding Promotion Act”
Both Matsuura and Tomita voice their opinion on various matters, with their tōjisha-ness as a support. For instance, they were explicitly opposed to the “Act on the Promotion of Public Understanding of Diversity of Sexual Orientation and Gender Identity”, which took effect in 2023. This so-called “LGBT Understanding Promotion Act” was the result of a compromise among multiple proposals from different parties, all of which aimed to improve the lives of queer people but differed in their levels of enforcement. As a result, especially due to the opposing opinions including tōjisha, the law ultimately focused only on promoting understanding, rather than prohibiting discrimination or ensuring equality.
Taiga Ishikawa, a member of the House of Councillors from the Constitutional Democratic Party, stated that he was “engulfed by a swirl of emotions, a mixture of deep sadness, anger, and indignation,” adding that he had hoped to “see a bill passed to eliminate discrimination, including a clear prohibition of discrimination.”
Meanwhile, figures like Matsuura opposed the legislation not because it was insufficient, but because it was, in their view, “too much.”
Matsuura added, “If discrimination based on sexual orientation or gender identity is prohibited, criticism of a man who ‘self-identifies’ as female using women’s toilets could be condemned as discrimination. This could actually increase discrimination against LGBT people.”
Tomita expresses a similar point using the rhetoric of “women’s spaces” as well. A clip of German conservative politicians saying, “I’m gay, but not queer,” went viral, and Matsuura and Tomita’s positions are similar. Again, cis gay male respectability is protected by sacrificing gender-nonconforming and trans others. This also connects to a broader global discussion in which certain feminist ideologies deploy “women’s space” rhetoric, with some cisgender queer people participating and positioning themselves as “moderate.”
One issue here is that while these largely cis male anti-LGBT queer figures are concerned about being grouped together with gender-nonconforming or trans people, emphasizing their relative proximity to the “norm,” they also benefit from this broad and generalizing grouping by mobilizing their tōjisha status.
However, it would be a mistake to understand opposition to this Act among tōjisha as simply homonormative or transphobic discourse. Some people described as “trans” in Japan have historically preferred medicalized frameworks such as Gender Identity Disorder, seeing them as pathways to recognition and access to healthcare. Some are even explicitly opposed to being called “trans,” often because they feel the term becomes their identity rather than “man” or “woman.”
There are also explicitly anti-LGBT groups led by gender-nonconforming people, such as the Society of Gender Incongruence Tōjisha, whose members are often described as non-binary. While these discourses require separate and more detailed analysis, these voices have influenced the LGBT Understanding Promotion Act and form part of the broader anti-LGBT phenomenon.
Anti-LGBT ideology in Japan is more complicated than is often assumed. Anti-LGBT queers do not simply exist alongside right-wing politics. They interact with it. They are absorbed into it. Their tōjisha-ness becomes a resource that strengthens broader reactionary arguments.
Although I have discussed only two individuals here, their cases point to a narrative that is both complicated and quite common in Japan, even as the broader category of “anti-LGBT” remains expansive and internally diverse.
Same Difference, Same-Sex Marriage
These two politicians hold different views on marriage. While Tomita does not support same-sex marriage and instead favours partnership systems, Matsuura supports same-sex marriage through a constitutional amendment. The difference between their positions, however, is closer than it first appears. Tomita argues that by not using the pre-existing institution of marriage, traditional roles such as “wife,” “husband,” “mother,” and “father” would not “disappear.” He therefore views the inclusion of same-sex couples in marriage as a hijacking of the system. Matsuura, meanwhile, supports same-sex marriage, but frames it as an extension of existing norms rather than a transformation of them.
Last year, I attended a party commemorating the 10th anniversary of the legalization of same-sex marriage in the UK at the British Embassy, where I saw former MP Nick Herbert. A member of the Conservative Party, openly gay, and a leading figure in the campaign for same-sex marriage in 2012, his remarks reflecting on that period were memorable. He explained that his support for same-sex marriage did not stem from progressive values, but from a desire to uphold the traditional institution of marriage by allowing more people to participate in it. It is clearly homonormative, yet it was effective in achieving marriage equality for many.
In this sense, Matsuura, too, introduces same-sex marriage through “love is love” rhetoric that expands the definition of the traditional family. By framing other changes that are not based on traditional system like marriage as radical, his call for same-sex marriage begins to appear reasonable by comparison. Meanwhile, Tomita, on the other hand, signals his commitment to upholding tradition by emphasizing that he is not invading the space of “tradition” at all.
This might feel like a mind game and wishful thinking on my part, but I wonder whether this is a tactical attempt to convince those opposed to any form of queer activism by temporarily introducing such concepts in the most acceptable way.
Homonationalism in Japan?
However, what makes this more complicated is the mind game Matsuura is not shy about expressing: a comparison between same-sex marriage and Japan’s militarization, specifically its interpretation of the Constitution.
To provide some background, the legalization of same-sex marriage in Japan can be achieved either through a constitutional amendment or through a “reinterpretation” of the Constitution. The Constitution, of course, stands above all other laws, and in debates over same-sex marriage, before questions of justice or desirability arise, the central issue becomes whether the status quo is constitutional or not. This is why news about same-sex marriage in Japan is often phrased in terms such as “the court ruled the ban on same-sex marriage (un)constitutional.” Constitutional amendment, however, is a major undertaking and has never occurred since the current Constitution took effect in 1947. As a result, many activists and supporters of marriage equality have focused on reinterpretation instead.
Matsuura, on the other hand, endorses constitutional amendment as the sole solution. His reasoning, however, introduces an unexpected comparison to former Prime Minister Abe’s military-related actions. He argues: “One cannot denounce the Abe administration’s reinterpretation of the Constitution, which pushed forward Japan’s postwar defense policy through security legislation, as ‘evil,’ while at the same time approving reinterpretive constitutional change pursued by the left as ‘good’.” [3]
Here, he is referring to the backlash against Abe’s efforts to change the interpretation of Article 9 of the Constitution, commonly known as the Peace Clause, which states the renunciation of war, armed forces, and the right of belligerency. Abe’s reinterpretation aimed to expand the definition of self-defense to allow for greater capacity. Matsuura’s argument operates as a form of whataboutism: if such reinterpretation was not welcomed in the case of security policy, then same-sex marriage should not be welcomed either. In this framing, same-sex marriage appears as a tool to retrospectively justify Abe’s policies in an otherwise unrelated field.
This is where homonationalism becomes relevant, albeit in a different context from that in which the concept was originally developed. In its U.S.-based (and later, Western) formulation of Jasbir Puar, homonationalism describes how certain homosexual (and more broadly, queer) individuals are embraced by nationalism while also embracing nationalism themselves. In Japan, however, the dynamic looks different.
For example, aside from tōjisha figures, many non-queer right-wing politicians operating in similar spaces, including those affiliated with Matsuura’s party or with Abe, have not supported “progressive” or inclusive policies in order to capitalize on their positive image. Not enough for pinkwashing, which Puar describes as “one manifestation and practice made possible within and because of homonationalism.” While this discussion in Japan has shifted slightly following the 2023 LGBT Understanding Promotion Act, the broader image of Japan and its public is not seen to be "(selectively) embracing LGBTQ+ rights to bolster a nationalist agenda" in the way homonationalism describes, in comparison to other cases often discussed within this framework. Rather, tōjisha figures like Matsuura or Tomita navigate this space of nationalism by positioning themselves as insiders, despite being gay.
There is, however, an example of a non-tōjisha politician, at least publicly, who demonstrates a more recognizable homonationalist pattern: Tomomi Inada, a former Minister of Defense and a politician close to Abe. She became a topic of discussion for attending Tokyo Rainbow Pride in 2016, despite being known as a right-wing member of the LDP. She stated that one factor in her shift was her son befriending a trans man. More notably, she remarked:
“When I visited the United States in 2015 as chair of the LDP Policy Research Council, LGBT groups there thankfully opposed the installation of the statue symbolizing the former Japanese military’s ‘comfort women’ issue.” [7]
Inada is also one of the main figures whose explicit endorsement of the 2023 LGBT Understanding Promotion act is credited with helping it pass. Some media outlets reported that she lost conservative support as a result. Her involvement in LGBTQ-related activism, however, is strikingly explicit in its conditionality: it is closely tied to a nationalist agenda, particularly regarding historical interpretation.
These politicians demonstrate how embracing right-wing ideologies can allow individuals to cultivate political space through a form of reciprocal action. Yet beyond a limited number of cases and the very recent passage of the Act, the framework of homonationalism remains largely inapplicable in Japan, at least if we apply it in the same way it has been used to describe the United States and, later, other Western contexts.
“Japan Doesn’t Need LGBTQ+ Activism”
What unites many of these voices labeled as “anti-LGBT” is a familiar claim: Japan does not need LGBTQ+ activism like the West because Japan is or has been already tolerant, to an extent.
Matsuura states in an article:
“Regarding LGBT issues, I was once called by former Prime Minister Abe and given the opportunity to speak with him directly. At that time, Abe said, ‘Japan does not have the kind of intense discrimination against homosexuality seen in Christian cultural spheres, and wouldn’t deploying radical movements in Japan only create division?’ I share that view.
Left-wing LGBT activists often say, ‘Japan is behind,’ or ‘Japan should learn from the West,’ but in Western countries hate crimes targeting homosexuals occur one after another without end.”
The claim that Japan lacks the violent homophobia seen in Christian societies is common, even in casual conversations I have had with people working in the media here in Japan. “Japan has always been tolerant, you know?” I am often told, accompanied by a knowing smile, when I mention the topic of my interest.
This historicism is powerful. Citing premodern homoerotic culture to argue that Japan is already queer becomes a way to reject contemporary activism. It borrows decolonial language while arriving at nationalist conclusions. Matsuura frequently begins his statements with the incipit “as an LGBT tōjisha,” asserting his entitlement to speak on the issue, yet he also argues that people should “quit using English words like LGBT and use the term seiteki-shōsūsha (literally, sexual minority).” He explains:
“Grandpas and grandmas cannot keep up. With globalization, townscapes are changing, with an increasing number of foreigners. They fear that the values they cultivated will be destroyed. So they will be suspicious of ‘LGBT.’”
This pattern appears frequently in online discourse surrounding LGBTQ+ activism in Japan, especially among those who present their critiques as more “sophisticated” than earlier or more overtly hostile forms of opposition. The claim that LGBTQ+ activism is foreign, whether referring to terminology or political movements, often coexists with the argument that homosexuality or gender fluidity itself is “native,” even framed as evidence of cultural superiority.
Looking closely at anti-LGBT queer politicians reveals how exceptionalism, tokenism, respectability, and tōjisha authority intersect. There are familiar structures here that echo Western contexts, but also distinctly Japanese entanglements, particularly around the Constitution, militarism, and postwar identity.
In many discussions, queer alignment with more conservative ideologies is framed as a result of progress, suggesting that some individuals can afford not to push for further social change. While it is certainly true that an intersectional framework reveals homonormative patterns of representation, with cisgender men dominating political visibility, this phenomenon appears to have more to do with the political space that can be cultivated. It does not feel coincidental, at least from the position of a resident, that queer voices aligned with right-wing politics are more readily amplified.
Put simply, while homonationalism in Western contexts describes a conditional acceptance of queer individuals through an image of progressiveness, Japan does not benefit from such a progressive national image. Even cisgender, ethnically Japanese gay men have arguably not achieved full legal equality. Hence, in comparison to other cases, Japan is not “pink” enough to be pinkwashed?
What I have attempted here is not to justify these politicians by arguing that Japan is insufficiently queer-friendly for them to bear responsibility. Rather, I aim to show a complex case shaped by Japan’s position as a non-Western society, where frameworks such as homonationalism and pinkwashing may not apply in their original sense, yet remain useful for analysis.
Further pieces will look more closely at historical homoeroticism, trans-specific debates, and reactionary politics.
1
Title in Japanese
LGBTの不都合な真実 : 活動家の言葉を100%妄信するマスコミ報道は公共的か
2
Title in Japanese
リベラルの敗北: 「LGBT活動家」が社会を分断する
3
Daigo Matsuura, "LGBT Hō Seibi, Kotesaki ni Yareba Gyaku ni Sabetsu Jochō" (If LGBT Legal Reforms Are Done Superficially, They Can Instead Exacerbate Discrimination), Sankei Shimbun, March 9, 2023. [Japanese] (https://www.sankei.com/article/20230309-QWUXOYC24ZJMNGYM3AVQW4XHTA/)
4
Shibun Nagayasu, "‘Shinchō 45’ de Kōhyō Datta ‘Matsuura Daigo Ronbun’ o Fakuto Chekku Shite Mita" (Fact-checking the “Daigo Matsuura Essay” That Was Highly Praised in Shinchō 45), BuzzFeed News, 2018. [Japanese]
(https://www.buzzfeed.com/jp/shibunnagayasu/daigomatsuura-factcheck)
5
Uechan. tv, "Nihon Hoshutō, Fan no Tsudoi, 85-nichi-me: Nihon Hoshutō, Shin’ei Arawaru! Tomita Itaru Tōkyō Burokku, LGBT Tōjisha Kōho!" (Japan Conservative Party, Fan Gathering, Day 85: A Rising New Figure in the Japan Conservative Party! Tomita Itaru, Tokyo Block, LGBT Tōjisha Candidate!), YouTube, October 17, 2024. [Video, Japanese]
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OmXsG1I2oYA)
6
Hōzan, "Nihon Hoshutō Hirei Tōkyō Burokku 3-i Tomita Itaru-san wa Subarashii" (Japan Conservative Party Proportional Tokyo Block Third-Ranked Candidate Tomita Itaru Is Excellent), personal blog, October 17, 2024. [Blog, Japanese]
(https://ameblo.jp/houzankai/entry-12871551467.html)
7
Nozomu Takeuchi, "Rakusen Undō mo Uketa Jimin Inada Tomomi-shi ni Kiku LGBT Hōan" (Asking LDP Lawmaker Inada Tomomi about the LGBT Bill, amid an Election Defeat Campaign against Her), Mainichi Shimbun, February 19, 2023. [Japanese]
(https://mainichi.jp/articles/20230218/k00/00m/010/193000c)
