A year ago this week, the Supreme Court of Japan issued a judgment that struck down a clause in the Nationality Act as being a violation of the Constitution. There are good reasons for everyone in Japan to celebrate that decision. While little noted outside of specialized legal journals at the time, the decision may have been the beginning of a more robust judicial protection of the right to equality in Japan.

The Nationality Act judgment was, of course, hailed as an historic decision — in part because it was only the eighth time the Supreme Court has struck down a law as unconstitutional; and in part because it would extend the benefits of nationality to tens of thousands of children born in Japan to Japanese fathers and foreign mothers who were not married. But much less noticed were the reasons of the court, and what that analysis meant for the right to equality itself.

Prior to this case, the courts of Japan employed a simplistic “reasonableness” test to determine if discrimination constituted a violation of the right to equality enshrined in Article 14 of the Constitution.

According to this test, the court would first decide whether the subject matter of the impugned law, which discriminated on the basis of some prohibited ground such as race, gender, creed, social status and the like, was an area upon which the government had the legitimate authority to legislate. If it was, and the means chosen by the law to advance the legislative purpose was rationally connected to its objective, then any discrimination it may have caused was deemed to be reasonable. It collapsed the entire analysis into a simplistic inquiry into whether the discrimination could be justified.

For example, a provision of the Civil Code limits the inheritance of illegitimate children to half that of legitimate children in the event that a parent dies without a will. This is discrimination based on family and social status, in apparent violation of Article 14 of the Constitution. The Supreme Court, in 1995, held that the objective of the law was to encourage people to marry, and to foster respect for the institution of marriage. The court reasoned that since the discrimination against illegitimate children might encourage prospective parents to marry, there was a rational connection between the objective and the means chosen, and so the discrimination was reasonable.

Now, the most insidious discrimination could be justified under this test. Indeed, something as horrendous as the Holocaust could be justified on the basis of a mere rational connection between objective and means. As such the right to equality in the Constitution of Japan, which on its face provides a strong protection against discrimination, in the hands of the courts was no protection at all.

But the Supreme Court may have finally abandoned this doctrine in the Nationality Act case of last year. The majority of the Supreme Court employed a more sophisticated analysis, looking at several key elements, and employing criteria external to the law in question. First, before examining the question of justification or “reasonableness,” the court carefully examined the nature of the discrimination itself and the harm that it caused. It explored how the provision discriminated against children on the basis of illegitimacy, and how the law not only harmed those children who were denied Japanese citizenship, but added to the stigmatization of all illegitimate children in Japan.

Turning to the question of justification, the court noted that the objective of the legislation was to ensure, as a condition of acquiring citizenship, that there is a close bond between the children born to unwed couples of mixed nationality, and the Japanese nation.

While the court accepted that the objective was legitimate, and within the scope of government authority to enact, it also concluded that the discrimination it created was not reasonable.

Yet, in its analysis of this “reasonableness,” the court employed external criteria in a manner that it had not done before. To begin with, it examined the extent to which marriage between parents was a sufficiently accurate proxy for a close bond between the child and Japan. The court concluded that, in this day and age, it was not. Marriage is simply no guarantee of where the child might live or grow up.

Moreover, the court looked to Japan’s obligations under international law to not discriminate against persons on the basis of legitimacy, as yet another yardstick for assessing the law’s reasonableness. It further inquired into whether there were alternative methods of ensuring a close bond between children and Japan, which would not discriminate on the basis of legitimacy.

Finally, the court examined the proportionality between the grievous harm caused to children by the discrimination, and the marginal benefit alleged to be gained by the legal distinction in the Nationality Act. It was only able to do this, of course, because it had initially made a careful inquiry into the nature of the discrimination and the harm that it caused, and the objective of the law itself. Each of these elements of the analysis went far beyond the “reasonable discrimination” test traditionally employed by the courts, and together form a framework that is designed to give real effect to the right to equality.

The right to be treated equally, and not to be discriminated against on the basis of personal characteristics in a manner that perpetuates unfair stereotypes and prejudice, and unjustly denies benefits or imposes burdens, is one of the most basic and profoundly important legal rights in a democracy. If the more sophisticated analytical framework employed in the Nationality Act case becomes the standard doctrine for discrimination claims, then the right to equality enshrined in the Constitution will be given new life. All minorities in Japan, not just foreigners, will benefit.

Indeed, since discrimination against the aged is one of the forms of discrimination that is prohibited by Article 14, everyone in Japan’s aging society may have good cause to celebrate the development of this new doctrine, and the re-birth of the right to equality in Japan.

Once again the issue of Japanese contributions to international security efforts is the subject of tortured debate. And once again the proposed government policy, and aspects of the debate itself, reveals fundamental misunderstanding of the relationship between Article 9 of the Constitution and the relevant principles of international law.

This time, the issue relates to maritime piracy off the coast of Somalia, and the proposed deployment of Japanese naval vessels to the area. Predictably, the issue has triggered debate over the effect of the war-renouncing provision of the Constitution. A careful analysis, however, would suggest that the Article 9 prohibition on the use of force would not apply to the deployment of naval forces, or their use of weapons, to protect shipping from pirates in international waters.

Yet, it is clear that the government policy is being formulated under the shadow of Article 9. While the ships are initially being deployed under the authority of Article 82 of the Self-Defense Forces Law, the government has drafted and submitted to the Diet a permanent anti-piracy law, and it is around this bill that debate has focused.

Opposition to the bill has centered on questions of whether the Maritime Self-Defense Force (MSDF) vessels would be permitted to assist foreign ships, what degree of relationship with Japan would be necessary to justify MSDF intervention and under what circumstances weapons could be employed against pirates.

This is quite clearly due to the influence of the government interpretation of Article 9 as prohibiting any use of force by Japan except for the purposes of “individual self-defense” — meaning the direct defense of Japan. Similarly, the opposition to the policy is being shaped by Article 9.

The criticism is that any use of force by the MSDF to defend ships of other nations would somehow constitute “collective self-defense,” which is understood to be prohibited by Article 9. Similarly, it is argued that any use of weapons for purposes other than strict self-defense would be prima facie illegitimate.

But these concerns fail to consider the true nature of the prohibition in Article 9. Paragraph 1 of Article 9 states (in part) that “the Japanese people forever renounce war as a sovereign right of the nation and the threat or use of force as a means of settling international disputes.”

The words “as a means of settling international disputes” qualify and limit the scope of the prohibition. The provision does not purport to prohibit the use of force of any kind whatsoever by the organs of the state. For instance, it clearly does not prohibit the use of force for ensuring internal security, and the Japanese police can legally use force to break up riots or armed insurrections.

The language and the drafting history of the provision clearly suggest that it was aimed at prohibiting participation in armed conflict, principally with other sovereign nations, as a means of furthering the foreign policy of the state and resolving disputes with or between other nation states. In short, the use of force contemplated by the provision is the use of military force employed against the territory and people, and the armed forces or other agents, of another state.

So the question then, is whether the deployment of the MSDF, and the possible use of armed force by the MSDF, to help prevent piracy in the Gulf of Aden, falls within the scope of this constitutional prohibition of the use of force. To answer that question, one has to understand the concept of “piracy” in international law.

Piracy has been an international crime under the Law of Nations for several centuries. The prohibition of piracy under international law is generally understood to have risen to the level of jus cogens (compelling law), meaning that it is one of the few peremptory norms from which no country may derogate.

The International Court of Justice has confirmed that pirates are to be considered the enemy of all mankind, and that any nation may, in the interest of the entire world, capture and punish those engaged in piracy.

Piracy, under most generally accepted definitions, constitutes illegal acts of violence or any other act of depredation, committed for private ends by the crew of a private ship (or aircraft), that is directed against another ship (or aircraft) on the high seas or in a place outside the jurisdiction of any state.

The key elements of this definition are that it is a criminal act, perpetrated by private individuals for personal ends, outside of the jurisdiction of any state (which, incidentally, is quite different from non-state actors engaged in terrorism, a quintessentially political activity, typically conducted within the jurisdiction of a state, and often supported or harbored in another state).

Any use of force against pirates in international waters, either to defend private shipping from their attacks or even to apprehend them and bring them to justice, cannot be construed as a use of military force for the purpose of settling international disputes. Such action does not involve the application of force against the agents of another state, the engagement in armed conflict with the forces of another state, or any other act of war. The laws of war under international law would not be triggered by the use of force against pirates, and it would not apply to such conduct.

In short, such use of force against pirates, in international waters, cannot fall within the scope of the prohibition in Article 9 of the Japanese Constitution. Now, to be sure, the MSDF would have to take care that the target of their activity legitimately fell within the definition of “pirates,” and that they were in international waters. Conducting activities in the territorial waters or on the shores of Somalia, for instance, would raise entirely different issues.

In the past, failure to sufficiently understand the applicable international law, and the relationship between such principles of international law and the proper interpretation of Article 9, has resulted in Japanese participation in international military operations that arguably violated the Constitution.

It may be understandable, therefore, that some in Japan will be apprehensive that the deployment of the military for any reason may open the door to further unconstitutional activity. And, indeed, there is a real and significant risk that such deployments of the military could be used cynically by the government to undermine the powerful norms within Japan against the use of military force.

Those concerned about this risk may be tempted in these circumstances to invoke the Constitution as a bar against the deployment against pirates. But that would be dangerously counterproductive. It would simply contribute to a process in which political forces exploit constitutional arguments for instrumentalist purposes, whether they be cynical or benign, leading to confusion and disagreement over the meaning of the Constitution, and the overall weakening of its authority.

There may be room for debate over the wisdom of deploying naval forces to defend against pirates on the high seas. The Constitution should not be part of that debate. One of the key defenses against government infringement of the actual constitutional principles is to ensure that the scope and meaning of the principles remain clearly understood and widely shared. And the government ought to ensure the integrity of the Constitution by applying its provisions consistently, and in accordance with that understanding, in the shaping of national policy.

Part III, Section 1 – Opinions and Their Premises Regarding the 4 Scenarios: the panel returns to the question of constitutional interpretation, this time explaining “The Panel’s Fundamental Understanding of Art. 9.” In section one of this part, the panel outlines its opinion and its underlying assumptions with respect to the four problems. After rehashing the changes in threats already discussed above, it articulates the two assumptions that underlie its recommendations for the minimum necessary changes to the interpretation of the Constitution. These are i) that there must be continued maintenance of pacifism and international cooperation as fundamental principles of the Constitution; and ii) even where there is the exercise of collective self-defence or collective security operations under a new national security policy, it cannot be without limits. The panel indicates that the specific limitations will be discussed in Part IV.

Part III, Section 2 – The Interpretation of Art. 9: The panel turns next to its own interpretation of Art. 9. It again summarizes the government interpretation, then begins its discussion with the assertion that in interpreting laws and the Constitution, while it may be natural to interpret the text of each provision, it is also necessary to examine the entire context of the law in its entirety, the history of its formation, the country’s national strategies, the society as a whole, the economy, and other related circumstances.

Moreover, the panel continues, in the event that a particular provision has some connection with international relations, then it is also necessary to consider the concepts and language of those provision as they are understood in international law. All of this is all the more important when it is the Constitution that is being considered. Since the features of Art. 9, such as war, use of force, individual self-defence, collective self-defence, collective security and so forth, are all international law concepts, it is impossible to interpret them without an understanding of international law and international relations.

The report concludes this section, prior to any analysis of the text, history, or international law perspectives relating to the provision, with the assertion that the government interpretation reflects the international relations of the post-war period and Cold War era, and repeats that the circumstances have changed since then.

Part III, Section 3 – Collective Self-Defence: In this section the panel finally gets to the text of Art. 9, and argues that it does not support the government interpretation that Japan, as a state, is entirely forbidden from using force in international relations. After citing the language of Art. 9, the panel draws attention to the clause “forever renounce war as a sovereign right of the nation and the threat or use of force as a means of settling international disputes”, and emphasizes that it does not contain any provision to the effect that “Japan, as a state, is completely prohibited from exercising the use of its actual capabilities in foreign relations”, but rather, only war as a sovereign right and the use of force “to resolve international disputes” is forever renounced. Thus, the argument continues, the better view is that not only individual self-defence but also the exercise of collective self-defence and collective security operations are actually outside of the scope of the prohibition. [This argument will be analyzed in detain at the end of the review of the report]

The panel argues that the concept of war renunciation in Art. 9(1) has a long history, from the Kellogg-Briand Pact, the League of Nations, the U.N. Charter, and similar instruments of international law, and in that historical development, there is not one instance of the concept including any prohibition on individual self-defence, collective self-defence, or collective security operations. On the contrary, the idea of the renunciation of war is predicated on the premise that international disputes will be resolved by peaceful measures, and by the use of force within the collective security system, through international cooperation under first the League of Nations, and later the U.N. Charter. It was part of the emergence of a system that prohibited the use of force by individual states to resolve disputes.

Looked at from this background, the panel explains, Japan, while promising unilaterally to no longer use force to resolve its own national disputes, on the other hand, ought not to take the position that it will not support international peace or participate actively in the restoration of international peace. Moreover, Art. 9 is based on the Kellogg-Briand Pact, which provided that “the High Contracting Parties solemnly declare in the names of their respective peoples that they condemn recourse to war for the solution of international controversies, and renounce it, as an instrument of national policy in their relations with one another.”

Thus, if, as already explained by the panel, it is accepted that Art. 9(1) (renouncing as a sovereign right of the nation war and the use of force for the settlement of international disputes) is not understood to prohibit collective self-defence or the participation in collective security operations, then, the first sentence of Art. 9(2), “in order to accomplish the aim of the preceding paragraph, land, sea, and air forces, as well as other war potential, will never be maintained” should be read as not prohibiting the maintenance of military forces for the purposes of self-defence and participating in collective self-defence operations. [This is the standard argument regarding the so-called ‘Ashida amendment’, which I will explain in the analysis at the end]

The panel then turns to the so-called “belligerency clause” in Art. 9(2), which provides that “the right of belligerency of the state will not be recognized.” The panel argues that this clause means that the “rights of belligerency” that are recognized in international law will not be recognized, and in particular, this means that the rights in international law relating to the commencement of war, termination of war, and so forth will not be recognized. This is, the panel explains, quite natural given the renunciation of “war as a sovereign right of the nation” in Art. 9(1), but the clause is thought of as a confirmation of that provision. Continuing, the panel blithely asserts that, on the other hand, it is clear that the “right of belligerency” that are not recognized in this provision are not the rights and obligations in the international humanitarian law in the 1949 Geneva Conventions and similar instruments. [This argument is manifestly incorrect, and will be addressed in some detain in the discussion at the end]

Part III, Section 4 – The conditions for the exercise of the right to self-defence: As touched on in Part I, the government has formerly established three conditions for the exercise of the right to self-defence under Art. 9, namely: 1) the existence of an imminent and unjustified invasion (shingai) of Japan; 2) there are no other appropriate means of repulsing the invasion; and 3) the exercise of the right stops at the minimum necessary level of the use of force (jitsuryoku, as opposed to buryoku, or armed force, as is used in Art. 9 itself). However, the first condition obviously assumes only the right of individual self-defence. But if collective self-defence is also recognized, then this condition needs to be changed. The panel also notes that the concept of “imminent unjustified invasion”, is obviously different from the condition precedent for the exercise of self-defence pursuant to the provisions of the U.N. Charter. Art. 51 of the U.N. Charter reflects the history of abuse of the right to self-defence prior to World War II, under the ambiguous condition of “imminent invasion”. Thus, in Art. 51 of the Charter the condition for exercise of the right was limited to the occurrence of an “armed attack”. But, the panel continues, if for some reason the U.N. Charter does not apply [i.e. the condition has not been satisfied], it does not mean that there can be scope for the right of self-defence under customary international law, in response to an “imminent unjust invasion” or a “use of force not reaching the level of armed attack” and so forth, and that fact is recognized in international court decisions. But, the panel concedes, this is restricted to extremely limited situations.

With respect to this problem, the panel explains, there is an argument in Japan based on the concept of “minor right of self-defence”, but this term is also ambiguous, and has not received sufficient international understanding. The panel goes on to note that, in the context of this concept, the exercise of the right to self- defence in Japan is predicated on the issuance of an order for the mobilization of defence forces, and the mobilization of the SDF is subjected the onerous procedural pre-conditions of there having been passage of a UNSC Resolution, and in addition, prior approval of the legislature. The panel argues that all of this means that in an urgent situation, it will not be possible for Japan to respond appropriately prior to the issuance of the command for mobilization of the military. These procedures are not thought to effectively respond to ballistic missile attack, terrorism, and other such new threats, and there ought to be consideration given to a legal system that can promptly and effectively respond to such threats.

Part III, Section 5 – The Possession and Use of the Right of Collective Self-Defence, and the Concept of International Dispute: The panel begins this section by noting that the government position on collective self-defence, as first stated on March 31, 1960, is that in terms of the core sense of the concept of deployment abroad to defend some other country, collective self-defence is not recognized in Japan’s Constitution. But the panel argues that in terms of the other aspects of the concept, the government has not made clear statements, notwithstanding the inconsistency of its position with academic theory. The current government view of collective self-defence was first stated in a committee meeting of the Diet on October 14, 1972, and was reiterated on May 29, 1981 in the following language:

It is therefore self-evident that since it is a sovereign state, Japan has the right of collective self-defense under international law. The Japanese government nevertheless takes the view that the exercise of the right of self-defense as authorized under Article IX of the Constitution is confined to the minimum necessary level for the defense of the country. The government believes that the exercise of the right of collective self-defense exceeds that limit and is not, therefore, permissible under the Constitution. [This translation of the government position appears in Richard J. Samuels, Securing Japan (2007)]

The panel then asks the question, how should one consider the relationship between the “possession” of a right and the “exercise” of the right? In the context of its recognition of the right to self-defence, while not recognizing the ability to exercise the right of collective self-defence, the government has not done enough to explain the precise grounds for its position, and thus has not sufficiently obtained the understanding of the people.

Moreover, the panel continues, the term “international disputes” in the clause “as a means of resolving international disputes” in Art 9(1), relates to the renunciation of the use of armed force by Japan as an individual state for the purpose of resolving international disputes to which it has become a party. This must be distinguished from circumstances in which Japan, acting under the framework of the U.N. and through international peacekeeping activity, cooperates to resolve an international dispute between third countries, as anticipated in by the preamble of the Constitution, which provides that “We believe that no nation is responsible to itself alone…”.

In the final section of this Part, the panel simply summarizes the foregoing. In Part IV, it makes its specific recommendations regarding the four scenarios under examination, and other related matters, which I will review briefly in the next post. The next post will also engage in a critical analysis of the arguments that the panel has provided, particularly those in Part III on the interpretation of Art. 9.

The report of the “Panel on the Reconstruction of the National Security Legal Foundation,” commonly known as the Yanai Report, argues that a reinterpretation of Article 9 of the Constitution is necessary to permit Japan to participate in collective self-defense and collective security operations. Both activities are currently understood to be prohibited by Article 9, Section 1. The report reveals, however, a fundamental flaw that entirely undermines the legitimacy of the panel’s analysis.

The panel was created in April 2007 by then-Prime Minister Shinzo Abe to consider the need for a “reinterpretation” of the Constitution. The panel was composed of 13 prominent academics, former diplomats and government bureaucrats who were predominantly experts in international relations, politics and national security. It included only one constitutional scholar. The panel was criticized for being dominated by policy hawks who were on record as favoring constitutional revision. The chair, Yanai Shunji, a former ambassador to the U.S. and now a professor of Chuo University, submitted the panel’s report to the Cabinet in June.

Then Prime Minister Yasuo Fukuda showed little interest in the report or constitutional “reinterpretation.” But Prime Minister Aso reiterated while at the United Nations that Article 9 should be “reinterpreted.” Moreover, there is evidence that the Yanai Report has been well received within the bureaucracy, and is likely to exercise increasing influence within government. It should therefore be the subject of greater public scrutiny.

The report argues that because the international security environment has changed since the end of the Cold War, with increased threats and more diverse threats to Japan and the international society, the established interpretation of the Constitution is no longer appropriate. Rather, Article 9 is preventing the fulfillment of important security objectives.

Thus, it argues, the interpretation of Article 9 must be “revised” so as to permit the development of a more effective defense capability and more robust national security policies. This is necessary in order to implement the strategic imperatives of effectively defending Japan, supporting the U.S.-Japan alliance, which is key to Japanese security, and contributing to the international peace and security to which Japan’s security is tied. Boiled down to its essence, the argument is this: Japan faces more threats; therefore, the meaning of Article 9 must be changed so that we can better meet those threats.

The policy analysis is commendable, but as constitutional analysis, the argument is fallacious. The entire approach of beginning with an identification of the problems posed by current circumstances, moving to a determination of the policy responses necessary to resolve those problems, and then concluding with an interpretation of a constitutional provision so as to facilitate the adoption of such policies, is entirely illegitimate.

Constitutional interpretation, under any accepted constitutional theory, cannot begin with the consequences and policy ramifications of a given provision and then proceed to reverse-engineer the meaning of the provision in a manner designed to enable the realization of the desired policy outcomes. Such result-oriented reasoning is simply invalid. And notwithstanding assertions within the report to the contrary, this is precisely what the panel has done.

A constitution forms the fundamental legal framework of a democratic state. Its provisions commit future generations to operate within the confines of the system thus created, and according to the values and vision that it embodies. The meaning of a constitutional provision has to be determined by reference to the text of the provision itself, and an understanding of the purpose that it was designed to achieve. That process is assisted by reference to other parts of the constitution, and an examination of the history of the drafting and ratification of the constitution, informed by the legal principles that were drawn upon in the process.

The subsequent interpretation of the provision by the courts and other government bodies with the requisite constitutional authority, and its operation over time, are also important guides to interpretation, as consistency, stability and predictability in the operation of fundamental legal principles are crucially important to the rule of law.

There are different theories of constitutional interpretation, some more wedded to the text and the original intent of the framers than others. Some approaches emphasize that the constitution is a living institution that will evolve gradually over time through incremental developments in court interpretations, in accordance with the shifting values and realities of the nation. But none of them contemplate ad hoc and radical government reinterpretation of provisions to fit perceived policy needs.

If there is such significant change to the nation’s circumstances that the continued legitimacy of a constitutional provision is thrown into question, then the appropriate avenue is constitutional amendment. Changing circumstances and even changing values are obviously anticipated, and amending procedures are typically part of the constitutional system. The Constitution of Japan is no exception, and it has an amendment process that is less onerous than those of Germany and the United States.

Ad hoc “reinterpretation,” particularly by the executive, is just an end run around the legitimate amendment procedures of the Constitution.

If the view is that the majority of the nation would not support such an amendment, then that simply highlights the illegitimacy of trying to impose a new meaning on the Constitution that the majority of the people would disagree with. At root, the argument that “the situation has changed, so we must change the Constitution” is perfectly valid; the argument that “the situation has changed, so the meaning of the Constitution must have changed” is not.

If the government can simply “reinterpret” Article 9 due to changing circumstances, why not other provisions? As the number of immigrants in Japan increases in response to the challenges of an aging population, could the government not also “reinterpret” Article 14 as no longer prohibiting discrimination against foreigners? A “reinterpretation” of any one provision puts the entire constitutional framework at risk. Of course, the courts have the ultimate authority to interpret the Constitution and could reject such “reinterpretations,” but the Supreme Court of Japan has historically demonstrated such deference to the government that it cannot be relied upon in this context.

Consider the issue of guns in the U.S. Many Americans, and probably most of the rest of the world, think it misguided to have a constitutional provision guaranteeing an individual right to possess firearms in a country that has the highest homicide and violent crime rates in the industrialized world. The provision itself, the Second Amendment, was ratified more than 200 years ago. It is considered by many to be anachronistic and a significant obstacle in efforts to reduce the modern scourge of gun violence in America.

Yet it is utterly inconceivable that the president or Congress could announce that it was “reinterpreting” the Second Amendment so as to permit the legal prohibition of all firearms. And the Second Amendment is much more ambiguous and has a much more complex history than Article 9. It would be open to argue, as the District of Columbia did recently before the Supreme Court, that based on valid principles of constitutional construction, an alternate interpretation is more legitimate. But governments cannot simply claim that the Second Amendment now means something different because guns kill too many people in America.

The Yanai Report provides an important analysis of the changing international security environment, and provides a concise articulation of Japan’s strategic policy requirements. It asks important questions regarding whether it is possible for Japan to meet its national security objectives within the constraints of Article 9.

It also offers significant arguments that could be legitimately advanced in favor of constitutional amendment. The report even provides fairly detailed and impressive recommendations on the legal limits that should be created to govern the exercise of military force that would be made possible by its recommended changes. The report has considerable value as a policy document.

However, its conclusion that Article 9 must thus have a meaning different from the long-established interpretation is simply invalid. The panel makes errors in some of the details of its interpretive arguments, but these are dwarfed by the illegitimacy of the entire approach.

As such, notwithstanding the potential value of its policy analysis, the report ought not to have any influence whatsoever on the meaning of the Constitution. And government attempts to follow it ought to be challenged.

The Japanese government wants permanent legal authority to send military forces overseas. Letting it have it would be a mistake for many reasons, but one seldom raised is the impact the move would have on the nature of Japan’s democracy. A law conferring permanent authority to deploy troops would eliminate important institutional checks and balances on the government’s use of the military, causing a further weakening of the separation of powers in Japan.

It would also run counter to the recent trend in other democracies to increase accountability in the process of deciding to use armed force.

As it stands now, the government (meaning the executive branch, the Cabinet) has to have specific legislation passed by the Diet, such as the Anti-Terrorism Special Measures Law (the ATSML), to obtain the required legal authority to deploy troops outside of Japan. A new law is required each and every time the government wants to dispatch the Self-Defense Forces (SDF), whether for the purpose of U.N. peacekeeping or to provide humanitarian support for collective security operations such as those in Afghanistan.

Such legislation establishes the operating parameters, such as limiting the SDF to noncombat zones and defining the conditions under which it may use force in self-defense, and typically specifies clear time limits for the deployment. New legislation is also required to extend the time limits of such laws before they expire.

The government was embarrassed last year by its inability to get Diet approval for an extension of the ATSML for another year, forcing it to withdraw the SDF from the Indian Ocean.

The government, and many policy pundits, believe that the requirement to obtain legislative approval for each deployment is cumbersome, time-consuming, and when the opposition controls one chamber of the Diet, a real obstacle to the implementation of policy. So it now wants a permanent law that would provide blanket authorization for the deployment of the SDF for participation in what it calls “international cooperation activities.”

The term “international cooperation activities” (which also appears in the Liberal Democratic Party’s proposed amendment to Article 9 of the Constitution) has no meaning under international law. It could be used to describe collective self-defense, or collective security operations authorized by the United Nations Security Council, both of which are understood to be prohibited by Article 9.

It could even include such operations as the invasion of Iraq, which was not authorized by the U.N. and is widely interpreted as having been an act of aggression in violation of international law.

Since the term is deliberately ambiguous, the law authorizing such “international cooperation” would have to provide broad and ambiguous criteria justifying the dispatch of the SDF. There would be no narrow parameters tailored to the specific circumstances for which the SDF were to be deployed, as have characterized the “special measures” laws authorizing each SDF deployment in the past. It would be tantamount to a blank check.

Such a blank check would eliminate the role of the legislature in the process of deciding upon and approving Japan’s involvement in military operations abroad. Nor would the legislature have any power to block or otherwise restrain government after it has decided to deploy Japanese troops. The Cabinet would have authority to make the determination, in its sole discretion, as to whether the operation for which it sought to deploy Japanese troops met the criteria in the permanent law. Moreover, without a specific law setting the limits within which the SDF is required to operate, there would be no restraints on “mission creep” in which operations could develop into actual combat activity and escalate over time.

Advocates of the new law assert that the permanent law would not be for engaging in armed conflict, but only to authorize the dispatch of the SDF for humanitarian support efforts. But these assertions are both hollow and disingenuous. Given the language of “international cooperation,” the SDF could be deployed for almost any purpose the government decides upon.

In the recent past, when there have been special laws both authorizing and limiting SDF operations, the SDF has been found to have violated the limits of those laws (as with the ASDF operations in Iraq), the government has tried to dismiss legal findings to that effect (as in its response to the Nagoya High Court case on ASDF operations in Iraq), and the SDF itself has tried to deceive both Cabinet and the Diet regarding such violations (as in the MSDF misrepresentations regarding the fueling of U.S. naval assets in the Indian Ocean).

Given this recent record, why should anyone think that eliminating such legal restraints and legislative oversight would not lead to even more unrestrained use of the military, in ways that may be utterly inconsistent with the Constitution?

Nor could the courts be relied upon to review such decisions as a check on government action. The courts are considered to be the third branch of government in the traditional separation of powers that is at the foundation of the modern democratic structure. In Japan, however, they have abdicated all responsibility for reviewing the executive’s decisions with respect to the development and deployment of troops. The Supreme Court long ago held that such issues are “too political” to be the subject of judicial review, even where the government action is inconsistent with Article 9 of the Constitution.

The Supreme Court has also narrowed the test for standing, the legal basis upon which constitutional claims may be brought before the courts, to such a degree that using the courts to review government deployment of troops is all but impossible. There are virtually no circumstances in which anyone could demonstrate the “direct legal interest” necessary to advance a claim that would be accepted by the courts.

Lower courts have recently followed precisely these standards in dismissing a number of challenges to the deployment of the SDF to support operations in Afghanistan and Iraq. As the recent Nagoya High Court decision demonstrated, the lower courts will continue to dismiss such claims even when they believe the government’s action is unconstitutional. Notwithstanding the judiciary’s constitutional authority and responsibility, it will thus be no check on executive acts in this regard.

This elimination of checks on the executive power to engage in armed conflict runs counter to recent trends in other democracies around the world. Over the last 30 years there has been a movement toward greater transparency and democratic accountability in the process of deciding to use armed force.

The United States has always had a constitutional provision granting Congress the power to declare war and to confer authority for other actions incidental to armed conflict, though the exact scope of that authority has been hotly debated for over a hundred years. But after presidents began more aggressively ignoring the congressional authority, beginning with the Korean war and culminating in secret operations in Laos and Cambodia during the Vietnam war, Congress passed the War Powers Act to try to reign in the executive power.

While the war powers of the president and Congress continue to be controversial, it is worth noting that the president obtained specific congressional authority for the Gulf War in 1990, for the response to 9/11 that culminated in the invasion of Afghanistan, and for the invasion of Iraq.

In Germany, the Constitutional Court was called upon to consider the issue in the context of Germany’s participation in the North Atlantic Treaty Organization’s operations in the former Yugoslavia in 1994. The court rather creatively interpreted the Basic Law as requiring the government to obtain specific legislative approval each and every time it sought to deploy armed forces in support of international operations. That continues to be the constitutional principle that governs German policy today.

Similarly, Prime Minister Gordon Brown has recently suggested constitutional changes for Britain, introducing the concept of requiring parliamentary approval of decisions to engage in armed conflict. Under the British constitutional system the decision to go to war has traditionally been within the scope of the “Royal Prerogative,” meaning the sole discretion of the executive. That broad discretion of course contributed to such historic policy blunders as the conspiracy with France and Israel for the orchestrated attack on Egypt in the Suez crisis of 1956, which was decided upon without any informed parliamentary debate.

Canada, which has historically also operated under the Royal Prerogative, has more recently begun the practice of submitting decisions to participate in armed conflict to parliament for debate and approval. There was parliamentary debate before the final decision to participate in the first Gulf War in 1991, and there was legislative approval sought again this year for continued Canadian involvement in Afghanistan.

There are other examples that together establish the clear trend in the world’s democracies to broaden legislative participation in the decision to use armed forces. That seems only reasonable, since the decision to engage in armed conflict is one of the most important and potentially significant a nation can make.

It may be cumbersome to obtain legislative approval for deploying military forces overseas, but that is as it should be. It is not a decision that should be made lightly. It should be made after well informed debate, with a clear understanding of objectives and limits.

Japan, more than most countries, ought to have a deep understanding of the horrors that can unfold from granting one branch of government a blank check to make decisions about war and peace, and how international “incidents” can develop into full-blown wars.

The government’s recent high-handed dismissal of the Nagoya High Court judgment on the constitutionality of SDF operations in Iraq is just one more reminder of why it is essential to have meaningful and substantive democratic constraints on the executive power to use armed force in Japan.

Providing the government a blank check for the dispatch of the SDF is going in the wrong direction, and swimming against the tide.