Author and gaming expert Daniel Cheng examines exactly how Japan has arrived at its current casino crossroads, with political uncertainty driving doubt over what should happen with the possible future integrated resorts.

It feels like a distant memory that the Japanese government approved its first casino resort more than 30 months ago. MGM Osaka held its groundbreaking ceremony only a few months back, coinciding with the start of the Osaka World Expo, located adjacent to the resort on the reclaimed island of Yumeshima. Yet it will still be several years before anyone drops a coin into a slot machine in Japan’s inaugural casino, now slated to open in the fall of 2030. 

By comparison, Genting had already opened its Singapore casino within that same 30-plus-month timeframe after being awarded its license. That striking disparity underscores the enormous hurdles and political complexities that have plagued casino legalization in Japan.

Two casino concessions remain unclaimed following the initial tender, which saw just two consortiums competing for three licenses, with only one managing to cross the finish line. Subsequently, the assassination of Shinzo Abe precipitated the long-ruling Liberal Democratic Party’s decline, eventually costing it its majority in both chambers of the Diet. 

This volatility was characterized by a rapid succession of leadership changes occurring more often than Lady Gaga’s concert outfit changes. Abe’s casino vision became collateral damage in the LDP’s political upheaval, putting the remaining licenses out to pasture, with the past few years offering scant sign that the cows would ever come home. Arguably one of the most unpopular pieces of legislation ever enacted, it was a measure the LDP only managed to pass during a period of Diet supermajority.

Its ‘safe’ passage provided little more than fool’s comfort and remained a potent snake in the grass for any politician snared by its charm. The bill was borne out of the conservative camp in the multi-factional LDP, whose numbers were decimated in recent elections marred by political donation scandals and the rise of alternative right-wing parties. 

That grim outlook for casino proponents on government benches meant investors who ventured to Japanese shores had largely turned their attention elsewhere.

Japan this week minted yet another new prime minister, their fourth in five years, the first time one is elected into office with a minority in both the Lower and Upper Houses. Another is the historic occasion of a female occupant in the seat. Sanae Takaichi’s family name means “high dwelling,” and she smashed the gender glass ceiling to reach the lofty, hallowed ground that was an exclusive male reserve. 

There’s a certain irony to this, as she is staunchly opposed to matrilineal succession of the Chrysanthemum Throne and married women keeping their maiden names. Faux-progressive moment aside, the dwindling band of casino proponents still clinging on by a wing and a prayer are pinning their hopes on the Hail Mary she might yet represent. 

Takaichi is the conservative lynchpin of the LDP, the party’s ideological hardliner on the right, and a self-declared custodian of Shinzo Abe’s legacy.

Here’s the nub. The pair of Integrated Resort bills became law in 2018. In a typical system of governance, implementation is thereafter handed to the administrative apparatus. This led to the approval of the Osaka concession but not without considerable public opprobrium. 

The backlash culminated in the incarceration of an LDP lawmaker, the fall of Yokohama’s mayor, and indirectly forced the resignation of Prime Minister Yoshida Suga. The licensing process then went into an indefinite embargo to limit further political fallout. While preceding leaderships found little incentive to revive it, proponents are optimistic that Prime Minister Takaichi may allow normal service to resume and restore Abe’s casino legacy from the periphery to full fruition. Indeed, the wheels have already begun to turn. 

When Shigeru Ishiba announced he was stepping aside, pundits practically penciled in Takaichi as the next pilot of the listing LDP vessel. Her expected rise seems to have jolted the bureaucracy into action, sending feelers to all prefectures and designated cities on the two remaining casino licenses, with an eye toward restarting the tender by December 2026. 

Hokkaido has already raised its hand in anticipation. With Takaichi in charge and no centrist Komeito to temper the LDP’s rightward tilt, things are about to get interesting. The real question is how far she will walk her cavalier talk while managing a minority government and keeping her party’s factions in line. She must also balance a delicate soft coalition with the Japan Innovation Party and deliver on the very tall order of twelve policy goals she promised them. 

The hand she is dealt coming into office is far tougher than those faced by Suga, Kishida, or Ishiba. Kishida lasted three years thanks to his cautious, consensus-driven style. The hawkish Takaichi is the polar opposite, with a greater predisposition toward self-inflicted political implosion. How long she can retain the hot seat may determine whether Japan approves more casino resorts, and investors will be chary of another false dawn and throwing their chips into the wind again.

A two-year runway is probably the bare minimum, and the tea leaves are nearly impossible to read without time to steep. A classic Japanese proverb sums it up: 虎穴に入らずんば虎子を得ず, or as we heathens say, fortune favors the brave. The meek need not apply.