Photo/Illutration Farm minister Taku Eto at a news conference in Tokyo on May 20 (The Asahi Shimbun)

The recent gaffe by farm minister Taku Eto has led me to ponder the delicate relationship between politics and humor, or more precisely, between politicians and their urge to appear relatable or entertaining.

Eto's off-the-cuff claim that he had “never purchased rice” because supporters regularly send him bags of it triggered immediate outrage. He first tried to mollify critics by saying he had been “just trying to be funny.”

After a sharp rebuke from Prime Minister Shigeru Ishiba, however, the minister struck a different note. Speaking in the Diet on May 20, Eto conceded, “This is no laughing matter.”

As a comedy enthusiast myself, I can’t help but want to tell him: not to underestimate the craft.

Comedy is not something to be taken lightly—least of all by those who aren’t professionals. Earning a genuine laugh from a large audience requires skill, timing and sensitivity. And doing so without offending anyone? That’s a rare and difficult art.

So why do politicians risk humor despite the potential pitfalls? One reason may be the desire to appear warm and approachable—to humanize themselves and win over voters.

Another, perhaps simpler, explanation is that getting a laugh just feels good.

Yet time and again in recent years, we’ve seen cases like Eto’s: offhand attempts at humor that backfired spectacularly, sparking public outrage and, in some instances, costing politicians their careers.

In the May 20 parliamentary session, Eto offered an additional explanation, claiming his remark reflected the dialect of his native Miyazaki Prefecture.

In local speech, he said, the phrase “I’ve got so much of it, I could sell it” is commonly used to indicate an abundance of something.

However, the controversial comment—“I have so much rice in my pantry that I could sell it”—was not made in Miyazaki but in Saga Prefecture. There, the response was swift and unforgiving.

As reported by The Asahi Shimbun, local farmers voiced their outrage. “What an idiot,” one was quoted as saying. “He should be sacked.”

In “Manzai Kajo Kosatsu” (An excessive analysis of Japanese-style comedy), Kuruma Takahira—half of a comedy duo—explores how comedic styles in Japan differ by region, shaped by geography and local culture.

In Kyushu, which includes both Miyazaki and Saga prefectures, humor tends to take the form of informal, convivial banter rather than polished stage performance.

This so-called “southern comedy” is distinct from more structured traditions like manzai routines performed at traditional “yose” comedy theaters or Yoshimoto Shinkigeki, the scripted theatrical comedy performed by entertainers from Yoshimoto Kogyo Holdings Co.

In Kyushu-style comedy, the “boke”—the “fool” or funny man known for absurd or silly remarks in the manzai tradition—typically drives the exchange.

When a joke begins to push boundaries or offend, the “tsukkomi”—the “straight man,” whose role is to correct or react—often avoids breaking the flow by lightly defusing the moment with a line, “That’s just the kind of guy he is,” preserving the friendly atmosphere rather than directly calling it out.

But in Eto’s case, the joke crossed a line. At a time when rice prices remain stubbornly high, his flippant tone and seeming lack of urgency reflect a deeper detachment from the realities.

His bid for a laugh wasn’t merely poorly timed—it underscored a more serious lapse in judgment. And no, this isn’t something that can be waved off with a casual, “That’s just the kind of guy he is.”

—The Asahi Shimbun, May 21

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Vox Populi, Vox Dei is a popular daily column that takes up a wide range of topics, including culture, arts and social trends and developments. Written by veteran Asahi Shimbun writers, the column provides useful perspectives on and insights into contemporary Japan and its culture.

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