For most of the postwar period, Japan has been a paragon of political stability among industrial democracies. Since the formation of the conservative Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) in 1955, Japan has enjoyed remarkable political continuity. With the exception of less than a year of opposition government in the early 1990s, the LDP has ruled Japan for more than half a century.

This past summer, following the July elections for the Upper House of Japan's parliament (the Diet), Japan entered a new era of political uncertainty. The opposition Democratic Party of Japan (DPJ) won control of the Upper House in a stunning defeat for the LDP. For the first time, control of the Diet is split--the ruling coalition of the LDP and the Komeito Party still control the lower house that determines the formation of the government. Passage of basic legislation now gives rise to intense political battles. There is widespread anticipation that the LDP will be forced to carry out early elections for the lower house next spring, opening the door to the possibility that the opposition could come to power in Japan.

The election results surprised many observers, who were blinded by the LDP's massive victory in the 2005 lower house elections, under the leadership of then-Prime Minister Junichiro Koizumi. Koizumi had called a snap election around the issue of reforming the postal savings system, but that success was an aberration from a long-term trend of declining support for the LDP that grew during the 1990s. Increasingly, Japanese saw the party as a hostage to special interests and their allies in the bureaucracy who have used the budget to fund wasteful pork barrel projects--Japan's own "bridges to nowhere"--particularly in rural areas. Younger urban and suburban voters who favor deregulation and reform had come to see the LDP as an obstacle to needed change.

Koizumi, who came to power as prime minister in 2001, single-handedly reversed this downward trend of support. He developed a strong personal following, an appeal that came in large part from positioning himself as a maverick reformer who ran against his own party and against the opposition in equal measure. His five years in office were a testament to his charisma and ability to rise above the system that brought him to power.

Unfortunately for the LDP, this appeal does not seem to extend beyond Koizumi. After leaving office in 2006, he was replaced by Shinzo Abe, an LDP conservative who typified the party's long history of rule, in that he is the grandson of a former prime minister and the son of a former cabinet minister. Abe's policy agenda largely ignored the concerns of Japanese voters about the failing social welfare system and the impact of global competition, and instead favored conservative themes such as "patriotic" education and the revision of the postwar American-imposed constitution.

Voters decisively repudiated Abe, his agenda, and his party in the Upper House vote. The opposition DPJ, led by the wily former LDP leader Ichiro Ozawa, emphasized economic reform, as well as relief for those in rural and urban Japan who are falling behind. The DPJ's election manifesto focused on pension reforms--bolstered by a scandal of tens of millions of lost pension records--price supports for farmers, subsidies for families with children, and a crackdown on wasteful government spending.

The election result triggered Abe's resignation and in September 2007, he was replaced by his LDP rival Yasuo Fukuda. The new premier has managed, temporarily, to halt the massive slide in the government's support. Ozawa's mistakes have helped in this task. The DPJ, mainly for reasons of the legislative calendar, chose a foreign and security policy issue--the reauthorization of Japan's naval mission in the Indian Ocean in support of the U.S.-led "war on terrorism"--as the first test of strength. The DPJ has opposed this mission, arguing that Japan should not deploy forces overseas except in support of United Nations authorized operations.

This water was further muddied when Ozawa emerged from a series of meetings with Fukuda to announce his support for a deal on the maritime mission, tied to the formation of a "grand coalition" to govern Japan. The coalition proposal was reportedly offered by Fukuda and seemed to acknowledge the LDP's weakness. Ozawa's willingness to embrace this deal puzzled most observers and his own party repudiated him. Over the span of a few days, Ozawa resigned his party leadership and then agreed to come back to the post after issuing a public apology for his actions. Polls show that Ozawa suffered a significant loss of support from a public that is increasingly eager for change. But Fukuda is also very vulnerable. Among other things, the LDP is now stung with a growing scandal over questionable deals with defense contractors.

The Japanese Diet and political scene are now poised for months of battles over a range of policy issues, most of them related to domestic policy and the budget, rather than foreign policy. The DPJ, with a chastened Ozawa back at the helm, is apparently ready to use its control of the Upper House to challenge the ruling party coalition. Political uncertainty is now likely to be a dominant feature of Japanese life for months, if not years, to come.

There is no consensus as to what outsiders can or should do in response to the dire situation inside Burma (Myanmar). At least that was the impression left by a vigorous discussion at a standing-room-only event convened by SEAF on October 18, 2007 on "Burma's Crisis: What Should Outsiders Do?"

Reviewing the protests that broke out in Burma in August 2007, swelled into mass demonstrations for democracy, and were brutally repressed by the junta in September-October, Maureen Aung-Thwin, who heads the Open Society Institute's Burma Project, argued for targeted sanctions. In her view, for example, cutting the flow of tourists to Burma would be less effective than spotlighting China's ties to the junta in the run-up to the 2008 Beijing Olympics, when Chinese leaders would be especially sensitive to embarrassment. But if positive change could be achieved through engagement, that too would be worth trying, in her estimation.

Zarni, an author, activist, and visiting research fellow at Oxford University, differed from Aung-Thwin in recommending constructive and coordinated engagement. And whereas she thought that the political situation inside Burma, if it were to change at all, could change rapidly, Zarni argued that "gradual change is the only solution." Yet just as Aung-Thwin welcomed engagement, if that could promote democracy, protect human rights, and reduce the suffering of Burmese, so was Zarni amenable to sanctions if they could effectively serve such ends.

The willingness of both speakers to entertain a range of options reflected the difficulty of inducing change in Burma from the outside, and the corresponding inclination to be eclectic about options. One speaker from the floor went so far as to suggest that only physical intervention from the outside could end the repression. But of all the proposals suggested, that one appeared to be by far the least realistic.

Several speakers urged that China, India, and/or the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) be persuaded to put pressure the regime. But there was little faith in the room that Burma's immediate neighbors would sacrifice their economic interests, including access to Burma's natural gas, for the sake of promoting political reform. The sense of pessimism prevailing in the room prompted one person in the audience to suggest later that all one could hope to do was extend humanitarian aid to the Burmese people and wait for political reforms that might never arrive.

Suharto's authoritarian "New Order" regime in Indonesia unraveled quickly in 1998. Aung-Thwin recalled a conversation she had had that year with an expert on Indonesia. He had told her he expected the New Order to last a long time. Three weeks later, Suharto resigned.

Aung-Thwin offered this anecdote by way of suggesting that events in Burma, too, could someday catch observers by surprise. Also surprising, in view of this discussion, would be the effectiveness of any external action, on the full spectrum from sanctions to engagement, to induce the democratization of Burma.

The Asia Society Northern California and the Center for Southeast Asian Studies at the University of California-Berkeley co-sponsored this event with Stanford's SEAF. Of course none of the three is responsible for the opinions expressed on the panel or during the Q and A.

The opportunity to engage Kim Jong-il, the leader of the Democratic Peoples Republic of Korea (DPRK), in serious dialogue is inherently attractive. A face-to-face meeting with Kim has the potential to break through a fog of misperception and mistrust.

Given the nature of the DPRK system, the key decisions can only be made at the very top of the pyramid of power. One summit encounter is therefore potentially more valuable then scores of ministerial meetings or talks among senior officials.

These opportunities have unfortunately been extremely rare. Despite some 35 years of intermittent dialogue going back to the South-North talks held in 1972, this would mark only the second time the top leaders of divided Korea have met each other.

The hope for momentum created by the historic meeting of President Kim Dae-jung with Kim Jong-il in Pyongyang in June 2000 swiftly dissipated, disappointing many Koreans.

This may appear to be the right moment to restore the impetus to the North-South summitry. Since the 2000 summit, the process of engagement between the Koreas has deepened dramatically, ranging from extended contacts among officials to the flow of tourists, at least from the South to the North, across the border.

Economic exchanges are widespread, from the Gaeseong industrial park to a growing trade in goods. And the six-party talks to reach an agreement to dismantle the DPRK's nuclear program are at least moving forward, in large part due to the resumption of direct diplomatic negotiations between Pyongyang and Washington.

There are serious reasons, however, to question whether this is the right time for a second inter-Korean summit.

First and foremost, President Roh Moo-hyun is, in every sense of the word, a lame duck. When the summit was scheduled to take place, it was less than three months until the presidential election.

The election campaign is unusually uncertain, with the ruling party and its allies still in the process of selecting their nominee. Polls indicate that a change in leadership --bringing the opposition Grand National Party to power -- is very possible.

While he remains in office, President Roh has every right to exercise his authority and leadership. But given the political uncertainties, and the vital nature of inter-Korean relations, it would seem imperative to secure bipartisan support not only for the summit but also for the policy outcome.

For any gains to be meaningful, there should be some assurance that these policies will continue in place whomever succeeds as president.

Without that broad support, charges that the summit meeting is motivated more by domestic political considerations gain credence.

Even worse, Pyongyang's decision to agree to hold the summit may also be a crude attempt on its part to try to influence the ROK election in favor of the progressive camp. Even if these charges are not true, they undermine the value that this summit may have to shape a long-term future for the peninsula.

The timing of the summit is also problematic because the nuclear negotiations with the DPRK have reached a very delicate moment.

The temporary halt to the operation of the nuclear reactor at Yongbyon and the reintroduction of international inspectors was an important gesture.

But the DPRK has not yet clearly decided to irreversibly disable its nuclear facilities and fully disclose its nuclear programs and arsenals.

The Roh administration claims this summit will reinforce this negotiation. But it also has declared that the nuclear issue will not be on the summit agenda. In the absence of a dismantlement deal, this summit may only serve to recognize the DPRK's claim to the status of a nuclear power.

But all of these problems of timing take a back seat, in my view, to the location of the inter-Korean summit. Kim Jong-il committed himself, in the 2000 joint declaration, to a return visit to Seoul. This was not a trivial matter -- it was perhaps the most difficult issue in the talks, as Kim Dae-jung said upon return to Seoul.

Everyone understands the historic significance of a visit by Kim to Seoul. It would finally signal the DPRK's acceptance of the legitimacy of the ROK and its leadership and the abandonment of its historic aim to force unification under its banner.

The DPRK leadership would be compelled to show its own people images of their leader in the glittering streets of Seoul. That visit alone could go much farther than any peace declaration, any agreement on boundaries, any military confidence-building measures, or any economic investment deals, toward bringing a permanent peace to the Korean Peninsula.

If this summit had occurred in the right place, then the issues of timing would be incidental. No one could object to a breakthrough of that magnitude. Unfortunately, Kim Jong-il was not pressed to live up to his commitment. If this meeting achieves anything, it should make it clear that the next summit will only be held in Seoul.