Discussing the significance of the 228 Incident is a vexed enterprise. It remains a polarizing issue, a fact that is reflected in the name itself.
The basic details of the fatal clash in Taipei that triggered islandwide violence in February 1947 are generally well known. Government officials apprehended a woman selling contraband, and her rough treatment sparked anger among passers-by, who came to her defense. One of the passers-by was shot and the agents fled, leaving behind a crowd of people seething over not only the killing but also more than a year of gross misrule by the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT). They were determined to see justice served.
From there the situation quickly degenerated into a general collapse of law and order. After reinforcements arrived from China, a more calculated massacre took place. In particular, elite Taiwanese figures who had attempted to restore order and negotiate reform of government policies and procedures were massacred.
What is not so well known is that the triggering incident took place on Feb. 27, not Feb. 28. At the time, the “incident” was named “228” by the government and the media to reflect the dramatic increase in bloodshed the following day — and apportion responsibility for the havoc to various groups of demonstrators and rioters, not government agents and policies.
Later in Taichung, a rebel militia expressed its anger on this very issue by naming itself the “27 Unit.” The militia eventually dispersed, but not before claiming many Nationalist casualties in battles near Puli Township (埔里) in present-day Nantou County.
Even today, 228 is a complex issue with few easy answers, but the biggest problem — reflected in the misnaming of the entire affair — is that there remains no accountability.
Family members of victims have received a degree of cash compensation for their sufferings, but no perpetrator has ever been brought to justice, except perhaps for executive administrator Chen Yi (陳儀), whose misrule fed hatred of the KMT.
Ironically, Chen was executed on the orders of Chiang Kai-shek (蔣介石) for negotiating with the Communists after he returned to China; fortuitously for the refugee KMT government, his public execution in Taipei in 1950 allowed the authorities to disingenuously place the bulk of responsibility for misrule in Taiwan on his shoulders.
For most victims and their families, rage and sorrow were suppressed over the subsequent decades of martial law. This, together with the passage of time and the lack of unified sentiment, has meant that 228 remains an opportunity for exploitation by people of all political stripes, but particularly hardline KMT elements, who to this day express no remorse or regret for what was seen to be a necessary restoration of order at a time of communist insurrection.
Thankfully, such people are in the minority, but they remain part of a minority that is privileged and expects privilege.
In the absence of a truth and reconciliation commission, at which aging perpetrators might freely admit to their crimes in exchange for an amnesty, the best that Taiwanese can do is be vigilant and ensure that the rationalization of murder, praise for autocratic rule and callous indifference to the suffering of so many people never go unopposed.
Monday was the 37th anniversary of former president Chiang Ching-kuo’s (蔣經國) death. Chiang — a son of former president Chiang Kai-shek (蔣介石), who had implemented party-state rule and martial law in Taiwan — has a complicated legacy. Whether one looks at his time in power in a positive or negative light depends very much on who they are, and what their relationship with the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) is. Although toward the end of his life Chiang Ching-kuo lifted martial law and steered Taiwan onto the path of democratization, these changes were forced upon him by internal and external pressures,
Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) caucus whip Fu Kun-chi (傅?萁) has caused havoc with his attempts to overturn the democratic and constitutional order in the legislature. If we look at this devolution from the context of a transition to democracy from authoritarianism in a culturally Chinese sense — that of zhonghua (中華) — then we are playing witness to a servile spirit from a millennia-old form of totalitarianism that is intent on damaging the nation’s hard-won democracy. This servile spirit is ingrained in Chinese culture. About a century ago, Chinese satirist and author Lu Xun (魯迅) saw through the servile nature of
In their New York Times bestseller How Democracies Die, Harvard political scientists Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt said that democracies today “may die at the hands not of generals but of elected leaders. Many government efforts to subvert democracy are ‘legal,’ in the sense that they are approved by the legislature or accepted by the courts. They may even be portrayed as efforts to improve democracy — making the judiciary more efficient, combating corruption, or cleaning up the electoral process.” Moreover, the two authors observe that those who denounce such legal threats to democracy are often “dismissed as exaggerating or
The National Development Council (NDC) on Wednesday last week launched a six-month “digital nomad visitor visa” program, the Central News Agency (CNA) reported on Monday. The new visa is for foreign nationals from Taiwan’s list of visa-exempt countries who meet financial eligibility criteria and provide proof of work contracts, but it is not clear how it differs from other visitor visas for nationals of those countries, CNA wrote. The NDC last year said that it hoped to attract 100,000 “digital nomads,” according to the report. Interest in working remotely from abroad has significantly increased in recent years following improvements in