“Upon being sworn in, I had an epiphany about the significance of accepting responsibility for the 23 million people of Taiwan. Although I have never felt so honored in my life, this is the heaviest responsibility that I have ever shouldered,” President Ma Ying-jeou (馬英九) said in his inaugural speech on May 20.
However, looking at his recent rhetoric and action — or inaction — many have begun to wonder whether he has any inkling of the gravity of his new title.
On Tuesday, in response to media queries on how he would address China’s Association for Relations Across the Taiwan Strait Chairman Chen Yunlin (陳雲林) if the two meet when Chen visits Taiwan later this year, Ma said: “I would address him as Mr Chen and he could address me as Mr Ma. I think that’s the best way.” Ma added that as long as both sides are on equal footing, there should be no reason to believe that the nation’s sovereignty would be slighted.
It is nothing less than shocking to see how easily Ma would compromise himself and his title — an honor bestowed upon him by 7,658,724 voters — to please Beijing.
According to Ma’s logic, his approach is the best way to avoid “controversy.” But if doing so involves giving up one’s official title in one’s own country, what else can Taiwanese expect from the president when he travels abroad?
Ma seems to take pleasure in lecturing others about the Constitution of the Republic of China, saying that it is more important to respect and practice the words of the Constitution than to amend them.
“As the president of the Republic of China, my most solemn duty is to safeguard the Constitution … My top priority is to affirm the authority of the Constitution and show the value of abiding by it,” Ma said during his inauguration.
If Ma meant what he said, then he had better take a look at Chapter 4, Article 35 of the Constitution, as it states that: “The president shall be the head of the State, and shall represent the Republic of China in foreign relations.”
The so-called “1992 consensus,” which the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) government so often trumpets as the basis for cross-strait negotiation, should provide Ma with the confidence he needs to use his proper title. The KMT administration insists that Taipei and Beijing have reached a “consensus,” allowing each side of the Strait to have its own definition of “one China.” As such, there should be nothing wrong with Chinese officials referring to Ma as the president of the ROC.
If Ma continues to compromise his role as head of state, we can expect that the ROC flag will be removed from the Presidential Office when Chen visits.
As farmers struggle to cope with floods in southern Taiwan and as ordinary people face rising commodity prices, Ma has remained silent while his supporters defend his lack of involvement, arguing that he is acting in line with the Constitution and that his responsibilities lie with diplomacy and cross-strait relations.
But Ma’s continued silence over the Diaoyutai (釣魚台) islands incident makes a travesty of that proposition, as the escalating conflict has everything to do with diplomacy and protecting national interests.
A president represents a country’s sovereignty. If Ma cannot understand that and if he cannot act in a manner commensurate with his title, then he is unworthy of the position.
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
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,
The Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) caucus in the Legislative Yuan has made an internal decision to freeze NT$1.8 billion (US$54.7 million) of the indigenous submarine project’s NT$2 billion budget. This means that up to 90 percent of the budget cannot be utilized. It would only be accessible if the legislature agrees to lift the freeze sometime in the future. However, for Taiwan to construct its own submarines, it must rely on foreign support for several key pieces of equipment and technology. These foreign supporters would also be forced to endure significant pressure, infiltration and influence from Beijing. In other words,
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