No sooner had President Ma Ying-jeou (馬英九) launched his rapprochement initiative with Beijing than some international wire agencies began referring to Taiwan and China as “former bitter rivals.” This characterization of an ongoing process is not only inaccurate but also creates the false impression that the threat the Taiwan Strait represents to regional stability is a thing of the past. Nothing could be further from the truth.
While it is true that on the surface tensions between Taipei and Beijing have diminished, relations between the two have always been characterized by ups and downs. The argument could be made that the threat of war was significantly higher in the 1950s, and again in 1995-1996, than in 2000 and after, when the pro-independence Democratic Progressive Party was in power. During those eight years, however, did media outlets refer to Taiwan and China as “former bitter rivals”? Of course not.
The same fallacy applies today. By only casting a superficial glance at ties between Taipei and Beijing — tourist arrivals, the resumption of cross-strait talks and economic deals — reporters are ignoring the more complex undercurrents that still exist. If Taiwan and China were indeed “former bitter rivals,” the People’s Liberation Army would not continue its military build-up by adding to the ballistic missiles it aims at Taiwan, conducting simulations of an amphibious invasion of Taiwan or developing a variety of weapons systems — from submarines to anti-ship ballistic missiles — that could be used in a war over Taiwan. Nor would Beijing be using Chinese tourists as an economic weapon to punish Taiwan when the latter invites political figures Beijing abhors or screens documentaries banned in China.
In fact, if the two were no longer “bitter rivals,” Beijing would not be pressing for an economic cooperation framework agreement (ECFA) with so much vigor, simply for the fact that the Chinese leadership sees the agreement — and has said so openly — as a means to engulf the Taiwanese economy and make unification inevitable.
Yes, we’re seeing smiles, handshakes and long banquet tables, but anyone who knows anything about cross-strait ties would know that such a facade of politeness existed in the 1990s before the Chinese military started firing missiles into Taiwanese waters. The reality is, beyond the veneer of peace lie the same old ghosts that have made true, lasting peace in the Taiwan Strait so elusive.
Beyond China’s breakneck militarization lies a political system that is repressive, anti-democratic and unpalatable to the great majority of people in Taiwan — even those who support Ma’s policies. As long as the political systems on both sides of the Strait cannot be reconciled, meaningful peace will be impossible to achieve, at least as long as Beijing continues to harbor designs on Taiwan’s sovereignty.
Beyond all this, many things could go wrong at every turn of cross-strait talks, especially once sensitive political issues are laid on the table. If Ma were seen to be giving too much, the Taiwanese polity would threaten to undermine his efforts and could oust him from office in 2012. Conversely, if Ma were seen to be dragging his feet on unification, Beijing could grow impatient and become more belligerent in its approach. Either way, instability would be the result and it would soon become evident that the “former bitter rivals” are, in fact, still bitter rivals.
A little patience on the part of those who write about cross-strait relations and a little more attention to detail would do everybody a great service.
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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