Months of effort to blur the lines between Taiwan and the Republic of China (ROC) by President Ma Ying-jeou’s (馬英九) administration finally resulted in top-level confusion on Sunday, when Presidential Office Spokesman Lo Chih-chiang (羅智強) accused the leader of the opposition of not loving “our country.”
At the heart of the war of words between the Presidential Office and Democratic Progressive Party Chairperson Tsai Ing-wen (蔡英文) is her criticism of the expensive plans for the 100th anniversary of the founding of the ROC next year.
Lo’s accusation, however, contained one fatal flaw: It confused Taiwan for the ROC.
Given Ma’s unclear messages and shifting rhetoric regarding the country’s name and territory, one could be forgiven for sounding confused — and that’s exactly how Lo came across when he accused Tsai of being sarcastic about “the country’s” centennial celebrations, while also saying she loves Taiwan.
Of course Tsai had reason to be sarcastic. Not only is next year not Taiwan’s 100th anniversary, but the ROC was imposed on Taiwanese after the defeat of Japan in 1945, a situation compounded when the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) lost the Chinese civil war in 1949.
Lo’s accusation sounds a little like a British lord berating Canadians or Kenyans for not being true patriots because they aren’t celebrating Queen Elizabeth’s birthday. An official making such a remark in Ottawa or Nairobi would be laughed out of town, but in Taiwan — and especially in Ma’s Kafkaesque world of overlapping boundaries — such rhetoric is treated as respectable.
Tsai has every right to criticize the cost of the centennial project, since it is yet another instance of Taiwanese taxpayers’ funding a project that has little relevance to them. In light of people’s growing identification as Taiwanese rather than Chinese, a fact expressed in numerous polls over the last decade, it is also disingenuous of Lo to allege that there is “a big gap” between Tsai’s feelings and those of the general public. The gap actually lies with Ma and his followers.
Furthermore, loving Taiwan and loving the ROC are two different things. Regardless of how much Ma and Lo would like to see them become one, they are in fact tangential. Someone like Tsai can criticize the ROC’s 100th birthday and still love her country, since the two are separate entities.
The question that every Taiwanese should ask of Ma and his followers is whether they love Taiwan or the ROC. This would be a far more relevant line of inquiry, since it would force them to declare their emotions toward an existing entity — Taiwan — not an abstract idea that has been kept on life support for far too long.
In the end, whether NT$3.2 billion (US$100 million) is too much to spend on such celebrations is beside the point. If Taiwanese increasingly see the ROC as an illegitimate template forced on them by individuals who had no right to make such choices on their behalf, then even one NT dollar of taxpayers’ money is too much.
If all this high-level publicity surrounding the ROC’s centennial is more a political stunt to resurrect an umbilical cord across the Taiwan Strait than a heartfelt celebration of something meaningful to Taiwanese, then Lo has no right to defend the budget by contrasting it with the more expensive World Games in Kaohsiung or Deaflympics in Taipei.
Only when large projects funded by taxpayers are for the benefit of Taiwanese, and only when this is done in a spirit of respect for Taiwanese identity, can such endeavors can be treated without sarcasm.
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,