Taiwanese with a good memory will recall that “no independence, no unification, no war” was the cross-strait policy platform that underpinned the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) administration of then-president Ma Ying-jeou (馬英九) from 2008 to 2016. If the KMT frequently cites that era as the most stable and prosperous period in recent history, why has the party effectively abandoned the “Three Noes” in practice?
When was the last time a high-ranking KMT official clearly and unequivocally stated no unification? Not in passing, not buried in academic abstraction, but stated plainly as a core tenet of their vision. What we hear today is a different formulation: “1992 consensus, oppose independence.” That is not the same thing.
The “three noes” have quietly atrophied into one: no independence. Even that has been absorbed into the linguistic capture of the “1992 consensus” — a phrase that once nominally implied “one China, respective interpretations” (一中各表), but now functions largely as a political umbrella under which only Beijing’s interpretation carries weight. This shift was not sudden, but gradual — subtle, evasive and therefore dangerous.
The Chinese Communist Party (CCP) under Chinese President Xi Jinping (習近平) does not deal in ambiguity. Its objective is explicit and non-negotiable: unification on its terms. There is no “separate interpretation” in Beijing’s vocabulary; there is only its interpretation.
If the KMT does not accept unification under Beijing’s framework, what exactly is it trying to extract from the CCP?
We are told the goal is “exchanges” — tourism, trade, and integrated development, but this explanation does not hold under scrutiny. Beijing is not in the business of offering economic concessions without a political purpose. It does not engage indefinitely with a party that fundamentally rejects its core demand. To believe otherwise is to misread the situation.
The more plausible explanation is that Beijing continues to engage the KMT because it sees in the party not a point of resistance, but a conduit.
This arrangement does not require an explicit signed agreement. Even the CCP understands that asking the KMT to openly endorse unification would be political suicide in Taiwan’s current climate. Ambiguity is therefore not a flaw in the arrangement — it is strategic obfuscation designed to create a false sense of security. We already know how such ambiguity ends. The Hong Kong National Security Law did not arrive as a sudden shock. It was the endpoint of “gradual alignment,” repeated assurances that autonomy would be preserved, and belief that economic engagement could coexist with fundamental ideological differences. Today, even after its collapse, the “one country, two systems” framework is still described by its architects as alive and successful.
The KMT argues its approach preserves peace, but a peace built on concealing its ultimate trajectory is a form of unilateral surrender in slow motion.
If the KMT believes Taiwan’s future lies in unification with China — whether framed as “one country, two systems” or otherwise — then it should have the courage of its convictions. Make it a central plank of its election manifesto and argue openly that this is the price of peace.
Taiwanese voters deserve clarity on the most consequential question facing the nation. They do not need managed silence or tactical ambiguity in slogans; they need the truth before it becomes a post-mortem. When the truth becomes undeniable, the opportunity to act would already have vanished.
John Cheng is a retired businessman from Hong Kong now living in Taiwan.
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