Dear President Ma (馬英九),
Don’t take offense at me addressing you personally. Normally I avoid writing this way because it reeks of presumption. But I have to make an exception this time, because things are getting out of control — and I’m just about the last friend you’ve got.
Let’s face it: We’ve got a problem. Next to a river in remote Kaohsiung County there is a huge landslide. Under it are probably several hundred villagers. They’re not coming out.
No one blames you for that landslide, even if you’ve been blaming anyone you can find for the typhoon that triggered it. But now, a lot of people are holding you responsible for the government’s half-assed response to a bona fide national disaster. I’m even beginning to hear a woman’s name thrown around the office: “Katrina.” What could that mean?
Let me be candid. Your dour handling of Typhoon Morakot, more than anything else, has fired up your opponents in the KMT. They are questioning your leadership in public; Matsu only knows what they are saying about you among themselves.
Legislative Speaker Wang Jin-pyng (王金平), who you once implied was on the take, nearly formed a bipartisan legislative front to urge you to take stronger action. Legislators Chiu Yi (邱毅), Lo Shu-lei (羅淑蕾) and other outspoken and media-ready KMT voices are more or less calling you an insensitive chump.
Trust me, I know you just don’t feel right having people touching you, and your face in particular — even if they are bereft typhoon victims. I feel your struggle when you look for words of comfort and congeniality but end up sounding callous. I feel your tension when you just can’t bring yourself to bury your head between the neck and shoulders of a sobbing woman who just lost everything that meant anything to her.
Hugging and getting teary should not be part of a president’s job description. That’s why I thought it was a classy move to get your wife into the disaster zone. She knows how to embrace someone and cop a noseful of sweat, tears, mud and shit. Great footage, by the way.
But not everyone is as understanding as I. And now, even your temporary friends in China are beginning to hack at you and undermine your credibility.
Our very own Taipei Times reported that Li Fei (李非), a visiting propagandist/academic from Xiamen University’s Taiwan Research Center, spoke in explicit detail about how an economic cooperation framework agreement (ECFA) would pave the way for unification (“Chinese expert on Taiwan contradicts Ma’s ECFA claims,” Aug. 14, page 1). I believe him, too: You don’t work at that place unless you do as you’re told.
So much for no move toward unification in the next eight years, eh?
But there’s worse to come. The Asia Times Web site on Tuesday published another piece by Fudan University propagandist/academic Jian Junbo (簡軍波), who said you were backtracking from your commitment to unification and rudely accused you of opportunism, of being unable to “adhere to one principle from beginning to end” and of resembling former president Lee Teng-hui (李登輝). The cheek!
I swear, give those Chicoms a peck on the cheek and they’ll respond by sticking their tongue down your throat and slurping out your innards.
What to do? It’s time for a history lesson.
I assume you’ve heard of the Xian Incident? The one where Chiang Kai-shek (蔣介石) was abducted at gunpoint and globally humiliated by one of his own? Well, that wasn’t the last time that Peanut had a gun pointed at his face. The second incident, to the very few in the know, is referred to as “Showdown at Chiaopanshan (角板山).”
Late one night in the late 1960s, relying on my special forces training and a few tips from local Aboriginal clergy, I slipped past Chiang’s security detail and sneaked inside one of his mountain retreats, located the study and saw the Peanutissimo seated at a desk. He was writing; it turned out that he was transcribing a book from the Old Testament in his dodgy calligraphy.
I raised my pistol.
“Mr. President.”
The old man looked up and saw death waiting.
“What is this?” he demanded in his tinny, whiny voice. “Who is this vile swarthy bumpkin I see cowering before me?”
“Sir, I am Johnny Neihu, former frogman, army major and wronged independent candidate for Taipei mayor, budding marine biologist, graduate in classical literature from National Taiwan University and stamp collector. I’ve also been top of the most wanted list two years running.”
“Why are you here, vermin?”
“Mr. President,” I said, cocking the trigger, “I am your past catching up with you.”
And it would have, too, except that Chiang Ching-kuo (蔣經國) had quietly entered the room.
“Mr. Neihu,” he said, with a slightly exasperated air. “If I may.”
Chiang the Younger indicated that he was unarmed, walked over, motioned for me to lean toward him, and whispered in my ear.
“Mr. Neihu,” he said, “I’ll be the first to admit that my ‘father’ is an irritating dumbass sonofabitch. But it would be most helpful at this time if you did not kill him.”
He paused for a while, then said, very slowly and deliberately: “If you put your gun down, walk out that door and disappear into the night, I promise you: After Father eventually passes, I will cultivate a native Taiwanese who will succeed me as president. He will take over the Kuomintang and turn it into something that all of you will be able to live with.
“And if, after returning home and having a good wash, you decide to behave yourself and try your hand at something inoffensive — journalism, say — there will be something special in store: a pronouncement, on my deathbed, that will push Taiwan in the direction it needs to go.
“Finally, if you do not kill Father, I will not round up your family and friends, take them to a detention center and have them tortured and shot.”
I thought for a few seconds, looked Chiang the Younger straight in the eye, and smiled.
“Deal,” I said.
And so I fled into the night, but not before some bodyguards and an enraged Peanut himself fired a couple dozen rounds at my fleeting torso.
So you see, Mr President, you and I have something in common other than a Taipei City residence: a crucial role in the history of my beloved homeland — and Chiang the Younger’s telephone number.
I know how much Chiang Ching-kuo meant to you. Of all the people in your life, he was the one who gave you a sense of belonging, dignity and professional self-respect. And you reciprocated by being the best damn English secretary he ever had. The problem is that these days you resemble not your mentor, but his father — except for his hair, bloodlust and dress sense.
After Chiang the Younger died, it was like you were in solitude. Since then, no matter what you have done, no matter how honorably you have conducted yourself, you have struggled to receive the respect that you deserve from anyone, including your family.
Family is so important. So I felt your agony when your senile father humiliated you on the verge of your gaining the KMT chairmanship and securing the presidential nomination. I was astounded when your daughters elected not to return from the US for the most important day of your professional life — your inauguration as president — and I was dumbstruck when your wife publicly criticized you during your Central American trip.
But, you see, with the death and destruction from the typhoon, the real vultures are beginning to circle. If you can’t rely on family to rally around you when you need them, how can you trust people in the political sphere?
It’s not too late. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: You know who your real friends are. So please be friends with us. Let yourself go. Be Taiwanese. We will forgive you.
May I finish with an anecdote? When I was doing military service, I spent some time on Kinmen. There I met a lovely lady, now long gone, who worked at the infamous “Vivien’s Retreat” bar and special services emporium. I won’t go into the nature of her work, other than to say she gave as good as she got and what she gave was as good as you’ll get.
Once, strolling along a mined beach at sunset, she said: “Darling Johnny, you may be too young to understand this, but take it from someone with haaaard experience. There’s much more to a relationship than being happy and stable. You gotta have the ‘connection’ — that thing about a person that grips you tight and makes you crazy. It’s worth fighting for, and it’s worth all the fights. If you don’t have it, you have nothing. And you will always be nothing. Now, lie down on the sand like a good little boy. I’ve got another 12 customers waiting.”
Mr President, some day soon, before it’s too late, you must ask yourself exactly what it is that you are connecting yourself to and if it is real — and tell us.
For now, from your friend, believe me when I say that your compatriots are waiting for you to wake from your China Redux reverie and embrace the hearts — and grime-caked bodies — of the only people that matter.
The alternative is a world of despair, disbelief and hate. And in that world, where even I will leave you behind, you will be in permanent solitude.
Yours, etc.
Dr Johnny Neihu IV, Esq.
Got something to tell Johnny? Get it off your chest: Write to dearjohnny@taipeitimes.com, but put “Dear Johnny” in the subject line or he’ll mark your bouquets and brickbats as spam.
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