Mao Zedong (毛澤東) and Chiang Kai-shek (蔣介石) may have been rivals, but they shared fundamental values. Even in death, both men occupy prime real estate in their capitals, where they continue to overlook and poison the nations they ruled from a splendid memorial hall.
In 2007, the name of Chiang Kai-shek Memorial Hall was changed to National Taiwan Democracy Memorial Hall — a symbol of democracy and rejection of dictatorship.
Since his election last year, however, President Ma Ying-jeou (馬英九) has ignored public opinion and — true to style — reinstalled the plaque with the memorial’s original name.
Ma said Chiang’s contributions and mistakes should be defined by historians, but by restoring the plaque he is contradicting himself: This decision was made by a government dominated by Ma and the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT), not historians.
If Ma respects history and historians, he might look at how a Western historian outside the pan-blue/pan-green divide describes Chiang’s status.
Rudolph Rummel, a 77-year-old professor emeritus of political science at the University of Hawaii, is an expert in this field. He has published 24 books about dictators and mass death and created the term “democide,” which refers to murder by government. In his book Death by Government, he listed the 10 worst dictators of the 20th century — and Chiang was among them.
Rummel’s studies are highly respected and he has received many awards, including a lifetime achievement award six years ago from the American Political Science Association. According to The Associated Press, he has been nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize several times.
This man’s research and his definition of Chiang can therefore serve as an authoritative judgment.
Even if we view Chiang from a layman’s perspective, we see that in the 50 years from obtaining power as commander-in-chief of the Northern Expeditionary Army in 1926 to his death in 1975, his government held no democratic elections and his word was law. What is this, if not a dictatorship?
Putting aside Chiang’s responsibility for the 228 Incident, he and his son Chiang Ching-kuo (蔣經國) oversaw 38 years of martial law in Taiwan. According to a report by the Ministry of Justice when Ma was minister, “military courts handled 29,007 political cases with approximately 140,000 victims” under the two Chiangs. In 1960 alone, the government listed 126,875 people as “missing” and withdrew their household registration, showing just how many people were executed publicly or in secret. If Chiang, who ruled the nation through violence and political prisons, was not a dictator, then who is?
Just like any other dictator, Chiang loved erecting statues of himself. According to media reports, there were at least 45,000 such statues around Taiwan, making it the country with the highest density of statues of a national leader in the world. In addition, his dozens of villas and items that he used are now treated as historical monuments and relics — even one of his handkerchiefs is on exhibit at the memorial hall.
When the government proposed that the name of the Chiang Kai-shek Memorial Hall be restored, the Washington Post, The Associated Press and other media outlets called Chiang a “dictator” and pointed out the cruelty of his rule. By reinstalling the plaque, the government is publicly challenging democratic values while boosting the name of a tyrant.
Ma was elected KMT chairman on Sunday. With both party and government in his hands, he is leaning toward totalitarian China while praising Chiang and his son. This is a bad omen for Taiwan.
Cao Changqing is a freelance journalist based in the US.
TRANSLATED BY EDDY CHANG
When Chinese President Xi Jinping (習近平) sits down with US President Donald Trump in Beijing on Thursday next week, Xi is unlikely to demand a dramatic public betrayal of Taiwan. He does not need to. Beijing’s preferred victory is smaller, quieter and in some ways far more dangerous: a subtle shift in American wording that appears technical, but carries major strategic meaning. The ask is simple: replace the longstanding US formulation that Washington “does not support Taiwan independence” with a harder one — that Washington “opposes” Taiwan independence. One word changes; a deterrence structure built over decades begins to shift.
Taipei is facing a severe rat infestation, and the city government is reportedly considering large-scale use of rodenticides as its primary control measure. However, this move could trigger an ecological disaster, including mass deaths of birds of prey. In the past, black kites, relatives of eagles, took more than three decades to return to the skies above the Taipei Basin. Taiwan’s black kite population was nearly wiped out by the combined effects of habitat destruction, pesticides and rodenticides. By 1992, fewer than 200 black kites remained on the island. Fortunately, thanks to more than 30 years of collective effort to preserve their remaining
After Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) Chairwoman Cheng Li-wun (鄭麗文) met Chinese President Xi Jinping (習近平) in Beijing, most headlines referred to her as the leader of the opposition in Taiwan. Is she really, though? Being the chairwoman of the KMT does not automatically translate into being the leader of the opposition in the sense that most foreign readers would understand it. “Leader of the opposition” is a very British term. It applies to the Westminster system of parliamentary democracy, and to some extent, to other democracies. If you look at the UK right now, Conservative Party head Kemi Badenoch is
A Pale View of Hills, a movie released last year, follows the story of a Japanese woman from Nagasaki who moved to Britain in the 1950s with her British husband and daughter from a previous marriage. The daughter was born at a time when memories of the US atomic bombing of Nagasaki during World War II and anxiety over the effects of nuclear radiation still haunted the community. It is a reflection on the legacy of the local and national trauma of the bombing that ended the period of Japanese militarism. A central theme of the movie is the need, at