As history winds its tumultuous course, odd coincidences inevitably occur. When it comes to the history of relations across the Taiwan Strait, the most recent scene has been an exceptionally memorable one. Long bogged down by seesaw negotiations, the Economic Cooperation Framework Agreement (ECFA) has at last been finalized and signed.
The odd coincidence lies in the time and place chosen for the signing ceremony. The two sides inked the trade pact in the inland Chinese city of Chongqing — the very place where, 65 years ago, China’s rival Nationalist and Communist parties held their second series of peace talks and the date picked for the signing was June 29 — the same date on which Hong Kong signed a Closer Economic Partnership Arrangement (CEPA) with China in 2003. Of course the date and location for the signing were carefully chosen well in advance.
Under intense scrutiny from the media, officials on the Chinese and Taiwanese negotiating teams were rewarded with a round of applause when the agreement was signed. Reactions to the ECFA have come thick and fast with either profuse congratulations or cries of doom and gloom.
An important element of post-modernist thought is textual analysis, involving intertextual discourse between different texts. The strange thing is that although everyone keeps repeating the English initials of the agreement as if they were some kind of mantra, the pact has no English text, only traditional and simplified Chinese versions.
The text of the ECFA can be analyzed and compared with that of Hong Kong’s CEPA. The differences between the two are apparent even in their titles. The “A” in “CEPA” stands for “arrangement.” The reason this word was chosen is that Hong Kong has already returned to Chinese rule. That makes the whole thing an entirely domestic affair, so the words “negotiation” and “agreement” do not apply, still less a “treaty.” As part of China, Hong Kong’s affairs can only be “arranged” by Beijing.
The situation is different with the ECFA, where the “A” stands for “agreement.” The key word here, however, is “framework.” This English word is usually translated as jiagou (架構) in Taiwan and kuangjia (框架) in China. In the text of the agreement, Taiwan’s preferred version is used. The fact remains that Taiwan, unlike Hong Kong, has not yet officially “returned” to China or been completely “united” with the “motherland,” so of course Beijing is not in a position to “arrange” its affairs.
That leaves Taiwan with a bit more bargaining room, so both Taiwan and China, in the course of consultations, were able to accept the use of such terms as “agreement” and “framework.”
Given Taiwan’s uncertain status, China might have preferred to use the word kuangjia instead of jiagou, since it implies a greater sense of confinement. No matter whether used as a noun or verb, kuangjia somehow makes one think of frames and bars — in other words, a cage. Politically, it perhaps gives the impression that Taiwan is inescapably locked into the territory of the motherland.
The dominant culture in the world these days is visual. The drawn-out and tortuous saga of cross-strait relations has seen many ups and downs. Sometimes the two sides have been trapped in violent confrontation, othertimes they have employed stealth and trickery. At times, secret emissaries have shuttled back and forth, but what remains most clear in the mind are the images of the times.
For another example, we can look beyond the ECFA deal. On June 14, the same day that consensus was reached on the “early harvest” list of goods and services to be exempt from tariffs, Taipei Mayor Hau Lung-bin (郝龍斌) presided over a ceremony marking the first direct commercial flight between Taipei’s Songshan Airport and Hongqiao Airport in Shanghai.
Barely able to contain his excitement, Hau announced: “Taipei City is like a little bird that has flown its cage. From now on, it will spread its wings and fly high.” Then, accompanied by other top city officials, the mayor flew away from this birdcage of a city, confined as it is by pro-localization thinking, into the boundless expanse of the motherland. On the same day, a contrasting scene played out in Taipei as supporters of the Democratic Progressive Party and Taiwan Independence Union, wearing headbands with the words “fight ECFA, save Taiwan,” raised their fists and shouted: “No secret treaties with the Chinese Communists! Don’t sell out democratic Taiwan!” Their determined protest highlighted their fears of being trapped within a single Chinese market, overshadowed and caged in by Chinese hegemony.
What kind of historical memories and conflicting identities can cause a country to be so divided in its consciousness, with such conflicting scenes playing out almost side by side? The one thing that everyone in Taiwan has in common as the country enters the post-ECFA era is that they seemingly cannot escape that one shared image — the birdcage.
Woody Cheng is a history professor at National Cheng Kung University.
TRANSLATED BY JULIAN CLEGG
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