Guiding China to what it sees as inevitable glorious heights, the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) did not hesitate in recent years to tap into the Chinese artistic community to bolster the country’s image, turning to such luminaries as movie director Zhang Yimou (張藝謀) and artist Ai Weiwei (艾未未), for example, to ensure the success of the 2008 Beijing Olympics.
What recent events have shown us, however, is that as long as China’s artistic community toes the nationalistic line — and oftentimes amplifies it — artists will thrive and be left alone by the authorities. For the few who depart from that line, a far less elated fate awaits them, with outspoken critics like Ai, who created the “Bird’s Nest” Stadium for the Olympics, seeing themselves prevented from flying out of China and having their offices searched by state security officers.
In the process of sustaining its power, the regime has no compunction in making martyrs of former heroes, provided the exercise succeeds in dissuading others from continuing the fight. In other words, except for a very close circle of CCP officials, no one is beyond the vindictive hand of the party. By virtue of its ruthlessness and randomness, Beijing’s retributive apparatus is tightening its grip on every sector of society, ensuring that but for the most daring, the majority will keep silent and refrain from criticizing the party or calling for political reform.
Beijing has gotten away with state repression because it has managed to present its harassment and arrests as isolated incidents. By atomizing what would otherwise come across as organic repression both at home and abroad, the CCP has mitigated the outrage and ensured that it can stay the course without too much risk. This is a balancing act of such refinement seen by very few political parties today.
Moral torpor, both within China and in the international community, has also aided Beijing, in that the great majority chooses to remain silent, or to express meek disapproval at best, whenever the CCP chews and spits up another victim such as Ai. As there have been no serious consequences for Beijing by doing so, there is no reason why it should adopt a new course and perhaps even soften its stance on dissent. In other words, out of fear and greed, the polity outside the CCP has allowed for the creation of an environment that makes it permissible for Beijing to bully whomever disagrees with it. Only when the backlash is concerted will we have a chance of “changing” China before it changes us — and certainly not for the better.
Such glaring acts of repression as those against Ai should serve as a clear warning to President Ma Ying-jeou’s (馬英九) administration and the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) that “friendship” with Beijing not only comports risks, but is equally ephemeral. As long as Taiwanese officials in the current administration cooperate with Beijing on matters of cross-strait relations, they will likely be feted and treated as if they were part of the one big happy Chinese nation.
However, the mounting evidence of how the CCP treats its own dissidents sends as clear a message as one could possibly get that it will have no compunction whatsoever meting out similar, if not more categorical, revenge on those it regards as outsiders — and however hard some senior KMT officials may try to become intimate with their Chinese counterparts, the fact remains that they will always be outsiders to the CCP. Everybody is.
China’s supreme objective in a war across the Taiwan Strait is to incorporate Taiwan as a province of the People’s Republic. It follows, therefore, that international recognition of Taiwan’s de jure independence is a consummation that China’s leaders devoutly wish to avoid. By the same token, an American strategy to deny China that objective would complicate Beijing’s calculus and deter large-scale hostilities. For decades, China has cautioned “independence means war.” The opposite is also true: “war means independence.” A comprehensive strategy of denial would guarantee an outcome of de jure independence for Taiwan in the event of Chinese invasion or
Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) Chairwoman Cheng Li-wun (鄭麗文) earlier this month said it is necessary for her to meet with Chinese President Xi Jinping (習近平) and it would be a “huge boost” to the party’s local election results in November, but many KMT members have expressed different opinions, indicating a struggle between different groups in the party. Since Cheng was elected as party chairwoman in October last year, she has repeatedly expressed support for increased exchanges with China, saying that it would bring peace and prosperity to Taiwan, and that a meeting with Xi in Beijing takes priority over meeting
The political order of former president Lee Teng-hui (李登輝) first took shape in 1988. Then-vice president Lee succeeded former president Chiang Ching-kuo (蔣經國) after he passed, and served out the remainder of his term in office. In 1990, Lee was elected president by the National Assembly, and in 1996, he won Taiwan’s first direct presidential election. Those two, six and four-year terms were an era-defining 12-year presidential tenure. Throughout those years, Lee served as helmsman for Taiwan’s transition from martial law and authoritarianism to democracy. This period came to be known as the “quiet revolution,” leaving a legacy containing light
Taiwan no longer wants to merely manufacture the chips that power artificial intelligence (AI). It aims to build the software, platforms and services that run on them. Ten major AI infrastructure projects, a national cloud computing center in Tainan, the sovereign language model Trustworthy AI Dialogue Engine, five targeted industry verticals — from precision medicine to smart agriculture — and the goal of ranking among the world’s top five in computing power by 2040: The roadmap from “Silicon Island” to “Smart Island” is drawn. The question is whether the western plains, where population, industry and farmland are concentrated, have the water and
RSS