Taiwan in Time: Feb.15 to Feb. 21
On the morning of May 28, 1963, Chen Chih-hsiung (陳智雄) was woken up by several executioners, who lifted him up and dragged him out of his cell in the military prison on Qingdao E Road (青島東路).
According to several cell mates, including fellow Taiwanese independence activist Shih Ming-hsiung (施明雄), Chen shouted at the top of his lungs, “Long live Taiwan Independence!” several times before he was taken to the execution grounds.
Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
Shih writes in his book The White Terror in the Dark Ages: A History of Taiwanese Sufferings (白色恐怖黑暗時代:台灣人受難史) that instead of removing Chen’s shackles, the guards cut off his feet so he could not walk to his execution with his head held high.
Another cellmate, Liu Chin-shih (劉金獅), says the guards did so because of Chen’s unwavering belief in his ideals and his refusal to be intimidated by prison officials or the fear of death. Shih writes that during Chen’s many trials, he refused to speak Mandarin, responding exclusively in Hoklo (commonly known as Taiwanese), further angering prison officials.
He was the first independence activist to be executed in Taiwan.
Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
Born on Feb. 18, 1916 in today’s Pingtung County, much of Chen’s life was spent overseas. He first studied abroad as a Dutch language major at Tokyo University of Foreign Languages and was reportedly able to speak English, Japanese, Dutch, Malay, Hoklo and Mandarin.
When Japan conquered the Dutch East Indies (today’s Indonesia) in 1942, the government sent Chen there as either an ambassador or translator. After Japan lost the war, Chen remained in Indonesia as a jewelry dealer.
When the war for Indonesian independence broke out, Chen assisted in Sukarno’s efforts against the Dutch, who were attempting to re-colonize the area, by providing weapons left behind by the Japanese. He was imprisoned by the Dutch for one year because of his actions. After Sukarno won the war, he reportedly honored Chen in person for his help.
Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
Several sources indicate that the success of Indonesia’s independence efforts inspired Chen to do the same for his homeland, which had then been taken over by the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT).
Chen worked closely with Thomas Liao (廖文毅), who founded the Japan-based Formosa Democratic Independence Party (台灣民主獨立黨) in 1950. It was reportedly through Chen’s connections that Liao was able to attend the 1955 Asian-African Conference in Indonesia.
In 1956, Liao formed the Republic of Taiwan Provisional Government (台灣共和國臨時政府), still based in Japan, and appointed Chen as its ambassador to Southeast Asia.
Sources differ on whether it was under pressure from the KMT or the Chinese Communist Party, but Chen was arrested by Indonesian authorities. Historian Chen Ching-lee (陳慶立) writes in a book on Liao that Chen was eventually released, but lost his Indonesian passport and was deported.
Officially stateless, no country would accept Chen and he flew back and forth between Indonesia and Japan, eventually ending up in Switzerland. From there, he returned to Japan one final time and joined Liao to continue to work for Taiwanese independence.
But the KMT was watching, and its ambassador to Japan worked with local authorities to arrest Chen and force him to return to Taiwan. Chen Ching-lee writes that the KMT promised Japan that Chen would not be punished.
Chen was released shortly after he landed in Taiwan under the condition that he cease all Taiwanese independence activities.
But Chen didn’t stop. He formed another pro-independence group in 1961 with three stated goals: End the brutal reign of the KMT, restore the political, social and economic rights of Taiwanese and establish a free, happy and prosperous Republic of Taiwan.
In the summer of 1962, Chen was arrested by the Taiwan Garrison Command, charged with rebellion and sentenced to death.
In 2013, Chen’s daughter received a final letter written before his execution. On it were the names of his three children and one sentence, written in Japanese: “I died for the people of Taiwan.”
Taiwan in Time, a column about Taiwan’s history that is published every Sunday, spotlights important or interesting events around the nation that have anniversaries this week.
It’s a good thing that 2025 is over. Yes, I fully expect we will look back on the year with nostalgia, once we have experienced this year and 2027. Traditionally at New Years much discourse is devoted to discussing what happened the previous year. Let’s have a look at what didn’t happen. Many bad things did not happen. The People’s Republic of China (PRC) did not attack Taiwan. We didn’t have a massive, destructive earthquake or drought. We didn’t have a major human pandemic. No widespread unemployment or other destructive social events. Nothing serious was done about Taiwan’s swelling birth rate catastrophe.
Words of the Year are not just interesting, they are telling. They are language and attitude barometers that measure what a country sees as important. The trending vocabulary around AI last year reveals a stark divergence in what each society notices and responds to the technological shift. For the Anglosphere it’s fatigue. For China it’s ambition. For Taiwan, it’s pragmatic vigilance. In Taiwan’s annual “representative character” vote, “recall” (罷) took the top spot with over 15,000 votes, followed closely by “scam” (詐). While “recall” speaks to the island’s partisan deadlock — a year defined by legislative recall campaigns and a public exhausted
In the 2010s, the Communist Party of China (CCP) began cracking down on Christian churches. Media reports said at the time that various versions of Protestant Christianity were likely the fastest growing religions in the People’s Republic of China (PRC). The crackdown was part of a campaign that in turn was part of a larger movement to bring religion under party control. For the Protestant churches, “the government’s aim has been to force all churches into the state-controlled organization,” according to a 2023 article in Christianity Today. That piece was centered on Wang Yi (王怡), the fiery, charismatic pastor of the
Hsu Pu-liao (許不了) never lived to see the premiere of his most successful film, The Clown and the Swan (小丑與天鵝, 1985). The movie, which starred Hsu, the “Taiwanese Charlie Chaplin,” outgrossed Jackie Chan’s Heart of Dragon (龍的心), earning NT$9.2 million at the local box office. Forty years after its premiere, the film has become the Taiwan Film and Audiovisual Institute’s (TFAI) 100th restoration. “It is the only one of Hsu’s films whose original negative survived,” says director Kevin Chu (朱延平), one of Taiwan’s most commercially successful
RSS