Taiwan Railways Administration train drivers protested on Saturday by slowing down at every railway crossing on their routes. They threatened to do the same again during the Lunar New Year holiday if the administration continued to ignore their demands. A major local newspaper was quick to say that they should not have “used the public as a bargaining chip in their struggle.” The argument shows a poor understanding of what strikes and civil disobedience embody, but this type of rhetoric is not uncommon in Taiwan.
The National Train Drivers’ Association protested over long working hours resulting from staff shortages and the administration’s reluctance to upgrade safety equipment when new types of trains are introduced. President Ma Ying-jeou (馬英九), despite asking the Cabinet the next day to resolve the issue as soon as possible, said that “not troubling consumers and travelers” was the main concern.
The president said the drivers had “concerns about safety,” and the newspaper article concurred, saying that the shortage of staff and a high-pressure work schedule, among other problems, have resulted in an increase in railway accidents, including one last year in which two railway workers were killed because a third man was unavailable to keep watch for them while they worked. However, the report argued that if workers “unreservedly sacrifice the public’s rights for their own labor rights, the struggle loses social support and legitimacy.”
That rhetoric is reminiscent of the way bystanders angrily reacted to a group of laid-off workers lying down on railway tracks in early 2013 to protest against the government’s failure to make good on its promises. Travelers complained about the delay and interruption to their daily schedule, with some shouting, “[Let the train] run them over.”
Taiwan is not a place where people often witness strikes or demonstrations that “sacrifice the general public’s interest” by disrupting their daily life — as people know how unforgiving Taiwanese society can be toward routine disruptors.
Ironically, Taiwanese have been driven onto the streets in the past few years over fears of what anyone, regardless of political inclination, could be subjected to — disasters, deaths and a sense of universal poverty — as shown in the demonstrations against nuclear power after the Fukushima Dai-ichi disaster, protests over the death of army corporal Hung Chung-chiu (洪仲丘) and protests inspired by young people’s frustration over skyrocketing property prices.
They have been paralleled or followed by protests initiated by overworked nurses and doctors, closed factories and laid-off workers, as well as, most recently, by those spurred by firefighters’ tragedies and calls for sufficient staffing and proper equipment; airline employees’ calls for reasonable benefits; and train drivers’ protests over understaffing and packed schedules.
Most of them did not “use the public’s interest as a bargaining chip” in their actions, but the wide array of characteristics exhibited by the groups involved might be able to stir the public’s notion of obedience and taking issues to the streets.
The Sunflower movement in March and April last year — prompted by the government’s closed-door negotiations with China — has also widened the nation’s understanding of civil disobedience, or at least put the boundaries of it up for debate.
Those saying civil disobedience is a “breach of law” have to realize that they might someday also want to voice their opposition to the establishment, just as Thailand’s Red Shirts rallied against corruption in 2006, which former premier Jiang Yi-huah (江宜樺) — then a political science professor — extolled as “a great embodiment of civil disobedience.”
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