The Transitional Justice Commission last week announced a plan to transform the Chiang Kai-shek Memorial Hall in Taipei, triggering debate at home and abroad.
Yoshiyuki Ogasawara, a professor at Tokyo University, wrote an article, published in the Liberty Times (the Taipei Times’ sister paper) on Sunday, in which he advocated maintaining the hall’s large bronze statue of former president Chiang Kai-shek (蔣介石), along with the Republic of China Honor Guard, to preserve the atmosphere of the era to which they belong.
Ogasawara also argued that from the perspective of a foreign visitor to Taiwan, the memorial hall provides an excellent educational opportunity about Taiwan’s democratic transition.
The hall’s design and construction is all about the veneration of authoritarianism: from its location right at the heart of the nation’s capital city to its groundbreaking ceremony coinciding with Chiang’s birthday and the oversize bronze statue in the main hall, to which the visitor has to climb 89 steps — the age at which Chiang died.
In addition, the decorative stone carving that runs through the center of the steps is evocative of traditional Chinese imperial architecture, and the main boulevard that runs through the park encourages visitors to raise their heads toward the heavens: All of these are authoritarian symbols. It is entirely proper that, in accordance with the legal remit of the commission, all authoritarian symbols in the complex should be amended.
Removing these symbols — including the statue of Chiang — is not the only way. Rather than discussing whether to remove them, the discussion should be about how best to achieve “a lifting of martial law” in the spatial environment, in a way that simultaneously reminds Taiwanese of the damage caused by authoritarian rule and demonstrates the nation’s resolve to implement transitional justice.
Here are some suggestions for how to combine these objectives:
The main boulevard could be renamed, perhaps fielding suggestions from the public. This would not only expand public participation and increase the legitimacy of the transitional justice process, but would also give the complex a fresh symbolic meaning.
In the same vein, the bronze statue could be encased inside a large cage to symbolize the incarceration of the former dictator and prevent any misunderstanding that Taiwanese still memorialize or venerate Chiang.
The guard could be moved to the entrance gate to the complex to perform the ceremonial changing of the guard beneath the “Liberty Square” (自由廣場) name plaque so that they would switch from guarding Chiang’s statue to guarding Taiwan’s defenders of democracy.
Additionally, a plaque should be installed at a prominent position to explains its raison d’etre, linking Taiwan’s authoritarian past to the transitional justice process, so that future generations of Taiwanese and foreign tourists can understand how the nation was able to throw off the shackles of the one-party state and close the door on authoritarianism. It would be an effective way to ensure that the public learn the lessons from history.
Finally, a way must be found to prevent the restoration of authoritarian symbols and iconography following a future transition of political power.
The memorial was renamed National Democracy Memorial Hall by former president Chen Shui-bian (陳水扁), but then changed back to its current name by his successor, former president Ma Ying-jeou (馬英九).
One way to prevent this from happening again would be to increase public participation in the renaming process to inhibit any later attempt to resuscitate the ancien regime.
Liou Je-wei is a graduate student of political science at National Taiwan University.
Translated by Edward Jones
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