The Generalissimo’s Garden in Taoyuan’s Dasi District (大溪) is an absurd, tragicomic collection of about 200 retired statues of former president Chiang Kai-shek (蔣介石). Yet a mere hour’s drive away in central Taipei are the sprawling grounds of the Chiang Kai-shek Memorial Hall. These two scenes embody Taiwan’s contemporary identity crisis — the result of a populace which until recently was starved of political and civic power. To have any chance of survival, we must first reach a consensus on what being “Taiwanese” means.
Like Taiwan, Singapore’s de facto independence was not so long ago. Much like Taiwanese, Singaporeans were forced to question the thorny relationship between identity and statehood. In 1965, after a mere year of independence from the British Empire, Malaysia forced Singapore out of its union. Then-Singaporean prime minister Lee Kuan Yew’s (李光耀) vision of a multiracial “Malaysian Malaysia” jarred with Kuala Lumpur’s view of majority Malay dominance. Lee switched to promoting a Singaporean Singapore, where Indians, Malays and its ethnic Chinese majority were purposefully integrated in schools and public housing. Taiwan is more ethnically homogeneous, but still has an important and sizeable indigenous population. Among the Han Chinese mainstream, political attitudes and feelings of attachment to China differ widely.
From the racial dynamite of Singapore, a common national identity was forged. When speaking with any Singaporean, they first identify themselves with their nation before their race — a result backed up by a 2021 study by the Institute of Policy Studies at the National University of Singapore. This is a far cry from the 1960s when racial riots erupted between Malay and Chinese Singaporeans. Any questions on ties to Malaysia, India or China are limited to discussions on culture or ancestry.
Talking to a broad cross-section of Taiwanese, one finds a muddied picture. Self-recognition of a unique Taiwanese national identity only became a consistent majority position after 2008, as measured by National Chengchi University’s Election Study Center. Taiwan could learn from how Singapore managed to unite society through policy while facing pre-existing ethnic divisions.
Some Taiwanese, particularly those who came with the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) in 1949, still harbor nostalgia for China. Taiwan’s Chinese traditions and festivals enjoy a continuity from the past, unlike revolution-racked China. From the National Palace Museum to the use of traditional characters, the government in some aspects promotes itself as being more authentically “Chinese” than China.
Yet with Taiwan’s deep cultural ties to China, the idea of a common cultural destiny unhelpfully echoes Chinese rhetoric on political unification. With careful language and social policy, Singapore has managed to allow its people to retain their ethnic pride while elevating a national “Singaporean” identity. For Taiwan to have a future, we must also find national clarity on what it means to be “Taiwanese.” For this to be unifying rather than divisive, the next administration must strike a balancing act between recognizing its link with its Chinese past and continuing policies of Taiwanization.
This is especially important in Taiwan’s armed forces. One has to transform the deep-seated prejudice among the public against the military, whether due to the historical baggage of martial law or cultural bias against taking up arms.
Singapore started military conscription in 1967 and its two-year military service is a common bonding experience. It is a sad cliche that Taiwan’s equivalent is an exercise in futility. One might argue that Singaporean politics has been overly influenced by its armed forces, but it is preferable to a lack of military knowledge being the norm in government, as suggested by retired Taiwanese admiral Lee Hsi-ming (李喜明). Singapore has managed the impossible of making conscription a bedrock of national identity. Taiwan should have even greater potential to do the same, due to the very real threat it faces.
Resolving this identity crisis is necessary for advancing in other areas such as education. Just see the recent hoo-ha about Taipei First Girls’ High School Chinese literature teacher Alice Ou’s (區桂芝) criticism on curriculum changes to teaching Classical Chinese. The Chinese Communist Party has seized upon this apparent division in society to level accusations of desinicization. In the art sphere, a clarity on what being “Chinese” means to Taiwan is foundational to defining its potential and aspirations as a bastion of Chinese-speaking culture, whether it be mandopop, film or literature. Just as Singapore has managed to successfully leverage its reputation as a bridge between East and West, inspiring the confidence of Chinese and US leaders without being overly beholden to either, Taiwan must leverage its soft power to progress beyond its reputation in the West as simply being a manufacturer of high-tech.
Chinese President Xi Jinping’s (習近平) vision for China includes “cultural confidence,” a codename for a concerted effort to co-opt China’s traditions to achieve political ends. Despite the political polarization in Taiwan, the nation could and should eventually find its own cultural confidence — one based on a shared foundation of democratic governance, religious and ethnic plurality, and encompassing a wide conception of what it means to be Taiwanese.
JC Shen is a Taiwanese student residing in Singapore.
A Chinese diplomat’s violent threat against Japanese Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi following her remarks on defending Taiwan marks a dangerous escalation in East Asian tensions, revealing Beijing’s growing intolerance for dissent and the fragility of regional diplomacy. Chinese Consul General in Osaka Xue Jian (薛劍) on Saturday posted a chilling message on X: “the dirty neck that sticks itself in must be cut off,” in reference to Takaichi’s remark to Japanese lawmakers that an attack on Taiwan could threaten Japan’s survival. The post, which was later deleted, was not an isolated outburst. Xue has also amplified other incendiary messages, including one suggesting
Chinese Consul General in Osaka Xue Jian (薛劍) on Saturday last week shared a news article on social media about Japanese Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi’s remarks on Taiwan, adding that “the dirty neck that sticks itself in must be cut off.” The previous day in the Japanese House of Representatives, Takaichi said that a Chinese attack on Taiwan could constitute “a situation threatening Japan’s survival,” a reference to a legal legal term introduced in 2015 that allows the prime minister to deploy the Japan Self-Defense Forces. The violent nature of Xue’s comments is notable in that it came from a diplomat,
Before 1945, the most widely spoken language in Taiwan was Tai-gi (also known as Taiwanese, Taiwanese Hokkien or Hoklo). However, due to almost a century of language repression policies, many Taiwanese believe that Tai-gi is at risk of disappearing. To understand this crisis, I interviewed academics and activists about Taiwan’s history of language repression, the major challenges of revitalizing Tai-gi and their policy recommendations. Although Taiwanese were pressured to speak Japanese when Taiwan became a Japanese colony in 1895, most managed to keep their heritage languages alive in their homes. However, starting in 1949, when the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) enacted martial law
“Si ambulat loquitur tetrissitatque sicut anas, anas est” is, in customary international law, the three-part test of anatine ambulation, articulation and tetrissitation. And it is essential to Taiwan’s existence. Apocryphally, it can be traced as far back as Suetonius (蘇埃托尼烏斯) in late first-century Rome. Alas, Suetonius was only talking about ducks (anas). But this self-evident principle was codified as a four-part test at the Montevideo Convention in 1934, to which the United States is a party. Article One: “The state as a person of international law should possess the following qualifications: a) a permanent population; b) a defined territory; c) government;
RSS