Tomorrow marks 53 years since then-US secretary of state William Rogers on Sept. 8, 1971, sent a four-page note to then-minister of foreign affairs Chow Shu-kai (周書楷) informing him that the Republic of China’s (ROC) banishment from the UN at an upcoming UN resolution was all but certain. However, if Taiwan worked with the US, there was a chance the nation could stay in the organization as a member of the General Assembly, while the People’s Republic of China (PRC) took its Security Council seat.
It was an opportunity that Chiang Kai-shek (蔣介石) and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, based on a stubborn adherence to a “one China” ideology, did not take up, causing long-term damage to the nation’s international status and visibility.
Taiwan continues to live with the consequences of the decision with its exclusion from the UN and UN-affiliated organizations.
Taiwanese leaders’ strategic myopia in forsaking pragmatism in favor of ideology offers lessons on the nation’s statecraft today. Obdurate insistence on a “one China” ideology — which many Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) politicians still advocate — does not serve the nation’s interests, especially in international affairs.
Known as the “dual representation” solution — allowing the ROC and the PRC to both be UN members — Rogers wrote that while it was all but certain Taiwan no longer had the support of the General Assembly to retain its seat on the council, and if it were put to a vote, the PRC would certainly win, there was a chance the ROC could retain a place in the assembly through a resolution that would have affirmed PRC membership in the council and ROC membership in the general assembly.
However, despite the US’ best efforts, it was unable to drum up enough support.
“Despite our best efforts, we have been totally unable to assemble even a minimally acceptable list of cosponsors for the [dual] Representation Resolution,” Rogers said.
To garner enough support — other countries did not want to be on the wrong side of a losing vote — Rogers said that ROC diplomats needed to signal the nation’s willingness to vacate the council seat while staying in the UN as a member of the General Assembly — tantamount to accepting a “two Chinas” solution to the Chinese Civil War.
“Indeed, some countries have come to regard our willingness to include such a recommendation [that the PRC take the council seat] as a test of our seriousness in pressing ahead with all available means to make our approach prevail in the General Assembly,” he wrote.
Despite ROC diplomats being fully aware that the consequence of their inaction would be the nation’s banishment from the UN, they did not proceed.
On Oct. 25, 1971, the ROC lost a motion — known as Resolution 2758 — which decided on China’s representation at the UN. Immediately afterward, Chow stormed out of the assembly, so the dual representation motion never went to a vote. Taiwan was no longer in the UN.
The PRC is now distorting Resolution 2758, incorrectly asserting that it says that Taiwan is a part of China when it does not.
The 1971 debacle is a lesson on the importance of prioritizing national interest over ideology. It would have been much better to fight to stay in the UN than be ousted. Doing so would have given Taiwan more influence, legitimacy and visibility, and the nation could have had more leverage to chart its path in the world.
In 40 years of watching politics, I have never seen anything quite like Taipei mayoral candidate Puma Shen’s (沈伯洋) breed of politician. He has a presence that commands attention, and a combination of qualities that appear to be the result of powerful political currents. What is it that makes Shen different? Throughout the past decades of local elections, I have not seen anyone seriously discuss a long-term vision for urban planning, let alone with the kind of clarity and insight that Shen possesses that compels people to keep listening. He is an exceptional storyteller, with an ability to present a vision
China prefers to win without firing a shot in its bid to strangle Taiwan’s strategic autonomy. Chinese military strategist Sun Tzu (孫子) would have approved. Its central tool at sea is the “cabbage strategy”: the Chinese People’s Liberation Army Navy (PLAN) layers fishing boats, maritime militia, coast guard cutters and warships around Taiwan’s contested waters in overlapping rings. Each layer normalizes daily coercion, narrows Taiwan’s freedom of movement and chips away at its maritime sovereignty — all while staying below the threshold of armed conflict. This is “gray zone” warfare at its most cost-effective — one of Beijing’s most promising
Taiwanese writer Chu Yu-hsun (朱宥勳) this month spoke out about the difficulties of judging literary competitions when nearly 40 percent of the novel submissions he reviews appear to be generated by artificial intelligence (AI). He said he would refuse to serve as a judge for any literary award that does not explicitly prohibit the use of AI in creative writing. The use of AI in creative and academic work has become increasingly common. My son, who attends National Chengchi University, says he is exasperated after working to complete assignments on his own, only to receive lower grades than classmates who used
Freedom of expression is a precious gift from the times, civilization and history, Hong Kong writer Hon Lai-chu (韓麗珠) said on Wednesday last week when she received the Golden Tripod Award, the highest honor in Taiwan’s publishing industry, for her novel Flesh Mountain (祼山). “As a Hong Konger these days, I deeply feel that the freedom to write and publish should not be taken for granted,” she said. She said that for a reason. Hon, who rarely speaks publicly or accept interviews in Hong Kong because it could result in serious consequences, resigned from her long-running columnist post at the Chinese-language Hong
RSS