It is being said every second day: The ongoing recall campaign in Taiwan — where citizens are trying to collect enough signatures to trigger re-elections for a number of Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) legislators — is orchestrated by the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP), or even President William Lai (賴清德) himself. The KMT makes the claim, and foreign media and analysts repeat it.
However, they never show any proof — because there is not any.
It is alarming how easily academics, journalists and experts toss around claims that amount to accusing a democratic government of conspiracy — without a shred of evidence. These are serious charges. In any country, accusing the government of orchestrating a political purge without proof would be called defamation.
So I did what journalists are supposed to do: I went to the streets of Taipei and spent time with recall campaigners.
What I saw was anything but a top-down government operation. Campaigners told me how a small Facebook group, venting about the pro-China stances of some legislators, grew into a decentralized movement of citizens organizing recalls.
They had makeshift signs, sang songs to keep up morale and double-checked the complex rules around signature collection — because none of them was a professional.
Some were former KMT voters who said they voted to “maintain the status quo, not surrender to China.”
One elderly man, a fan of Chiang Kai-shek (蔣介石), said that being a “true blue” KMT supporter means opposing the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) — not siding with it. He is now helping with the recall.
Far from DPP propaganda, the campaigners had put up posters of Chiang, not DPP figures. The main target of their signs was KMT Legislator Wang Hung-wei (王鴻薇), presented as the poster woman for pro-CCP politics — also a way to avoid stigmatizing the KMT as a whole. The recall was taking place in a solidly blue district, yet they collected more than enough signatures. No one tried to stop them.
I was there when a DPP councilor came by. She shook hands, looked cautiously hopeful and quietly left after a short visit. She did not act like someone overseeing a DPP operation. She seemed surprised by how widespread and energetic the campaign was.
That matches what I heard when the campaign first started: The DPP did not believe the recall would work. They are now taken by surprise at its success.
Of course, some would say the campaigners lied to me — which would mean accusing them, without proof, of having orchestrated an entire event just for my benefit. However, is it really so hard to believe they could be grassroots activists?
The movement is not the first recall campaign in the country’s history. Taiwan has a long tradition of citizen activism for a wide variety of causes. Over the years, I have met Taiwanese campaigners advocating for everything from same-sex marriage to neighborhood zoning. They know how to organize.
At the recall site, one man said he used to campaign for LGBTQ+ rights and brought those skills to the recall effort. So why are people supposed to believe the same people suddenly became incapable of self-mobilization?
There is a bias and double-standard at play, too: If this were happening in a Western democracy, no one would doubt it was grassroots.
Of course, you would not hear about it. The usual crowd that writes on Taiwan is too busy speculating about a war that has not happened, quoting “experts” in articles bloated with “may,” “might” and “could” every time China bats an eyelid.
That is how you end up reading casual accusations that the campaigners are Lai’s personal pawns rather than concerned citizens. Why go and meet them when you can just repeat what the experts said?
This column is not about endorsing the recall, nor is it defending any party. It is about pushing back on a false narrative. Accusing the government of orchestrating the movement without proof is not analysis — it is defamation. Especially when field experience shows something genuine — and actually familiar: the typical scenes of Taiwanese grassroots activism.
I will be the first to change my mind if someone shows me clear evidence that the government is behind it. Until then, I will stick to what I witnessed with my own eyes. That will serve readers better.
Julien Oeuillet is a journalist in Taiwan. He is the founding editor of Indo-Pacific Open News. He also writes and produces radio and television programs for several English-language publications globally.
The closure of the Strait of Hormuz has sent the vast Asian chemicals industry into a tailspin. Deprived of the likes of Qatari natural gas and Saudi Arabian oil, the region’s fertilizer and plastics plants are slowing production or even shutting down. Everywhere except China, that is. In petrochemicals, China is unique. As well as a traditional industry that uses oil and gas as feedstock, it has parallel output that relies on its abundant domestic coal. Unsurprisingly, India and other regional powers want to copy and paste the Chinese method. This would not be easy — or climate friendly. The
KMT Chairwoman Cheng Li-wun’s (鄭麗文) recent visit to Beijing and her upcoming visit to Washington will serve as a high-level test of her diplomatic mettle. In Beijing, Cheng was received with symbolic gestures, a warm reception, and high-level access. In Washington, she will receive far less pomp and far sharper questions about the KMT’s vision for the future of Taiwan. Her challenge will be to persuade Washington that the KMT’s engagement with China can coexist with strong deterrence. Cheng’s April 7-12 visit to mainland China coincided with an intense period of conflict in Iran. Despite the strategic significance of Cheng’s trip,
History might remember 2026, not 2022, as the year artificial intelligence (AI) truly changed everything. ChatGPT’s launch was a product moment. What is happening now is an anthropological moment: AI is no longer merely answering questions. It is now taking initiative and learning from others to get things done, behaving less like software and more like a colleague. The economic consequence is the rise of the one-person company — a structure anticipated in the 2024 book The Choices Amid Great Changes, which I coauthored. The real target of AI is not labor. It is hierarchy. When AI sharply reduces the cost
US President Donald Trump recently repeated his claim that “Taiwan stole America’s chip industry,” reigniting public debate on the issue. As a former Taiwanese minister of economic affairs and an entrepreneur deeply involved in semiconductor supply chain development, I feel a responsibility to clarify this misunderstanding. From the perspective of global industrial evolution and the economic principle of comparative advantage, such a statement appears overly simplistic and risks obscuring the essence of the issue. The rise of Taiwan’s semiconductor industry was not built on “replacing America,” but rather emerged as a result of countries pursuing different development paths within the