Fri, Sep 19, 2025 page8

• Let’s talk about peace plainly

  • By John Cheng
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  In her article published on the Sept. 18 online edition of Taipei Times (Why talk about peace now?), Lung Ying-tai (龍應台) — the former minister of culture and long-celebrated conscience of Taiwan — asks us, with signature eloquence: “Why must we talk about peace today?”

  It’s a fair question. But a more urgent one is this: Whose peace is she talking about? And what price is she willing for Taiwan to pay for it? Or, to put it plainly: Is she asking Taiwan to surrender in the name of peace?

  From the outset, Lung draws a moral equivalence between Chinese President Xi Jinping (習近平) and William Lai (賴清德), lamenting how both leaders speak of peace while bolstering their militaries. “Fireballs on a collision course — both wrapped in the language of peace,” she writes. But this is not a clash of equals. One builds a world-class army to conquer; the other strengthens defense to survive. One dreams of annexation; the other prays war never comes. That Lung fails — or refuses — to acknowledge this moral asymmetry is not intellectual nuance. It is ethical blindness. Or deliberate avoidance.

  Lung then invokes the humility of historic figures — Brandt kneeling in Warsaw, de Gaulle taking the hand of a former enemy, de Klerk freeing Mandela — to show how peace begins with gestures of release and empathy. But she never tells us who she thinks should kneel today. Is she calling on Xi to show humility? To clasp Lai’s hand and renounce violence? Taiwan would welcome that. Or is she suggesting Taiwan should bow first, under threat, and call it wisdom?

  She writes that “peace cannot be outsourced to China” — a clever turn of phrase that lands like an accusation. In Lung’s framing, those who point at Beijing as the sole threat are shirking their responsibility for peace. But that’s exactly where the threat lies. And peace, at its core, requires only one thing: that Beijing stop threatening war. Lung never says this outright. Instead, she veils her argument in poetic abstractions, positioning herself above politics — and in doing so, above truth.

  She romanticizes Taiwan’s soft power — our semiconductors, our civil society, our democracy — suggesting these can be used to “prevent the worst outcome” through persuasion, trust-building, and dialogue. But how, exactly? With whom? Through what channels? To what end? She never tells us. Because she can’t. Because she knows that goodwill is not what Beijing values, and reason is not what it wants to hear.

  What Lung offers is not a strategy. It is a mood — a carefully composed fog of eloquence and moral symmetry, designed to appear brave while taking no actual risk, least of all the risk of offending the aggressor. To be fair, she does not lie. Her facts are selectively chosen, her prose polished, her tone measured. But it is precisely this elegance that raises concern. The problem is not dishonesty — it is evasion. The way she lifts moments from history out of context, flattens asymmetries into symmetry, and wraps complex realities in language so lyrical it escapes scrutiny. Her writing isn’t false. It’s elusive. And in a moment that demands moral clarity, that elusiveness does not enlighten. It obscures. It misleads.

  And so we must ask: What responsibility does Lung bear, as a public intellectual and cultural heavyweight, when she chooses not to speak plainly about the existential threat Taiwan faces? When she reduces deterrence to paranoia and moral clarity to fanaticism? When she scolds her own society for mistrusting “peace” talk — while remaining conspicuously silent about who holds the gun?

  If peace is truly what she wants, then let her begin with the truth: Taiwan seeks only to live free. China seeks to end that freedom. Everything else follows from there.

  And since she believes so deeply in the persuasive power of words — in humility, empathy, and the gentle force of moral appeal — let her write not to us, but to them.

  Let her compose, in equally beautiful prose, an open letter to Xi and the Chinese people. Tell them: that unification may be their dream, but it is not theirs alone to dictate. That the future of this relationship depends entirely on the will of 23 million Taiwanese. Most of all, urge them — gently but unflinchingly — to lay down their threats and pick up peace. And it’s never too late to try a little democracy — the kind Taiwan enjoys every day, the kind worth protecting.

  Let her write that.

  Because the world is not crying out for more ambiguity. It is crying out for clarity, for courage, and the moral honesty to tell the aggressor: No.

  John Cheng is a retired businessman from Hong Kong now living in Taiwan.
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