Feb. 21 to Feb. 27
By the end of February 2000, Taiwan’s mobile phone users had surpassed those with landlines. It was a quick surge for the industry, as just three years prior the coverage rate was 7 percent, according to the 2001 book Covering the Sky with One Hand: The Telecommunications Wars between the Four Heavenly Kings (隻手遮天: 大哥大四天王的電信大戰) by Peng Shu-fen (彭淑芬).
By the end of 2000, it was at 75 percent.
Photo: Chang Ching-ya, Taipei Times
“Although the battle for the mobile phone market was fierce, compared to other foreign markets, [Taiwan’s] developed quite rationally,” Peng writes. “Unlike Hong Kong, for example, there was no bloody price war with no regard to costs. But even though that didn’t happen here, the competition still greatly drove down phone fees.”
The trigger to these events was the government’s opening of the cell phone market to private operators in 1997. Eight participants entered the initial fray: Far EasTone Telecommunications Co (遠傳), Mobitai Communications Co (東信), Transasia Telecommunications Inc (泛亞), Chung Hwa Telecom Co (中華), KG Telecommunications Co (和信), Tung Jung Telecom (東榮) and Taiwan Mobile Co (台灣大哥大). Tung Jung was the first to fall, bought out by KG in December 1998.
By the time of the book’s writing, Taiwan’s cell phone fees fell to among the lowest in the world. The competition also drove up customer care and service quality, leading Peng to conclude that the consumers were the biggest winners of this war. Peng added that the voice-calling market was saturated, and with the advent of 2.5G Internet the next step would be moving toward data transmission.
Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
EXCLUSIVE COMMODITY
Before 1997, the Directorate General of Telecommunications had a monopoly over phone usage in Taiwan. Cell phones were extremely expensive — one could cost over NT$100,000. Even if you had the cash, there were long lines to obtain a phone number — the waiting list was up to about 1 million people by 1997. If you were desperate, you could buy a number off someone for as much as NT$50,000.
As an alternative, private companies tried to promote the CT2 system, a short-range mobile phone that used terrestrial base stations. People were excited and tempted by the companies’ inflated promises, paying in advance to reserve their spot and even hoping to run their own mini-operation through purchasing a costly personal base station.
This experiment ended in disappointment due to the limited range of the stations (a few hundred meters) and other technical difficulties such as the phone not working if one was moving too quickly. The users quickly returned their devices and the venture crashed.
The government finally passed the Telecommunications Act in July 1996, which aimed to open up the market to private businesses. The Directorate’s sales and business arm was separated into Chunghwa Telecom, with the goal of eventually becoming a private company (it made the transition in 2005).
The race was on. Taiwan Mobile started rolling out deals a month before the market opened, and reportedly had 15,000 customers signed up by opening day. The companies got innovative to compete against each other, offering all sorts of deals, special contracts and putting great effort into advertising.
There was still a gender balance in cell phone use at the beginning. A 1998 report by the Nielsen Corporation showed that 37 percent of men between the ages of 15 and 60 used a cell phone, while only 14 percent women did, although 20 percent expressed a desire to get one soon.
The report also found two main groups of users: those with higher incomes who wore the phone on their waist as a status symbol, and people such as salesmen who actually needed them for their jobs. It added that it would soon tap into the youth market.
Today only three of the original eight remain — Taiwan Mobile purchased Mobitai in 2004 and TransAsia in 2008, while KG was bought out by Far EasTone in 2010.
SHOWING OFF
By the end of February 2000, there were an estimated 12,180,000 cell phone users in Taiwan.
Of course, such a sudden proliferation of the technology brought problems, many of which persist today. Phone etiquette was a big issue, as discussed in the 2000 “Study on Improper Use of Cell Phones in Public Spaces (台灣公共空間內使用大哥大不當行為之探討) by Tseng Shih-yuan (曾士原).
Everyone who had one wanted to show off their new gadget, and they hung them by their waists and talked on them as much and as loud as they could, Tseng writes. It was not uncommon to see people slamming their large, seemingly indestructible phones onto the table as they arrived at a restaurant, yakking on them loudly throughout the course of the meal.
“If talking on the cell phone itself has become a fashionable leisure activity, or an action that one just can’t help showing off to the public, this means that our [already noisy] public spaces will have no chance of becoming quieter.” Tseng writes.
Before authorities clamped down on the practice, phones rang during class, in the library or at movie theaters — one interviewee said that he had heard at least 10 phones ringing during a screening.
This extreme visibility and showing off definitely hastened the popularity of mobile phones, Tseng writes.
“If someone calls you all the time, that suggests that your ability, importance and popularity are top notch,” Tseng writes. “When a cell phone becomes the symbol of how important you are, then even those who don’t actually need cell phones would be eager to have one too.”
Two decades later, this behavior has waned significantly, though it still persists.
Taiwan in Time, a column about Taiwan’s history that is published every Sunday, spotlights important or interesting events around the nation that either have anniversaries this week or are tied to current events.
Behind a car repair business on a nondescript Thai street are the cherished pets of a rising TikTok animal influencer: two lions and a 200-kilogram lion-tiger hybrid called “Big George.” Lion ownership is legal in Thailand, and Tharnuwarht Plengkemratch is an enthusiastic advocate, posting updates on his feline companions to nearly three million followers. “They’re playful and affectionate, just like dogs or cats,” he said from inside their cage complex at his home in the northern city of Chiang Mai. Thailand’s captive lion population has exploded in recent years, with nearly 500 registered in zoos, breeding farms, petting cafes and homes. Experts warn the
The unexpected collapse of the recall campaigns is being viewed through many lenses, most of them skewed and self-absorbed. The international media unsurprisingly focuses on what they perceive as the message that Taiwanese voters were sending in the failure of the mass recall, especially to China, the US and to friendly Western nations. This made some sense prior to early last month. One of the main arguments used by recall campaigners for recalling Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) lawmakers was that they were too pro-China, and by extension not to be trusted with defending the nation. Also by extension, that argument could be
Aug. 4 to Aug. 10 When Coca-Cola finally pushed its way into Taiwan’s market in 1968, it allegedly vowed to wipe out its major domestic rival Hey Song within five years. But Hey Song, which began as a manual operation in a family cow shed in 1925, had proven its resilience, surviving numerous setbacks — including the loss of autonomy and nearly all its assets due to the Japanese colonial government’s wartime economic policy. By the 1960s, Hey Song had risen to the top of Taiwan’s beverage industry. This success was driven not only by president Chang Wen-chi’s
Last week, on the heels of the recall election that turned out so badly for Taiwan, came the news that US President Donald Trump had blocked the transit of President William Lai (賴清德) through the US on his way to Latin America. A few days later the international media reported that in June a scheduled visit by Minister of National Defense Wellington Koo (顧立雄) for high level meetings was canceled by the US after China’s President Xi Jinping (習近平) asked Trump to curb US engagement with Taiwan during a June phone call. The cancellation of Lai’s transit was a gaudy
RSS