On Oct. 10, 1957, Chiang Kai-shek (蔣介石) made an offer that he thought his “mainland compatriots” could not refuse. The “Six Great Freedoms and Three Great Promises,” were announced in Chiang’s Double Ten National Day speech. They guaranteed political rights and financial rewards for defectors from the “motherland-selling-out, humanity-annihilating, traitorous party of the communist bandits” to Free China.
The idea of “anti-communist righteous warriors” (反共義士) had first surfaced in 1954 with the arrival of more than 14,000 soldiers from POW camps in South Korea. These men, who had chosen to “return” to Taiwan at the end of the Korean War rather than the “hell on earth” in China, became the paradigm for the political refugees that flooded into Taiwan throughout the 1950s.
Early defectors included freedom fighters and “living Buddhas” from Tibet who compiled an early Tibetan-Mandarin dictionary. Another interesting case was that of Tang Jin-ying (唐錦寅), a law school graduate turned stonemason who hijacked a freighter in Haikou and reportedly murdered the ship’s 10 sailors, before sailing it to Vietnam. Hailed as a hero, he was shuttled to Taiwan where he became a Taipei prosecutor “with a beautiful family and a strong anti-communist faith.”
Yet, as Andrew D. Morris makes clear in this riveting account, the showstoppers were the People’s Liberation Army (中國人民解放軍, PLA) pilots who commandeered jets to “dash for freedom in Taiwan.” With tales of their derring-do dominating newspaper headlines, radio broadcasts and newsreels for years, the public was entranced.
Things did not get off to an auspicious start. The first of these “insurrectionary pilots” crashed his MiG-15 into a rocky outcrop off Nanao Township (南澳) in Yilan (宜蘭) on Jan. 12, 1960. But the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) was never one to miss a propaganda opportunity, and it quickly spun the unfortunate event into a blaze of glory for a martyred compatriot.
The unknown pilot was the first, albeit posthumous, recipient of Chiang’s promised reward, with General Peng Meng-ji (彭孟緝, the infamous Butcher of Kaoshiung), announcing that the pilot’s family would receive 1,000 taels of gold — around US$42,500.
PUBLIC CRITICISM
The fanfare over the heroism was a welcome distraction. As Morris notes, Chiang was facing criticism for seeking an “unconstitutional” third term. Leading the calls for him to stand down was the Free China Journal (自由中國), run by his one-time ally Lei Chen (雷震). The newspaper was also starting to cast doubt on the KMT’s mission to retake China.
Over the next three decades, a stream of escapes provided fodder for the KMT government’s narrative about crumbling morale within the PLA ranks and China as whole.
The press conferences and publicity tours became rituals designed to reveal the chasm in prosperity, development, and freedom between the two sides of the strait. The defectors expressed astonishment — sometimes genuine, Morris surmises — at what they found in Free China. Most of them insisted they had been lured by the promise of patriotism and freedom. Some professed to have had no idea about the exorbitant rewards.
Over the years, these suspiciously uniform claims became harder to credit. Many defectors acknowledged the influence of radio broadcasts and leaflets — projected by the ton from planes, canons and air balloons — in spurring their abscondment. Conspicuous in these propaganda materials were the financial inducements. It’s hard to believe any of the righteous warriors were unaware.
UNRIGHTEOUS CONDUCT
Wined and dined by government bigwigs, whisked off for shopping sprees at luxury department stores and feted at public appearances with celebrities such as Teresa Teng (鄧麗君), the pilots attained rock star status.
Alas, several individuals proved unworthy of the adulation. High-profile scandals severely undermined the vaunted righteousness of the warriors. The most shocking incident involved members of a group who had hijacked a Shanghai-bound commercial airliner in 1983.
Dubbed the “Righteous Six,” these Shenyang natives were each given healthy payoffs and cushy civil service posts. Paeans extoling their virtues occupied the pages of literary journals; they were hosted by then-president Chiang Ching-kuo (蔣經國) who praised their “heroic feat in the name of rejecting Communist [sic] tyranny.”
The excitement soon ebbed as the group’s leader Zhuo Changren (卓長仁) revealed an unsavory side. Even within the KMT’s closed circles, there was disgust at his appointment to the China Mainland Affairs Research Center and involvement in high-level meetings for which he had no qualifications.
Griping about negative media coverage and demanding improved benefits, Zhuo cut a cynical, avaricious figure. In 2001, he and fellow hijacker Chiang Hong-jun (姜洪軍) were executed for their part in the 1991 kidnapping and murder of a Wang Chun-chieh (王俊傑), son of Cathay General Hospital Vice President Wang Yu-ming (王欲明). “Long live the Republic of China! Long live the unification of China,” Zhuo hollered as he was bundled into the van escorting him to his death.
A RARE TREAT
By the 1970s the claim that the communist bandits were “on the verge of collapse” rang hollow. Furthermore, the extravagance lavished upon the heroes had begun to grate. Rewards of up to US$4.5 million, by the time the incentives were abandoned in 1988, could no longer be justified in a society where the average annual income was less than US$6,500.
Through a thoughtful division of the book into distinct periods and themes, Morris presents changing attitudes toward the defectors as a mutually reinforcing facet of Taiwan’s sociopolitical evolution. The more Taiwan developed politically and economically, the more attractive it became to potential defectors. Conversely, as Taiwanese began to demand reform, greater freedoms and opening, the nepotism that underscored the “great promises” became untenable.
What makes this book such a treat is the irony and humor that runs through the text. Morris frequently strikes an almost conspiratorial tone, inviting the reader to join him in chuckling at the absurdity of this history.
The book is packed with amusing asides, but the following account of the arrest of defector Xiao Tianrun (蕭天潤), “an odious, entitled figure,” for illegal gambling is illustrative:
“Confronted with proof of his lies, Xiao took another tack, angrily challenging the police’s right to arrest a military man such as himself in the first place!” writes Morris. “It was ‘an extremely strange’ police system in Taiwan that allowed for such a thing, he argued, calling that a ‘high-level discussion’ be convened to ‘analyze’ his arrest. The police took another tack still, sending Xiao to jail. Righteous behavior seemed to regularly escape Xiao’s capability after this.”
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