Two decisions changed the course of Rex How’s (郝明義) life. The first occurred on a rainy first night in Taipei when, as an 18-year-old “hindered by a physical disability and devoid of social ties,” he experienced an epiphany.
“Gazing into the void, I didn’t feel fear of the unknown,” writes How, who was left disabled by childhood polio. “Instead, the darkness seemed brim with possibilities … and … appeared to welcome me.”
Quite why he felt this affinity for Taiwan is hard to explain, though he admits that his upbringing in South Korea, where — as an overseas Chinese — he was exposed to Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) slogans about Free China probably played a role.
Though he makes no reference to it, How grew up under the rule of South Korean dictator Park Chung-hee — an ally of fellow authoritarian and Taiwan’s then-president Chiang Kai-shek (蔣中正). Yet his love affair with Taiwan is something he “cannot fully articulate.” Something on that drizzly night beckoned to him.
In contrast, in publicizing his concerns about the “black box” of the Cross-Strait Service Trade Agreement (CSSTA; 海峽兩岸服務貿易協議) on June 20, 2014 — a day before the “30-second bill,” as it was dubbed, was passed — his motivation was clear-cut.
In an open letter entitled “We Now Have Only 24 Hours Left,” How lambasted the “ignorance, incompetence, rudeness and [a] self-satisfying regression” that then-president Ma Ying-jeou (馬英九) had shown in refusing to acknowledge the concerns of the publishing industry.
Of the sectors to be opened to Chinese business under the trade pact, publishing was among the most risk-fraught, and there had been no consultation with industry representatives or even the relevant authorities. With his years of experience as a journalist and publisher, How warned of the danger of “full liberalization” of Taiwan’s market to “a formidable scale of economy unique to [China’s] integrated model.”
On the flip side, the trade agreement would not grant access to the publishing permits required to enter China’s state-controlled market regulation of ideology” in Chinese publishing would limit Taiwanese firms to “printing materials like packaging and promotional publications.”
A week later, How — who had been a national policy adviser to Ma’s government since 2009 — tendered his resignation in a scathing rebuke to the president that was read before the Legislative Yuan. In his missive, How concluded that Ma’s intransigence could no longer be attributed to “misguided advice.”
Instead, Ma’s repeated refusal to address public concerns about the CSSTA and the undemocratic manner of its passage in the legislature, suggested it was Ma’s own decision-making that had gone awry.
“[O]ne must think you’re either an autocrat or a fool,” How concluded.
TURNING TO THE OCEAN?
Following his resignation, How threw his weight behind the youth-led Sunflower movement, which had begun in March the same year. He came to see it as emblematic of a new “oceanic mindset” among young Taiwanese. In contrast, the KMT and, increasingly, the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) represent “terrestrial” thinking.
As for Ko wen-je (柯文哲) — who as a “one-man party” occupies his own chapter in this book — How casts the Taiwan People’s Party (TPP) leader as venturing out to sea “donning various costumes” aimed at young people floundering in the deep while “ultimately fishing for gains to enjoy back on land.”
The maritime metaphor, which anchors the text, is elegant and attractive. Yet its utility is questionable. How’s attempt to extend the idea from the figurative to the physical realm by citing examples of outstanding young people who have achieved success abroad is problematic.
For while these case studies are impressive and encouraging, the idea that the KMT old guard represents the opposite — a stultified generation of land-lubbers — is misleading. With its deep roots with overseas Chinese networks across Southeast Asia and the Pacific, the party has always relied on a connection to the sea. How’s own background is a testament to that.
As Free China rushed to get the jump on the Red Peril in the postcolonial world, KMT Cold Warriors were pioneers in Africa and Latin America. This may not fit with the party’s current conservative image, but it makes How’s land-sea dichotomy seem inappropriate in one important sense.
Perhaps the subtleties of the land-sea divide were lost to a translation that was apparently rendered largely through AI. This has also led to some unwieldy constructions and unnatural usages.
DOMESTIC CONCERNS
Where this book excels is in the nitty-gritty of contemporary Taiwanese politics. Here, How is in his element, taking aim at politicians of all stripes for backpedaling, failing on social issues, and — in some cases — outright deceit.
In the lead up to the presidential and legislative elections of Jan. 13, apathy among younger voters and a turn toward Ko’s brand of populism was attributed to a sense that voting for the major parties would produce more of the same. Domestic concerns, it was felt, had been sidelined in favor of the grandstanding on “the China threat.”
This book offers analysis of the key domestic problems facing Taiwanese society, strongly supporting the view that they have not been adequately addressed. In his chapter on the DPP, How spotlights the Special Act for Forward-Looking Infrastructure (SAFLI) and the accompanying Forward-looking Infrastructure Development Program (FLIDP) as examples of the ruling party’s “arrogance” under outgoing President Tsai Ing-wen (蔡英文).
Hastily drafted and passed with minimal oversight in 2017, these bills were criticized by the Legislative Yuan’s Budget Center, which highlighted areas requiring evaluation. While plans for public infrastructure investment under Ma and his DPP predecessor Chen Shui-bian (陳水扁) had included accountability clauses, these were “conspicuously absent” from the SAFLI plan. Even the basics were lacking: How notes that the cover page of the FLIDP document did not specify the department responsible for implementation.
Yet, despite the misgivings among legislators, the DPP used “the KMT’s playbook” to force through the passage of the legislation.
COMPREHENSIVE AND ACCESSIBLE
As mayor of Taipei, Ko seized upon such grievances over housing and construction. However, as How notes, Ko not only reneged on his commitments, but “betrayed” his supporters. During his campaign for the mayorship, Ko pledged to investigate “five major corruption cases,” including the awarding of development rights for the land on which the Taipei Dome was built.
“However, not only did he fail to illuminate the case, he also sidestepped the subsequent discovery of design and construction issues,” How writes.
One of the most startling revelations is Ko’s revision of an administrative order for assessing reported damage to buildings caused by nearby construction projects. Whereas investigations had previously involved cooperation between residents and construction supervisors, they would now be conducted solely by the developer.
“This process essentially allows the player to also act as the referee,” How writes.
These and other concrete examples make this book a valuable resource for anyone interested in policymaking in Taiwan. Occasionally the intricacies could do with clearer explanations — the Taipei City Floor Area Ratio Transfer Review Permit Autonomy Act introduced under former Taipei Mayor Hau Lung-bin (郝龍斌) is one example. But there is currently no other English-language source that examines these issues in such a comprehensive and accessible way.
“If there’s one throughline that describes Rex’s career, it’s this: he thinks clearly and follows his heart,” writes Michelle Kuo (郭怡慧) in her introduction.
If that sounds somewhat paradoxical, in his even-handed presentation of the challenges facing Taiwan, How validates Kuo’s assessment.
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