A review of Zhao Ziyang’s ‘Prisoner of the State’

Former Chinese premier and Communist Party secretary-general Zhao Ziyang’s (趙紫陽) memoir, Prisoner of the State, was released on May 19, just in time for the 20th anniversary of the Tiananmen Square Massacre. Prior to its release, many wondered if the volume — based on about 30 tapes that he recorded, in secret, around 2000, when he was still under house arrest following the events of 1989 — would cause a stir in China. After all, the Beijing leadership created an emergency body to deal with the potential repercussions of Zhao’s death in 2005, fearing that his passing could somehow reawaken passion for liberalism among Chinese, a passion for which, given his reform-mindedness and opposition to the crackdown at Tiananmen Square, he had become a figurehead — or would have, that is, had he not been completely erased from people’s collective memory by his house arrest and severe restrictions on travel.

Zhao’s book, the result of efforts by a group of individuals in China who risked their personal safety to bring his thoughts to an international audience, came out, it sold well and was generally well received. And Beijing ignored it.

Now that this milestone has passed, and with a Chinese Communist Party (CCP) whose grip on power is perhaps more secure than it ever has been in its 60-year history, the relevant thing to do with Zhao’s book is to mine it for insights into the inner workings of the CCP and the man himself. After all, if Zhao the reformist managed to climb the ladder of power, other officials within the CCP today could be made of the same mettle and, given the right circumstances, could endeavor to continue Zhao’s efforts to liberalize the country’s political system.

One thing that is important to note, however — and Prisoner of the State makes this quite clear — is that while Zhao was undoubtedly a reformist on the economy, his political views when he was a party official were relatively conservative. At the very least, they were pragmatic, and Zhao demonstrates time and again that he could play with the best as he sought to maneuver amid the main factions within the party, those that sought to open China to the world and experiment with market economy under a socialist system, against those whose views seemed to have ossified back in the 1950s. Only late in life, after years of house arrest and a few years before his death, did Zhao seem to acknowledge that, though not without its flaws, the Western style of parliamentary democracy is superior to other forms of governance, and should therefore be emulated, however gradually, by China. The key here is that while he was in power, such thoughts do not appear to ever have crossed his mind, and Zhao toed the line like any other CCP official when it came to ensuring the supremacy of the party, or the question of Taiwan (which gets surprisingly little mention).

Contrary to popular knowledge, Zhao’s political star waned before the tragic events of June 4, 1989, as his conservative detractors within the party used a botched consumer goods price adjustment, which resulted in panic and a bank run, to strike at the economic liberalization he had carefully managed, with elder Deng Xiaoping’s (鄧小平) blessing (while history credits Deng with laying the foundations to China’s economic development, Zhao’s memoirs clearly show that the theory and hard work behind this success was largely his). His soft approach to the demonstration in the lead-up to the Tiananmen Square Massacre, his assessment that the student demonstrators did not threaten the survival of the CCP, and his willingness to talk with them to find common ground also served as ammunition for his conservative opponents, who saw his handling of the matter as proof that he was attempting to split the party, or even sided with the students. (Ironically, Zhao seems to have believed that the demonstrators only wanted the CCP to correct its flaws rather than challenge the one-party authoritarian state, a view that, with the advantage of hindsight, seems a little naïve.)

While Prisoner of the State does not reveal much that wasn’t already in the literature (e.g., The Tiananmen Papers) about the weeks leading to the Tiananmen Square Massacre, when Zhao’s retelling of that period is taken in the context of the growing opposition to his rule, which he discusses in the sections “War in the Politburo” and “A Tumultuous Year,” it becomes easier to see how the CCP — with Deng’s approval — would quickly dispose of Zhao and turn back the clock on reform, both economic and political.

The section “House Arrest” is of particular interest, as it shows the lengths the CCP and the security apparatus would go to make sure Zhao did not come in contact with society. The result is tragicomedy, with Zhao having to fight to play a round of golf at a Japanese-owned gold course; the state’s refusal for him to travel anywhere near Hong Kong and Guangdong, or to attend funerals; and its outright refusal to reply to his numerous letters asking for a description of, and the rationale behind, the restrictions imposed on him under his house arrest. This section highlights the randomness and lack of logic that is inherent to authoritarian states, so much so that the state’s 30-point investigative report about Zhao’s “misdeeds” during the Tiananmen crisis — which is quoted in full — reads more like an homage to his actions than a list of incriminating evidence.

Equally relevant is the section on Zhao’s personal journey on the economic front, which culminated in his efforts, as premier, to bring about liberalization of the economy, an enterprise that, given the not insubstantial opposition to reform that existed at the time, would not have succeeded had it not been for Deng’s similar views on the matter.

Late in his active political career, Zhao seemed to have reached the conclusion that economic reform could not continue without some degree of political reform, with the caveat that the CPP should remain primus inter pares. However, by the time he was adopting those views, it was already too late, and the drift toward his political exclusion had already begun, with the events of June 4 — and Zhao’s opposition to the use of force against the demonstrators — serving as the ultimate push that sent him to his demise.

Ultimately, what is most striking about Prisoner of the State isn’t what it tells us about Zhao, whose views, though progressive for the time and the party he served, are far from exceptional. In fact, most of what he discusses — even the most “controversial” aspects — are just plain common sense. The truly striking thing is that people in China today, 20 years after the disruptive events at Tiananmen Square, still have to risk their personal safety and that of their families to bring this book into being. What Prisoner of the State shows us, therefore, is that while China has grown by leaps on the economic front, politically it remains a country that, to paraphrase Zhao, is run by a few men who refuse to yield an inch on their control of the state. Toward the end, Zhao saw the need for a free press in China. That books like this collection would continue to be banned in China today, or that individuals would have to use cloak-and-dagger measures to bring the tapes out and compile them into a book, shows us that freedom of expression still doesn’t exist in China. Therein, perhaps, lies Zhao’s penultimate condemnation of the CCP, his final act of defiance.

Prisoner of the State isn’t a bad book; in fact, it’s a pretty good book. But there’s nothing dangerous in it — not even for the CCP.

Cross-strait semantics

When one is as immersed in the fascinating world of politics of identity and sovereignty in Taiwan as I am (which probably applies to many readers), the seemingly careless manner in which academics and the media use of words to characterize relations across the Taiwan Strait can be frustrating. Seen through this lens, terminology such as “Mainland,” “island” and “one China” take on a special meaning.

Three terms that are bandied about as if they were interchangeable are deserving of special consideration, as their meaning is in fact quite divergent: reunification, unification, and annexation.

Reunification is often used, though not exclusively, by the regime in Beijing, which continues to claim that Taiwan is part of China. Aside from historical documentation supporting the fact that Taiwan never was part of China and that it was not “returned” to China after the end of World War II, it would be an even more grievous fallacy to claim that Taiwan is part of the People’s Republic of China.

Unification, meanwhile, implies that the two sides are in favor of a union and that both are proactively pursuing that objective. While both the regime in Beijing and Chinese in general agree to that goal, poll after poll in Taiwan has shown that the great majority of people in Taiwan (90 percent) support the “status quo” rather than a union with China. As such, when one side favors an outcome that is not sought by the other, the term unification is inapplicable.

Which brings us to the third term, annexation, which is a far better description of the situation in the Taiwan Strait. Annexation involves the appendage of a small entity to a larger one, and though it does not do so explicitly, it also implies a force imbalance in the relationship, meaning that the union is sought against the will of the smaller entity. As we have seen, despite the cross-strait rapprochement launched by the Ma Ying-jeou (馬英九) administration and growing cross-strait exchanges in the economic, social and political spheres, the desire for a union with China does not exist at the moment (in fact, support for the “status quo” has grown in inverse proportion to cross-strait integration over the past 20 years). Annexation would gain special meaning if Ma’s policies engendered such dependence on China as to put Taiwan in a straightjacket.

Three words, all used as if they meant the same thing; but in fact, they are laden with implications regarding history, dynamics, and will. For readers who are acquainted with the history of Taiwan’s relations with China, it is easy to tell which words are closer to approximating the truth. But for readers abroad, who may not know much about the situation — but whose support could be key one day — misuse of the terms could create false impressions and mislead them as they make decisions.

GIO angered by removal of film

By Shih Hsiu-chuan and J. Michael cole
STAFF REPORTERS

The Government Information office (GIO) yesterday expressed its displeasure at Fortissimo Films, the Amsterdam-based distributor of the movie Miao Miao (渺渺), following the controversial withdrawal of the film from the Melbourne International Film Festival (MIFF).

“We feel deep regret that Fortissimo pulled the movie without informing Taiwan in advance,” said Frank Chen (陳志寬), director of the GIO’s Department of Motion Pictures.

Chen said the withdrawal had “hurt the image of Taiwan.”

The office was unclear about the name under which the movie was registered at the festival.

Chen said the GIO would seek reimbursement of a NT$4 million (US$123,000) subsidy it gave to Taiwan Jet Tone (台灣澤東公司) if the movie was not registered at the festival under the country’s name, as stipulated in the contract granting the funds in 2005.

Taiwan Jet Tone obtained the subsidy to co-produce the film, directed by Taiwanese director Cheng Hsiao-tse (程孝澤) and with mostly Taiwanese actors, with Hong Kong-based Jet Tone Film Ltd (香港澤東公司).

In protest at the festival’s refusal of a request from the Chinese Consulate in Australia not to air the documentary 10 Conditions of Love about exiled Uighur leader Rebiya Kadeer at the film festival, China withdrew its four films from the event late last month.

Miao Miao was also pulled, with the GIO and Taiwan Jet Tone offering different accounts of who made the decision and why.

The withdrawal has met with mounting criticism as it suggested not only that Miao Miao, a Taiwanese film, was categorized as a Chinese film in an international film festival, but also that Taiwan was siding with Beijing in the repression of Uighurs.

Chen Bau-shu (陳寶旭), the person in charge of Hong Kong Jet Tone Film’s business in Taiwan, denied yesterday that the withdrawal was inappropriate.

“I don’t think pulling the film was in violation of the funding contract [signed between the GIO and the company], which would lead to the [revocation of the funds],” Chen Bau-shu said before meeting GIO officials.

Chen Bau-shu said the film production and the distributor jointly decided to pull the film from the festival as “there was a weird ambiance going around the film festival.”

Repeatedly asked by reporters to specify what she meant by “weird ambiance,” Chen declined to elaborate, saying the festival was “politicized” and had lost the spirit a film festival should have.

“[We made the decision because of] the complexity of the festival’s atmosphere. There were many political issues involved … Initially we thought the film festival may be an opportunity to promote the film, but now we’d rather not get involved,” she said.

Chen Bau-shu said that it was only a “coincidence” that Miao Miao was pulled at the same time as the Chinese movies.

“I don’t agree with the criticism that we withdrew the movie to cater to China. The withdrawal of the movie has nothing to do with our plan to broadcast the movie in China,” she said, adding she did not know if China was suppressing Uighurs.

“It’s not my business,” she said.

Asked about the impact of the withdrawal on Taiwan’s image, Chen Bau-shu said: “I can only say I am very sorry for the damage the withdrawal did to Taiwan’s image.”

In an e-mail to the Taipei Times later yesterday, a representative from Jet Tone in Hong Kong wrote: “Regarding … the issue of [the] GIO subsidy [to the movie festival], our production Miao Miao has entered all the international film festivals so far as an entry of Taiwan/Hong Kong. Jet Tone Films is listed on all documents as the production company and this is in no conflict with any existing regulations. We have already explained this point to the Government Information Office Film Dept.”

“The withdrawal from the Melbourne Film Festival [was] made by the film owner who believes the current edition of the festival has become a hotbed of political ideas and jeopardize[d] any dialogue and exchange amongst creative people,” the firm wrote. “Thus we [took] the decision to withdraw from the festival. This is [not in] conflict with existing regulation and there is no external factor influencing our decisions. We hope you will all respect our decisions.”

“About the withdraw[al] from the Melbourne Film Festival, we regret that we did not have sufficient time to notify the Government Information Office. But we believe film art is above politics,” it said.

“The purpose of Taiwan’s Jet Tone Films is to groom the talents from Taiwan and support Taiwanese cinema,” it said. “Miao Miao was shot entirely in Taiwan using talents both in front and behind the camera.”

Jet Tone was founded by Hong Kong moviemaker Wang Kar-wai (王家衛), one of the three producers of Miao Miao. It has offices in Hong Kong, Taipei and Shanghai.

This article can be accessed on the Taipei Times Web site.

The language used by both Chen Bau-shu, the person in charge of Hong Kong Jet Tone Film’s business in Taiwan, and the communiqué sent me by Norman Wang at Jet Tone in Hong Kong is quite interesting. Chen’s purported ignorance regarding the repression of Uighurs by the Chinese state, her contention that the removal of the Chinese films and that from Taiwan was purely “coincidental” and her comments about the ambiance at the festival being “weird” all smack of Chinese propaganda.

Even worse was the communiqué, with its contention that “the current edition of the festival has become a hotbed of political ideas and jeopardize[d] any dialogue and exchange amongst creative people” and “film art is above politics,” which read like they were written by some propagandist back in Beijing (especially words like “hotbed.”

Since when are movies apolitical? Furthermore, if film are were above politics, as the communiqué states, the why would Chinese producers pull their movies over a political matter — the repression of Uighurs by China? Movie content will never be entirely apolitical. There is also a contradiction in the statement that a “hotbed of political ideas” is jeopardizing dialogue and exchange, which seems to be lost on the drafters of the memo.

Hopefully a price will be paid by those who made the decision to pull the movies from the festival, if only in bad publicity and diminishing sales at the box office. One can hope, too, that this will have served as a wake-up call for Taiwanese creative artists and government agencies such as the GIO that have pushed for cross-strait cooperation in the arts. One thing is sure: I’m never paying to see a movie directed, written or produced by Wang Kar-wai again. My Blueberry Nights, though cute, wasn’t all that great anyway.

TECO could still fund Melbourne Film Festival [UPDATED]

By Jenny W. Hsu and J. Michael Cole

STAFF REPORTERS

The Taipei Economic and Relations Office (TECO) in Australia said yesterday it had proposed to the Melbourne International Film Festival (MIFF) that it resume its status as a “cultural partner” after sponsorship was annulled when a Taiwanese film was withdrawn by its Hong Kong production company last month. TECO’s Information Division Director Jerry Chuang (莊正安) told the Taipei Times in a telephone interview that his office had made the pitch to the organizer and was waiting for an answer.

Chuang said the sponsorship became void when feature film Miao Miao was pulled, but when it was pointed out that Taiwan still had two short films — Joyce Agape and The Pursuit of What Was —in the event, TECO decided the conditions of the sponsorship hadn’t changed.

“We are eager to resume our sponsorship to show our full support for the festival,” Chuang said.

The proposal came amid a China-initiated boycott of the festival surrounding the presentation of a documentary on the life of World Uighur Congress president Rebiya Kadeer and an Agence France-Presse (AFP) report on Saturday that said: “All Chinese-language films were withdrawn from the festival in protest, and Hong Kong and Taipei’s trade offices both pulled their sponsorship.”

Contacted by the Taipei Times on Monday for comment before the resumption of sponsorship idea had been floated, festival spokeswoman Louise Heseltine said: “We never said the Taiwan Trade Office withdrew funding.”

“The festival receives funding from both the Hong Kong Trade Office and TECO based on the festival screening films from those regions,” Heseltine said.

However, “if there are no Hong Kong or Taiwanese films screening at the festival, then the sponsorship agreement becomes void,” said Heseltine, who once lived in Taiwan.

Last week the festival announced that Miao Miao, by Taiwanese director Cheng Hsiao-tse (程孝澤), was among the seven Chinese-language films pulling out of the festival. The movie was produced by Wong Kar-Wai (王家衛), Jacky Pang (彭綺華) and Stanley Kwan Kam-pang (關錦鵬). Its distributors in Taiwan and Hong Kong are Golden Scene and Warner Bros International respectively. The international distributor is the Netherlands-based Fortissimo Films, which has a branch office in Hong Kong.

In an e-mail to the Taipei Times yesterday, Courtney Noble, director of Festivals and Markets at Fortissimo Films in Amsterdam, wrote: “We received a formal request from the producer/owners of the film [Miao Miao] that it be pulled. As we have a contractual obligation with them and all of our producers to follow their instructions, we proceeded to do so.”

“The Melbourne Festival with whom our company has a longstanding relationship was extremely gracious and cooperative in immediately agreeing to this request,” Noble said.

This article can be accessed on the Taipei Times Web site.

During my conversations with Ms Heseltine, she made it clear that TECO had not “withdrawn” its funding for the festival, but rather that as Taiwan would not be presenting any movies at the MIFF, agreements on financial contributions would be “void.” The key words here are “withdrawn” and “void,” are the first implies proactive and willful removal, while the latter is merely the result, however unfortunate, of abidance to a contract. “Withdrawal” could also have political undertones (e.g., Taiwan siding with Beijing on the Kadeer issue), while “void” does not have political connotations. The fact that TECO has sought to resume sponsorship, based on the fact that two shorts by Taiwanese are still participating at the festival, supports this argument.

What I also learned from my conversation with Fortissimo Film in the Netherlands is that the decision to respect contractual agreements with the producers and owners of the movie Miao Miao appears to have been made at company headquarters in Amsterdam rather than at the regional office in Hong Kong (which did not reply to my requests for comment). Ms Noble was noncommittal on the possibility of there being a rift between Amsterdam and Hong Kong on the removal of the film, and would not elaborate on whether headquarters disagreed with the turn of events.

I find it interesting that this would occur merely one week after the Government Information Office (GIO) announced that starting this month, Taiwan and China would be allowed to cooperate on TV production. In an editorial I produced on the GIO’s announcement, I wrote, perhaps presciently, given last week’s events: “The risk is that through a process of filtering, Taiwanese productions that refuse to have their artistic integrity muzzled will be unable to make it in the Chinese market, while those that do will reap the financial benefits.” Miao Miao is a clear example of the toxicity of cooperation with China in the artistic field, which beyond what I wrote in the editorial, extends to markets abroad. The moment a single dollar is invested by China in a movie production (and in future, this could also apply to literature and other forms of entertainment), Taiwanese artists will be held hostage to Chinese censorship and see their freedom of expression curtailed. Notwithstanding the realities of the markets and the difficulties Taiwanese producers are facing, it might not be a bad idea if they explored alternatives to cooperation in the arts, such as Japan, Australia, South Korea and the US. Of course, linguistic and cultural similarities make China a natural choice for cooperation, but when this comes at a cost of freedom of expression, any artist who is true to his calling should refuse to be muzzled.

It is no small irony that the producers who were ostensibly behind the decision to withdraw Miao Miao — Wong Kar-Wai, Jacky Pang and Stanley Kwan Kam-pang — all became famous thanks to the openness of the creative industry they now appear to have turned their backs on. Wong (dir. 2046, My Blueberry Nights), Pang (prod. Eros, 2046, My Blueberry Nights) and Kwan (dir. Rouge), seem to be following in the footsteps of Chinese director Zhang Yimou (張藝謀, Hero, House of Flying Daggers, To Live) in turning their backs on Western liberalism after becoming famous (and rich) because of it. As we know, Zhang is now the Chinese Communist Party’s unofficial state propagandist, having orchestrated the Beijing opening ceremonies and being in charge of the celebrations surrounding the 60th anniversary of the People’s Republic of China on Oct. 1. A worrying difference between Zhang and the three producers/directors named above is that while Zhang is clearly identified with China, Wong, Pang and Kwan are all from the Hong Kong film industry. Their decision on Miao Miao could be the result of two things: either Chinese ideology is making inroads in Hong Kong and is starting to undermine the more liberal ideological system that prevailed there, even after retrocession in 1997; or their own movie studios are under the financial control of elements in China proper, which then raises the possibility that they were pressured into making that decision. I have made inquiries in certain channels in Hong Kong to determine which of the three had a say in the decision, and what may have prompted them to make that choice. I don’t know if any answers are forthcoming.

Waging war on Chinese hackers

Cyber attacks by Chinese government agencies or citizens have become so rampant that, except when critical sectors such as the US defense establishment are targeted, the world can manage little more than a shrug, as if this were the natural state of things. The latest instance of Chinese hackers targeting Web sites abroad involves the Melbourne International Film Festival (MIFF), which twice — last weekend and this — was attacked because of its organizers’ refusal to yield to pressure by Beijing not to screen 10 Conditions of Love, a documentary about exiled Uighur leader Rebiya Kadeer, and Canberra’s granting Kadeer a visa so that she could attend the screening.

While the first attack only involved alterations to content of the festival’s Web site (displaying the Chinese flag and anti-Kadeer slogans, as well as spam), the second forced the managers of the Web site to shut down online ticket sales. Richard Moore, the director of the MIFF, said that as 65 percent of ticket sales are carried online, the attack would have serious financial repercussions on the festival.

At this point, it is impossible to determine whether the attacks were orchestrated by the Chinese security apparatus or ultranationalist Chinese, with or without state sanction. Irrespective of this, the latest attack — and many others before it — represent political and economic warfare, and China has a responsibility to protect the financial interests of other countries. While Beijing certainly retains the right to express its displeasure, via diplomatic channels, at the policy decisions of other states, it is unacceptable for it to engage in, or at minimum condone, economic warfare against market economies that have contributed to its economic boom.

In light of this, private companies and countries that have been targets of Chinese economic warfare should not only challenge Chinese authorities to prevent such attacks in future, but also take legal action against the perpetrators.

China is one of the 187 members of Interpol (it took over the ROC’s seat at the international law enforcement agency in September 1984). One of Interpol’s mandates is fighting financial and high-tech crimes, which include computer virus attacks and cyber-terrorism. As Beijing has openly admitted, China benefited tremendously from cooperation with Interpol during the Olympic Games last year, where the agency screened every visitor’s passport through its vast database. But membership in multilateral organizations does not just confer benefits upon its members; it also carries responsibilities. One such responsibility for Beijing is to punish perpetrators of cyber crime and prevent such attacks from recurring.

As it modernizes and continues to develop political and economic relations with the community of nations, China must demonstrate that it is a country run by rule of law, where the rights of individuals, governments and corporations are protected, both at home and abroad. Failing to do this, China will never be able to cultivate foreign confidence in its ability to address crime through rigorous law rather than the arbitrariness of ideology. Cyber crime would be a good area for Beijing to show its willingness to fight crime and fulfill its role as a member of Interpol and responsible global actor.

Whether we like it or not, Beijing has every right to use the appropriate channels to reprimand states that do not act according to its will, as it did by summoning Australia’s ambassador to China on the Kadeer visa. But to resort to disruptive economic warfare against private institutions or film festivals that present documentaries it disagrees with is not only childish — it goes against the very principles of global trade and, equally important, it undermines freedom of expression in other countries.

It’s about time the world stopped reacting with complacency to Chinese bullying, state-sanctioned or otherwise.

The unbearable ‘status quo’

I remember reading years ago an article by Victor D. Cha in International Security that strongly influenced my views on the assumption of rational actors in international relations. Cha’s piece,
“Hawk Engagement and Preventive Defense on the Korean Peninsula,” argued that North Korea’s apparent irrationality vis-à-vis South Korea and the US — which in the extreme could include “preemptive/preventive action and coercive bargaining” — could be explained by Pyongyang assessing that the “status quo” in the Korean Peninsula had become unbearable. Shaking that “status quo,” therefore, was better than doing nothing, as any outcome would be preferable the status quo ante. Published in 2002, Cha’s article was visionary, as it helps explain Kim Jong-il’s brinkmanship since then, from missile launches to nuclear tests.

What I derived from this also had an impact on how I have come to assess another “status quo” in the region — that in the Taiwan Strait. For years, the “status quo” in the Strait has meant (a) no attempt by China to annex Taiwan by force, and (b) no move by Taipei to create formal independence, a balance of ambiguity that has been favored by the US, among others. While ensuring that a certain level of tension would remain, it was a non-outcome that did not have an overly negative impact for the players involved.

Ironically, however, status quos are inherently dynamic, meaning that while an impression of stasis or immobility is created, undercurrents are nevertheless shifting. One example of this is the deepening, despite the “status quo,” of Taiwanese identity and, conversely, the drop in identification as “Chinese” or “Chinese and Taiwanese” over time.

Since the election of Ma Ying-jeou (馬英九) to the presidency in May last year and the introduction, soon afterwards, of his China-friendly policies, the dynamics of the “status quo” in the Taiwan Strait have seen a dramatic transformation. Here again, while both sides have vowed not to push for unification or independence during Ma’s first term, accelerating economic integration — in the form of a proposed economic cooperation framework agreement (ECFA) and Chinese investment in various sectors of the Taiwanese economy — as well as growing party-to-party contact mean that while, on paper, the political “status quo” persists, time is now in China’s favor. The longer this integration continues, and the deeper it gets, the stronger will be the undercurrents provoking a drift toward unification.

Given this, added to the Ma administration’s apparent disregard for opposition to its China policies, the perception that the “status quo” is becoming unbearable — that is, that its continuation is having a negative impact on Taiwan — should be expected to grow within the pro-independence pan-green movement in Taiwan. Both for protectionist sentiment (among certain sectors of the Taiwanese economy that stand to lose from cross-strait economic liberalization) and political fears (loss of sovereignty), and absent regular outlets to voice apprehensions or effect change on government policy, opposition to Ma will likely become radicalized and “irrational” as oppositionists begin weighing pros and cons of radical action in a different light.

The implications are that should the “status quo” continue to drift in Beijing’s favor (and there is no indication that it won’t under the Ma administration), the negative cost of the “status quo” will increase, and with that, so will certain element’s evaluation of what is permissible to detract the “status quo” from its present course.

As North Korea demonstrated, Pyongyang’s cost-benefit analysis has been warped by the negative externalities — real or perceived — of the “status quo” in the Korean Peninsula, to such an extent that, from the outside, its actions appear to have become increasingly irrational, if not suicidal. But seen from the inside, if the “status quo” has become unbearable, any action that creates a departure from the status quo ante is better than stasis.

There is no reason why, at some point, certain elements in Taiwan would not reach a similar conclusion and adopt a course of action that departs from the norm and appears to be “irrational.” It is impossible to know what form this would take, or who it would target, but if things continue apace, and if the Ma administration remains as unresponsive to dissent as it is today, something will give eventually.

Two constituencies Ma can’t ignore (yet)

Perhaps as a result of my working on a book review of Scott Kastner’s excellent Political Conflict and Economic Interdependence Across the Taiwan Strait and Beyond, I have recently begun paying more attention to the role of domestic constituencies in political decisionmaking. While Kastner’s book focuses on the impact of “internationalist business interests” on cross-strait political decisionmaking — which I also address in my July 29 article “What’s behind Taiwan’s stock/media bias?” — another segment that historically has had substantial influence on Taipei’s policy choices is, for obvious reasons, the military establishment.

As is becoming increasingly evident, President Ma Ying-jeou’s (馬英九) Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) administration is bound and driven by big business and financial institutions to an extent that is probably unprecedented in the history of the party. Given the close relationship between big business, the banking sector, and the KMT, it is no surprise that Ma’s cross-strait policies have been greatly beneficial to those sectors, and that whatever friction may have existed under previous iterations of the party, such as under president Lee Teng-hui (李登輝), has largely disappeared. This is largely the result of the leaders’ divergent assessments of the impact of cross-strait economic integration as well as on their respective stance on the question of Taiwanese independence.

For Lee, whose political views on Taiwanese sovereignty took precedence over business interests, cross-strait economic integration had negative externalities, which accounted for his efforts, especially after his re-election in 1996, to “go south” (i.e., diversify foreign investment destinations to minimize reliance on China) and proceed with caution.

The Ma administration, for its part, appears to be indentured to the business community, while it clearly sees cross-strait economic liberalization as less threatening. In fact, Ma and his aides see integration as a stabilizing force, a view that is thoroughly supported by the business community. Another important factor is the fact that while Ma has vowed not to achieve unification during his first term, this development remains a long-term objective of today’s KMT.

But while Ma can count on the corporate and financial sectors to back his policies, and while he can expect full backing — especially now that he is KMT chairman — of the legislature, of which the pan-blue camp controls three quarters of the seats, there are two constituencies, one domestic and one foreign, that he cannot afford to neglect: the military, and Washington.

Ma’s pronouncements on the military balance in the Taiwan Strait, added to his stated willingness to procure for the Taiwanese military the means to defend itself, have at times sounded paradoxical when contrasted with his public statements on political reconciliation with Beijing. In fact, his averred desire to purchase weapons from Washington cannot but have strained relations with Beijing — and yet, this is one sector where Ma has tended to sound like his predecessors.

It would be difficult to reconcile his public statements on defense appropriations with his political statements vis-à-vis Beijing and ostensible efforts to undermine defense (e.g., downgrading of Han Kuang military exercises) were it not for the fact that the military is probably the last remaining branch of government that has remained wary of Beijing’s intentions, as evidenced by its reaction to the Japan Defense Ministry’s White Paper released earlier this month. As such, the military probably represents the last domestic constituency challenge to Ma’s cross-strait policies, and one way to placate it and keep criticism to a minimum is to maintain weapons procurement and to keep military spending at a stable level. 

Ma has yet to consolidate his powerbase to such an extent that he can afford to ignore the apprehensions of the military, although purges, in the form of corruption probes, could soon change that by whittling away at the sectors of the military that remain resistant to unification — in other words, the pan-green elements within the armed forces.

When it comes to Washington, Ma has also been forced to edge against the possibility of abandonment at a time when uncertainty remains in the Taiwan Strait. Over the years, proof of political commitment and good relations with the US has largely come in the form of arms purchases. If Ma were to suddenly cut off the arms procurement spigot with the US, Washington could react either by increasing pressure on Taipei (especially by US constituents that fear a scenario in which Taiwan becomes part of the Chinese camp in East Asia) or abandon it altogether, which could have serious ramifications for Taiwan’s ability to defend itself should cross-strait rapprochement get derailed.

Ma cannot yet disregard the interests of the military establishment. The question is, as his powerbase grows and as the military is “cleansed” of what he sees as revisionist elements, will he become increasingly unresponsive to its appeals? One way to assess this will be to see how the military gets reorganized and the conclusions reached by the corruption probes. Another will be to look at Ma’s future pronouncements on military expenditure, and whether words are turned into action — in other words, whether the weapons are actually purchased and fielded.

What’s behind Taiwan’s stock/media bias?

Since Ma Ying-jeou (馬英九) came into office in May last year, financial analysts have shown an alarming tendency to attribute rises on the Taiwanese stock market to “closer relations with China” or the signing of agreements between Taipei and Beijing, while drops on the local bourse have often been blamed on mass rallies organized by the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP). As I have argued before, those assessments — which are picked up by news wire agencies and newspapers for inclusion in their reporting — often ignore macroeconomic variables and regional trends that explain stock fluctuations far better than local political developments.

For example, a modest rise on the Taiwanese stock exchange on July 27 was far more likely to have resulted from global optimism about a financial recovery than the “election” the previous day of Ma as chairman of the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT). And yet, news agencies — quoting or paraphrasing “dozens” of analysts from global financial institutions, both “local and international,” as a reporter at a major wire agency told me during a telephone interview on Wednesday — wrote that the 0.79 percent rise was the result of Ma’s election and a congratulatory missive from Chinese President Hu Jintao (胡錦濤). That very same day, every single market in Asia was up, not because of local developments in Taiwan or even warming ties across the Taiwan Strait, but because investor sentiment was turning optimistic, as a number of wire agencies reported.

This therefore begs the question: Why, all things being equal, are financial analysts and news agencies attributing fluctuations in the Taiwanese stock exchange on local-specific events rather than general macroeconomic trends?

Part of the answer probably lies in the general belief that Ma’s KMT is pro-business, while the DPP is against it (ironically, during his second term, President Lee Teng-hui [李登輝] of the KMT was far more radical in his opposition to cross-strait economic liberalization than Chen Shui-bian [陳水扁] of the DPP was during the first two years of his first term). Still, given the DPP’s pro-independence ideology, the perception that the pan-green camp is not “business friendly” — especially on cross-strait investment and integration — is almost universal, which invites the belief that its actions are aimed at derailing the efforts to increase cross-strait financial cooperation launched by the Ma administration.

But these perceptions alone do not explain why financial analysts would purposefully attribute stock exchange negatives on the DPP and positives on the KMT. Something else must be at play, such as institutional biases or self-interest.

Starting in the mid-1990s, the nature of Taiwanese investment in China changed dramatically after a revaluation of the New Taiwan dollar severely increased the cost of manufacturing domestically, forcing Taiwanese companies to increase their investment abroad. Cultural and linguistic affinities, along with cheap labor and investment incentives, made China a logical choice. Over the years, the size of the Taiwanese companies investing in China also increased dramatically, as did the nature of the products that were manufactured there. In recent years, powerful companies in the electronics and computer sectors, among others, have established a foothold in China.

At least part of the billions of dollars required by those companies to develop business operations in China likely came in the form of loans by financial institutions and other private investors, who have an interest in seeing those investments prosper. Anything that threatens the return on investment — such as tensions in the Taiwan Strait, the threat of embargos or war — is therefore unwelcome by banks and investors who have a stake in stability. Given, as we have seen, the DPP’s pro-independence mandate and Beijing’s claims on Taiwan, the DPP has therefore come to be seen as a “destabilizing” factor, while the KMT, which favors cross-strait economic integration and warmer ties with Beijing, is now perceived as a “stabilizing” force. For Taiwanese companies operating in China (many, though not all, are either pro-KMT or silent about their pan-green political inclination lest they be singled out by Chinese authorities, as has happened in the past), as well as their financial backers, the KMT is therefore seen as a far safer option when it comes to safeguarding their financial interests.

What this means, ultimately, is that the same financial institutions that lend money to Taiwanese companies operating in China will tend to produce, or develop intimate relations with, analysts who rather than being neutral, will politicize their assessments in a way that reflects the financial priorities of their masters. If this means portraying the KMT as business-friendly, or overemphasizing local developments in a way that favors the KMT as a means to explain fluctuations in the financial market, so be it.

Equally important is the fact that many Taiwanese firms, for reasons ranging from insuring their business interests to raising enough capital, have formed multinational corporations (MNCs) with other countries to operate in China. Usually on a bigger scale, those MNCs require huge amounts of capital that can only be obtained from major financial lenders (according to statistics, 400 of the Fortune 500 multinational companies have made direct investments in more than 2,000 projects in China). Given the stakes, those lenders will also seek to ensure that their investments are shielded from the possibly disruptive consequences of rising tensions in the Taiwan Strait. Consequently, MNCs and their international financial backers will tend to disparage the DPP while encouraging the KMT to consolidate stability by accelerating economic integration with China. (This view in part stems from the contentious theory in political science that increased trade between two entities will, over time, reduce the likelihood of conflict or war by rising the cost of conflict.) Maximizing investments and protecting financial interests register far more with those multinationals and financial institutions than the question of Taiwanese sovereignty, which is the raison d’etre of the DPP.

Lastly, we must turn to the convergence of the business sector and the rise of media conglomerates for possible conflicts of interest, which could also account for the bias against the DPP in news reporting. Over the past decade or so, the number of leading companies in the information sector has drastically narrowed. News organizations like Thomson Reuters, Dow Jones and Bloomberg have branched off into other sectors and bolstered their empires through mergers and acquisitions. Thomson Reuters, for example, which has more than 50,000 employees and operates in 93 countries, now operates in the scientific, tax, accounting, legal and media sectors, with revenues last year totaling US$13.4 billion. Like any other major company, Reuters Thomson has sought to expand in China, hoping to tap into the potential 1.3 billion customers there. One recent example of this is the Scientific business of Thomson Reuters, which in September last year formed a partnership with the Investment Promotion Agency of the Ministry of Commerce of the People’s Republic of China (CIPA) to create a “World Innovation and Investment Promotion Platform” to boost the soft infrastructure of China’s high-tech zones, Xinhua/PRNewswire reported on Sept. 10.

As Mark Garlinghouse, vice president for Asia Pacific at the Scientific, Thomson Reuters, said: “The Scientific business of Thomson Reuters has long been a recognized information partner of top Chinese universities and government institutes such as the Chinese Academy of Sciences, China’s largest government research institute … We also provide patent, scientific and technical information to … well-known Chinese companies.”

This is just one example among many of media companies diversifying their business and entering lucrative markets with both the private and government sector in China. As incentives increase, and with the promise of lucrative contracts with the cash-heavy Chinese authorities always in the background, it is likely that pressure — subliminal or as the result of direct external persuasion — will eventually build for those companies to “adjust” the information they provide in their news coverage so that it dovetails with their business interest. Times Warner’s ownership of CNN, Disney’s of ABC and General Electric’s of NBC are all examples of conglomerates imposing added business pressures on news organizations.

It is quite possible that portraying the KMT-CCP dyad in a favorable light — at least on the financial front — while painting the DPP in negative terms is the latest iteration of this phenomenon.

As long as big business, MNCs and their financial backers see the DPP as a “destabilizing” threat in Taiwan Strait economic integration, we can expect that the media conglomerates that are increasingly beholden to (if not part of) those giant, multifaceted corporations will continue to disparage the DPP and favor the KMT via stock market analysis.

This article appeared in the Taipei Times on Aug. 7.

Lien Chan’s ‘Great Chinese Nation’

As if it wasn’t enough that the leader of an authoritarian regime would congratulate an increasingly all-powerful and undemocratic Ma Ying-jeou (馬英九) over his “election” as chairman of the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT), the KMT’s honorary chairman, Lien Chan (連戰), was yet again home — that is, in Beijing — cavorting with his namesake and insulting the democratic spirit cultivated by Taiwanese over the decades.

Mutual trust based on opposition to “Taiwan independence” and adherence to the so-called “1992 consensus” was the driving force for progress in relations between China and Taiwan, National Committee of the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference Jia Qinglin (賈慶林) said while meeting Lien on Monday.

The development of relations between China and Taiwan, Jia said, need a “solid cultural hold” besides an economic basis. (Translation: Gradual annexation cannot only occur via economic integration, but also through cultural assimilation.)

For his part, Lien said the two sides of the Taiwan Strait should advance the relations in all fields while enhancing economic and cultural exchanges, adding that they (i.e., the KMT and the CCP) should work to help people in China and Taiwan strengthen their sense of identity to the Chinese nation, Chinese culture and history.

“I believe history sides with the revival of the Chinese nation,” said Lien, the same twice-failed presidential candidate who, just as Beijing enacted its “Anti-Secession Law” “legalizing” use of force against Taiwan in March 2005, was being wined and dined in Beijing. (Revival is a word we have been hearing quite a bit in recent days; though it is hard at this point to know exactly what its users mean by it, the term has worrying undertones of nationalism.)

Lien, who in the wake of the devastating 921 Earthquake in central Taiwan almost 10 years ago could not mask his aloofness toward ordinary Taiwanese during a visit near the epicenter, never represented Taiwanese. He is part of a conservative clique within the KMT that represents the interests of the 15 percent of Mainlanders who comprise the population of Taiwan (and even among them, only those who support unification), and the 1.3 billion Chinese. His comments on Monday were not only a denial of Taiwanese identity as separate from the “Chinese nation,” but paralleled increasing signs that Taiwan is on the brink of experiencing “identicide” — a concept advanced by my friend Sarah Jane Meharg in Canada, which consists of the willful erosion by a particular group (usually the dominant one) of the symbols of another group’s identity, including language, cultural icons, sense of place, landmarks and so on.

With news of increasing cooperation between Taiwan and China on TV productions and in the news industry, added to Chinese investment in newspapers in Taiwan, discriminatory ECFA cartoons and talks of finding a common denominator between the traditional Chinese used in Taiwan and the simplified form used in China — as I’ve argued, a “dumbing down” of traditional Chinese — there is ample evidence that Taiwanese culture is under assault and that this will only intensify. For the 85 percent or so of Taiwanese in Taiwan, “strengthening their sense of identity to the Chinese nation” can only mean one thing: the abandonment of who they are.

Lien, still an influential figure within the KMT and, despite his unelected status, in relations across the strait, has no problem with that.

Ma ‘elected’ KMT chairman, Hu congratulates him, markets ‘react’

In a highly anticipated electoral farce with a foregone conclusion, President Ma Ying-jeou (馬英九) on Sunday was “elected” chairman of the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) with 92 percent of the about 300,000 votes cast. Voter turnout was low, at about 56 percent, and Ma was the only candidate. Clearly satisfied with the result, Chinese President Hu Jintao (胡錦濤) broke 60 years of diplomatic ice on Monday by sending Ma a 73-word congratulatory telegram, in which he pompously said: “I hope our two parties can continue to promote peaceful cross-Strait development, deepen mutual trust, bring good news to compatriots on both sides and create a revival of the great Chinese race.”

Some political analysts are already suggesting that Hu’s telegram is a sign that he would like to hold a summit with Ma sometime before he retires in 2012, which dovetails with both leader’s ostensible hankering for a Nobel Peace Prize. While Ma has denied having any immediate plans to meet Hu, pressure has been mounting for him to do so, especially now that he is KMT chairman. Of course, a precondition for any meeting between Hu and Ma would be that it be held between party chairmen rather than presidents, as the latter would symbolize that Taiwan is a sovereign country, which Beijing denies.

MARKETS REACT

In an article on the Hu letter today, Reuters could not refrain from adding that Ma’s “election” and Hu’s telegram “helped boost Taiwan stocks [,] which rose 0.79 percent … to end above 7,000 points for the first time in 11 months.” In recent months I have observed a tendency by both wire agencies and financial analysts to equate rises in the Taiwanese stock market with “improved relations with China” and to blame drops on Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) “troublemakers” (demonstrations and so on). As the Reuters piece does not attribute the comment, we can only conclude that the reported reached this conclusion on his own or was paraphrasing a unnamed financial analysts.

What Reuters fails to mention, however, is that today — and here I quote The Associated Press — “Asian markets extended their winning … as hopes company earnings will rebound along with global growth continue to drive investors into stocks.”* What Reuters also does not mention is that (a) the Taiwan stock exchange opened flat this morning and (b) investors have known for quite a while that Ma would win the “election.” While recognizing that so-called financial experts and analysts, when contacted by wire agencies, cannot remain silent and must attribute rises and falls in the stock market to something, linking Ma’s “election” or the Hu telegram to a 0.79 rise in the local bourse when region-wide macroeconomic factors and agreement on “better global economic prospects” far better explain the modest rise is dishonest.

The reflex by financial experts to use cross-strait political developments as a proximate cause of stock performance in Taiwan is so prevalent that I am beginning to wonder if investment houses are not letting their own political agendas interfere with their assessments.** It is increasingly evident that big business and financial investors (at least in certain sectors that stand to benefit) all favor cross-strait rapprochement, if not eventual unification. By invariably portraying rising stock value in Taiwan as a direct result of Ma’s successes (and conversely, by blaming devaluation on DPP shenanigans), those analysts are politicizing their assessments and undermining their credibility as “experts,” while helping the KMT and the Chinese Communist Party take us closer to economic ultradependence and eventual unification.

* Tokyo’s Nikkei 225 stock average rose 144.11 points, or 1.5 percent, to 10,088.66; Hong Kong’s Hang Seng rose 268.83, or 1.4 percent, to 20,251.62; South Korea’s KOSPI gained 1.4 percent; Australia’s stock measure was up by 1.2 percent; the main index in Shanghai climbed 1.9 percent. Agence France-Presse reported that Singapore shares closed 1.71 percent higher Monday, mirroring gains in regional markets amid hopes of an economic rebound globally.

** On Oct. 24 last year, Deutsche Presse-Agentur (DPA) reported that the Taiwanese stock exchange was down nearly 3 percent as the result of a mass rally organized by the “right wing” and “separatist” DPP, failing to mention that on the same day, all Asian stock markets were also markedly down: Japan 7 percent and South Korea 9 percent, among others. Then, on Oct. 30, it wrote that the Taiwanese bourse was up nearly 6 percent on “positive signs in Taiwan-China ties” ahead of “important dialogue from Nov. 3 to Nov. 7 [ARATS Chairman Chen Yunlin’s visit] to discuss expanding ties.” There again, DPA did not mention that on the same day, the Hong Kong stock exchange was up 12.8 percent, Tokyo almost 10 percent and Seoul 4 percent, while Australia, Singapore and the Philippines added 4 percent or more, developments that had far more to do with macroeconomic factors than cross-strait ties.

This article appeared in the Taipei Times on August 1 under the title “Pro-China politics and the tracking of stocks.” Unfortunately, the article erroneously refers to the South Korean stock exchange as the KOSI. It should have read KOSPI.

The myth of the Sino-Russian strategic alliance

The growing relationship between the Bear and the Dragon does not threaten the West. It is rife with contradictions and at best tactical, author Bobo Lo argues

The history of Sino-Russian relations is a long and tortuous one between neighbors that eyed each other with suspicion. To this day, the Russian psyche continues to be affected by memories of the Mongol invasion and fear of the “yellow peril,” with images of “barbarian” hordes pouring over the border seared in people’s consciousness. For Chinese, Russia was for a brief period a modernizer and ally, but also a threat, as during the border clashes in 1969, which came close to sparking nuclear war. On one side, Russia sees itself as a great power, one which draws ideologically mostly from Western civilization; on the other, China is rising, but its identity is firmly rooted in the Asian tradition and its focus is on domestic development and regional stability.

The long history of mistrust and ideological differences makes Russia and China the least likely of allies. But since the end of the Cold War, the two countries have grown closer and managed to settle, if only temporarily, a number of territorial disputes such as the contentious Russian Far East. Cooperation has increased dramatically in such fields as military procurement and natural resources, while Moscow and Beijing have helped create regional security bodies — such as the Shanghai Cooperation Organization — to facilitate coordination and “democratize” international relations.

This is not to say that the process of rapprochement was not without friction. As Bobo Lo, director of the Russia and China programs at the Center for European Reform, argues in Axis of Convenience: Moscow, Beijing and the new geopolitics, the road to convergence was marred by a combination of different expectations, underlying xenophobia and changing global circumstances. Rather than progress smoothly, relations between Moscow and China suffered many setbacks, such as when, in the wake of 9/11, Russian President Vladimir Putin allowed the US to deploy troops in Central Asia without first informing Beijing.

My book review of Axis of Convenience, published today in the Taipei Times, is available in .pdf here and HTML here.

The ECFA is like an unstoppable train

The China Times reported today that Taiwan and China would begin negotiations on a “comprehensive trade pact” — an economic cooperation framework agreement — in October. The vice trade ministers from both sides would head the negotiations, the paper said, quoting Minister of Economic Affairs Yiin Chii-ming (尹啟銘). Yiin, who met his Chinese counterpart at an APEC conference in Singapore earlier this week, said Beijing was “keen” to push for the pact. The two sides will aim to conclude discussions by the end of this year, the report said, with possible signature at the next SEF-ARATS meeting in Taiwan later this year.

Of course Beijing is “keen” for the process to accelerate, as I’ve argued before, and judging from an AFP report on the matter today, which only mentions in passing that “critics warn against the island becoming overly dependent on its giant neighbor,” so are Taiwanese.

But here’s the problem: Many Taiwanese are not “keen” and the main opposition party, the Democratic Progressive Party, has just completed the first step toward holding a public referendum on whether an ECFA should be signed, something that AFP could not even be bothered to mention.

AFP is simply regurgitating the usual “closer ties” developing between Taiwan and China, with talks on an ECFA serving as yet another symbol of “rapprochement” between the “former rivals.” There’s nothing new here. But for Yiin to say that negotiations would begin in October before the matter of a referendum — to which we must now add this week’s infuriatingly racist comic blunder explaining the intricacies of the trade pact — shows utter disregard for the opposition’s voice, as if it didn’t exist, or as if an ECFA were an inevitability. No “we’ll discuss matters with our constituents first and get back to you if and when we’ve reached a consensus on the viability of and urgency in signing an ECFA with you.” In other words, Yiin already knows that the referendum will either fail, or that the Ma Ying-jeou (馬英九) administration will somehow manage to derail it, or prevent it from being held in the first place. Either way, this is undemocratic and showcases yet again the Ma administration’s scorn for different views or criticism of its increasingly teleological cross-strait policies.

When millions of people oppose or have doubts about the benefits of a policy, a democratic government cannot assume that it can proceed unchecked. That Yiin would think so — and with Ma’s blessing, I gather — shows us that the government does not intend to act democratically when it comes to creating closer ties with China, even as Beijing has openly said that it sees an ECFA as part of the process for eventual unification.

How to insult a people

The characters were the result of long, painstaking efforts by public relations experts to reflect the make-up of the general public and were “absolutely not” meant to discriminate against anyone from any social stratum. Thus spoke Ministry of Economic Affairs Deputy Minister John Deng (鄧振中), defending a comic strip explaining the intricacies of the proposed economic framework cooperation agreement (ECFA) between Taiwan and China.

Of course they were not. One character is Fa Sao, a 40-year-old Hakka from Hsinchu who works as a supervisor at an import-export company. Fa is active, self-motivated and highly capable. She is a married woman who is fluent in English, Mandarin, Hoklo and Japanese. She is hungry for knowledge and eager to learn more about money-management. Her profile suggests she keeps herself well-informed and is a keen observer of market trends. Fa Sao was recently promoted to company spokesman. Her knowledge of cross-strait trade has prompted her to learn all about the ECFA.

Yi-ge, meanwhile, is a 45-year old Hoklo-speaking (that is, native Taiwanese) man from Tainan City who works as a salesman in a traditional industry. Yi-ge is a vocational school graduate who speaks “Taiwanese Mandarin” (whatever that is) and knows very little about the proposed ECFA. He is content being a follower, but when it comes to protecting himself, he “goes all-out.” If, for example, he were ever accidentally short-changed by a clerk at a breakfast restaurant, he would do almost anything to get the money back, even if it was just NT$5.

One is rational, educated, and works in the business sector. As she is in exports and imports, she likely does business with China. From her description, Fa could therefore be seen as “a good, rational Chinese.” Yi-ge, however, has an “extremist” and “irrational” streak, adjectives that interestingly have often been used by both China, the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) and pro-big business media to attack their pro-independence nemesis, former president Chen Shui-bian (陳水扁), as well as the Democratic Progressive Party and independence activists in general.

Deng can say all he wants about the ministry not wanting to insult anyone, but the fact of the matter is, surely, at one point in the process of creating the cartoon, someone in the army of “public relations experts” that came up with this brilliant idea would have noticed that by design or accident, the depictions were prejudicial, if not outright racist. Surely, someone would have raised an objection, or called for caution. If this happened, then that person was silenced, as often happens in government. If no one did, then it means that whoever was involved in the creative process all agreed on what can only be seen as defining characteristics based on biology, which is the first step toward outright racial discrimination.

According to the cartoon, Taiwanese natives (Hoklo speakers) are less educated, know very little, “go all out,” are finicky about money and followers, while non-natives (mainlanders, Hakka and so on) are active, self-motivated, highly capable, fluent in many languages, hungry for knowledge, well-informed, eager to learn and in big business. Yes, all of this is an accident, as if it were not part of a long, sad pattern of describing the people in Taiwan using different terms. In fact, to this day people in China — the big happy Chinese family, who care so much about Taiwanese they want to bring them in their fold, by force if necessary — describe Taiwanese as “primitive,” “uncouth,” “uneducated” and “low-class.”

If you’re informed and from the “upper class,” you are for an ECFA. If you’re uninformed and from the supposed lower social stratum, you’re against it. This is a perfect Manichean view of the world, one that has no room for opposition to an ECFA based on “irrational” fears that it is part of Beijing’s long-term efforts to annex Taiwan by creating undue economic dependence. The message is that people oppose an ECFA because they are ignorant, and that Taiwanese tend to be more ignorant than Mainlanders, Hakka and so on.

Surely, then, Taiwanese natives like former presidential candidate Peng Ming-min (彭明敏), who speaks Hoklo, Mandarin, English, Japanese and French, who penned revolutionary articles in French and Japanese about the laws of space before anyone had even conceived of the need for such things, and who wrote documents calling for political reform in Taiwan during Martial Law in such impeccable Chinese that KMT officials were convinced that Peng and his friends had been helped by Mainlanders, are just an aberration. Or my wife, for that matter, who speaks impeccable Hoklo and Mandarin and English and is learning French far faster than I ever will Mandarin, who as a 16 year old just arrived in Canada with her family single-handedly filled all the forms — in English, at a time when she barely spoke it — so that her family members could immigrate to Canada and who went on to obtain a Bachelor’s degree in psychology, in English and, since we relocated to Taiwan, earned a number of diplomas in the teaching of Mandarin and so on. She, too, must be an aberration, like all the “low class,” Princeton- and Cambridge- and Cornell-educated Taiwanese that I have come to know since I moved to Taiwan, some of whom are professors at NTU, in the top echelons of the country’s primary financial institution, heads of the Rotary Club, talented architects, Japanese translators for major businesses, officials in High Court, and recruits at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Many of them do not agree to an ECFA, or at minimum would like to get more information about it before they make a decision. But none is low-class, uninformed, uneducated or extremist, as the comic suggests.

The MOEA’s comic is insulting, discriminatory and no accident. Nothing so sensitive, so downright incendiary, would have been allowed to see the light of day had there not been someone at the top who permitted its release. It belittles an extremely capable people who put literacy levels in China (the real levels, rather than fudged official figures) to shame. It is also part of a long history of attempts by the KMT and China to erase achievements in education made during the Japanese colonial period in Taiwan.

If the ministry is not responsible for its contents, whoever is, from the writers to the public relations experts, should be fired and forced to apologize to all Hoklo-speaking Taiwanese and those who love them, as I do. This is state-sponsored racism, paid for with taxpeyers’ dollars, and it has no place in a democracy.

Echoes of White Terror, or descent into paranoia?

Paul Lin (林保華), political commentator and frequent contributor to the Taipei Times, is worried. The China-born critic of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) and, more recently, of the Chinese Nationalist Part (KMT), recently went public with fears that his activities are being monitored by the authorities. In an op-ed to be published in tomorrow’s edition of the Taipei Times, Lin alleges that on July 14 he received a phone call from the local section chief of the Investigation Bureau, who accused him of having “ties” to individuals (“terrorists”) from the Uighur independent movement. Lin writes that as the call was taking place, an agent was already outside his residence and requested to have a chat with him — a request that Lin turned down. He also alleges that since he helped launch the Taiwan Youth Anti-communist Corps (台灣青年反共救國團) last month, police have visited his home and informed him that his activities were being monitored.

Equally worrying are his allegations that his computer has been “hacked” into — despite a computer expert’s being unable to find Trojan horse software. Lin writes that unless he unplugs his Internet connection, his computer will, on its own, send “more information … than I had saved on it.” Lin and his wife also suspect that their telephone may have been tapped, as they have been hearing “strange noises” on the line for a while.

It’s hard to know what to make of all this. The Ministry of Justice Investigation Bureau (MJIB) is a criminal investigation and counterintelligence agency that is subjected to the coordination and supervision of the National Security Bureau (NSB), which itself is subordinate to the National Security Council, whose Chairman, Su Chi (蘇起), is under the direct administration of the president. Recent developments, including comments by the National Immigration Agency last week that it would bar entry to Dolkun Isa, secretary-general of the Munich-based World Uighur Congress, if he attempted to come to Taiwan, are worrying developments about the state of civil liberties in Taiwan. Increased harassment by police of bloggers and groups in recent months also points to what appears to be a developing trend, of which Mr. Lin’s case could be part.

While not directly accusing the MJIB, Lin contends that the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) and/or the KMT may be targeting him for his activism, in what would be disturbing echoes of the environment independence activists faced during the dark period of White Terror in Taiwan. At this point, it’s hard to tell whether Lin is indeed being targeted by security agencies, or whether his growing paranoia is simply being fed by the authorities in an attempt to silence him.

Let’s take a closer look at his allegations. First, if Lin indeed were under surveillance, police would not have visited him at his home to inform him of this. Once a target becomes conscious that he is being monitored, he will either engage in counter-surveillance and/or change his habits, thus making it more difficult for the authorities to conduct physical surveillance. The only explanation for the admission by police, therefore, would be that the warnings served as intimidation.

Regarding his fears that his telephone line is being wiretapped: Phone intercept technology has come a long way in recent years. It is an urban legend that wiretaps create “strange noises” on the line, as the process is now fully digital. Two explanations therefore suggest themselves: Either an increasingly paranoid Mr. Lin is becoming more sensitive to background noise, or if wiretapping is indeed taking place, whoever is on the other side wants him to know — either by using rudimentary technology or deliberately generating “noise.” Another possibility is that rather than being a professional (i.e., conducted by the MJIB or the NSB) job, whoever is tapping Mr. Lin’s telephone line is an amateur (lone KMT elements, pro-unification groups, etc).

As for his computer transmitting the contents of his hard drive, Mr. Lin must provide more information on the matter, such as how the computer specialist managed to determine that this is happening, and what, as no Trojan Horse was found, is causing the transfer.

I am not saying that Mr. Lin is imagining all this, but his piece — with his conclusion that if something should happen to him, people should “remember him” — exhibits a level of paranoia that is hard to equate with his activities (unless, of course, he has engaged in more than publishing articles critical of the CCP and KMT). Fear, especially when there are precedents, as during the White Terror era in Taiwan, and in Communist China, where Lin lived for “almost 30 years,” can play tricks on the mind and create a whole new world of lurking shadows. As one gets sucked into the quicksand of paranoia, random occurrences will often be perceived as patterns (during the visit of ARATS Chairman Chen Yunlin [陳雲林] last November, for example, my Internet connection at home was interrupted for four days; the wires were cut, Chunghwa told us. Was it sabotage, given my criticism of the visit, or the fact that the wires were old, in a box exposed to the elements?)

Maybe all of this is real, or maybe none is. More likely, the truth lies somewhere in between. But the man is undeniably scared.

Why Uighur leader Dolkun Isa is persona non grata

The National Immigration Agency (NIA) said on Friday that Dolkun Isa, secretary-general of the Munich-based World Uighur Congress, would be stopped if he attempted to enter Taiwan, in effect contradicting comments on the same day by the Criminal Investigation Bureau (CIB) that as long as Isa entered Taiwan under his own name, he would not be denied entry. The contradiction stems from the fact that the NIA and CIB fall under different branches of government. Situations like these happen far more often than we’d think, especially in countries like the US that have multiple agencies serving different, and sometimes competing, purposes (e.g., the CIA and the FBI, or CSIS and the RCMP).

The CIB falls under the National Police Agency (NPA), which itself is under the supervision of the Ministry of the Interior (MOI). As its name says, its mandate is to investigate criminal activity. Although the NIA also falls under the MOI, the guidance and coordination of intelligence affairs at NIA and three other civil agencies is the remit of the National Security Bureau (NSB) — the nation’s principal intelligence agency — which itself is subordinate to the National Security Council (NSC).

What this means is that from a crime-fighting perspective, Isa is not a threat, as he is not believed to have engaged in criminal activity. Hence the CIB’s having no objection to his entering Taiwan. For the NSB, however, Isa could be deemed a person of interest (or “target”) as his activities may include political violence or “terrorism.” That is why, to use a different example, a domestic agency like Canada’s RCMP (Canada’s CIB, if you will) will investigate criminal organizations like the Hells Angels, but not, say, “terrorist” groups like Hezbollah (only when political violence and criminal activity intersect, such as selling contraband cigarettes to finance a “terrorist” organization, as Hezbollah did, will the RCMP and CSIS work together on a target).

Yang Wen-kai (楊文凱), the head of the International Affairs Division at the NIA, said the decision to bar Isa entry was based on the assessment (denied by Isa) that he doubles as the vice chairman of the East Turkestan Liberation Organization (ETLO), which China (thought not the UN or the US) has listed as a terrorist organization.* Challenged on the matter as to why Taiwan now also seemed to regard ETLO as a terrorist organization, Yang said “we obtained our information from a friendly country.”**

Some critics have rightly observed that the friendly country could be no other than China and that Yang’s comment was obfuscation, on par with the Ma Ying-jeou (馬英九) administration and Beijing’s attempts to keep everything “unofficial.” The problem with this criticism, however, is that intelligence agencies all over the world make it a policy not to publicize where they obtained, or the means by which they collected, intelligence. Sources are always kept secret, even in warrants and affidavits: human sources get numbers; foreign agencies, rather than be named, are “friendly” or “allied”; while communication intercepts (wiretaps, video surveillance, etc) are “reliable sources.” It is therefore perfectly normal for the NIA — and by extension the NSB — not to name their source, even if who it is is perfectly obvious, and a nefarious one at that.

Far more troubling than the NIA’s apparent lack of candor is the fact that Isa would be barred entry based on less than airtight intelligence from China, something that would not have happened under previous administrations. Behind this are Ma’s efforts to please Beijing and, perhaps more importantly, the nature of the man who heads the NSC, Chairman Su Chi (蘇起), whose pro-Beijing leanings and China ties are known facts. It should also be noted that the NSC is under the direct administration of the president. With Ma and Su at the top of the nation’s decisionmaking on intelligence matters, it is therefore no surprise that China’s “terrorists” would become Taiwan’s. Which raises the specter of future cooperation on intelligence. First it was Isa, the head of a so-called “terrorist” organization. Next it could be the other two “evils” as seen by the Chinese Communist Party — “extremism” and “splittism,” two concepts with dangerously loose interpretations that could very well include independence activists in Taiwan, pro-Tibetans, pro-Uighurs, Falun Gong practitioners, and human rights activists seeking change in China.

Intelligence drift based on ideology, and political “gifts” of assistance in intelligence matters are dangerous, dangerous things that can undermine the very moral core of individuals.

* Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan, two members of the Shanghai Cooperation Organization, both designated ETLO as a terrorist organization. Despite heavy lobbying by China, in December 2003 Washington refused to recognize ETLO as a terrorist entity, although it did designate its loose affiliate and allegedly al-Qaeda-linked East Turkestan Islamic Movement (ETIM) a terrorist entity the previous year. Many pundits have argued that Washington’s decision to comply with Beijing’s request on ETIM was motivated by the Bush administration’s need to secure Beijing acquiescence at the UN as it prepared to invade Iraq.

** James Millward of the East-West Center in Washington wrote in a report titled Violent Separatism in Xinjiang: A Critical Assessment that since 2003, the Chinese Ministry of Public Security has catalogued four Uighur organizations — ETIM, ETLO, the World Uighur Youth Congress (WUYC) and the East Turkistan Information Center (ETIC) — as terrorist organizations. Millward argues that a report published on Jan. 21, 2002, by the Information Office of the PRC State Council titled East Turkistan Terrorist Forces Cannot Get Away with Impunity was “less than systematic in its treatment of terrorist or separatist organizations” and “relies frequently on such vague generic terms as ‘the “East Turkistan” terrorist organization,’ which it intersperses confusedly with references to specific groups, many of which also have ‘East Turkistan’ in their names,” which results in “ambiguity over whether a given act was committed by a specific group known to espouse a separatist line (such as […] ETLO) or by unknown perpetrators whom the authors of the document claim, without providing evidence, to be East Turkistan separatists.”

My colleague Celia Llopis-jepsen has an interesting op-ed on the same subject in Wednesday’s edition of the Taipei Times.

Tokyo releases White Paper, Taipei provides … cartoons

Having read through most of the Japanese Defense Ministry’s wide-ranging 2009 White Paper published this month, I can attest to the fact that such documents are no light beach reading. My four years at the Royal Military College of Canada, and nearly three at the Canadian Security Intelligence Service, where I worked closely with the Department of National Defense, also imposed upon me countless hours analyzing white papers, aides-memoires, briefings and bulletins that would make anyone yearn for a manual on how to fix your vacuum cleaner. The difficult, and often tedious reading, means that it will be restricted to a small, specializes audience and remain for the most part outside the public sphere.

Perhaps sensing this, communications departments within the Taiwanese government have come up with a solution: cartoons. Sometime in October, the Ministry of National Defense will unleash upon young Taiwanese readers a cartoon version of its most recent White Paper, all part of a plan to attract young minds to the military as it aims to achieve an all-volunteer force by 2015. Taiwanese youth are avid readers of comic books, and the US did something similar by introducing online videogames to boost recruitment, so the idea might not be entirely outlandish. I still think it reflects poorly on a nation’s maturity level and reading abilities (at least in the government’s view), but it’s worth the try.

Where the cartoons lose their humor, however, is when the Ministry of Economic Affairs announces that it will launch a series of four-column cartoons to explain the doctrines of the controversial economic cooperation framework agreement (ECFA) the Ma Ying-jeou (馬英九) administration has proposed signing with China. With the opposition completing the first step in applying to hold a referendum on the matter, the Ma administration appears to have concluded that now is the time to explain the contents of the agreement, which to date have remained obscure. Rather than treat adults like adults, however, or assume that Taiwanese are intelligent enough to seize the complexities of the ECFA (which they most certainly are), the government will hand out brochures, in which we can expect anime-like Hu Jintaos and Chen Yunlins informing readers that they harbor no sinister intentions.

This tactic reminds me of the Chinese government’s introduction, about two years ago, of cute online characters — oversized-eyed male and female police officers — reminding Chinese Internet users to surf the Web “responsibly,” which is Newspeak for avoid accessing information on human rights, Tibet, Taiwan and basically anything that could remotely constitute criticism of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP). (Anyone who thought that Beijing’s censoring of the Internet is primarily to protect young minds from the evils of pornography had better think again.) Through cute, friendly looking characters, the CCP sanitized an instrument of repression and banalized what was fundamentally an addition to the state’s multifaceted approach to mind control.

As there are many apprehensions surrounding an ECFA, which ulterior political motives or not will have a substantial impact on the future of Taiwan, cartoons could help the Ma administration ease the introduction of an ECFA and turn something of tremendous contentiousness into a banality that puts critical minds to sleep.

Taiwanese should know better. After all, they live in a country where the more beautiful and colorful an insect, arachnid or reptile is, the deadlier is its venom.