Taiwan curbs US beef

Health concerns and angry protests have prompted partial bans on US beef imports in Taiwan, Japan, and South Korea – most recently by Taipei on Tuesday. The recurring dispute has strained relations.

Christian Science Monitor, January 5, 2010

Taipei, Taiwan -- Taiwan's restriction of some United States beef imports Tuesday highlights an ongoing source of friction in US-Asian trade relations.

In recent years US beef imports have become a lightning rod in East Asia, due to a potent mix of health concerns, nationalism, and political opportunism.

Beef has become a measure of whether governments are viewed as standing up for citizens' health or buckling to US pressure, says Koji Murata, a political science professor at Japan's Doshisha University.

"For junior partners of the US such as Japan, South Korea, and Taiwan, this issue is a kind of symbol –of course, an exaggerated one – of American oppression," he says.

The move by Taiwan's legislature comes amid fears of mad cow disease, and criticism that President Ma Ying-jeou's government failed to consult the legislature or the public before lifting a partial ban on US beef in October.

The issue has strained Taiwan's ties with the US, even as the self-ruled island moves ever closer into China's economic orbit with a series of cross-strait commercial deals.

Taiwan legislators reached a consensus last week to revise a food law to ban the import of US ground beef, offal, and other beef products seen as posing a greater health risk.

That drew unusually harsh criticism from Washington, which accuses Taiwan of overturning an October deal that was signed after extensive negotiations and study.

"Science and facts – not politics or hyperbole – should govern our trade and economic relations," US trade and agriculture officials said in a statement. "This is a serious matter that concerns us greatly."

Politicized issue

Japan banned US beef imports in late 2003, after a single cow in the state of Washington was found to have mad cow disease. South Korea, Taiwan, and other Asian countries quickly followed suit. US beef exports plunged, hit especially hard by the ban in the No. 1 export market, Japan.

Japan reopened to some US beef imports in 2006, but restrictions remain.

South Korea's reopening to beef in 2008 under a US-friendly president sparked weeks of massive protests and a political crisis that had a nationalist, anti-American edge. Seoul ended up watering down a previous agreement with Washington, much as Taipei is doing now.

Park Kie-Duck, former president of South Korea's independent Sejong Institute, says anti-US beef protests were led by Web-savvy students who spread fears online. But the issue has resonated more broadly in East Asia because of countries' worry that their traditional agrarian identities are under threat.

"We see the agricultural industry as a kind of strategic industry, and people want to keep that industry safe," says Mr. Park. "That's why this issue is so sensitive."

In Taiwan, the scale of protests has been smaller, but emotions have also run high. Groceries and beef noodle restaurants have displayed anti-US beef logos.

On Tuesday, a man had the words "The people stand up" and a clenched fist tattooed to his back amid chanting anti-US beef protesters.

In late October, one student filmed himself eating what he claimed was a cow-dung burger in front of the Presidential Office, protesting that it was safer to eat than American beef. (See videoclip here.)

Lin Chong-Pin, a professor of strategic studies at Taiwan's Tamkang University, says resentful legislators from President Ma's own party had seized the beef issue to teach Ma a lesson.

"From Day 1 – Ma's inauguration – they felt they'd been ignored," says Professor Lin. "It's pent-up frustration that's finally found an outlet."

Promises of safety

US officials insist American beef is safe (see their factsheet here). They cite a 2007 World Organization for Animal Health decision, which said the US had appropriate measures in place to assure the safe export of its beef.

But the US has been embarrassed by export violations by its beef producers. Japan relaxed restrictions in 2006, only to renew them after banned bone parts were found in one shipment.

Last October, Japan banned beef imports from one meatpacking plant in Nebraska after banned parts were found in another shipment.

Such incidents have fueled distrust. "The perception is that the Americans are very sensitive to the import of Asian manufactured goods to the US but insensitive to exports of potentially dangerous food goods to Asia," says Doshisha University's Murata.

Washington has linked the beef issue with progress on a South Korea-US free trade deal – now languishing in Congress – and trade liberalization talks with Taiwan.

Those talks have been suspended since 2007, and observers say they may be further postponed over the latest beef controversy.

Original site

Tilting toward China?

Taiwan-Japan relations remain strong, despite the latest Diaoyutai row. But Ma Ying-jeou's handling of the crisis has fueled concerns about his Japan policy

By Jonathan Adams

Newsweek Japan, June 23 issue (unedited draft)

It was a rare scene in Taiwan. Holding signs saying "Protect the Diaoyutai", an angry group of protesters set fire to a Japanese flag laid out on the sidewalk in front of Japan's de facto embassy in Taipei last Wednesday.

The cause of their anger: the June 10 sinking of a Taiwanese fishing boat after a collision with Japanese boats patrolling the disputed island chain.

Had Taiwan suddenly turned anti-Japanese?

Hardly. In fact, there were only some 15 protesters – even less than the number of police at the scene. What's more, half the group weren't even Taiwanese. They were from a veteran, 60-member Hong Kong-based activist group 保釣行動委員會 . Since 1996 that volunteer group has visited Taiwan many times to lead protests and expeditions asserting Chinese sovereignty over the island chain.

"We were outraged about this incident, and we came to express the view of private-sector Chinese," said the group's chairman 主席, Mr. Chen (陳多偉). "The Diaoyutais are Chinese territory."

Few Taiwanese feel as strongly as Mr. Chen and his group. To be sure, many thought Japan had taken excessive action and should apologize. And some hardline KMT legislators tried to whip up anti-Japanese sentiment, and urged a much stronger response. (They were scheduled to visit the Diaoyutai on a navy frigate last Wednesday in a show of force, before President Ma Ying-jeou cancelled that trip and publicly called for a peaceful resolution of the dispute).

But overall, public opinion of Japan remains very positive.

"This was an unfortunate incident," said Lo Fu-chen 羅福全, Taiwan's former representative to Japan. "But in the last eight years, Taiwan-Japan relations have reached a peak. I don't think this incident will change that."

Still, last week's Diaoyutai crisis has fueled concerns about Ma Ying-jeou's new China-friendly government and its attitude toward Japan.

It's hard to gauge the extent of anti-Japanese sentiment in Taiwan. But in general, such views are limited to a small minority of Mainlanders (waishengren 外省人) who originally came to Taiwan with the KMT in the 1940s. These people make up about 14% of the population.

Hardline Chinese nationalists – the most likely to be anti-Japan -- are an even smaller number. According to the latest poll from the Election Study Center at National Chengchi University, only 5.4% identified themselves as "Chinese only", compared to 26% in 1994.

"Those who wanted to send the gunboats are a minority," said Fu. "They're just trying to use the incident to fuel an anti-Japanese movement -- but what can they do? To me they're modern-day Boxers," he said, referring to the Chinese ultra-nationalists who unsuccessfully sought to drive out foreigners from mainland China around 1900.

Most native Taiwanese (本省人), by contrast – about 84% of the population -- have fond or neutral feelings toward the island's former colonizer.

Enjoying a cigarette break from work in Ximending, 西門町, Ye Zhou-xian, 葉桌賢, 24, said he liked Japan more than mainland China, and that the Diaoyutai incident hadn't changed his attitude. "I like Japanese fashion and manners," he explained. "I don't like mainland China because they think Taiwan belongs to them."

If some Taiwanese did briefly sour on Japan last week, it was due in part to relentless media coverage. Competition is fierce in Taiwan's crowded media market.

Every outlet hypes up conflict to get more eyeballs, and last week was no exception. TV reporters hounded Taiwan foreign ministry officials and gave extensive airtime to anti-Japan KMT legislators. Talk show commentators kept up a round-the-clock drumbeat of criticism of Japan's actions. They slammed the Taiwan government's initial reaction to the incident, which was widely seen as too weak-kneed.

Still, the anti-Japan fever passed quickly, as the media pack moved on to chase another target.

But if public outrage was short-lived, the crisis raised longer-term questions about Ma Ying-jeou's Japan policy, and its ability to manage crisis.

Change is afoot in Taiwan's foreign policy. Ma's priority is to improve ties with China. He's rapidly improving economic relations with the mainland, hoping to give Taiwan's lagging economy a shot in the arm. Cross-strait flights and tourists will be ramped up next month.

Beyond economics, he's raised hopes of a truce in the cross-strait diplomatic battle for allies, and even talked of a peace deal.

The question is, will all this come at the expense of relations with Japan?

For his part, Ma insists he won't downgrade Taiwan-Japan relations. He's dismissed charges of being ignorant about Japan during the presidential campaign, insisting he was a "zhi ri pai" (知日派). He made a point of visiting Japan last November, seeking to convince skeptical Japanese Diet members that he was not anti-Japanese.

Not everyone's convinced. Some observers say privately that there are reasons to be concerned. Ma failed to mention Japan even once in his May 20 inauguration speech – an omission that reportedly upset some members of a visiting Diet delegation.

He has also scrapped the Foreign Ministry's Committee of Japanese Affairs. That was an ad-hoc task force set up by the DPP government in 2005 to enhance Taiwan-Japan exchanges, and raise the status of Japanese experts within the ministry. It's still unclear what will replace the task force.

Meanwhile, the Hong Kong-born Ma comes from a Chinese nationalist tradition whose anti-Japan stance is rooted in Japan's invasion of the mainland in the late 1930s. He was reportedly moved to tears by the scene in "Lust, Caution" (色戒) in which a Chinese crowd shouts together, "zhongguo bu neng wang" (中國不能亡). And he wrote several books on the Diaoyutais in his youth and was an enthusiastic defender of Taiwan's claim to the island chain.

Observers also criticize his government's bad crisis-management skills and mixed messages during the Diaoyutai dispute. The public witnessed a government that one day seemed too cowardly to confront Japan, then the next day recklessly talked of war. The conflict nearly turned violent, before Ma intervened.

"The premier totally mismanaged the situation," said Lo Fu-chen. "They're not acting like a mature government."

A poll conducted by TV station TVBS, only 38% were satisfied with his handling of the incident, compared to 45% unsatisfied.

Part of the problem is Ma's Japan policy isn't yet completely clear. Hardliners in his own party see Taiwan's long-term interests lying with China, not Japan. But Ma must balance better China relations against Taiwan's de facto security alliance with the US and Japan – no easy trick.

"Ma wants to have equal distance between China and the US-Japan alliance, because he believes that could maximize Taiwan's interests," said Lin Chen-wei (林成蔚) director of international affairs for the DPP and a former Japan specialist advising the National Security Council. "But whether they can successfully manage that remains to be seen."

Still, Ma's policy isn't likely to depart dramatically from his predecessor's. Taiwan depends on the US-Japan alliance for its security. Japanese air bases would be critical in any US defense of the island should China make good on past threats to retake Taiwan by force.

That means any changes are likely to be in tone rather than in substance. "The KMT might change Taiwan's policy toward Japan," said one KMT insider. "But if they do, it will only be a small change, because Japan is so important. Keeping good relations with Japan is vital for Taiwan's security."

A flawed patriot

Chen Shui-bian leaves office a deeply unpopular man. But even his critics credit him for greatly strengthening Taiwan identity

by Jonathan Adams
Newsweek Japan, May 19 issue

In the center of Taipei, at a popular tourist site, is one of the most visible -- and controversial – signs of Chen Shui-bian's legacy. Last December, Chen's government pried from the arch above the plaza four characters, 大中至正, a reference to the late dictator Chiang Kai-shek.

In its place, they attached four new ones: 自由廣場 -- Liberty Plaza.

That small change was symbolic of Chen's main achievement: throwing out many of the remaining signs of the Kuomintang's authoritarian regime, and consolidating Taiwan's democracy and national identity.

The former Chiang Kai-shek Memorial Hall, before the name change

To be sure, by the end of his eight-year term – Chen steps down Tuesday -- a cynical public had little patience for such symbolic changes. They saw Chen and his Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) stirring up needless culture wars and controversy while neglecting the economy. And even his own past supporters became disillusioned by his government's bungling, corrupt rule.

"Many people are heartbroken because of Ah-bian [Chen's nickname]", said Antonio Chiang, a former pro-democracy journalist in the martial law era, and member of Chen's National Security Council. "We worked so hard, and sacrificed so much, and then he threw it all in the river."

History will likely be more kind to Chen. Though deeply flawed, he presided over a critical period of maturation for Taiwan's young democracy. This was the fruit of a long process begun by the DPP and other activists more than twenty years ago.

Under his watch, Taiwan scrapped the National Assembly -- one of the last major institutions of the authoritarian past. Taiwanese people gained the right of referendum in 2003, and the right to approve constitutional revisions in 2005.

Chen's contribution to democracy included strong support for freedom of expression and an independent judiciary. His government accepted the scrutiny of the press and courts to an unprecedented degree in Taiwan's history.

The island's media -- recently ranked Asia's freest by the US non-governmental organization Freedom House –- broadcast relentless criticisms of Chen, much of it deserved. For example, some TV stations ran 'round-the-clock, clearly partisan coverage of anti-Chen protests in the fall of 2006, without interference from Chen's government.

Anti-Chen protesters throng downtown Taipei in the fall of 2006

Taiwan's judiciary remains a work in progress, but Chen's government by and large submitted itself to the rule of law. Ironically, this was part of his downfall: independent prosecutors traced corruption back to his own top aides and relatives; Chen himself may be charged after leaving office.

"All the talk about the DPP being the most corrupt government in Taiwan's history, I don't think that's true," said Bruce Jacobs, head of the Taiwan Research Unit at Australia's Monash University. "What was true is that people who were corrupt got pulled in and convicted." Dirty practices that were routine under the Kuomintang government were exposed and punished under Chen.

Consolidating Taiwan identity – a process begun by his predecessor Lee Teng-hui – may be Chen's most significant legacy. More people now identify as "Taiwanese only," (44%, up from 37% when Chen took office) and fewer as "Chinese only" (5% now, down from13% when he took office).

Even his harshest critics give Chen credit for challenging Taiwanese to reflect on their heritage and identity.

"He used a very unconventional way to provoke people to think about Taiwan's status," said Liao Da-chi, a political analyst at National Sun Yat-sen University in Kaohsiung. "He made us think about ourselves and our position in the world."

His conservative successor, Ma Ying-jeou, represents a sharp contrast to Chen. But the "status quo" Ma will conserve is one now firmly rooted in a sense of Taiwan-first pride. Indeed, Ma got elected by copying the DPP and embracing the patriotism Chen fostered. He took pains to learn phrases in Taiwanese, Hakka and Aboriginal tongues, and spent months of his campaign in the south, soaking up rural culture.

Will Taiwan's democracy and identity be rolled back under the new administration? One test will be whether Ma removes the sign 自由廣場, as some KMT supporters would like. The inscription may seem like a small matter.

But as a symbol of Taiwan's hard-won democratic gains, Ma will likely think twice before changing it.

Anti-Chen protester, fall 2006

Battle of the moderates

Frank Hsieh's clinching of the pro-independence party's presidential nomination spells a close race in 2008

By Jonathan Adams
Newsweek Japan, May 16
(untranslated and unedited draft)

In January 2006, Frank Hsieh stepped down from the premiership after a disappointing year. He'd taken office with a new, conciliatory approach -- both toward China, Taiwan's rival across the Strait, and to the domestic Kuomintang-led opposition. But his outstretched hand was met with a cold shoulder: Beijing passed its "Anti-Secession Law" formalizing its threat to use military force against Taiwan, and the opposition continued to block the ruling party's agenda at every turn. A disillusioned Hsieh left the country to nurse his wounds abroad. Some observers thought his political career was finished.

Less than a year and a half later, Hsieh has become the pro-independence party's candidate in the closely watched 2008 presidential race -- and quite possibly, the next leader of Taiwan. It's a dramatic change of fortunes for the mild-mannered Hsieh -- a lawyer educated in Taiwan and Japan's Kyoto University. His win last week in the Democratic Progressive Party primary means he'll face off against the man who, until recently, was seen as shoo-in for the presidency: the Kuomintang's equally gentle Ma Ying-jeou. With the race now underway and nine months to go, observers say the vote is up for grabs -- and some give the DPP an edge. But regardless of who wins, hopes are already high for a thaw in cross-strait relations, as both Ma and Hsieh are moderate centrists who back closer economic links with the mainland. Their softer rhetoric contrasts with Chen Shui-bian who constantly irritates Beijing with his brash trumpeting of the island's de facto independence.

More than anything, Hsieh, 60, is known for his flexibility and strong work ethic -- qualities that date back to his days as a champion gymnast in his youth. His defense of pro-democracy activists in a famous 1980 trial gives him credibility with the Democratic Progressive Party's true believers. A few years after that, his dogged legal work was instrumental in revealing ties between the KMT and the gangsters who murdered author Henry Liu, a vocal critic of the KMT, in California. "Hsieh took the lead and proved to be a good advisor and courageous and effective lawyer," said Jerome Cohen, who represented Liu's widow in legal proceedings in Taiwan and is now a professor of Chinese law at New York University. And Hsieh was the party's vice presidential candidate in the nation's first free presidential election in 1996 -- running alongside a staunchly pro-independence figure.

But he also earned a reputation as a competent, pragmatic administrator during his time as mayor of the port city of Kaohsiung from 1998 to 2005. Hsieh is credited with giving the city a much-needed makeover, infusing it with culture and cleaning its polluted industrial waterfront (Kaohsiung's once notoriously dirty Love River is now lined with outdoor cafes and boasts brightly-lit tour boats). He pushed for cross-strait shipping links then to revive Kaohsiung's flagging port business, and even tried to visit the mainland to discuss the issue -- only to see his proposal nixed by Chen's government.

Hsieh's proven commitment to Taiwan's democracy and push for warmer economic ties with China make him a formidable candidate. That stance aligns him closely with the island's average voter, who favors more commerce with China, but wants to keep a political distance. Meanwhile, the more China-friendly Ma's star has dimmed amid charges he misused funds as Taipei mayor, criticisms about his weak leadership of the opposition, and concerns that he doesn't sufficiently embrace rising Taiwanese identity -- a deeply emotional issue for many voters. "Many people think Ma can't win the election," said one KMT insider. "His outlook is different from many people -- they think they're Taiwanese, but Ma thinks he's Chinese." So far, Ma's efforts to woo the powerful legislative speaker Wang Jyn-ping as his running mate have been rebuffed -- a sign of the current skepticism of Ma, even within his own party.

If Ma's woes continue, some observers now give Hsieh's party the advantage. "It looks good for them right now," said Bruce Jacobs, an expert in Taiwan politics at Monash University in Australia. As far as cross-strait relations go, there may not be much difference between the two men. Both would bring a softer, more measured tone to the presidency. Beijing would prefer a Ma presidency, thanks to historical -- and now warming -- ties between the Chinese Communist Party and KMT. And a cross-strait political settlement is a possibility under Ma, while probably out of Hsieh's reach. But even if Hsieh takes power, analysts say Beijing could seek a fresh start -- in the same way they were quick to engage Japan's Shinzo Abe after the more outspoken Junichiro Koizumi left the scene.

That would be welcome news for investors, businesspeople and many average Taiwanese, who have been eagerly awaiting progress on a raft of issues expected to help revive the island's anemic economy. Those include a long-awaited agreement on allowing more Chinese tourists to visit Taiwan; regular cross-strait cargo and passenger flights; relaxation on limits to Taiwanese firms' China-bound investment; and allowing Taiwanese banks to do retail business in the high-potential mainland banking market. Ma is a stronger advocate of such economic opening, but analysts say Hsieh would also make progress, albeit more slowly. Sophia Cheng, head of Taiwan research at investment bank Merrill Lynch, said Hsieh's primary win, in which he trounced two hardline pro-independence candidates, was a clear vote for moderation. "The DPP already tested what the majority voter wants -- and they want economic development more than independence," said Cheng, who predicts a DPP victory by a hair next year.

Of course, given the volatile nature of cross-strait relations, nothing is a given. To be sure, Hsieh and Chen's styles are very different, and Hsieh is seen as a stronger backer of economic opening. But in substance, their stances on the island's sovereignty are the same: Both insist on Taiwan's democratic autonomy and back further constitutional revision, which Beijing sees as a "timeline for independence." Some think Hsieh's DPP might back a boycott of the Beijing Olympics next summer to win political points domestically -- a move that could sharply raise cross-strait tensions. And in China, anxieties are mounting that Chen may use the last year of his term (he will step down from office in late May 2008) to push a bold move toward full independence. "Beijing considers the next year to be a 'high-risk period'," said Jin Canrong, a professor at Renmin University in Beijing. "They have to prepare for the worst."

But if China and Taiwan can navigate those choppy waters, it looks like smoother sailing come mid-2008 -- whether it's Hsieh or Ma at the helm.

Republic of Cynics

A recent Taiwan pride push has sparked a backlash from islanders sick of identity politics
Jonathan Adams
Newsweek Japan, February 21, 2007
(untranslated draft)

It must have been a slow day for mail delivery in Taiwan. Last Monday, scores of angry, yellow headband-wearing postal workers from all over the island left work to protest behind barbed-wire barricades in Taipei. The cause of their ire: the government’s decision to change their company’s name from “Chunghwa [Chinese] Post" to “Taiwan Post."

On the other side of the barriers, President Chen Shui-bian presided over the unveiling of the new “Taiwan Post” plaque—part of a recent push to rectify names that has included tweaking the titles of other state-run companies, changing the nation’s postage stamps, and last fall, changing the name of the main airport. Chen has said the steps are necessary to avoid confusion between Taiwanese and Chinese firms, and bolster “Taiwan consciousness.”

But the workers said the unnecessary name change had been rammed through without their input, and was a political ploy to deflect attention from the government’s incompetence.

A clerk at a convenience store near the protest aired a common complaint: “It will just cost a lot of money and create nuisance. I think Chen’s gone crazy—and he keeps causing problems for our relations with China.”

Indeed, many Taiwanese have grown sharply disillusioned with Chen’s focus on emotionally-charged identity politics—which is widely seen as part of his strategy to seal a legacy as the champion of Taiwan’s sovereignty before he steps down in May 2008.

Next week Chen will take advantage of a significant date for Taiwan-first nationalists: the 60th anniversary of the 228 Incident, in which Kuomintang troops sent from China massacred tens of thousands after a local uprising against one and a half years of their bumbling rule. Chen’s lame-duck government plans to play up the date to the hilt, with a “Taiwan pride” sing-along in front of the Presidential Office, a huge concert in the evening, and the grand opening of a new national memorial hall.

But such is the extent of public cynicism that even some relatives of 228 victims think the beleaguered Chen is just using the tragedy to whip up political support.

"Political parties want to claim 228 so they can get credit,” said Liao Ji-bin, whose grandfather was shot and dumped into the sea north of Taipei by KMT military police in March 1947.

"Everyone knows why [Chen’s party] is claiming it—it’s just for elections. They want to remind people of the KMT’s killing and murder.”

Opposition to Chen’s latest campaign to strengthen Taiwan identity has come from all sides—including some unlikely sources.

Beijing warned that the name changes were part of a dangerous plot to reach full independence through tiny steps—a goal it would stop at any cost. The US spoke out against the changes, saying they may violate Chen’s pledges not to alter the cross-strait “status quo.”

But even former President Lee Teng-hui—widely viewed as the “godfather” of the Taiwan independence movement—shocked many by criticizing the government for using the independence issue, and the renaming of state-controlled firms, for selfish political gain.

"The changes should be done step by step and quietly, rather than done while the polls approach,” he complained. Ironically, many observers said Lee’s own comments were equally self-serving: they think he’s trying to save his own small, hardline pro-independence party from extinction by giving it a moderate makeover.

To be sure, the irritation with identity politics doesn’t mean Taiwan identity itself is in retreat. Chen’s name games still have a market in the deep south, the base of support for his Democratic Progressive Party. And survey data shows that island-wide, Taiwan identity keeps rising: Last June, 44.4 percent identified themselves as only Taiwanese, compared to 23.1 percent in 1996—and the number identifying as only “Chinese” has been in steady decline.

The Taiwanese dialect is more widely-spoken than ever, and is now the lingua franca not only in the south and on the streets, but also in the legislature. Chen’s government can take some credit for that, say observers.

“Chen has delayed exchanges between mainland China and Taiwan and put in place regulations to remind people that China is the enemy,” said Hsu Yung-ming, a political analyst at the Academia Sinica in Taipei. “This helps people identify as Taiwanese.”

But rising Taiwan pride is also fueled by such unlikely figures as MC Hotdog—a Taiwanese rapper whose hit song “Wo Ai Tai Mei” (I Love Taiwanese Chicks) last year helped fuel a taike pop culture fad that celebrated the island’s earthy rural culture: betel nuts; tacky, bright-colored clothes; dyed hair and blunt talk.

In fact, Taiwan identity is now more a social and cultural trend than a political one. “Taiwan identity is rising, but that doesn’t mean that the numbers of people who want Taiwan independence is also rising,” said Wu Nai-teh, a sociologist at the Academia Sinica.

The number of self-identified DPP supporters has dropped in the past two years, even as Taiwan identification continues to rise. And over the last ten years the number of survey respondents who clearly support independence has bounced between 10% and 20%, while support for maintaining the “status quo” has risen from 35% to 60%.

So while it may now be hip to be Taiwanese, independence diehards are still a decidedly lonely bunch—a fact that should come as comfort to China.

“If [Beijing] is realistic, they realize Taiwan is only 90 miles from China and it’s not going to drift away,” said Lin Wen-cheng, an expert on cross-strait relations at National Sun Yat-sen University in Kaohsiung. “We can’t cross the red line—we are not going to declare Taiwan independence. That’s the consensus among political parties in Taiwan.”

Now, some politicians are trying to respond to islanders’ embrace of Taiwan identity, but mounting distaste for divisive identity politics.

Lee’s attempt to reinvent his Taiwan Solidarity Union party is a case in point: his party hopes to sidestep the unification-independence debate with pragmatic proposals to improve people’s livelihood: letting in Chinese tourists and investment, reducing university fees for low-income families. “We have to rethink our national direction,” said Lee Shang-ren, head of the party’s legislative caucus. “Emphasizing the people’s welfare is most important.”

The party’s turn to the center is no surprise for those who have watched Lee’s shape-shifting career: a Communist Party member as a young man, he became chairman of the fiercely anti-communist, pro-unification KMT in the late 1980s, then left the KMT in 2000 to start the strongly pro-independence TSU. Still, analysts say his latest move may be one about-face too many: Lee’s influence has faded, and it will be difficult for him to convince his “deep green” supporters to shift to the center with him.


That leaves room for others to follow a similar strategy, though. Some DPP moderates back a similar focus on pragmatic economic policies, and their preferred candidate Su Tseng-chang is considered a strong potential contender for the presidency in 2008.

The KMT candidate Ma Ying-jeou—still considered the frontrunner in the 2008 race despite being charged with corruption last week—backs direct cross-strait flights as a way to jump-start the economy.

Back at the postal protest, Tang Wen-tai, 56, head of the Banciao city postal workers’ union, said workers were most angry about having their concerns ignored. “We didn’t have a say,” said Tang. That’s the way more and more Taiwanese feel about the island’s political discourse—and politicians might do well to start listening.

A Test for Ma

Local elections could push Ma Ying-jeou closer to the presidency in 2008—or cripple his leadership
Jonathan Adams
Newsweek Japan, December 13, 2006
(Untranslated draft)

Ke Tsi-hai wants his cow back.

Two years ago, Taipei City—led by its telegenic mayor and Kuomintang chairman Ma Ying-jeou—seized the animal, saying Ke had violated a city ordinance. Since then the 50-year-old Ke has kept up a media blitz to win the bovine’s release, but without success.

He’s heckled Ma at public appearances, waved anti-Ma signs at random TV press conferences, and even opened a ranch a few hours outside the city named “Ma Ying-jeou, give me back my cow.”

Now, Ke is running to become Taipei’s mayor. He stands every day at busy intersections, holding a pole weapon in the manner of Guan Yu, a heroic figure from Chinese history and literature. Standing in the rain last week during one such appearance, Ke explained the rationale behind his longshot campaign.

“The city does not have the right to impound my cow. I can get it back if I’m elected.”

Ke’s not the only one harassing Ma these days. James Soong, the once-popular head of a small splinter party allied with the KMT, lobbied for Ma to back his own mayoral campaign, but to no avail. Now he’s still in the race, sucking votes away from the KMT’s candidate, and reportedly pressuring Ma to support some of his party’s candidates in next year’s legislative elections.

And then there’s independent candidate Li Ao, who admits he has “no chance” of winning the election but just wants to “raise his voice.” Li has harshly criticized Ma, saying he’s effectively a male bimbo: good-looking, but incompetent.

“There are people trying to gain something from Ma, by showing that they can destroy his dreams for the presidency in 2008,” Said Lo Chih-cheng, a political science professor at Taipei’s Soochow University.

Call it the price of fame: as the early favorite in the 2008 presidential election, all eyes are on Ma—and the inevitable criticisms have begun to mount. Once lauded for his squeaky-clean image, he’s now been sullied by allegations that he misused mayoral funds. His small decision-making circle has frozen out people like Soong who’d like to have his ear. And he’s taken fire recently from both enemies and allies for weak leadership on a range of issues.

Saturday’s local elections—in which voters will select mayors and city councilors in Taipei and Kaohsiung—will be a key test for Ma. Can he silence his critics, lead a confident KMT into the 2008 campaign, and so defeat the pro-independence party that has held power for almost seven years?

“This election will decide who will be the candidate on both sides in 2008,” said Ger Yeong-kuang, a political science professor at National Taiwan University. “If the KMT wins both elections, Ma Ying-jeou’s leadership will be consolidated and his candidacy in 2008 is secure—no one would dare to challenge him.”

The KMT has momentum on its side. A year ago it made strong gains in local elections, even in places that were considered pro-independence strongholds.

President Chen Shui-bian has been dogged by a string of corruption scandals involving his relatives and aides. Last month his wife was charged with corruption, in a case that also implicated Chen. The scandals have taken a heavy toll on Chen’s Democratic Progressive Party: according to surveys by the election study center at National Chengchi University support for the DPP plunged from more than 26% two years ago to 17% in June, while KMT support rose from 22% to more than 37% in the same period.

That gap is reflected in polls ahead of Saturday’s election, which showed KMT candidate Hau Lung-bing leading the pack by a wide margin in Taipei.

In the south—the base of pro-independence support—the KMT is also leading, but in a closer race. The DPP has controlled Kaohsiung for eight years, but polls last week showed KMT candidate Huang Chun-ying, a former deputy mayor of the port city, ahead of the DPP’s Chen Chu—a former labor minister who did jail time in the 1980s for her pro-democracy activism.

Don’t believe the polls, the DPP insists: they don’t capture a large number of “hidden voters” who are generally pro-independence. “Taiwan has a history of martial law and authoritarianism, so some older people are afraid to speak openly about who they’re going to support,” said Winston Dang, director of the DPP’s department of international affairs.

Moreover, Ma has now also been hit by a corruption scandal, and his approval ratings have drooped. A KMT loss in Kaohsiung would fuel more criticism of Ma’s leadership, and he’s said he will resign if charged with misusing city funds.

Meanwhile, at least one formidable opponent has begun to emerge on the pro-independence side: the no-nonsense premier Su Tseng-chang, a gruff former lawyer who helped defend Chen Chu and other pro-democracy activists in a high-profile trial in 1980. Su has an impressive resume and broad appeal, as a former DPP chairman and commissioner of both his native Pingtung County in the far south and Taipei County in the north. Amid the recent chaos of scandals and protests, Su has been quietly running the government—and focusing on vote-winning issues like reducing crime. If Ma continues to stumble, the aggressive Su could well steal away the presidency in 2008.

That would disappoint Taiwanese and foreign businesspeople, who like Ma’s strong support for closer economic links with China. That stance is echoed by the KMT’s mayoral candidates, who back direct air links with China from Taipei, and shipping links from Kaohsiung.

And China would like nothing better than to see Ma drive the pro-independence party from power just before Beijing hosts the Olympics. Ironically, though, a crushing defeat for the DPP on Saturday might make Beijing most nervous. The concern is that if backed into a corner, Chen might raise the stakes with moves to cement Taiwan’s independence, under the guise of constitutional revision.

“The mainland is on guard,” said Xu Shiquan, vice president of the National Society of Taiwan Studies in Beijing. “If Mr. Chen pushes forward his claims through so-called `constitutional reengineering’ despite warnings from the mainland, this would be serious business.”

Experts say such fears are overblown. Changing the constitution requires a three-quarters majority in the legislature, which is controlled by Chen’s political opponents. Still, the US will also be keeping a close eye on this election’s aftermath, to make sure all stays quiet in the Taiwan Strait.

“Washington is worried about Beijing overreacting to some political game being played on Taiwan,” said Richard Bush, a Taiwan expert at the Brookings Institution, a think tank in Washington, DC.

Back in Taiwan, most voters would likely respond with a collective yawn to any such antics from Chen. After being fed a daily diet of scandal, many are disillusioned with politics altogether.

Which might explain Ke Tsi-hai’s main appeal: giving voters an entertaining diversion. As drivers pass by honking their horns and giving the “thumbs-up” sign, Ke explains that his pole weapon symbolizes his fight against corruption.

Granted, with only 1% to 2% support for Ke in polls, such props aren’t likely to make much difference. But the quixotic cow-lover represents a larger challenge to Ma: if the KMT loses in Kaohsiung, Ma may have to stop ignoring his growing crowd of critics in order to keep his presidential hopes alive.

Who knows, he might even have to give back a cow.

With reporting by Ko Shu-ling

Lonely at the top

In Taiwan, it's hard to find anyone who will speak well of President Chen Shui-bian
Jonathan Adams
Newsweek Japan, September 27, 2007
(Untranslated draft)

Wang Shu-ping has had it with the president of Taiwan. Standing in front of the Presidential Office in Taipei under cloudy skies last Wednesday, the 50-year-old housewife explained why she voted for Chen Shui-bian and his Democratic Progressive Party in 2000‑and why she now has joined thousands of protesters in demanding that he step down, 20 months before the end of his term. “Chen Shui-bian was a good mayor of Taipei, so I thought he would be a good president,” said Wang, who like most of the protesters was wearing red to show her anger. “But now, I think he’s so greedy … I don’t think he loves the people, he just cares about himself. He’s not qualified to be president.”

These days, Wang’s hardly alone in feeling that way. A round-the-clock anti-Chen protest began on Sept. 9, and thousands have returned every day since‑including an estimated 320,000 who showed up for a massive rally at Taipei’s main train station on Friday night. Recent polls indicate that more than 60% of the public thinks Chen should step down, and his approval rating has dropped to a near-record low of 18%, according to a poll from Shih Hsin University earlier this month. Six years after riding office on a wave of Taiwan-first pride‑embodying the promise of a new democratic era after decades of the Kuomintang’s iron-fisted rule‑Chen has alienated most Taiwanese.

Why have so many turned against him? Chen is widely blamed for inept governance and for the island’s stagnant economy (per capita GDP declined in the first two years after Chen took power, before rising to around US$15,300 last year). And some of his own supporters fault him for not making more progress toward full independence and political reform.

But the recent protests are focused on corruption. For the past year, the public has been fed a steady diet of graft allegations against the president’s aides and family, served up almost daily by a muckraking KMT legislator and media outlets that are mostly hostile to Chen. A former Chen aide is in jail, and Chen’s son-in-law has been charged with insider trading. Chen’s wife is accused of improperly accepting gift vouchers for an upscale department store. And most recently, Chen himself was questioned over allegedly falsifying expenses from a secret diplomatic slush fund. Such accusations are reaching a critical mass. “Before, people who supported him could say, it’s not his fault, you can’t really blame the bad economy on the president, and the bad performance you can blame on the irrational opposition party,” said Emile Sheng, a spokesman for the anti-Chen sit-in. “But corruption is what’s really broken people’s confidence in him.”

In fact, there’s no evidence so far that ties Chen directly to wrongdoing. And even if true, the alleged corruption pales next to the dirty “black gold” practices common during KMT rule. Many analysts say that while the scandals have helped fuel widespread anger at Chen, the driving force behind the protests is the ongoing opposition effort to overturn the 2004 election result by any means. Chen won the last presidential election by a razor-thin margin after an assassination attempt the day before the election. To this day, many in the opposition camp‑as well as independents like Wang, the Taipei housewife‑believe that Chen rigged the shooting in order to steal the election. These people have never recognized Chen’s legitimacy and have seized on the latest scandals for more ammunition against him. Although the KMT did not launch the latest rallies, the losing vice presidential candidate from 2004 and KMT Chairman Ma Ying-jeou have made regular appearances, and most of the protesters are opposition supporters from Taipei, which tends to vote pro-KMT “blue.” “The real issue is the power struggle,” Chiu Hei-yuan, a fellow at the Institute of Sociology at Academia Sinica in Taipei. “The [opposition camp] is trying to end the DPP’s rule as soon as possible‑they can’t even wait until 2008.”

They may have to. While most Taiwanese may have lost confidence in Chen, they’re also leery of the idea of ousting him through street protests. According to a poll last week by Era TV, only 23 percent preferred using mass movements as a way to get rid of the president, compared to 60 percent who preferred Constitutional means such as recall (one opposition-backed recall measure already failed in June). And 69 percent believed that the current anti-Chen protests would fail. For his part, Chen has insisted he will finish his term, and has denied any wrongdoing. That stubbornness is unlikely to change unless Chen is directly implicated in wrongdoing, or his own party turns against him, analysts say.

But if the protests don’t force him from office, they will help put the brakes on the Taiwan independence movement. Though Chen has actually had few realistic options for moving toward “full” independence, he often rallies support with China-bashing and stirring Taiwan-first rhetoric. With the public now more concerned about good governance and bread-and-butter issues, there’s even less of a market for such nationalism. “Any new government, either DPP or KMT, will likely slow the pace of Taiwan independence, and change track to `maintaining the status quo,’” said Philip Yang, a political science professor at National Taiwan University. With polls showing nearly 90% support some form of the `status quo’ in cross-strait relations, that’s a fail-safe strategy.

Kingdom of Butterflies

Taiwan: A butterfly-lover's paradise
Jonathan Adams
Newsweek Japan, August 9, 2006
(unedited and untranslated version)

Two times a month, Wang Hui-wu, a government employee from Taipei County, brings his wife and two sons—Bin-yun, 8 and Bin-hsiang, 3, to see the butterflies at the Taipei Zoo’s Insect House. The two boys like to stand as still as they can in the butterfly greenhouse until a “leaf butterfly”—which disguises itself from would-be-predators by looking exactly like a tree leaf—alights on their head or shoulder.

For Wang, 38, the regular pilgrimages to see the zoo’s butterflies are the continuation of a life-long passion. As a teenager, he used to head into the mountains ringing Taipei with his friends from a high-school club, in search of the delicate insects. “Before, I used to catch butterflies with a net,” he says. "Now I catch them with my digital camera.” He’s making a digital album of photos of butterflies from the zoo that he’s posted to the web. And there are plenty of subjects willing to strike a pose. “They have a lot of species here that you can observe,” said Wang. “If you go to the mountains, they can be hard to find—you have to get lucky.”

Butterfly lovers in Taiwan are lucky to have one of the world’s best collections of the beautiful insects on display year-round, right in their backyard. The Taipei Zoo’s butterfly hall has been around for 20 years, but last April it moved into a state-of-the-art new facility: the two-story, more than 3,000 square meter Insect House. There’s an attached butterfly greenhouse filled with butterflies gorging on nectar plants.

Most innovative, the Insect House is tucked into a valley that’s a natural habitat for butterflies. Behind the building a short trail threads through the valley, providing an open-air natural zoo for butterfly-viewing. The zoo’s staff has planted plenty of nectar plants and is researching other ways to best lure free-ranging butterflies to the valley. “The butterfly valley is very special, and not only for butterfly watching, but for watching birds, wild animals and plants endemic to Taiwan,” said Yang Ping-shih, a butterfly expert at National Taiwan University in Taipei.

Taiwan is an ideal place for such a “natural zoo,” because of its rich variety of butterflies. Although it’s only about one-tenth the size of Japan, Taiwan boasts around 400 species (30 to 40 of which are endemic to the island), more than can be found in Japan. The reason is the island’s sharply varied climate, which ranges from tropical forest in the south to temperate climates in Taiwan’s towering central mountain range. “Taiwan’s butterflies are very diverse,” said Chen Chien-chih, a butterfly expert at the Taipei Municipal Teachers College. “There are some from mainland China, the Philippines, Japan, and even some from as far away as the Himalayas.”

That diversity—and sheer numbers—of butterflies once earned the island the nickname the “Butterfly Kingdom.” In the 1960s and 1970s the export of butterfly specimens and products to the US and Japan was a huge business—particularly in the region near Puli, which was called “Butterfly Town.”(The town now hosts the Muh Sheng Museum of Entomology, http://www.insect.com.tw/, one of the largest insect museums in Asia). But the island’s rapid development stripped away many of the natural habitats for the creatures. That, combined with the depletion of the population to feed the butterfly trade, greatly reduced the butterfly population and even threatened some species with extinction.

Now, butterflies are recognized as one of the island’s precious resources, and some species are protected by law. Butterfly viewing is encouraged, instead of butterfly collecting. In late May or early June, sightseers flock to the mountains north of Taipei for the Yangmingshan Butterfly Festival, whose highlight is viewing the milkweed butterflies. Some types of milkweed are known to migrate to and from Japan from Taiwan, but the reasons and patterns of migration are still poorly understood. From November through January, butterfly lovers can view the purple milkweed butterfly in the south, in Kaohsiung, Pingtung and Taitung Counties. These butterflies overwinter in valleys in those areas, blanketing pockets of the region.

Those are the major butterfly-watching events of the year, but Taiwan has something for butterfly lovers in every month. “In Japan, butterfly-watching is seasonal, taking place in the summer and autumn, but in Taipei we can go butterfly-watching all year round,” said NTU’s Yang. For those who don’t have time to head into the mountains searching for a glimpse of a rare butterfly, the Taipei Zoo’s Insect House is an ideal stop. Of its 150-some butterfly species, it displays at least 20 at any time indoors, in addition to additional species that might drop in as guest performers in the outdoor butterfly valley.

On a recent trip to the zoo, Insect House curator Wu I-hsin showed off some of the highlights of the zoo’s butterfly collection as they flitted between nectar plants in the steamy butterfly greenhouse. In addition to the “leaf” butterfly beloved by the Wang children, there’s the black and white tree nymph, which is nicknamed the “stupid butterfly” because of its naïve friendliness: “It will fly right up to you, it’s so easy to capture,” said Wu. Other star attractions are the black swallowtail or “spangle” butterfly and the “Paris peacock,” another type of swallowtail butterfly found in northern Taiwan.

The Insect House also boasts 50 other insect species on display—including a diving beetle, a water scorpion that breathes through its tail, which it sticks up through the water’s surface, protected insects unique to Taiwan’s Orchid Island, and huge walking stick insects from Malaysia. All of which means insect-lovers—especially butterfly fans—will find plenty to enjoy on a trip to Taiwan. “We have many insect species here you can’t find in Japan,” said Wu. “You can come to our zoo and in a short time see many of Taiwan’s insects and see what’s special about Taiwan’s habitats.”

Taipei Zoo Insect House
Open 9am to 5pm every day, 9am to 9pm on weekends in the summer. Closed every fourth Monday of the month for cleaning.
Admission: NT$60 for visitors over 12 years old, NT$30 for children over 6 or students with an ID, free for children under 6 and seniors over 65.
How to get there: Take the MRT Muzha line to the Taipei Zoo stop, the last stop on the line.
http://www.zoo.gov.tw/
886-2-2938-2300

Hooked on Taiwan's food

Japanese foodies take Taipei

Jonathan Adams

Newsweek Japan, July 2006

(untranslated draft)

Kuniko Mita misses the snow of Nagano. Before her engineer husband came to Taiwan four years ago to work on the island’s high-speed rail project, the two would drive out of Yokohama every weekend, heading for the great outdoors. But in Taipei, where they now live, they’ve no car -- and this subtropical city cannot offer snow.

Luckily, in place of outdoor activities they’ve a new passion: food. The Mita’s have become smitten with the island’s culinary delights -- show-cased in Ang Lee’s 1994 film `Eat Drink Man Woman`. Kuniko carries a notebook with a wish list of restaurants to visit, and 43-year-old Kosuke writes a blog to record their gastronomical adventures. Says Kuniko: “on weekends in Japan, we went camping and skiing. Here, our sport is eating.”

At one of their favorite restaurants, Jiu Fan Ken (Changan Rd. East, Section 2, #172, 2F), the two display their eating skills while knocking back Taiwan Beer served in small bowls. The scrumptious meal includes Taiwanese specialties: ton rou, a chunk of fatty pork cooked to custard-like consistency, wu wei yu, crispy fish in mild red sauce, and abalone soup, bao yu gao zhan. “In Japan, we eat abalone raw,” notes Mita. “Here they dry it first, and then soak it in water to make it softer.”

Finishing their soup, they are careful not to slurp — a Japanese habit considered rude in Taiwan. It’s one of the small cultural differences that took getting used to. Another was the pedestrian’s slow pace. But that dawdling reflects a laid-back attitude that’s been easy to adopt. Rents are cheaper than Japan and apartments typically more spacious -- and although Taipei is generally safe, the Mitas live in a building with 24-hour security for extra peace of mind. Food isn’t their only recreational pursuit: Kuniko has made Taiwanese friends while studying kiko, a martial art similar to taichi, and Chinese meditation. And on weekends, the two escape the noise of the scooter-mad city and head for their favorite hot springs resort -- Wulai, in mountains just south of the city.

Now, with the rail line due to be completed later this year, they know they will miss Taipei – especially, its food. But at least returning home will be easier on their waistlines. “We’ve both gained so much weight,” says Kuniko with a laugh. “The clothes we wore before don’t fit anymore.”

The fine culinary traditions of this mountain-ringed metropolis of 2.6 million go back hundreds of years. When the Kuomintang fled to Taiwan from China in the 1940s, some of China’s best chefs came too. But there are plenty of local specialties, often found in Taipei’s cheap night markets. Though the city boasts trendy, ultra-modern malls with food courts, islanders still love to crowd cheek-by-jowl into narrow alleys for a late-night snack, amid the clatter of steaming, brightly lit food stands and the pungent aroma of a Taiwanese favourite: stinky tofu.

Takahiko Ishikawa fell for Taiwanese food on a business trip ten years ago. The 54-year-old Tokyo native, now president of Taiwan Toshiba International Procurement Corp, wandered into the city’s Shihlin night market—and became hooked forever on shui jian bao (fried dumplings). “I was surprised at how good they were,” he says. “We don’t have this kind of dumpling in Japan—just steamed.” Ishikawa’s enthusiasm led to a Taiwanese cookery class to learn the secret. How are his dumplings? “Sometimes they’re OK, sometimes they’re no good,” he says ruefully. It’s obviously easier to consume the local specialities than create them.

Taipei’s relatively small size (the central part of the city covers just about 67 square kilometers) makes it easy for Ishikawa to pop into his favorite food spots. And if he misses good ramen noodles, he’s more than compensated by the island’s oyster noodles -- oamisua. Taipei’s vibrant food culture – as well as regular golf outings – make it easier for Ishikawa to live alone in Taipei; his wife and family are back in Tokyo. He even muses about opening a Taiwanese-style restaurant when he retires in Japan.

Ryotaka Izawa has similar ambitions—and he’s in Taipei to chase his dream. The 27-year-old from Nikko is learning to make Shanghainese food at Taipei’s ritzy Grand Formosa Regent Hotel. Why isn’t he in studying in Shanghai? “In China, [some] people don’t like Japanese because of the historical background,” said Izawa. “But Taiwanese like Japanese people and culture—it’s easy to live here.” His only complaint is different attitudes toward cleanliness: He was shocked when Taiwanese friends walked, in their shoes, on a bathmat in his apartment. Says Izawa: “In Japan, this doesn’t happen.”

But cultural clashes are rare, and Izawa has thrown himself into his busy new life: Chinese classes in the mornings, the hotel in the afternoon and evenings. Right now, he’s doing prep work and learning to use the industrial-sized steamers. And on days off he likes to take Taiwanese friends out to dinner – drunken chicken is a favorite dish. When he’s mastered Shanghai-style cooking, Izawa will return to Nikko and add that regional flavor to his father’s Cantonese restaurant. Eventually, he hopes to take over the business. So what does his dad think of Izawa’s adventure? “He said, gambare.” And that’s exactly what his son is doing.