On a gorgeous, sunny Saturday, Taiwan held its presidential election: 14 million people, or 72% of eligible voters, turned out to vote – my elderly parents among them. As with many families in Taiwan, ours is politically divided along generational lines, and we’ve had our share of screaming matches. But somehow, on voting day, we were at peace. “I’m proud of you,” I said, snapping a photo. And I meant it. We live in a democracy, and we all appreciate it. Afterwards, we lunched at a spot that had a particularly excellent three-cup chicken – and then, ice-cream.
My story is far from unique. My social media feed was filled with friends whose multigenerational families – many of whom disagreed with each other – travelled to the polls together. Later that day, we learned that Taiwan’s Democratic Progressive party (DPP) had scored an unprecedented third consecutive win.
In 1996, the first year that Taiwan held presidential elections, it would have been unthinkable that this party of subversives and underdogs would become the political establishment. Its members were freedom fighters who founded the DPP under martial law in 1986, and were frequently arrested on charges of sedition or subversion. In prison, they read Nelson Mandela and penned manifestos calling for free and fair elections. After Taiwan ended martial law in 1987, these formerly incarcerated activists ran for office across Taiwan – and won.
In a world gone mad, Taiwan’s story is indisputably, heartbreakingly hopeful. According to the nonprofit Freedom House, Taiwan is the sixth most free country in the world – above France and the US. It has legalised same-sex marriage, making it a haven for queer people across Asia. It boasts one of the highest rates of female participation in the legislature. It has universal healthcare and affordable public transport. The DPP holds on to a vision of Taiwan that is genuinely multicultural and multilingual. This is a giant thorn in Beijing’s side, because Taiwan shows that democracy works. One of the Chinese Communist party’s central claims is that democracy is incompatible with Chinese-speaking societies. But Taiwan’s very existence undermines that claim.
On the surface, the result is a smashing victory for the DPP. But a closer analysis of the numbers reveals a narrow victory. Had the Kuomintang (KMT) and Taiwan People’s party (TPP) – the two losing parties – formed an alliance, the DPP would not have won. The DPP lost its majority in the legislature, which means that it will have a tough four years moving its policy agenda forward. The party must learn from the closeness of this election. Its greatest failure in the past eight years has been its inability to address the malaise shared by young people in Taiwan: long working hours, low pay, unaffordable housing, poor protection for renters, and a growing gulf between the mega-rich and everybody else.
It must look beyond economic policy for answers. To young people, the DPP no longer seems anti-establishment. As Freddy Lim, a heavy metal rocker turned legislator, told the Guardian, the party needs to reconnect with its radical roots. “Taiwan in Asia is a revolutionary country,” he said. “It’s very rebellious.” That rebellious history is forged through its links to social movements, whose victories will seem astonishing, no matter where you’re from.
Let me paint a brief picture. From 1987 to the early 2000s, farmers, fishers and rural people living in the poorest parts of the country marched in protest against the construction of petrochemical factories on their land, and succeeded in the majority of cases. In 2003-04, the “rice bomber”, a rural farmer whose livelihood was devastated by a World Trade Organization agreement, planted bombs around Taipei. He was sentenced to more than seven years in prison. Farmers and their advocates rallied to get him a pardon; he got pardoned.
In 2012, Indigenous activists walked for 17 days, their leader barefoot, to stop a mega hotel from being constructed on their coastline. They succeeded. Five years later, activists protested over mining on Indigenous land. They also succeeded. And in 2014, college students launched the revolutionary Sunflower movement, occupying the legislature in protest over a secretive trade pact with China. Half a million people showed up on the streets to support them. Together, they stopped the bill.
These provide just a glimpse of the movements led by Taiwan’s marginalised and powerless people, which were in turn mobilised and co-opted by the DPP to extraordinary effect. Yet today, the DPP, which originated as a social movement against martial law (the movement’s name, dangwai, literally translates to “outside the party”), is now entering its third consecutive term. It is an establishment party with a radical history. Its challenge is to reach beyond itself, working with the opposition while also daring to take risks that win the hearts of young people. It should pay attention to politicians who are extremely popular with young people, among them the new vice-president Hsiao Bi-khim and the first lesbian Taipei city council member, Miao Poya, who lost in a tough district. And it must craft an agenda that appears fresh and meaningful, while continuing to battle China’s cognitive and economic warfare.
But for a brief moment, we will celebrate the accomplishments of Taiwanese democracy: a peaceful transition of power, with graceful concession speeches, transparent voting and efficient procedures. For now, this civil society has withstood polarisation and preserved its hard-won freedom. It’s a place where families can go to the polls, and eat ice-cream together afterwards.
Michelle Kuo is a writer, attorney, and visiting associate professor at the International College of Innovation at National Chengchi University. She is the author of Reading with Patrick, and writes a Taiwan-based newsletter Broad and Ample Road
