At Taipei Main Station, Chinese human rights activist Cui Cui watched with envy as six young Taiwanese politicians campaigned for city council seats. Ten years ago, they were participating in parallel democratic protests – her Chinese girlfriend and politicians on the other side of the Taiwan Strait.
“We came of age as activists around the same time. Now they’re running for parliament, while my colleagues and I are in exile,” said Kui Chui, who fled China to Southeast Asia last year due to security concerns. he said.
Cuicui was among a group of eight women I tracked down in Taiwan last week ahead of the Jan. 13 election. Their tour is called “Depth of Democracy” and was organized by mainland-born journalist Annie Jiping Chan, who worked in Hong Kong for 20 years before moving to Taiwan during the pandemic. Her goal is to allow mainland Chinese to watch Taiwan’s elections in person.
The women went to election rallies and talked to politicians, voters, the homeless and other disadvantaged people. They attended a stand-up comedy show by a man from China who currently lives in Taiwan. The humor addressed topics considered taboo in their home country.
It was an emotional journey filled with envy, admiration, tears and revelations.
The group made several visits to sites demonstrating Taiwan’s suppression of “white terror” from 1947 to 1987. At the time, tens of thousands of people were imprisoned and at least 1,000 were executed on suspicion of being Chinese spies. They visited a former prison that imprisoned political prisoners. For them, this is a history lesson on Taiwan’s path from authoritarianism to democracy, a path they believe is increasingly unattainable in China.
“For Taiwanese people, it may seem like they’re traveling back in time, but for us, it’s the present,” said Yamei, a Chinese journalist in her 20s who now lives outside China.
Members of the group have flown in from everywhere except China, including Japan, Southeast Asia and the United States. Tensions between China and Taiwan are rising over Beijing’s increasingly assertive claims to the island, making it difficult for Chinese nationals to visit the island. There were people from a wide range of ages, from their 20s to their 70s. Some activists, like Cuicui, had recently left the country, while others were professionals and businessmen who had lived abroad for years and didn’t necessarily have a political outlook.
Angela Chen, a real estate agent in Portland, Oregon, went on a tour to take her mother on vacation. Ms. Chen is a naturalized U.S. citizen, and she identifies as culturally Chinese. The trip was an eye-opener for her, she said. She was shocked to learn how tragic and spectacular Taiwan’s democratization process was. Like many of her Chinese parents, her father told her not to get involved in her politics. Now, she felt that everyone must contribute to moving society forward.
Until a decade ago, visiting Taiwan to witness elections was a popular activity for mainland Chinese interested in exploring the possibilities of democracy.
The reason is simple. Most Taiwanese speak Mandarin and share cultural heritage with China as Han people. As mainlanders searched for an alternative Chinese society, they naturally looked to Taiwan for answers.
I visited Taiwan in 2012 and reported on such groups. The group included more than a dozen of China’s top intellectuals, entrepreneurs, and investors. At the time, debates over the pros and cons of democracy, republicanism, and constitutionalism were common on Chinese social media.
Opinion leaders had questioned whether China would ever have a leader like Chiang Ching-kuo, the Taiwanese president who gradually emerged from the dictatorial rule of his father Chiang Kai-shek in the 1980s.
It seems like a lifetime ago. Shortly after, Xi Jinping took over as China’s leader and has been moving the country in the opposite direction. Civil society is driven underground and discussion of democracy is prohibited.
Last week’s group visited Taiwan under completely different circumstances. Most of them wished to remain anonymous and agreed to speak with me only if they could be identified by name, as simply supporting Taiwan’s democracy is politically sensitive.
At the Jingmei Bai Terrorism Memorial Park, a former prison, the group could easily imagine how people spent their time in crowded, humid and squalid cells and washed their clothes in the toilets.
“Many people thought Taiwan’s democracy had fallen from the sky,” said Antonio Chan, a former journalist, dissident, and advisor to outgoing President Tsai Ing-wen, over lunch after visiting the prison site. told the group. “This was the result of the efforts of many people,” he said.
Chiang added: “It will take a very long time for China to become a democracy.”
Everyone knew that to be true. Still, what they heard was mind-boggling. However, their despair did not last long.
They heard from the daughter of Chen Nanjun, a publisher and democracy activist who self-immolated in 1989 to protest the lack of free speech. Her comments resonated with Chinese people visiting the site of the self-immolation. “A country’s troubles can only be solved by its people themselves.”
Then they went to see a stand-up show by a cartoonist from western China’s Xinjiang region, where more than 1 million Muslims have been sent to re-education centers. Everyone cried. It is heartbreaking for them to hear someone use words considered too sensitive to be discussed in public in China, such as “Uyghurs,” “re-education camps,” and “lockdown.” It was also cathartic.
“If everyone does what they can and does it well, if everyone has a little more courage, our society will be better,” said the manga artist, who requested anonymity.
For the group, the most empowering part of the tour was witnessing how citizens organized themselves and voted. When visitors flocked to the island’s presidential palace, journalist Yamay was surprised to find that its entrance was painted a peachy pink.
“It wasn’t an institution with absolute austerity or high walls that felt intimidating,” she says. The contrast with Zhongnanhai, China’s supreme leader’s residence in Beijing, was “very striking”.
After watching a documentary about bar hostesses who organized a union, they learned that women drafted a bill to protect their rights. That would be unimaginable for anyone in China.
Homeless people are largely invisible in Chinese cities because authorities don’t allow them to be seen, but many organizations in Taiwan provide homeless people with places to eat, shower, and more. I learned that they provide support.
At election rallies, voters of all ages, men and women, and parents with strollers were seen filling squares and stadiums to hear the candidates’ arguments.
Days before the election, they heard from many Taiwanese who had not yet decided which of the three presidential candidates they would vote for. Still, Taiwan’s election day turnout was 72%, higher than the 66% in the 2020 US presidential election and the highest turnout in the US since 1900.
The ruling Democratic Progressive Party’s candidate, Kiyonori Lai, won with 40% of the vote, but the result was not satisfactory even to some of the party’s supporters. But still the people chose who would be their leader.
“This is democracy,” jewelry store owner Lin Lichen proudly told a tour group at a rally in southern Tainan amid the sounds of drums, gongs and fireworks.
Then she said: She said: “I know people on the mainland also like freedom. They just don’t have the strength to fight back.”