西式進步主義傳入台灣，挑戰其國族認同。
西式進步主義傳入台灣，挑戰其國族認同。西式進步主義傳入台灣，挑戰其國族認同。
提摩太‧內羅齊（Timothy Nerozzi），《華盛頓觀察家報》報道 ••6小時6小時
西式進步主義傳入台灣，挑戰其國族認
同。
https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/world/western-style-progressivism-comes-to-taiwan-challenging-its-national-identity/ar-AA1YyjCm?ocid=msedgntp&pc=HCTS&cvid=69b427d03ff94137b98372ab0391b636&ei=9
蔣介石紀念館很容易被誤認為是對於不熟悉情況的遊客是神聖無比的宗教聖地。
這座宏偉壯麗、裝飾精美的建築坐落於一片廣闊的石砌廣場之中，兩側是兩座類似寺廟的集會殿。主殿內矗立著一尊10公尺高的蔣介石雕像，他是台灣首任總統。
我第一次親眼目睹這座大廳的全貌，是在我與其他12個國家的記者一起搭飛機前往台北參加記者會的時候。我們此行的目的是了解這座島嶼的各個層面，從軍事準備到外交關係，從歷史淵源到未來展望。
我和其他記者被政府工作人員帶到紀念堂，觀看自 1980 年以來在紀念碑舉行的著名衛兵交接儀式。
如果我們去年之前就到了，就會被引導到大廳裡，就在蔣介石高聳的雕像正前方觀看表演。士兵們會在演出前後站崗，象徵性地守護台灣開國領袖的遺澤。
但文化部認為，這類展示是在「崇拜個人崇拜」和「崇拜威權主義」。作為其旨在「促進轉型正義」的更廣泛的國家計畫的一部分，他們將儀仗隊撤出大廳，並取消了哨兵。
所以，我們甚至都沒看到蔣介石雕像，就站在紀念館外小路的警戒線後面。我們一行人看著兩隊士兵列隊進來，轉動槍支，腳跟碰一下，然後消失在視線之外。
「我們為什麼會在這裡？」我心想。 “在一座紀念一位被執政政府鄙視的開國元勳的紀念碑外，觀看一支儀仗隊進行一場毫無意義的表演？”
我在旅途中看到的台灣是一個友好而優雅的國家，擁有令人嘆為觀止的文化遺產。我漫步在台北街頭，看到絡繹不絕的摩托車司機在乾淨的街道上穿梭。我感受熱帶的炎熱，在傳統花園的樹蔭下休息。我品嚐了熱氣騰騰的手工餃子，並在安靜私密的酒吧里小酌，那裡安全到可以放心地把錢包放在桌上。
台灣深深吸引了我。但一週下來，我發現這座島嶼似乎在與自身最美好的部分進行一場戰爭，它否定著自己的傳統，也正在與自身的認同奮戰。
在撰寫有關台灣的文章時，有必要為那些不熟悉台灣歷史的人介紹一些關鍵人物和歷史事實。
中華民國，即台灣的正式名稱，由革命領袖孫中山及其國民黨運動於1912年在大陸建立。在接下來的幾十年裡，國民黨與毛澤東領導的共產黨（後來的獨裁者）、日本帝國（當時控制著原屬中國的台灣島）以及在混亂中試圖建立各自王國的各路軍閥發生了衝突。 1925年孫中山去世後，他的門生蔣介石接管了國民黨運動。
二戰末期，國民黨和共產黨攜手推翻了日本的統治。順便一提，這場勝利也解放了台灣島，使其重歸中國管轄。
國民黨政府及其支持者在1949年輸掉中國內戰後，逃往台灣島，並繼續以中華民國流亡政府的名義進行統治。
這片領土原本是作為臨時行動基地，直到國民政府能夠收復大陸並解散新成立的中華人民共和國。雙方都同意，中國祇有一個，唯一的問題是哪個政府才是合法的。
但統一的夢想，無論和平與否，最終都未能實現。很快，中華民國和台灣島在日常用語中就變得可以互換使用。
如今，台灣陷入了地緣政治的困境。雖然只有11個國家正式承認其主權地位，但包括美國在內的西方列強實際上將其視為獨立國家。
中國共產黨毫不含糊地要求將台灣歸還大陸。北京聲稱，到2027年，它將做好入侵台灣的準備。中國人民解放軍無論在人力或資源方面，都已遠遠超過中華民國軍隊。
年復一年，台灣民眾與最初的中華民國時期的思考方式日益疏離。這在某種程度上是不可避免的——當年懷著收復大陸的希望逃往台灣的移民群體幾乎已經消亡殆盡。隨著一代又一代人的更迭，他們與共產主義時代之前的中國大陸之間的聯繫也變得越來越薄弱、越來越不直接。
其他一些脫離中國認同的運動則更具自覺性。
過去二十年左右，台灣學生的課程逐漸擺脫了以中國為中心的模式，因為教師們開始抱怨，他們教給孩子們的都是他們從未踏足過的國家。為什麼要教孩子們那麼多關於長江的知識，而他們可能永遠看不到長江的流水？為什麼要學習《三國演義》或《西遊記》，而你卻感覺不到與孕育這些史詩的社會有任何關聯？
自2016年以來，執政的民進黨已連續三度贏得大選，並繼續執政。該黨一直致力於加速切斷中國與中國的聯繫，試圖建立一個不受中國歷史束縛的現代化、進步、多元文化的社會。
我在台灣旅行期間認識的一位台灣專業人士給我舉了一個最近幾週在當地報紙上引起關注的荒謬例子：行政院如何公佈公民的種族組成。行政院的官方網站將台灣社會的人口組成列為：2.6%原住民，1.2%“外來人口”，以及“其餘人口”——這種說法很奇怪，因為其中96.2%是漢族。
這場重塑台灣認同和歷史的運動，最大目標就是蔣介石。在台灣期間，至少有六位政府官員刻意告訴我，蔣介石如今備受爭議。台灣正在拆除島上數百座蔣介石的雕像。
毫不誇張地說，台灣政府對蔣介石及其遺留問題的鄙夷程度，甚至超過了佔領該島數十年的日本帝國。
當外交部一位高級官員與我的記者團共進午餐時，我問了她一個我問過所有外交官的同一個問題：哪本書最能體現貴國的性格和精神？她苦思冥想了很久，於是我建議她或許可以推薦一部同樣能表達這種精神的電影。她仍然猶豫不決，最後告訴記者，台灣正在經歷文化轉型，重新審視其建國和歷史，這使得這個問題幾乎無解。
在與一名工作人員商議後，她推薦了1989年的電影《悲傷的城市》，該片講述了白色恐怖——蔣介石及其繼任者在推翻政府失敗後實施的長達數十年的戒嚴統治。
什麼將取代蔣介石和中國傳統，成為定義這座島嶼的象徵？以我有限的經驗來看，答案似乎是左翼民粹主義、多元文化主義和環保狂熱。
在台北的大部分夜晚，我們一行人被帶到一些明顯不是台灣風味的餐廳——摩洛哥餐廳、日本自助餐廳、波斯餐廳等等。食物都很美味，但或許還不足以構成一個國家的文化基調。
同時，無數政府機構強調台灣致力於發展綠色能源，並力爭實現碳中和的未來。政府官員指出，台灣正逐漸遠離儒家價值觀。婦女中心向我們闡述了台灣女權主義現狀的一系列勝利，但一如既往，仍有許多工作要做。聯合國聯盟的代表們直言不諱地告訴我們：「沒有正義，就沒有和平！」以此來表達他們對台灣長期遭受中國大陸壓迫的看法。
在2024年的國慶賀詞中，賴總統大力倡導台灣獨立，並讚揚了引領台灣文化走向國際舞台的新一代「台灣製造」青年。他首先提到的就是美籍台裔變裝皇后藝人Nymphia Wind的名字。
我沒有親身經歷過白色恐怖，因此沒有資格告訴台灣人該如何看待蔣介石的遺產。我無法告訴他們白色恐怖是否必要、是否過激，或是否是一場惡夢。我無法告訴他們該如何看待流淌在他們血液中的漢族血統，也無法告訴他們該向外國人推廣哪種美食。我無法告訴他們，他們的過去是否值得慶祝，或者他們只是一個受害者的孤島。
但我一眼就能認出美國的影子。移除雕像？空洞地歌頌「多元化」和少數族裔優先的政治？變裝皇后？綠色能源？這一切都像是2020年前後白宮文件中的草稿。
或許正因如此，我這個對蔣介石所知甚少的美國人，在台灣期間，內心卻對他的種種嘲諷感到憤慨。我並非被他吸引，而是厭惡那種一味地想要抹去他形象的執念。正是他，才造就了台灣的存在。一種正義的本能在我心中吶喊：“難道你們不慶幸自己不是生活在中華人民共和國嗎？難道你們寧願生活在毛澤東和習近平的統治下嗎？”
我不認為台灣的進步革命是惡意的，甚至不認為它是憤世嫉俗的。我相信執政政府及其支持者都希望自己的祖國過得更好。畢竟，他們也依賴西方，特別是美國，來抵禦海峽對岸的共產主義威脅。
那麼，為什麼政客不提倡更多西方理念，例如「轉型正義」和多元化？為什麼他們不效法北美和歐洲的明星，選擇變裝皇后和官僚環保主義作為新的文化支柱？
但隨著美國乃至整個西方開始放棄這些趨勢，台灣或許正在擁抱這些趨勢。
在美國，解構我們的民族神話，將早期清教徒定居者重新塑造成嗜血的征服者，對美洲原住民毫無益處。它確實成功地讓全國各地的感恩節晚餐在十多年間變得不堪回首。摒棄「白人身分」並採納以種族為中心的認同政治並沒有解決種族矛盾，反而加劇了矛盾。拆除羅伯特·E·李、托馬斯·傑斐遜和喬治·華盛頓的雕像，並沒有為建立一種新的、道德純潔的民族認同鋪平道路，反而摧毀了我們僅存的、能夠凝聚人心的人物形象。
去年九月，唐納德·特朗普總統在聯合國大會上發表了演講。由於台灣在大多數成員國眼中並非國家，因此沒有出席。
賴清德最近聲稱，川普在第二個任期內反而加強了美台關係。而川普卻發表了一篇冗長的宣言，反對多元文化主義和歷史修正主義。
總統對人群說：“我們每個人都繼承了我們英雄和先輩的功績和神話、勝利和遺產，他們勇敢地為我們指明了方向。我們的祖先為了捍衛他們的家園付出了一切，他們用驕傲、汗水、鮮血、生命和死亡捍衛了這片土地。”
川普猛烈抨擊綠色能源，痛斥虛假的多元化，並拒絕那些為了進步而放棄自身繼承權的人。
「你這樣做是因為你想表現得友善，你想在政治上正確，但你正在摧毀你的傳統，」川普說。
西方人已經開始明白，我們無法選擇自己的出身。我們無法竄改歷史來糾正過去的道德錯誤，也無法擺脫與過往時代的連結。台灣似乎還沒完全明白這一點。我們用騙局把他們騙進來，然後悄無聲息地從後門溜走了。
在旅程的最後一天，我們一行人參觀了位於基隆河畔的台灣大飯店，這是一家規模龐大的五星級豪華飯店。
這座十二層樓高的長方形建築，全身金碧輝煌，散發著濃鬱的中國風情，在我看來，彷彿是從北京故宮中心直接搬來的。步入其中，彷彿置身於一座與世隔絕的華麗宮殿。中式吊燈、鮮花簇擁的塔樓，以及技藝精湛的鋼琴家，共同營造出令人陶醉的氛圍。賓客可以欣賞描繪昔日王朝的壁畫，以及翱翔於陽台之上的精美巨龍雕刻。
蔣介石於1973年創辦了這家飯店，作為中華民國接待外國政要的第一家下榻之處。它像徵著台灣建國神話的殿堂，體現了這樣一種理念：在共產主義的腐蝕性酸液席捲大陸之後，這座島嶼是僅存的真正中國的最後堡壘。
“這，”我一邊慢慢地原地旋轉，一邊任由自己被大廳的壯麗景色所震撼，心裡想著，“這是偉大文明的豐碑。”
提摩西‧內羅齊是《華盛頓觀察家報》的外交事務記者。
😃😃😀😀😀😁
Western-style progressivism comes to Taiwan, challenging its national identityWestern-style progressivism comes to Taiwan, challenging its national identity
Chiang Kai-shek Memorial Hall could easily be mistaken
Massive and tastefully ornate, it sits within a sprawling square of stone and is flanked by two temple-like assembly halls. Within its main chamber sits a 10-meter statue of the titular Chiang, Taiwan's first president.
I saw the hall in all its glory for the first time when I was flown to Taipei on a press junket alongside journalists from 12 other nations. We were there to learn about every facet of the island, from military preparedness to diplomatic relations, historical origins to visions of the future.
The other journalists and I had been brought to the memorial hall by our government handlers to witness the famous changing of the guard ceremony that has been conducted at the monument since 1980.
If we had arrived before last year, we would have been led to see the event in the hall itself, directly in front of Chiang's towering statue. The soldiers would have stayed as sentries before and after the performance, symbolically guarding the legacy of Taiwan's founder.
But the Ministry of Culture had decided that such displays were "worshipping a cult of personality" and "worshipping authoritarianism." They moved the honor guard out of the hall and abolished the sentries as part of their broader, national project aimed at "promoting transitional justice."
So without even seeing the Chiang statue, we stood behind ropes on the small boulevard outside the memorial. My group watched two sets of soldiers march in, twirl their guns, click their heels, and then retreat out of sight.
“Why are we here?” I thought to myself. “Outside a memorial to a founding father the ruling government despises, watching an honor guard perform in no one’s honor?”
The Taiwan that I observed on my trip was a friendly and refined nation with a dazzling cultural legacy. I walked through Taipei and observed the endless streams of disciplined scooter drivers zipping about their clean streets. I felt the tropical heat and sat in the shade of traditional gardens. I ate piping hot, hand-rolled dumplings and drank in soft, secluded bars safe enough to leave your wallet on the table.
Taiwan captured my heart. But throughout the week, I found the island to be at war with the most beautiful parts of itself, condemning its heritage and fighting against its own identity.
When writing about Taiwan, it is necessary to establish some key names and historical facts for those not familiar with the island's history.
The Republic of China, Taiwan’s official name, was founded by revolutionary statesman Sun Yat-sen and his Nationalist movement on the mainland in 1912. Over the course of decades, the Nationalists clashed with the Communist Party led by future dictator Mao Zedong, the Japanese Empire (which controlled the formerly Chinese island of Taiwan), and various warlords seeking to carve out their own kingdoms amid the chaos. When Sun died in 1925, his protege, Chiang, took the reins of the Nationalist movement.
The Nationalists and Communists worked together to overthrow the Japanese at the end of World War II. This victory, incidentally, liberated the island of Taiwan and returned it to Chinese jurisdiction.
After losing the Chinese Civil War to Mao and his Communist forces, the Nationalist government and its supporters fled in 1949 to the island of Taiwan and continued to rule as the Republic of China's government in exile.
The territory was intended to serve as a temporary base of operations until the Nationalist government could retake the mainland and dissolve the newly formed People's Republic of China. There is only one China, both sides agreed, and the only question was which government was legitimate.
But that dream of unification, peaceful or otherwise, never came to be. And soon, the Republic of China and the island of Taiwan became interchangeable in common parlance.
Now, Taiwan is caught in geopolitical limbo. It is officially recognized as sovereign by only 11 other nations, but is treated as de facto independent by Western powers such as the United States.
The Chinese Communist Party is unequivocal in its demands to bring Taiwan back under mainland control. Beijing claims it will be prepared to invade the island by 2027. The People's Liberation Army already dwarfs the Republic of China Armed Forces in both manpower and resources.
Year after year, the Taiwanese public is becoming increasingly disconnected from their original Republic of China mentality. Some of this is inevitable — the original cadre of settlers who remember fleeing to the island with the hope of retaking the mainland has all but died off. With each passing generation, the personal connection to pre-communist China becomes thinner and less direct.
Other movements away from Chinese identity are more conscious.
Over the last 20 years or so, the curriculum of Taiwanese students has shifted away from a China-centric program, as teachers began to complain that they were teaching youngsters about a country they had never even visited. Why teach so much about the Yangtze River to children who might never even see its waters? Why learn about the Romance of the Three Kingdoms or Journey to the West when you don’t feel connected to the society that produced those epics?
The ruling Democratic Progressive Party, which has won three consecutive elections to stay in power since 2016, is at the forefront of efforts to accelerate the severance of its nation’s Chinese connection. The party is seeking to replace it with a modern, progressive, and multicultural society unconstrained by its Chinese past.
One Taiwanese professional that I befriended during my trip showed me a truly absurd example from recent weeks that had drawn attention in local newspapers: how the executive branch reports their citizens’ race. The Executive Yuan’s official website lists the demographic breakdown of Taiwanese society as 2.6% indigenous groups, 1.2% individuals of “foreign origin,” and “the rest of the population” — a strange way to refer to the 96.2% who are ethnically Han Chinese.
The greatest target of this campaign to reimagine Taiwanese identity and history is Chiang. Throughout my time in Taiwan, no less than half a dozen government officials went out of their way to tell me how controversial Chiang is considered today. Taiwan is in the process of removing hundreds of statues dedicated to him throughout the island.
It is not an exaggeration to say that the Taiwanese government reflects on Chiang and his legacy with more contempt than the Japanese Empire that occupied the island for decades.
When a high-ranking official in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs sat down for lunch with my press group, I asked her the same question I ask every diplomat: What book best captures your nation's character and soul? She struggled for an uncomfortably long time, so I suggested maybe she could offer a movie that serves the same purpose. Still struggling, she told the group that Taiwan is undergoing a cultural transformation, reevaluating its founding and history, which makes the question nearly impossible.
After consulting with a member of her staff, she recommended A City of Sadness, a 1989 film about the White Terror — the multiple decades of martial law overseen by Chiang and his successors after a failed attempt to overthrow the government.
What will replace Chiang and Chinese heritage in defining the island? In my limited experience, it appeared the answer is left-wing populism, multiculturalism, and environmental fanaticism.
The majority of nights out in Taipei, my group was driven to distinctly non-Taiwanese restaurants — a Moroccan joint, a Japanese buffet, a Persian eatery, etc. Delicious food all around, but perhaps not coherent enough to build a nation on.
Meanwhile, countless government entities emphasized Taiwan’s commitment to green energy and a carbon net-zero future. Government officials noted the island’s drift away from Confucian values. The Women’s Center explained to us the succession of victories that led to Taiwan’s feminist present, though, as always, there is more work to be done. Representatives of the United Nations Alliance told us, verbatim, “No justice, no peace!” concerning Taiwan’s long oppression by the Chinese mainland.
In his 2024 National Day address, President William Lai championed Taiwanese independence and the new generation of “Made in Taiwan youth” who are trailblazing the promotion of the island’s culture on the global stage. The first name out of his mouth was Nymphia Wind, a Taiwanese-American drag queen performer.
I did not live through the White Terror and am therefore unqualified to tell the Taiwanese how to feel about the legacy of Chiang. I cannot tell them if the White Terror was necessary, overblown, or nightmarish. I cannot tell them how to feel about the Han Chinese ancestry that flows in their veins, or what cuisine to advertise to foreigners. I cannot tell them whether their past is worth celebrating or if they are an island of victims.
But I know America’s fingerprints when I see them. Statue removals? Empty odes to “diversity” and minority-first politics? Drag queens? Green energy? It could have all been drafted in a White House document circa 2020.
Perhaps that is the reason I found myself, an American largely unfamiliar with Chiang, internally resenting his derision throughout my time in Taiwan. I was not so much attracted to him, but repelled by the monomaniacal obsession with ridding the country of his image. The man is the reason Taiwan exists at all, and there was an instinct of justice that cried out in my heart: “Are you not at least a little grateful you’re not living in the People’s Republic? Would you rather Mao and Xi Jinping?”
I do not think the progressive revolution of Taiwan is malicious or even cynical. I believe the ruling government and its supporters desire the best for their home country. And they are, after all, reliant on the West, the U.S. in particular, to defend them against the communist menace across the strait.
So why would politicians not promote more Western sensibilities like “transitional justice” and diversity? Why wouldn’t they mimic the cause celebs of North America and Europe, selecting drag queens and bureaucratic environmentalism to be their new cultural anchors?
But Taiwan may be embracing these trends as the U.S., and perhaps the West as a whole, are beginning to abandon them.
In America, deconstructing our national mythology and recasting early Puritan settlers as bloodthirsty conquerors helped zero American Indians. It did succeed in ruining Thanksgiving dinners across the country for over a decade. Rejecting “whiteness” and adopting race-centric identity politics did not solve racial tensions. It only inflamed them. Tearing down statues of Robert E. Lee, Thomas Jefferson, and George Washington did not pave the way to a new, morally pure national identity. It only incinerated the last unifying figures we had left.
President Donald Trump spoke at the United Nations General Assembly last September. Taiwan, as a non-country in the eyes of most member states, was not in attendance.
Trump, who Lai recently claimed has only strengthened the U.S. ties with Taiwan in his second administration, delivered a winding manifesto against multiculturalism and historical revisionism.
“Each of us inherits the deeds and the myths, the triumphs, the legacies of our own heroes and founders who so bravely showed us the way. Our ancestors gave everything for their homelands that they defended with pride, with sweat, with blood, with life, and with death,” the president told the crowd.
Trump railed against green energy, he lambasted faux diversity, and he rejected those who would forsake their inheritance in the name of progress.
“You're doing it because you want to be nice, you want to be politically correct, and you're destroying your heritage,” Trump said.
Westerners have begun to understand that we cannot choose our origins. We cannot tinker with history to correct the moral wrongs of the past, nor can we unshackle ourselves from our connections to ages gone by. Taiwan, it seems, is not quite there yet. We brought them in on a scam and slipped out the back door without telling them.
On the final day of our tour, my group was given a brief tour of the Grand Taiwan Hotel, a massive five-star luxury establishment near the banks of the Keelung River.
A 12-story rectangular box dripping with the distinctly Chinese beauty of red lacquer and gold, it looked to me as if it were lifted from the center of Beijing's Forbidden City. When one steps through its doors, they are transported into an ornate palace that seems to exist outside of time. Chinese-style chandeliers, towers of fresh flowers, and an exquisite pianist enthrall the senses as guests marvel at murals of long-gone dynasties and engraved dragons flying across overhead balconies.
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Chiang established the hotel in 1973 as the Republic of China’s first accommodations for foreign dignitaries. It is a temple to the founding mythology of Taiwan, the idea that this island is the last bulwark of authentic China left after the corrosive acid of communism washed across the mainland.
“This,” I thought to myself as I slowly spun in place and let myself be overwhelmed by the lobby, “is a monument to a great civilization.”
Timothy Nerozzi is the foreign affairs reporter for the Washington Examiner.
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