Beyond China’s shadow, Taiwan forges its own identity – and destiny

In the sleepy town of Taitung on Taiwan’s southeastern coast, lush mountains drop steeply into a narrow valley dotted with pineapple groves before giving way to the Pacific Ocean.

The lull of waves and chirps of insects in the fragrant, tropical woods along the coast create a sense of dreamy detachment, even under the scorching sun. Shaded by a makeshift awning, a peddler sells fresh coconuts to people strolling along the rocky beach as stray dogs roam the wind-swept, seaside road.

Suddenly, the calm is shattered. Low-flying Taiwan air force F-16s roar overhead and then hurtle seaward. Their thundering engines taper to a distant crinkling hiss.

These American-made F-16s may be scrambling to respond to what has become near daily incursions by China’s People’s Liberation Army. Or their pilots could be on a training mission. But as China continues to display its military presence, the air defense maneuvers above this enchanting part of Taiwan are an inescapable reminder of the superpower just across the Taiwan Strait.

“China is surrounding us now!” says a man whose surname is Tang, a local environmental worker taking a break from inspecting oceanfront palm trees. “The past two days we can see the naval ships,” he says, referring to large-scale sea and air operations being conducted by the Chinese military. “They are so close – only 20 nautical miles away!”

China has vowed to retake Taiwan for decades

In Taiwan, a self-governing, democratic island of 23 million people just 80 miles off China’s coast, a palpable sense of change is in the air. 

China’s communist-led government has never ruled Taiwan, but has claimed the island for decades and has vowed to retake it – by force, if necessary. The threat of a Chinese military invasion or blockade long seemed remote, as Beijing prioritized diplomatic pressure to try to isolate Taiwan internationally and economic incentives to attract the island to unify peacefully.

Yet rather than drawing closer, China and Taiwan have increasingly diverged. 

Over the past 40 years, Taiwan has emerged as a vibrant, diverse democracy with a strong identity, less willing to unify with the mainland and eager to chart its own course. 

China, meanwhile, has grown into an economic and military powerhouse, with a hard-line nationalist leadership more determined than ever to unite Taiwan with the “motherland.” The gap has grown starker under Chinese leader Xi Jinping and Taiwan’s new President Lai Ching-te, inaugurated in May. 

Now, as the People’s Liberation Army ramps up operations around the island, the threat of conflict feels more real to Taiwanese, polls show. So do the dangers of China’s mounting political and economic coercion. 

Taiwan’s people emphatically prefer peace. They also treasure their freedom, autonomy, and way of life. But if Beijing decides to attack the island, they would be forced to choose.

“The decision whether to fight depends on the mainland,” says Mr. Tang, who withheld his first name to protect his identity. “It’s their choice,” he says, stressing Taiwan would never pick a fight with China. “How can a small ant go attack a big cockroach?”

On Taiwan’s rugged and sparsely populated east coast, Mr. Tang, a native of Taitung, emphasizes that he and other residents relish their independence and self-sufficiency. “Easterners just want to live our lives without interference,” he says. “If you don’t fight me, I won’t fight you.”

And if China does invade? “I can’t think about it too much,” he says. “If I dwell on it, it will be hard to get through the day.”

Only 1% of Taiwanese people favor unification with China

Aeles Lrawbalrate runs her hand over the smooth wooden images of her ancestors, carved into the outer wall of her village elementary school.

A member of Taiwan’s Indigenous Rukai Tribe, she relates the history these carvings tell. Not long ago, her tribespeople were forbidden to speak their own language. Uttering even a word at school brought stern punishment, she recalls over a bowl of herbal broth in her traditional bamboo home in the hills outside Taitung. “They hung a wooden plank around your neck that said, ‘She speaks Rukai.’”

Now in her 60s, Ms. Lrawbalrate is not only free to speak her native tongue and legally use her Rukai name, but also well along in her doctorate in the study of Rukai food and ecology. A guest of honor at the elementary school’s graduation this year, she inspires local Rukai youth to explore their roots.

Ms. Lrawbalrate’s personal liberation traces Taiwan’s emergence from authoritarian repression to become one of the world’s freest democracies, which has allowed the island’s distinct and varied groups to thrive.

This cultural renaissance has widened the gap between Taiwan and China. As Taiwanese have come into their own – politically, economically, and culturally – interest in unification with China has evaporated.

Taiwanese today overwhelmingly prefer maintaining the status quo of an autonomous Taiwan interacting with China on an equal footing. Only 1% favor immediate unification with China. President Lai articulated this view in his inaugural address, saying that Taiwan and China “are not subordinate to each other.”

Meanwhile, the Taiwanese identity has flourished. Two-thirds of Taiwan’s population now sees itself as purely Taiwanese, up from one-fifth 30 years ago. Only 2% identifies as purely Chinese, down from 25% in 1992.

This makes Taiwan unusual, since 95% of the population is ethnically Han Chinese, notes Simona Grano, senior fellow at the Asia Society’s Center for China Analysis in New York. “It’s quite a unique situation in that time of arrival on the island dictates identity.”

A complicated history, from Dutch colonists to Chiang Kai-shek 

Taiwan has a complicated history. Over the centuries, wave after wave of immigrants and colonizers landed here, each making a mark. Ms. Lrawbalrate’s Indigenous ancestors arrived 6,000 years ago during the Neolithic period, and they now compose about 2% of the population.

In the 1600s, Dutch colonists brought in laborers from China’s Fujian province. More Chinese came from Guangdong province in the 18th and 19th centuries. Japan colonized Taiwan for 50 years, from 1895 to 1945, imposing its language and systems of governance throughout the island.

In the late 1940s, Chiang Kai-shek, leader of China’s Nationalist Party, or Kuomintang, retreated to Taiwan with an estimated 1million mainland Chinese soldiers and followers. They had just lost the Chinese Civil War to the communist forces of Mao Zedong. Still, Mr. Chiang claimed that he was the legitimate leader of all of China, and he vowed to unify both sides of the Taiwan Strait.

To consolidate his power in Taiwan, Mr. Chiang imposed martial law, crushing dissent and executing thousands of people during decades of oppression known as the “white terror.” 

Mr. Chiang also waged a “Sinification campaign” to force the population to speak standard Chinese, or Mandarin. He banned speaking Taiwanese or any other languages in public. This included traditional literature and folk songs.

Such policies created a rift that persists today between the descendants of Taiwanese who had lived on the island for generations and those of the mainland-born Chinese who arrived with Mr. Chiang. The new arrivals established themselves as the dominant, privileged ruling class.

It wasn’t until 1986 that a popular movement pressing for human rights, political freedom, and revival of the Taiwanese identity was able to establish the opposition Democratic Progressive Party.

A year later, the old regime lifted martial law and relaxed curbs on the media and free speech. Taiwan held its first direct presidential elections in 1996, and Democratic Progressives steadily gained support. Dr. Lai’s victory in January this year gave the nearly 40-year-old party an unprecedented third consecutive presidential term.

“Go Taiwan! Go democracy!” Indigenous resistance endures. 

Today, Ms. Lrawbalrate sees Taiwan through the lens of centuries of tribal efforts to survive one colonizer after another – from the Dutch to the Japanese to the Chinese. “China says, ‘This is mine,’” she says. “We don’t agree. ... We will fight.” Finally free to delve into her Rukai heritage and relearn her native language, Ms. Lrawbalrate seeks above all to strengthen her people.

Politically, she supports the Democratic Progressives and rejects what she considers the more pro-China stance of the Nationalist Party. She and others worry about recent trips Nationalist senior officials made to China, including former President Ma Ying-jeou. He met with Mr. Xi and emphasized their peoples’ common bloodline, culture, and identity.

In a clear shift, Ms. Lrawbalrate says younger tribespeople are now challenging the Nationalist Party’s traditional stronghold in Taitung, as well as in other Indigenous regions.“The [Kuomintang] workers brainwashed the Indigenous elders,” she says. But “the younger people ... are rather independent” and willing to “fight to not suffer oppression from another land.”

The night before, scores of protesters, including young tribespeople, chanted slogans on a Taitung street corner, denouncing what they called an antidemocratic bill backed by the Kuomintang that would curtail Dr. Lai’s powers. Many said they feared China was behind it, and that Taiwan must urgently resist or risk becoming “another Hong Kong,” referring to China’s crackdown on political freedoms there.

“Go Taiwan! Go democracy!” they chanted, one wearing a T-shirt that said, “Taiwan is not part of China.” Another protester shouted “Fight!” in his tribal language, as police forming a barricade looked on.

Eger Mapaliu, a local Peinan tribal member in his mid-30s, says everyone his age identifies as Taiwanese, not Chinese. Many support the Democratic Progressive’s liberal democratic agenda, convinced that if Beijing took over, repression would return. “China now is Taiwan of 50 years ago,” Mr. Mapaliu says. “We don’t want to go back.”

China’s disinformation attacks on Taiwan often boomerang

With a keen eye on the weather, Hsi K’unwan scans the horizon early one morning from a quiet harbor at the northern tip of Taiwan, weighing whether to get in his skiff and fish.

It’s overcast and rainy, with hints of a storm, so he decides to stay on land.

Fishing has been the way of life for Mr. Hsi and most families here in Jinshan. The town is the starting point of the “fish road,” an old footpath from here to the mountains and on to the markets in Taipei.

Yet Mr. Hsi and other fishers gathered outside a corner tackle shop say they are finding fewer and fewer fish in their nets.

China’s fishing fleets are encroaching into their waters, leaving them with little to catch, they say. “They have lots of big boats – they catch our fish and take them away,” says Hsi Chengch’eng, who’s been fishing sardines. “Now they are crossing the median line,” says the other Mr. Hsi, referring to an informal line down the middle of the Taiwan Strait that for decades each side respected to reduce the risk of conflict. “When our coast guard goes out, the Chinese boats sometimes ignore them,” he says.

“We love Taiwan,” Mr. Hsi adds. “We don’t want to be undemocratic like the mainland. We want a free Taiwan, free speech, a free life.”

China has responded harshly to Taiwan’s rising self-determination. The growing number of incursions by its large fleets of fishing vessels is just one way Beijing is stepping up military, economic, and political pressure on the small island.

China’s leaders have refused to engage in talks with the Democratic Progressive government since it took power in 2016. They have also intensified what they call punitive measures aimed at Dr. Lai. Beijing calls the new president a “stubborn separatist.” It also recently approved the death sentence for “Taiwan independence diehards” under its Anti-Secession Law.

Around Taiwan’s coast and outlying islands, China has stepped up “gray zone” incursions of its warplanes and ships in order to probe Taiwan’s defenses and display its might.

Such strategies, which include the detention of Taiwanese fishers by China’s coast guard, are in part psychological, says Julia Famularo, postdoctoral fellow in Taiwan studies at Harvard University. This cognitive warfare “sends a signal that Taiwan’s coast guard is incapable of conducting effective patrols,” she says.

More often than not, Beijing’s pressure tactics are undermining the goal of unification by driving Taiwanese further away, according to surveys and experts. “[China’s] policies are backfiring big-time,” says Dr. Grano at the Asia Society. “Coercion, threats, and intimidation do not fare well, especially with the younger people.” China’s import bans on key Taiwan products, for example, have led Taiwan’s farmers to diversify and seek other markets.

A robust fact-checking movement debunks lies and rumors

In Taitung County, fruit farmer Chang Chien was hit hard three years ago when China banned imports of atemoya, a sweet, heart-shaped fruit he grows. “It was unreasonable and political,” says Mr. Chang, resting on a stool near his orchard after a morning of hand-pollinating fruit. In response, he’s diversifying to other crops and increasing exports to other Asian markets.

Mr. Chang doubts China will invade, given the risks for Beijing. But if the worst happens, he plans to take his farming skills abroad. “I could go to Japan, Vietnam, or New Zealand – wherever needs farmers,” he says.

In the political and media realm, China’s aggressive disinformation attacks on Taiwan often boomerang. They have spurred a robust fact-checking movement its backers hope will strengthen Taiwan’s democracy. A network of fast-paced and innovative fact-checking organizations has sprung up to debunk lies and damaging rumors.

“China will conduct information operations in a very subtle and sophisticated way now,” says Summer Chen, senior strategic consultant at Doublethink Lab, a Taipei organization focused on disinformation. In 2018, Ms. Chen helped spearhead the first organization that monitors false information in the Chinese-speaking world.

Still, China’s relentless disinformation can have an impact. Doublethink identified more than 10,000 pieces of suspicious information linked to Chinese state media or fake social media accounts in the three months leading up to Taiwan’s January elections. Timed with China’s military drills, this was intended to scare Taiwanese about the prospect of war.

Doublethink encourages those upset by inflammatory information online to talk with their “trust circle” before sharing information, and to report dubious postings to fact-checkers. The network pools data and uses chatbots to respond to fabrications “as quickly as can be,” says Ms. Chen.

“China will conduct ‘information warfare’ along with military action,” says Ms. Chen. “How do we do defense? The most important thing is everyone, every citizen in Taiwan, must have information resilience.” 

Jolted by China’s actions in Hong Kong, Taiwan ramps up defense 

Last July, Tsai Tsung-lin pulled on his army uniform and boots, and with a Taiwanese flag waving from his rucksack, he set off from his home in the western city of Taichung.

He embarked on a marathon march around the entire island. His mission on the nearly 700-mile trek was to inspire other Taiwanese to join the military. There has been a serious shortage of recruits. Many units only have 60% to 70% of the soldiers they need.

“We need Taiwan’s people to recognize China is a threat. We are extremely low on personnel,” says Mr. Tsai, a former soldier. “The pressure is great,” he says over tea at Taipei’s Liberty Square.

Taiwan’s public was jolted by China’s crushing of dissent in Hong Kong in 2020. Russia’s 2022 invasion of Ukraine has also stirred anxiety. These world events have only strengthened people’s growing resolve to bolster Taiwan’s defenses, experts say.

“The Russian invasion [of Ukraine] changed people’s thinking,” says Chieh Chung, associate researcher of national security at the National Policy Foundation in Taipei. “They started to discuss the possibility of a [Chinese] military invasion.”

Seizing on the rising public concerns, former President Tsai Ing-wen pushed through an increase in Taiwan’s mandatory conscription period for males from four months to one year. “We can fix the shortage,” but it will take time, says Mr. Chieh.

Facing a massive military buildup by China, Taiwan’s armed forces are also shifting to nimbler, more asymmetric strategies that aim to use large numbers of inexpensive weapons such as mines, precision missiles, and portable air defense systems.

“People are hungry for training” 

Yet this kind of military readiness is not enough for a prolonged conflict, as the Ukraine war shows, say Taiwan defense experts. Taiwan should prepare to mobilize an enduring, coordinated response by the military, first responders, and civil society as a whole, says Ying-yu Lin, assistant professor at Tamkang University Taiwan, who calls this “all-out defense.” 

But the government lacks the resources to do this, he says. Recognizing such gaps, a grassroots civil defense movement has sprung up in Taiwan in recent years.

“We are forging that connective tissue” vital for any crisis, whether war or natural disaster, says Enoch Wu, executive director of Forward Alliance, which he founded in 2020. His organization uses full-time firefighters and paramedics to teach lifesaving skills to schools, churches, and community groups. It also holds trainings for police precincts, the island’s civil defense corps and coast guard, and civilian conscripts. It has trained 15,000 people so far, he says.

“People are hungry for training,” says Mr. Wu, a former Taiwan special forces soldier. This kind of training also forms bonds of trust that help keep democracy resilient, he says. But he, too, adds, “We are pressed for time.”

In an upstairs assembly room at New Taipei City’s Tucheng Police Precinct, his organization is training a dozen officers as they run through mock mass casualty drills, practicing the tying of tourniquets and other first-aid techniques.

“These two civilians are wounded!” a Forward Alliance instructor shouts at two police officers just arriving at the scene.

It’s the first such training for officers Godsbe Chen and Lin Chih-yuan, who do not routinely carry first-aid gear. Both have felt frustrated at their inability to help injured people during their patrols.

“I once saw a young man dying in front of me. So I really do think this kind of training is needed in our job,” says Officer Chen. Police armed with such skills can help more people survive a disaster, he says. Officer Lin adds, “Now, I have a way to save people, myself or my colleagues.”

Taiwanese consider their options as China ramps up military exercises

Joey Chen, pastor of Grace Church in Taipei, was visiting the Penghu Islands in the Taiwan Strait in August 2022, when then-U.S. Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi visited Taiwan.

Her visit prompted a vigorous response from China’s leaders as they launched massive live-fire military exercises around the island. “I was looking for the nearest escape routes,” recalls Mr. Chen. “Where would we hide in the hotel, if the soldiers came?” 

The military show of force ended after a week, but it left a lasting impression on Mr. Chen. He’s now considering offering emergency preparedness training for members of his congregation. Taiwan today feels “too peaceful,” says Mr. Chen. It’s “like the calm before the storm.”

When asked in a 2022 survey what people in Taiwan would do if war broke out with China, about a third responded they’d be passive. They’d flee, hide, surrender, or just let “nature take its course,” many reported.

“I would wave a white flag,” says Yang Chong-i, who grew up in the rice-farming county of Yilan and now helps care for his older mother there.

But nearly half of those responding indicated they’d resist. They’d join the army, back the government, and defend their homes. Faith in Taiwan’s leaders and in the United States is a key factor underlying this will to fight, research shows.

If China attacks, “I want to be at the front line ... to protect our country,” says Liang Yi-ying, a nonprofit worker in Taipei attending an emergency training class by the Kuma Academy, a civil defense group. “We are strong enough to defend [Taiwan],” she says.

Either way, as China maneuvers around them, Taiwan’s people are responding not with panic – but with a calm awareness.

Many, like Lin Ching-yi, a retired hairstylist and mother, have taken mundane, day-to-day steps to prepare. She has made a go bag that contains rag bandages, spare clothes, and a raincoat. She has also stored away water and food.

“I’m used to freedom and democracy,” says Ms. Lin. “As a grand country, China should let us live peacefully.”