(Reproduced with permission from Cornell Magazine, June, 1995. This version is from an uncorrected galley proof and may differ slightly from the verison published in the Magazine.)
On February 28 of this year the people of Taiwan witnessed an extraordinary event. For more than four decades, they had been allowed to speak only in whispered tones of the massacre known as "two-two-eight"--in February 1947, the day Nationalist troops wiped out between 18,000 and 28,000 Taiwanese demonstrators in a single bloody day.
But on this February 28, as the weeping families of the slain rebels gathered at a memorial dedication and the rest of Taiwan watched on television, they were stunned to hear the words of their President: "As the head of state, bearing the burden of mistakes made by the government and expressing the most sincere apology, I believe that with your forgiving hearts, we are able to transform the sadness into harmony and peace."
Such an outright admission of guilt by the head of the Kuomintang (KMT)--the Nationalist Party--would have been unthinkable even as recently as 1988. That was the year that Lee Teng-hui, PhD '68, who had been the vice president of the Republic of China on Taiwan since 1984, took over the nation's highest political office upon the death of President Chiang Ching-kuo, the beloved son of famed Nationalist leader Chiang Kai-shek. Yet the sequence of events that culminated in the February 28 ceremonies typifies the way Lee has operated since assuming the presidency--working behind the scenes when necessary, at times stepping boldly into the limelight, but always staying focused on what he intends to accomplish and moving forward even when forced to act with restraint.
It was, after all, Lee's directive in 1992 that launched a government investigation of the 1947 incident and laid plans for the creation of a $75 million fund to pay compensation to the relatives of victims. And just one year ago, Lee's presence at the first official ceremonies marking the massacre's anniversary--though he refrained from public statements--resonated with symbolism. Lee is the first native-born Taiwanese to rule his island nation, and at the time of the massacre he had been a 24-year-old student at National Taiwan University. But now, as the supreme leader of his country, a mantle bestowed on him by the ruling cadre of the KMT, his words carried a force forged from his tripartite identity, as victim, transgressor and healer.
Lee's willingness to take the lead on such a politically sensitive issue underscores his growth since becoming president. In 1988, most observers felt Lee would serve out only the two remaining years of Chiang's term and then step aside when the National Assembly decided on a more suitable replacement. But in 1990 the National Assembly (which functions in Taiwan as a kind of electoral college, endorsing the choice of the majority party) unexpectedly elected Lee--"a mere agricultural economist" as one paper described him at the time--to a six-year term as the country's eighth president. It was a tremendous accomplishment for a man from relatively humble origins, made even more remarkable by the unusual path that had brought him to the presidency.
Lee was born in 1923 in Puping village, near the small farming town of Sanchih in northern Taiwan, the son and grandson of successful tea farmers. As a boy, Lee helped his grandfather on the farm and accompanied him to Taipei on selling trips. (Lee's father, Lee Chin-lung, gave young Teng-hui his first exposure to politics, twice winning local elections to county positions.) During these years Taiwan was under Japanese occupation; China had been forced to hand over the island following their disastrous defeat in the 1895 Sino-Japanese War. But Lee in many ways benefited from the Japanese efforts to modernize Taiwan's economic and educational systems. As a key part of these efforts, Taiwan's most promising students were allowed to continue their studies in Japan, and, after the gifted Lee scored well on an exam at age 18, he was sent for several years to Kyoto Imperial University in Japan. Upon returning to Taiwan in 1946, Lee enrolled in agricultural economics at National Taiwan University.
The years immediately following World War II were bleak for Lee's island nation. With the collapse of the Japanese empire in 1945, the island passed into the hands of the Chinese Nationalists, but any notion that the Taiwanese might be allowed to set up their own government was quickly snuffed out by the massacre of 1947. By 1949, after Mao Zedong's communist Chinese forces overwhelmed the Nationalists on the mainland, Chiang Kai-shek and almost 2 million of his followers fled to Taiwan, 100 miles off the southern coast of China, and established it as their stronghold.
Most foreign observers felt certain that a communist invasion would soon follow. Chiang desperately appealed to the American government for help, but despite having supported the Nationalists during their protracted civil war, President Truman announced that the U.S. would adopt a "hands-off" policy.
Before long, though, as successive Cold War flare-ups brought American troops face to face with Chinese-supported forces--first in Korea and then in Vietnam--Washington officials began to realize that Taiwan could serve as a both a valuable bargaining chip against the People's Republic of China and as a vital base for United States military operations. For decades, despite the patent absurdity of doing so, the U.S. even recognized Taiwan's government as the official representative of all Chinese, even of those living on the mainland. Unfortunately, the alliance also forced the U.S. to turn a blind eye to the numerous human rights abuses that occurred under Chiang Kai-shek; under the pretext of national security, Chiang invoked a state of martial law and allowed his secret police to imprison thousands of suspected collaborators and dissidents.
But the diplomatic fiction could not last. During the maneuverings that culminated in President Nixon's historic trip to China in 1972, the United Nations voted in 1971 to expel Taiwan and awarded its seat to the government in Beijing. Chiang Kai-shek died four years later and was succeeded as president by his son Chiang Ching-kuo. But the change in leadership did nothing to quell the diplomatic setbacks. By 1979, the final blow came, as the U.S. officially recognized the People's Republic of China on the mainland as China's legitimate government.
Lee Teng-hui spent most of these difficult years at his studies. After joining the faculty of National Taiwan University in 1949, he married Tseng Wen-fui, whom he had known since early childhood. In 1951, a scholarship enabled him to go to Iowa State University to earn his master's degree. After returning to his teaching post at National Taiwan University, though, Lee found himself longing to apply his agricultural expertise beyond his role as educator. After numerous inquiries, Lee landed a position on the Sino-American Joint Commission on Rural Reconstruction (JCRR), a job which, significantly, brought him to the attention of the KMT leadership.
Because of his work with the JCRR, Lee witnessed firsthand an amazing transformation in the rural areas of Taiwan. On soil formerly devoted to cultivating rice and other vegetables, clusters of small businesses were beginning to sprout. According to John Mellor, a former professor of agricultural economics at Cornell and now one of the world's foremost experts on rural development, Taiwan's extraordinary economic growth "started in agriculture, and that growth in agriculture then provided the resources--the demand stimulus to the growth of the nonagricultural sector--which then, very soon ran away with the game."
The first of these small businesses, says Mellor, were farm-oriented companies, such as mills to process the rice and factories to make fertilizer. But soon other businesses flocked to the growing rural communities: furniture makers, machine shops and transport and shipping companies, which gradually grew to the point where they could sell their products overseas. Today, according to Mellor, "two-thirds of all of Taiwan's exports come from companies of 100 employees or less." This emphasis on small rural entrepreneurship distinguishes Taiwan from many of the other "Little Dragons" of Southeast Asia--notably South Korea--whose economies tend to be based on large, urban-based industries.
In 1965, when Mellor was in his mid-30s, he welcomed to Cornell a shy, quiet Taiwanese student some six years his senior. "T.H."--as he was then known to his colleagues--struck Mellor almost immediately as "a very mature, thoughtful student with an absolutely first-rate analytical mind. There's no question that this was a very bright guy."
His shyness no doubt stemmed from his limited command of English, but Lee nevertheless impressed his teachers and fellow students as a serious, deeply religious man (Lee is a devout Presbyterian), with a clear vision of what he hoped to accomplish at Cornell. And he had not arrived empty-handed. In Lee's possession, Mellor recalls, was "an extraordinary data set that would allow him to develop a social accounting system for looking at the transfer of resources from a rapidly growing agricultural sector," resources that would soon transform Taiwan from a land of agriculture to a land of industry.
Within three years, Lee had turned the data into his doctoral thesis: "Intersectoral Capital Flows in the Economic Development of Taiwan, 1895-1960." According to Uma Lele, a fellow graduate student who helped edit Lee's thesis for publication and who is now an associate professor of economics at the University of Florida, it remains one of the definitive works on Taiwan's economy. Indeed, the American Association for Agricultural Economics honored the thesis as the year's best doctoral dissertation, the first time such an award was given to a Taiwanese.
Flush with this success, Lee returned to his job at the JCRR, hoping now to parlay his growing expertise into a position of more authority. According to Mellor, who stayed in close contact with Lee, this was a particularly frustrating time for his former student. T.H. was now fully credentialed, with advanced degrees from several foreign universities, and the best course seemed to be to enter academic life, where he could continue his study of the Taiwanese economic miracle. But Lee resisted this avenue, and as Lele notes, one of his favorite sayings may help explain why: "The tall tree always catches the wind." In Lee's view, those with little ambition always choose the easiest path. Others--and he clearly placed himself in this category--persevere even in the face of difficulties.
Certainly Lee now faced numerous obstacles to his advancement at the JCRR. Success there largely seemed to depend, not on merit, but on cultivating the proper connections with the KMT's power brokers. Mellor tried his best to help his friend, even to the point of securing for him an advanced research position in America. But just days before Lee was due to arrive to take the job, Mellor received a cable. Lee had been appointed minister of state (without portfolio) in the Executive Yuan, the cabinet, in 1972. What had brought about this extraordinary reversal of fortune?
On the surface, Lee clearly had acquired some stature as an expert on Taiwan's emerging economy. In addition to his Cornell thesis, a report Lee authored in 1971 on the state of farming in Taiwan had been read admiringly by future President Chiang Ching-kuo who, at the time, was the country's deputy premier. But a more subtle reading suggests that the KMT leaders, always sensitive to potential tensions among the populace, recognized that the growing literacy rate and achievements of native Taiwanese were leading to calls for greater participation in the government. It was time to welcome one of Taiwan's own into the inner circle. Thus, when Chiang Ching-kuo became premier in 1972, he extended the diplomatic invitation to Lee, and Lee found himself on a fast and rising political track. Subsequently, he was appointed mayor of Taipei (1978-81), governor of Taiwan Province (1981-1984), and finally, in 1984, Chiang's hand-picked choice for vice president.
By this time, Taiwan had emerged on the world scene as a major trading nation, despite the considerable complications of trading with countries, such as the U.S., with whom it does not share diplomatic ties. "Made in Taiwan," once synonymous with shabby, knock-off gadgets, took on a different meaning as Taiwan established itself in such growth technologies as computer chip production. As a result, Taiwan's per capita income has risen from just $360 in 1970 to more than $10,000 today.
The economic boom has not come without its problems, although many are the sort that other countries would gladly have. Chief among them has been a surfeit of cash, which in recent years has sparked fears of inflation. The relatively sudden prosperity has also further polarized a population already splintered by sharp generational and ethnic differences.
Taiwan is about the size of West Virginia, and most of its 21 million inhabitants (about 80 percent of whom were born there) are crowded into cities on the western third of the island. The older generation, brought up during the years of privation and hard work following World War II, includes native-born Taiwanese like Lee who lived under the Japanese occupation, as well as former mainlanders who arrived with the Nationalists. As a result, people of this generation tend to be more conservative, both politically and in their spending habits, mainly supporting the KMT as the party of stability.
The younger Taiwanese are more consumer-driven, avidly snapping up the latest electronic gadgets from Japan. Those of the postwar generation view Taiwan's alien status among the world's nations as a frustrating legacy of a bygone era. They tend to be more drawn to the platform of the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP), whose main plank is Taiwan independence. The DPP has made steady gains in the parliament, and expects to do so again in elections scheduled for later this year. The DPP's growing influence has allowed them to pressure Lee to resolve the cross-Taiwan Strait conflict, either by rejoining the mainland or by declaring Taiwan a separate nation.
Both courses carry grave perils, but Lee has navigated through these treacherous political waters with his typical combination of boldness and pragmatism. He has been helped by the fact that his own life bridges so many of the significant periods of recent Taiwanese history, allowing him to appeal to diverse segments of his constituency, as well as by the fact that, despite his ties to the KMT, he can still play the "outsider" role when it is convenient to do so. Whatever the reasons behind Lee's success, both his admirers and detractors would probably agree with the assessment of Ralph N. Clough, a professor at Johns Hopkins's School of Advanced International Studies and author of Reaching Across the Taiwan Strait: both in international diplomacy and in domestic politics, Lee has "handled himself exceptionally well."
One of his first official acts as president regarding the People's Republic of China (PRC) was to announce the end of the "period of mobilization for the suppression of communist rebellion," in effect acknowledging what had long been obvious: the Nationalists would no longer use force to achieve its long-held goal of national reunification. For the first time, the Taiwan government acknowledged that there is a political entity on mainland China. The hope was that the PRC would reciprocate, but the mainland Chinese have never backed away from their threat to take Taiwan by force, although most observers consider that prospect unlikely. The only event that might conceivably provoke such a response is the very thing the Taiwanese continue to dangle as their ultimate trump card: declaring Taiwan independence.
No one knows for sure what Lee's personal views are regarding independence. He has long been suspected of harboring pro-independence sentiments, but his official statements suggest that he expects Taiwan to one day rejoin the mainland. In his inaugural address in May 1990, Lee stipulated the conditions under which this might occur: the mainland government would have to implement democratic and economic reforms and allow Taiwan to negotiate for itself in the international arena.
Deng Xiao-ping and other mainland leaders have talked instead of creating "one country, two systems," whereby Taiwan would retain some sovereignty--keeping the fruits of its economic labors, for instance, and electing its own leaders--but would have to cede international representation to the Beijing government. Understandably, Lee and other KMT leaders fear that once they allow the mainland Chinese forces back onto the island, the PRC might decide to modify the relationship, even, perhaps, repressing the populace, as has occurred in "autonomous" Tibet. For this reason, the Taiwanese are scrutinizing the unfolding situation in Hong Kong, leading up to 1997, when Britain will hand over control of the city province to the PRC.
Some analysts believed the two sides were moving toward rapprochement last year when they held their first face-to-face talks since 1947. But the negotiators tabled the issue of reunification, focusing instead on such issues as the treatment of hijackers, granting of visas, and cross-Strait trade. Taiwan dropped a ban on direct shipping with the mainland, a tacit recognition that China has become the island's number two trading partner, after the U.S., with investments estimated between $10 and $20 billion.
Lee seems in no hurry to resolve the question of reunification. Just after the most recent round of talks he observed, "We will talk even if it takes 100 times and 100 years. If we talk 100 times and fail, that's all right."
For now, Lee and his ministers seem content to play a curious diplomatic game of cat and mouse. Certainly they realize that pushing Beijing too hard can have severe consequences, both economically and politically. Yet they refuse to be silent players on the world scene, pressing carefully but with determination for international recognition. Despite losing their seat in the UN, Taiwan officially clings to the fiction that it is the true representative of all China. At one international economic summit at which it shared a table with representatives from Beijing, the Taiwanese officials even used folded cards to cover the words "Republic of..." on their deskplates, leaving only "China" visible. Currently, 29 countries have diplomatic relations with the Republic of China, but Taiwan has trade representatives in 61 countries, including the United States.
Lee had hoped that some thaw in U.S.-Taiwan relations might occur when Bill Clinton became president, since he had visited Taiwan on four occasions, and even, while governor of Arkansas, attended Lee's inauguration. But the risk of offending Beijing has kept the U.S. from making any substantive moves toward normalizing relations with Taiwan, although it recently sent Transportation Secretary Federico Pena for an official visit.
But in the strained atmosphere of U.S.-China-Taiwan relations, any crack in the diplomatic wall carries great symbolic weight. Cornell University has become embroiled several times in the troubled triangle and may become a flashpoint again this year.
When Cornell wanted to honor Lee with its first Outstanding International Alumnus Citation in 1990, the State Department would not allow him to come to the campus despite pressure from Taiwan's many friends in Congress. The award was eventually delivered by a traveling delegation to Taipei. In April 1994, Lee met with outgoing president Frank H. T. Rhodes during Rhodes's Asia tour, and the two discussed the possibility of Lee visiting Ithaca this June, when a faculty chair is slated to be endowed in his name. Under one scenario, the State Department might issue the Taiwanese leader a "transit" visa, essentially granting him permission to pass through the United States on his way to somewhere else. Republican congressional leaders have made it clear that they are watching the situation closely, and vow to introduce legislation to force the Clinton administration to allow the visit if a compromise cannot be reached.
Most people involved wish to avoid such a confrontation. Cornell for its part has tried to keep a low profile in the controversy and Lee himself must remain sensitive to political considerations at home. In March 1996, one of Lee's most cherished reform initiatives will culminate in the first free presidential election in the country's history. Although he is now 72, Lee is expected to run for reelection and, although he faces strong challenges both from within the KMT and from the DPP, he would be the clear favorite should he decide to enter the race. His popularity among the people of Taiwan has reached such heights that the press now have a term--"Lee Teng-hui Complex"--to describe it.
Indeed, Lee has proven to be the ideal person to lead Taiwan through this critical period, perhaps because, in so many ways, he seems to embody so much of his country's recent history. Some suggest that his meteoric rise within the party ranks and early years in the presidency were choreographed by the KMT leadership. But that would deny Lee the credit he deserves.
He may have gained entrance to the corridors of power as a token Taiwanese, but he was chosen because of his qualifications, chief among them the expertise he developed under the tutelage of Mellor and other Cornell professors. There is little question that, having ascended to his country's highest office, he has made the position his own, guiding his nation with a firm and expert hand on a course that is unparalleled among the world's nations, and steadily creating a framework of democracy within a state that was once noted for its human rights abuses.
Despite the constant demands of his official duties, Lee remains at heart a family man, spending as much time as he can with his wife and two grown daughters, An-na and An-ni. (Sadly, the Lees' son, Hsien-wen, died of cancer in 1983.) Lee confesses to being a fanatic about golf, a sport he took up during his years at Cornell; he has been known to conduct his unique, understated style of Taiwanese diplomacy while circling the links with officials from other countries.
Lee also stays active in academic affairs, appearing frequently at international economic conferences and writing about agricultural economics; recently, he contributed the forward to a book, edited by John Mellor, entitled Agriculture on the Road to Industrialization.
Always, though, Lee Teng-hui works tirelessly to fulfill his cherished dream, to bring to his country the same admiration and respect he has worked so long and hard to achieve for himself.
James Carman '83 is managing editor of the Wilson Quarterly.