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Political scientist Wu Nai-teh campaigned for the democratization of Taiwan at a time when the island was still under martial law. Fabian Peltsch spoke with him about how this period needs to be reappraised and how the identity of Taiwan today is also shaped by matters of military defense.
Our second analysis looks at the case of Marije Vlaskamp. The Dutch journalist has become the target of an intimidation campaign that supposedly originated in Beijing. Bomb threats have even been faked in her name and that of dissident Wang Jingyu. Activists and politicians are now calling for a clear message to China, as Stephan Israel writes.
The Heads section today introduces a man who will be important this week: Li Hui, the Chinese government’s special envoy, is heading to Ukraine today. For the first time since the beginning of the war, China is sending a high-ranking diplomat for talks. In addition to Ukraine, he is also expected in Poland, Germany, France and Russia.
As a political scientist and author, you were advocating for democratizing Taiwan at a time when the island was still under martial law – a very risky thing to do.
The magazines we published were often banned from circulation, sometimes confiscated, or rather robbed, by security forces. My impression was few people at that time were much concerned with the risk issue. We were too immersed in writing articles advocating democracy, publishing magazines, as well as doing grassroots and trade union organizing.
As a scientist, you then could not find employment for several years.
My major was political science and my dissertation was about the consolidation of the authoritarian regime in Taiwan. In the 1980s, the mainstream issue in American political science was the transition to democracy. I did the opposite: I wanted to answer why and how an authoritarian regime could have consolidated itself for several decades on an island it had never ruled.
I encountered some serious problems in finding employment after returning to Taiwan with a Ph.D. in political science from the University of Chicago. I was lucky because it was the time when Taiwan’s media was in the process of being liberated. With much attention from the mass media on my case, the authority of Academia Sinica finally accepted the decision from faculties in the Institute of Ethnology, who had accepted my application with unanimous votes two years earlier.
Coming to terms with the martial law era is a process that still divides Taiwan’s society today. You recently published an article that once again focuses on the Chiang Kai-shek Memorial, a monument in the heart of Taipei that still attracts tourists today, but dates back to the time of the dictatorship. What problem do you have with it?
The historical memory of Chiang Kai-shek and also his son Chiang Ching-kuo, are quite divided. Some people in Taiwan still admire Chiang Kaishek for his contribution in fighting against the Japanese and then against the Chinese communists, albeit being defeated. But what many native Taiwanese remember is the slaughtering of many Taiwanese elites, doctors, lawyers, scholars, and intellectuals by his army in 1947, as well as the “white terror” lasting for four decades under the rule of him and his son.
My essay contends that if different historical memories cannot be ‘unified’ into a single one, which cannot be done, especially in a democracy, each can at least respect each other’s memory. Each side can hold and advocate its own memory and, in the meantime, live, work and thrive together by the rules of democracy. But the Chiang Kai-sheck Memorial Hall, and also the recently established Chiang Ching-kuo Memorial Library, are against the principle of mutual respect. They actually are insults to the other memory.
Although Taiwanese people have different views about their identity, almost everyone agrees that the Taiwanese people should decide the country’s future. What do you think of the recent geopolitical focus on Taiwan? Does the attention help the Taiwanese cause, or does it rather endanger the island’s democratic future?
It seems to me that there is also consensus that we should not provoke the Chinese government, a hostile regime with much stronger military power. No one wants war. The problem is, no one knows where the red line is. If you do not know where the red line is, you do not know what not to do so as not to cross it.
The first time China wielded military threat on Taiwan was in 1996, by firing missiles into the waters surrounding Taiwan. What did Taiwan do at that time to provoke China? Taiwan was undergoing presidential election by popular vote for the first time in history. It was a common practice and a basic principle of democracy. So China was provoked. Without knowing where the red line is, some people even said that Taiwan should have advised Pelosi not to come so as not to provoke China. This thinking will keep Taiwan isolated, not only diplomatically but also militarily.
Do you think that the citizens of Taiwan would defend their island with the same determination as the Ukrainians defend their country against the Russians?
Nobody can answer the question until there is actually a war. But one can confidently say that people in Taiwan intend to protect their country. As you know, for many years, Taiwan’s compulsory military service has been only four months. The journal Foreign Policy named it a ‘national joke’, compared to two years of military service in South Korea and Singapore. A couple of months ago, it was finally extended to one year. When it comes to the will to fight, political leaders play an important role in mobilizing the national will. Winston Churchill during WWII was a good example. We are still waiting for the coming of a leader, who is willing to and capable of mobilizing the national will to defend ourselves.
What role do civil defense groups play in Taiwan’s defense today, for instance, the “Forward Alliance” founded by your son Enoch Wu?
This kind of work actually should be done by the government. This kind of training needs an enormous amount of resources, human, material and organizational. It is because the government did not do anything about it, the civil society takes responsibility on its shoulder. The good news is people are responding warmly and actively to the program. The Forward Alliance has been offering classes and camps around the country, having trained thousands of people so far.
How much hope do you have for negotiations with Mainland China over Taiwan’s future?
The future of China-Taiwan relations depends very much on the development of China. A democratic China will be more tolerant of Taiwan’s finding its own way and more willing to negotiate with Taiwan. A prosperous China will be an allure to many people in Taiwan. Before that happens, there is not much Taiwan can do, except to make itself stronger economically and militarily to defend itself.
Should there be more exchanges between young people from China and Taiwan?
Yes, the more the better. I personally knew some Chinese college students in Taiwan. They so much enjoyed the freedom and relaxed way of life in Taiwan. Some still correspond with me after they returned to China. Think about that: The children of many Chinese government officials, high-ranking party cadres and economic elites live in the West. Chinese communists intend to force the Taiwanese to become subjects of the People’s Republic of China, while allowing their own children to renounce it and live happy lives in the West. That says a lot.
Wu Nai-teh 吳乃德, born in Taichung in 1949, is a researcher at the Sociology Institute of Academia Sinica and an influential theorist of Taiwan’s democratization. He was editor-in-chief of the Taiwan Journal of Political Science (1997-1999) and founding president of the Taiwan Political Science Association (1995-1997). His main field of research is political sociology and Taiwanese identity. His brother Wu Nai-ren is the former Secretary General of the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP). His son Enoch Wu supports civil defense with the Forward Alliance and was named by Time magazine in 2022 to its “100 Next”, an annual list of 100 people who are having a decisive impact on the future of their country.
Marije Vlaskamp knows how the Chinese authorities operate when they want to silence someone. After all, the Dutch journalist reported from Beijing as a correspondent for almost 25 years before returning to The Hague. And still, she is shocked. In April, the 54-year-old described in detail in the newspaper “de Volkskrant” how she had become the target of a massive intimidation campaign. Including a staged bomb threat in her name and the name of Wang Jingyu, one of her interlocutors from the Chinese dissident scene.
This prompted Marije Vlaskamp and her editorial team to tell the story to the public. The journalist had accompanied Wang since he fled China and reached the Netherlands and used his story as an example to describe how China terrorizes dissidents and critics even in exile.
Then, in the fall, the situation escalated: Wang received new threats over the messaging service Telegram, in which he was called a “traitor” and told to keep his mouth shut. He was told to stop giving interviews, delete his Twitter account and make sure that articles about him were taken off the Internet. “One tip from me and the police will arrest you and your journalist friend,” was the last message.
Almost simultaneously, Vlaskamp and Wang received booking confirmations for the same hotel in The Hague’s government quarter near the Chinese embassy, which they had never made. The journalist was ultimately alarmed when she learned of a bomb threat on the news and that the police had cordoned off the government quarter. A short time later, another bomb threat followed in her name against China’s embassy in Oslo.
The Chinese regime usually uses this psychological warfare tactic against former Chinese citizens, dissidents, Uyghurs or Tibetans, says Vlaskamp. She wrote that it was probably the first time unknown individuals threatened a Dutch journalist outside of China in the name of the Chinese state.
The assailants do not even try to cover up their background. The embassy itself alerted the police to the alleged bomb threat and reportedly also mentioned the names of Vlaskamp and Wang. The bomb threats and hotel reservations could be traced back to IP addresses in China and Hong Kong, the Dutch judicial authorities also reported.
The NGO Reporters Without Borders has called on the authorities to identify the culprits behind the hoax bomb threats in the name of two journalists in the Netherlands and Germany. The Chinese journalist Su Yutong, who lives in Germany and reports for the Free Asia channel, was similarly subjected to massive pressure. Hotels in Berlin, New York, Houston, Los Angeles and Istanbul were booked in her name. Hoax bomb threats followed them. “These particularly vicious methods, although anonymous, bear all the characteristics of the Chinese regime’s intimidation tactics,” the NGO said.
Dutch MEP Bart Groothuis, an expert in the fight against disinformation and foreign influence, shares a similar view. He speaks of the handwriting of the United Front Work Department, an instrument of the Chinese Communist Party to silence critics, including abroad. “The attack on Marije Vlaskamp is a new signal of what China is willing to do to silence people in the West as well,” says the politician from Premier Mark Rutte’s right-wing liberal ruling party.
By now, there are hardly any female scientists or universities in the West investigating the fate of the Uyghurs, the end of freedom in Hong Kong or the United Front network, for example. They say they have to fear that contacts will be harassed or that they will be arrested when traveling abroad, for instance, because of the extradition agreements between China and many countries around the world.
Groothuis believes that intelligence services and security authorities have an obligation. For a long time, he says, the focus has been on Russia while the danger posed by China has been neglected. Moreover, it is no use summoning Chinese ambassadors and protesting. “We must clearly tell China that hostile influence and intimidation campaigns have an economic price.”
Groothuis is not calling for decoupling from China. Instead, the EU should take a closer look at investments from China, Russia and Iran, always with a focus on possible security risks for Western democracies. The MEP sees this as a central task for the next EU Commission.
Alerk Ablikim also has clear words. The Dutch-born Uyghur is co-founder of a platform of various immigrant groups, including those from Turkey, Morocco, Eritrea and Belarus, who are mobilizing against foreign influence. He says the case of Marije Vlaskamp shows how big the problem of intimidation by foreign regimes in Europe has become. Immigrants from China, Turkey, Morocco or Eritrea would suffer daily from the long arm of their home countries. It is not enough to set up a hotline and make espionage more punishable, as the Dutch government is planning to do, says Ablikim.
In an open letter, the platform urges the government in The Hague to appoint a national coordinator: “Foreign interference – including intimidation – is a growing social problem that threatens Dutch democracy.” Politicians in general need to react more decisively, says co-initiator Ablikim.
The activist cites the case of illegal police stations used by China to harass opposition activists. China also operated two stations in the Netherlands. The stations in Rotterdam and Amsterdam were closed after protests. Unlike in the USA, however, there have been no arrests or other consequences. This is like an invitation to China, Ablikim says. The activist demands that Europe draw red lines against hostile interference more clearly in the future and that Western democracies oppose transnational repression more decisively. Stephan Israel
He was China’s ambassador to Moscow for ten years, and now he is set to take to the big stage: Li Hui, the Special Representative of the Chinese Government on Eurasian Affairs since 2019, will depart for Ukraine, Europe and Russia on Monday. In his telephone conversation with Ukraine’s President Volodymyr Zelenskiy, Xi Jinping recently announced that he would send the 70-year-old Li to Kyiv as a special envoy.
These kinds of special envoys are part of the diplomatic toolkit for conflict regions. For example, the USA has repeatedly dispatched special envoys to the Middle East or former Yugoslavia to find possible ways to achieve peace there. They are mostly political heavyweights. Li Hui, too, had made it to the position of vice foreign minister before his ambassadorship.
Li Hui will now be traveling in Europe starting this week. He will visit Ukraine, Russia, Poland, Germany and France, the Foreign Ministry announced in Beijing on Friday – and “communicate with all parties on the political solution to the Ukraine crisis.” The Foreign Ministry did not specify the order. And, as usual, it avoided the word “war.”
So who is the man Xi has entrusted with this monumental task? Li Hui, a veteran expert on Russia and the Soviet Union, has extensive knowledge of the region. As ambassador in Moscow, he networked with the world and probably gained insight into the realm of the Russian political elite surrounding President Vladimir Putin like no other top diplomat in his country. Before leaving his post as ambassador in 2019, Putin awarded him the Russian Order of Friendship.
But precisely because of his close ties to Moscow, expectations in Europe of Li and his mission are fairly low. Ultimately, he has the same credibility problem as Xi’s government. On the one hand, China aspires to be a peace mediator and presented a twelve-point paper on resolving the conflict – and on the other hand, it does not lose a single critical word about the Russian invasion. Foreign Office spokesperson Mao Ning brushed aside all concerns in late April: “The Special Representative appointed by China is certainly someone well-versed in relevant affairs and capable of playing a positive role in facilitating talks for peace.”
Born in 1953 in the northeastern province of Heilongjiang bordering Russia, Li Hui speaks fluent Russian and is said to have a fondness for Russian literature. He spent practically his entire career in the environment of the Soviet Union and later Russia. He worked in the USSR and Europe Department of the Foreign Ministry as a young man from 1975 to 1981. He returned to it repeatedly and even headed it for some time.
What is particularly remarkable is how often Li Hui was stationed in Moscow. Between 1981 and 1985, he held various positions at the Chinese Embassy in the USSR. Later, in 1990-1992, he was First Secretary of the Embassy – which officially became the embassy in the Russian Federation after 1991.
What is most remarkable is how often Li Hui was stationed in Moscow. From 1981 to 1985, he held various positions at the Chinese Embassy in the USSR. Then from 1990-1992, he was the First Secretary of the Embassy – which officially became the embassy in the Russian Federation after 1991. Li thus experienced the collapse of the Soviet Union firsthand – an event that China’s communists still see as a catastrophe today, causing them to hold their grip on power all the more tightly.
Li Hui was subsequently stationed twice at the embassy in Kazakhstan, and at least got to know the world of an ex-Soviet republic and its complicated relations with Moscow – even though the Central Asian country has little in common with Ukraine apart from a large Russian minority. Li then continued to rise through the ranks, briefly serving as vice foreign minister in 2008 and 2009. In 2009, Li was appointed ambassador to Moscow.
It is not known what Li Hui personally thinks about the war and his mission, or whether his opinion of Russia has changed due to the war. In any case, Li cannot view the situation through Russian lenses to be heard, especially in Kyiv. His mission is further complicated by the fact that neither Moscow nor Kyiv is currently seriously interested in negotiations. Both sides are more interested in creating military facts; Ukraine is about to launch a major counteroffensive. So Li Hui will need tremendous skill if he is to have any chance of achieving any diplomatic progress. Christiane Kuehl
Saddle bags, flabby bellies, hooked noses – when it comes to our own appearance, we’re hard on ourselves. In our self-confidence body screening, every pore is closely analyzed. That was already the case even before selfies and Instagram. But have you ever thought about the beauty score of your eyelid crease when you look in the mirror? (Not counting swollen eyelids after all-nighters and tearful breakups, of course!) Have you ever been horrified because there’s so little “eyelid mass” visible after you’ve blinked your eyes? While Europeans undergo surgery to get full lips and straight noses, the Chinese are wary of another supposed beauty flaw: the eyelid (眼皮 yǎnpí).
Because the beauty standard in China (as well as in many other Southeast Asian countries, by the way) is: “double eyelid wrinkle” – in Chinese 双眼皮 shuāngyǎnpí (quite literally: “double eye skin“). According to data from Statista from 2021, eyelid plastic surgery even ranks third in cosmetic surgery worldwide – right after liposuction and breast enlargement with silicone.
For all those who are now rubbing their eyes and asking what the hell a “double eyelid crease” is supposed to be: This is the term used to describe an eyelid shape where, when the eye is open, a fold of skin appears between the edge of the eyelid (that’s where the eyelashes are) and the upper skin (where parts of the eyelid disappear underneath). An upper eyelid without a crease is called a “single eyelid” (单眼皮 dānyǎnpí) in Asian. It is considered less aesthetic, as the so-called “double eyelid” (with crease) makes the eye look bigger and the owners “friendlier” and “more alert”. Not to forget: In women, a “double eyelid” also provides more free space for eyeshadow when applying makeup.
Between us: Double- and single-lid have not been part of your active Western vocabulary so far? Don’t fret. For us as Westerners, this linguistic distinction is also less relevant. That’s why some Mandarin learners sense beauty fashion jargon when they encounter these two terms for the first time. However, they quickly realize that shuāngyǎnpí and dānyǎnpí are common everyday vocabulary in Chinese to describe the eye region. The fact that this optical nuance is definitely worth mentioning from a Chinese perspective is because of the special anatomy of the Asian eye.
Those who do not count many people from the Asian region amongst their acquaintances often believe that Asians generally do not have an upper eyelid crease and that this would be the decisive difference to the “European” upper eyelid. However, this is not the case. What distinguishes the “Asian” eye from our “European” eye is the so-called epicanthus. In medical terminology, it is called “epicanthus medialis” (from ancient Greek ἐπί ep – “on, above” plus κανθός kanthós – “corner of the eye” as well as Latin medialis – “towards the center”). Sometimes this area of skin is also called the epicanthic fold. It is a special upper eyelid crease that starts directly at the corner of the eyelid located towards the nose and then runs parallel or laterally rising to the edge of the eyelashes. This means that the greatest distance between the upper eyelid crease and the lower eyelid edge (eyelashes) is never in the middle in the Asian eye – as is the case with our “European” eye, whose eyelid lid looks crescent-shaped – but the distance usually increases towards the outer corner of the eye.
By the way, why people in Asia have a different, almond-shaped eye form has not been definitively determined. The most likely answer is that their ancestors once lived in climatically unfavorable regions with strong sunlight and harsh wind conditions. An environment in which the narrower palpebral fissure could have provided a genetic advantage. Among other things, it probably provided better protection against the penetration of dust particles and other foreign bodies because it better closed the inner corner of the eyelid. This favorable characteristic was then probably passed on and is still characteristic of many members of the East and Southeast Asian peoples from Mongolia to Thailand. To clear up this prejudice, the narrower palpebral fissure does not create a visual disadvantage.
If the entire upper eyelid “disappears” under the upper skin when the eyes are opened, we are looking at a single eyelid. If a crease remains, we are looking at a double eyelid. So far so good. Unfortunately, I have to tell you that this is not all when it comes to Chinese beauty matters. The Chinese also make a meticulous distinction between 外双 (wàishuāng) and 内双 (nèishuāng), i.e. eyes with an outer or inner “double eyelid fold”.
Stay with me now. The whole thing is quickly explained: In the wàishuāng variant, a distinct (fleshy) eyelid crease peeks out from under the epicanthus. A classic (Asian) “double eyelid”, as it is considered attractive. The nèishuāng variant, on the other hand, looks almost like a single eyelid to laymen. Nèishuāng owners themselves, however, will fervently explain to you that there is an eyelid crease after all (which is indeed true). It is only so narrow that it is hardly visible when the eye is open. However, when the eye is closed, a distinct crease furrow is visible on the eyelid. So, strictly speaking, it is a double eyelid, only a minimally pronounced one, which almost completely “disappears”. Many Chinese, however, attach importance to this subtle difference!
And what exactly do beauty-conscious Asians “order” from a cosmetic surgeon? Contrary to what one might sometimes mistakenly assume, Asian patients do not usually request a “westernization” of the eye, i.e. a typical European eyelid with a half-moon shape of the eyelid crease in relation to the edge of the eyelid. Such an eye lid would also look rather out of place in the rather flat face of fellow Asians, beauty surgeons explain.
More importantly, however, removing an epicanthus often results in severe scarring and is therefore not recommended. Double eyelid plastic surgery (割双眼皮 gē shuāngyǎnpí – “to have an upper eyelid crease cut”) usually involves instead creating an upper eyelid crease in the first place (in the case of a previous single eyelid) or changing the position of the existing upper eyelid crease so that the eyelid crease becomes larger (for example, in the case of an inner double eyelid crease (内双 nèishuāng) or a less pronounced double eyelid).
But maybe we should just turn a blind eye when looking in the mirror anyway (In Chinese it is called 睁一只眼闭一只眼 zhēng yī zhī yǎn, bì yī zhī yǎn – “open one eye and close one eye”) or simply looking less into it altogether. Because as the saying goes: out of sight, out of mind. Or in Chinese: 眼不见心不烦 yǎn bù jiàn, xīn bù fán – “what the eye does not see, the heart does not care”. Instead, let’s keep our eyes on the important things. After all, all eyes are beautiful, be it with a double or single eyelid crease, with epicanthus, or without.
Verena Menzel runs the online language school New Chinese in Beijing.
Political scientist Wu Nai-teh campaigned for the democratization of Taiwan at a time when the island was still under martial law. Fabian Peltsch spoke with him about how this period needs to be reappraised and how the identity of Taiwan today is also shaped by matters of military defense.
Our second analysis looks at the case of Marije Vlaskamp. The Dutch journalist has become the target of an intimidation campaign that supposedly originated in Beijing. Bomb threats have even been faked in her name and that of dissident Wang Jingyu. Activists and politicians are now calling for a clear message to China, as Stephan Israel writes.
The Heads section today introduces a man who will be important this week: Li Hui, the Chinese government’s special envoy, is heading to Ukraine today. For the first time since the beginning of the war, China is sending a high-ranking diplomat for talks. In addition to Ukraine, he is also expected in Poland, Germany, France and Russia.
As a political scientist and author, you were advocating for democratizing Taiwan at a time when the island was still under martial law – a very risky thing to do.
The magazines we published were often banned from circulation, sometimes confiscated, or rather robbed, by security forces. My impression was few people at that time were much concerned with the risk issue. We were too immersed in writing articles advocating democracy, publishing magazines, as well as doing grassroots and trade union organizing.
As a scientist, you then could not find employment for several years.
My major was political science and my dissertation was about the consolidation of the authoritarian regime in Taiwan. In the 1980s, the mainstream issue in American political science was the transition to democracy. I did the opposite: I wanted to answer why and how an authoritarian regime could have consolidated itself for several decades on an island it had never ruled.
I encountered some serious problems in finding employment after returning to Taiwan with a Ph.D. in political science from the University of Chicago. I was lucky because it was the time when Taiwan’s media was in the process of being liberated. With much attention from the mass media on my case, the authority of Academia Sinica finally accepted the decision from faculties in the Institute of Ethnology, who had accepted my application with unanimous votes two years earlier.
Coming to terms with the martial law era is a process that still divides Taiwan’s society today. You recently published an article that once again focuses on the Chiang Kai-shek Memorial, a monument in the heart of Taipei that still attracts tourists today, but dates back to the time of the dictatorship. What problem do you have with it?
The historical memory of Chiang Kai-shek and also his son Chiang Ching-kuo, are quite divided. Some people in Taiwan still admire Chiang Kaishek for his contribution in fighting against the Japanese and then against the Chinese communists, albeit being defeated. But what many native Taiwanese remember is the slaughtering of many Taiwanese elites, doctors, lawyers, scholars, and intellectuals by his army in 1947, as well as the “white terror” lasting for four decades under the rule of him and his son.
My essay contends that if different historical memories cannot be ‘unified’ into a single one, which cannot be done, especially in a democracy, each can at least respect each other’s memory. Each side can hold and advocate its own memory and, in the meantime, live, work and thrive together by the rules of democracy. But the Chiang Kai-sheck Memorial Hall, and also the recently established Chiang Ching-kuo Memorial Library, are against the principle of mutual respect. They actually are insults to the other memory.
Although Taiwanese people have different views about their identity, almost everyone agrees that the Taiwanese people should decide the country’s future. What do you think of the recent geopolitical focus on Taiwan? Does the attention help the Taiwanese cause, or does it rather endanger the island’s democratic future?
It seems to me that there is also consensus that we should not provoke the Chinese government, a hostile regime with much stronger military power. No one wants war. The problem is, no one knows where the red line is. If you do not know where the red line is, you do not know what not to do so as not to cross it.
The first time China wielded military threat on Taiwan was in 1996, by firing missiles into the waters surrounding Taiwan. What did Taiwan do at that time to provoke China? Taiwan was undergoing presidential election by popular vote for the first time in history. It was a common practice and a basic principle of democracy. So China was provoked. Without knowing where the red line is, some people even said that Taiwan should have advised Pelosi not to come so as not to provoke China. This thinking will keep Taiwan isolated, not only diplomatically but also militarily.
Do you think that the citizens of Taiwan would defend their island with the same determination as the Ukrainians defend their country against the Russians?
Nobody can answer the question until there is actually a war. But one can confidently say that people in Taiwan intend to protect their country. As you know, for many years, Taiwan’s compulsory military service has been only four months. The journal Foreign Policy named it a ‘national joke’, compared to two years of military service in South Korea and Singapore. A couple of months ago, it was finally extended to one year. When it comes to the will to fight, political leaders play an important role in mobilizing the national will. Winston Churchill during WWII was a good example. We are still waiting for the coming of a leader, who is willing to and capable of mobilizing the national will to defend ourselves.
What role do civil defense groups play in Taiwan’s defense today, for instance, the “Forward Alliance” founded by your son Enoch Wu?
This kind of work actually should be done by the government. This kind of training needs an enormous amount of resources, human, material and organizational. It is because the government did not do anything about it, the civil society takes responsibility on its shoulder. The good news is people are responding warmly and actively to the program. The Forward Alliance has been offering classes and camps around the country, having trained thousands of people so far.
How much hope do you have for negotiations with Mainland China over Taiwan’s future?
The future of China-Taiwan relations depends very much on the development of China. A democratic China will be more tolerant of Taiwan’s finding its own way and more willing to negotiate with Taiwan. A prosperous China will be an allure to many people in Taiwan. Before that happens, there is not much Taiwan can do, except to make itself stronger economically and militarily to defend itself.
Should there be more exchanges between young people from China and Taiwan?
Yes, the more the better. I personally knew some Chinese college students in Taiwan. They so much enjoyed the freedom and relaxed way of life in Taiwan. Some still correspond with me after they returned to China. Think about that: The children of many Chinese government officials, high-ranking party cadres and economic elites live in the West. Chinese communists intend to force the Taiwanese to become subjects of the People’s Republic of China, while allowing their own children to renounce it and live happy lives in the West. That says a lot.
Wu Nai-teh 吳乃德, born in Taichung in 1949, is a researcher at the Sociology Institute of Academia Sinica and an influential theorist of Taiwan’s democratization. He was editor-in-chief of the Taiwan Journal of Political Science (1997-1999) and founding president of the Taiwan Political Science Association (1995-1997). His main field of research is political sociology and Taiwanese identity. His brother Wu Nai-ren is the former Secretary General of the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP). His son Enoch Wu supports civil defense with the Forward Alliance and was named by Time magazine in 2022 to its “100 Next”, an annual list of 100 people who are having a decisive impact on the future of their country.
Marije Vlaskamp knows how the Chinese authorities operate when they want to silence someone. After all, the Dutch journalist reported from Beijing as a correspondent for almost 25 years before returning to The Hague. And still, she is shocked. In April, the 54-year-old described in detail in the newspaper “de Volkskrant” how she had become the target of a massive intimidation campaign. Including a staged bomb threat in her name and the name of Wang Jingyu, one of her interlocutors from the Chinese dissident scene.
This prompted Marije Vlaskamp and her editorial team to tell the story to the public. The journalist had accompanied Wang since he fled China and reached the Netherlands and used his story as an example to describe how China terrorizes dissidents and critics even in exile.
Then, in the fall, the situation escalated: Wang received new threats over the messaging service Telegram, in which he was called a “traitor” and told to keep his mouth shut. He was told to stop giving interviews, delete his Twitter account and make sure that articles about him were taken off the Internet. “One tip from me and the police will arrest you and your journalist friend,” was the last message.
Almost simultaneously, Vlaskamp and Wang received booking confirmations for the same hotel in The Hague’s government quarter near the Chinese embassy, which they had never made. The journalist was ultimately alarmed when she learned of a bomb threat on the news and that the police had cordoned off the government quarter. A short time later, another bomb threat followed in her name against China’s embassy in Oslo.
The Chinese regime usually uses this psychological warfare tactic against former Chinese citizens, dissidents, Uyghurs or Tibetans, says Vlaskamp. She wrote that it was probably the first time unknown individuals threatened a Dutch journalist outside of China in the name of the Chinese state.
The assailants do not even try to cover up their background. The embassy itself alerted the police to the alleged bomb threat and reportedly also mentioned the names of Vlaskamp and Wang. The bomb threats and hotel reservations could be traced back to IP addresses in China and Hong Kong, the Dutch judicial authorities also reported.
The NGO Reporters Without Borders has called on the authorities to identify the culprits behind the hoax bomb threats in the name of two journalists in the Netherlands and Germany. The Chinese journalist Su Yutong, who lives in Germany and reports for the Free Asia channel, was similarly subjected to massive pressure. Hotels in Berlin, New York, Houston, Los Angeles and Istanbul were booked in her name. Hoax bomb threats followed them. “These particularly vicious methods, although anonymous, bear all the characteristics of the Chinese regime’s intimidation tactics,” the NGO said.
Dutch MEP Bart Groothuis, an expert in the fight against disinformation and foreign influence, shares a similar view. He speaks of the handwriting of the United Front Work Department, an instrument of the Chinese Communist Party to silence critics, including abroad. “The attack on Marije Vlaskamp is a new signal of what China is willing to do to silence people in the West as well,” says the politician from Premier Mark Rutte’s right-wing liberal ruling party.
By now, there are hardly any female scientists or universities in the West investigating the fate of the Uyghurs, the end of freedom in Hong Kong or the United Front network, for example. They say they have to fear that contacts will be harassed or that they will be arrested when traveling abroad, for instance, because of the extradition agreements between China and many countries around the world.
Groothuis believes that intelligence services and security authorities have an obligation. For a long time, he says, the focus has been on Russia while the danger posed by China has been neglected. Moreover, it is no use summoning Chinese ambassadors and protesting. “We must clearly tell China that hostile influence and intimidation campaigns have an economic price.”
Groothuis is not calling for decoupling from China. Instead, the EU should take a closer look at investments from China, Russia and Iran, always with a focus on possible security risks for Western democracies. The MEP sees this as a central task for the next EU Commission.
Alerk Ablikim also has clear words. The Dutch-born Uyghur is co-founder of a platform of various immigrant groups, including those from Turkey, Morocco, Eritrea and Belarus, who are mobilizing against foreign influence. He says the case of Marije Vlaskamp shows how big the problem of intimidation by foreign regimes in Europe has become. Immigrants from China, Turkey, Morocco or Eritrea would suffer daily from the long arm of their home countries. It is not enough to set up a hotline and make espionage more punishable, as the Dutch government is planning to do, says Ablikim.
In an open letter, the platform urges the government in The Hague to appoint a national coordinator: “Foreign interference – including intimidation – is a growing social problem that threatens Dutch democracy.” Politicians in general need to react more decisively, says co-initiator Ablikim.
The activist cites the case of illegal police stations used by China to harass opposition activists. China also operated two stations in the Netherlands. The stations in Rotterdam and Amsterdam were closed after protests. Unlike in the USA, however, there have been no arrests or other consequences. This is like an invitation to China, Ablikim says. The activist demands that Europe draw red lines against hostile interference more clearly in the future and that Western democracies oppose transnational repression more decisively. Stephan Israel
He was China’s ambassador to Moscow for ten years, and now he is set to take to the big stage: Li Hui, the Special Representative of the Chinese Government on Eurasian Affairs since 2019, will depart for Ukraine, Europe and Russia on Monday. In his telephone conversation with Ukraine’s President Volodymyr Zelenskiy, Xi Jinping recently announced that he would send the 70-year-old Li to Kyiv as a special envoy.
These kinds of special envoys are part of the diplomatic toolkit for conflict regions. For example, the USA has repeatedly dispatched special envoys to the Middle East or former Yugoslavia to find possible ways to achieve peace there. They are mostly political heavyweights. Li Hui, too, had made it to the position of vice foreign minister before his ambassadorship.
Li Hui will now be traveling in Europe starting this week. He will visit Ukraine, Russia, Poland, Germany and France, the Foreign Ministry announced in Beijing on Friday – and “communicate with all parties on the political solution to the Ukraine crisis.” The Foreign Ministry did not specify the order. And, as usual, it avoided the word “war.”
So who is the man Xi has entrusted with this monumental task? Li Hui, a veteran expert on Russia and the Soviet Union, has extensive knowledge of the region. As ambassador in Moscow, he networked with the world and probably gained insight into the realm of the Russian political elite surrounding President Vladimir Putin like no other top diplomat in his country. Before leaving his post as ambassador in 2019, Putin awarded him the Russian Order of Friendship.
But precisely because of his close ties to Moscow, expectations in Europe of Li and his mission are fairly low. Ultimately, he has the same credibility problem as Xi’s government. On the one hand, China aspires to be a peace mediator and presented a twelve-point paper on resolving the conflict – and on the other hand, it does not lose a single critical word about the Russian invasion. Foreign Office spokesperson Mao Ning brushed aside all concerns in late April: “The Special Representative appointed by China is certainly someone well-versed in relevant affairs and capable of playing a positive role in facilitating talks for peace.”
Born in 1953 in the northeastern province of Heilongjiang bordering Russia, Li Hui speaks fluent Russian and is said to have a fondness for Russian literature. He spent practically his entire career in the environment of the Soviet Union and later Russia. He worked in the USSR and Europe Department of the Foreign Ministry as a young man from 1975 to 1981. He returned to it repeatedly and even headed it for some time.
What is particularly remarkable is how often Li Hui was stationed in Moscow. Between 1981 and 1985, he held various positions at the Chinese Embassy in the USSR. Later, in 1990-1992, he was First Secretary of the Embassy – which officially became the embassy in the Russian Federation after 1991.
What is most remarkable is how often Li Hui was stationed in Moscow. From 1981 to 1985, he held various positions at the Chinese Embassy in the USSR. Then from 1990-1992, he was the First Secretary of the Embassy – which officially became the embassy in the Russian Federation after 1991. Li thus experienced the collapse of the Soviet Union firsthand – an event that China’s communists still see as a catastrophe today, causing them to hold their grip on power all the more tightly.
Li Hui was subsequently stationed twice at the embassy in Kazakhstan, and at least got to know the world of an ex-Soviet republic and its complicated relations with Moscow – even though the Central Asian country has little in common with Ukraine apart from a large Russian minority. Li then continued to rise through the ranks, briefly serving as vice foreign minister in 2008 and 2009. In 2009, Li was appointed ambassador to Moscow.
It is not known what Li Hui personally thinks about the war and his mission, or whether his opinion of Russia has changed due to the war. In any case, Li cannot view the situation through Russian lenses to be heard, especially in Kyiv. His mission is further complicated by the fact that neither Moscow nor Kyiv is currently seriously interested in negotiations. Both sides are more interested in creating military facts; Ukraine is about to launch a major counteroffensive. So Li Hui will need tremendous skill if he is to have any chance of achieving any diplomatic progress. Christiane Kuehl
Saddle bags, flabby bellies, hooked noses – when it comes to our own appearance, we’re hard on ourselves. In our self-confidence body screening, every pore is closely analyzed. That was already the case even before selfies and Instagram. But have you ever thought about the beauty score of your eyelid crease when you look in the mirror? (Not counting swollen eyelids after all-nighters and tearful breakups, of course!) Have you ever been horrified because there’s so little “eyelid mass” visible after you’ve blinked your eyes? While Europeans undergo surgery to get full lips and straight noses, the Chinese are wary of another supposed beauty flaw: the eyelid (眼皮 yǎnpí).
Because the beauty standard in China (as well as in many other Southeast Asian countries, by the way) is: “double eyelid wrinkle” – in Chinese 双眼皮 shuāngyǎnpí (quite literally: “double eye skin“). According to data from Statista from 2021, eyelid plastic surgery even ranks third in cosmetic surgery worldwide – right after liposuction and breast enlargement with silicone.
For all those who are now rubbing their eyes and asking what the hell a “double eyelid crease” is supposed to be: This is the term used to describe an eyelid shape where, when the eye is open, a fold of skin appears between the edge of the eyelid (that’s where the eyelashes are) and the upper skin (where parts of the eyelid disappear underneath). An upper eyelid without a crease is called a “single eyelid” (单眼皮 dānyǎnpí) in Asian. It is considered less aesthetic, as the so-called “double eyelid” (with crease) makes the eye look bigger and the owners “friendlier” and “more alert”. Not to forget: In women, a “double eyelid” also provides more free space for eyeshadow when applying makeup.
Between us: Double- and single-lid have not been part of your active Western vocabulary so far? Don’t fret. For us as Westerners, this linguistic distinction is also less relevant. That’s why some Mandarin learners sense beauty fashion jargon when they encounter these two terms for the first time. However, they quickly realize that shuāngyǎnpí and dānyǎnpí are common everyday vocabulary in Chinese to describe the eye region. The fact that this optical nuance is definitely worth mentioning from a Chinese perspective is because of the special anatomy of the Asian eye.
Those who do not count many people from the Asian region amongst their acquaintances often believe that Asians generally do not have an upper eyelid crease and that this would be the decisive difference to the “European” upper eyelid. However, this is not the case. What distinguishes the “Asian” eye from our “European” eye is the so-called epicanthus. In medical terminology, it is called “epicanthus medialis” (from ancient Greek ἐπί ep – “on, above” plus κανθός kanthós – “corner of the eye” as well as Latin medialis – “towards the center”). Sometimes this area of skin is also called the epicanthic fold. It is a special upper eyelid crease that starts directly at the corner of the eyelid located towards the nose and then runs parallel or laterally rising to the edge of the eyelashes. This means that the greatest distance between the upper eyelid crease and the lower eyelid edge (eyelashes) is never in the middle in the Asian eye – as is the case with our “European” eye, whose eyelid lid looks crescent-shaped – but the distance usually increases towards the outer corner of the eye.
By the way, why people in Asia have a different, almond-shaped eye form has not been definitively determined. The most likely answer is that their ancestors once lived in climatically unfavorable regions with strong sunlight and harsh wind conditions. An environment in which the narrower palpebral fissure could have provided a genetic advantage. Among other things, it probably provided better protection against the penetration of dust particles and other foreign bodies because it better closed the inner corner of the eyelid. This favorable characteristic was then probably passed on and is still characteristic of many members of the East and Southeast Asian peoples from Mongolia to Thailand. To clear up this prejudice, the narrower palpebral fissure does not create a visual disadvantage.
If the entire upper eyelid “disappears” under the upper skin when the eyes are opened, we are looking at a single eyelid. If a crease remains, we are looking at a double eyelid. So far so good. Unfortunately, I have to tell you that this is not all when it comes to Chinese beauty matters. The Chinese also make a meticulous distinction between 外双 (wàishuāng) and 内双 (nèishuāng), i.e. eyes with an outer or inner “double eyelid fold”.
Stay with me now. The whole thing is quickly explained: In the wàishuāng variant, a distinct (fleshy) eyelid crease peeks out from under the epicanthus. A classic (Asian) “double eyelid”, as it is considered attractive. The nèishuāng variant, on the other hand, looks almost like a single eyelid to laymen. Nèishuāng owners themselves, however, will fervently explain to you that there is an eyelid crease after all (which is indeed true). It is only so narrow that it is hardly visible when the eye is open. However, when the eye is closed, a distinct crease furrow is visible on the eyelid. So, strictly speaking, it is a double eyelid, only a minimally pronounced one, which almost completely “disappears”. Many Chinese, however, attach importance to this subtle difference!
And what exactly do beauty-conscious Asians “order” from a cosmetic surgeon? Contrary to what one might sometimes mistakenly assume, Asian patients do not usually request a “westernization” of the eye, i.e. a typical European eyelid with a half-moon shape of the eyelid crease in relation to the edge of the eyelid. Such an eye lid would also look rather out of place in the rather flat face of fellow Asians, beauty surgeons explain.
More importantly, however, removing an epicanthus often results in severe scarring and is therefore not recommended. Double eyelid plastic surgery (割双眼皮 gē shuāngyǎnpí – “to have an upper eyelid crease cut”) usually involves instead creating an upper eyelid crease in the first place (in the case of a previous single eyelid) or changing the position of the existing upper eyelid crease so that the eyelid crease becomes larger (for example, in the case of an inner double eyelid crease (内双 nèishuāng) or a less pronounced double eyelid).
But maybe we should just turn a blind eye when looking in the mirror anyway (In Chinese it is called 睁一只眼闭一只眼 zhēng yī zhī yǎn, bì yī zhī yǎn – “open one eye and close one eye”) or simply looking less into it altogether. Because as the saying goes: out of sight, out of mind. Or in Chinese: 眼不见心不烦 yǎn bù jiàn, xīn bù fán – “what the eye does not see, the heart does not care”. Instead, let’s keep our eyes on the important things. After all, all eyes are beautiful, be it with a double or single eyelid crease, with epicanthus, or without.
Verena Menzel runs the online language school New Chinese in Beijing.