The Long Shadow: Taiwan in the Eye of the Storm
This is the fourth part in a collaborative series between CHL and student Oskah Dunnin, who undertook a Masters of Asian and Pacific Studies. You can read more about him here. This month, we present interviews conducted during Oskah’s stay in Taiwan in October last year. All images in this feature are Oskah Dunnin's photography.
Taiwan’s fraught relationship with China has long fascinated security scholars, and rightly so. The prospect of any cross-strait conflict demands global attention.
The reasons for concern are obvious. Over one-fifth of global maritime trade passes between China and Taiwan, and roughly 90 per cent of the world’s most advanced computer chips, powering everything from your new electronic smart fridge to the American F-35 fighter jet, are manufactured on the island.
Importantly, a direct clash between China and Taiwan would almost certainly draw in the United States and its network of regional allies.
Even in far-off Australia, where we are often made lazy by our geographical isolation, a cross-strait war would hit uncomfortably close. China is our largest trading partner, and when its ability to receive Australian iron ore, steel and other resources weakens, our economy shudders.
The danger of war across the Taiwan Strait grows increasingly acute. Any miscalculation or accident now carries the risk of turning the key that finally unlocks Pandora’s box.
My flight into Taiwan was met by the anger of Typhoon Krathon. The 240km/h winds jerked the plane one way then another, and slammed us into the ground as we reached the tarmac. While Krathon’s devastation focused on the southern city Kaohsiung, its power was firm even up north.
Across Taipei, a government shutdown order meant businesses were shuttered for days at a time. The streets were equally silent, blistered by heavy winds and dour sky.
It became evident why such closures were necessary. On every news channel, footage from Kaohsiung showed cars rolled over, caved-in roofs and uprooted trees. By the time Krathon dissipated, the typhoon had claimed 18 lives, injured 731 people, and caused an estimated US$48.1 million in damage.
At the same time, another threat went largely unacknowledged by locals.
During Krathon’s reign, Taiwan’s Defence Ministry raised the alarm as Chinese personnel began live-fire military exercises around Taiwanese waters. Similarly, China’s Rocket Force successfully test fired multiple waves of missiles on the mainland, and even test fired a rarely used intercontinental ballistic missile.
Taiwan’s proximity to China places it within easy range for mainland missile strikes. It is no doubt a coincidence that China just so happens to wield the world’s largest land-based missile inventory.
Interview One
“People just want the status quo.”
10 October is a special day on the Taiwanese calendar. The National Day, colloquially known as Double Ten Day, is a celebration of all things Taiwan. As one can imagine, it is immensely political.
From American-made Chinook military helicopters flying the flag over Taipei’s skyline, to elaborate light shows celebrating Taiwanese semiconductor manufacturers with fireworks in the national colours at Taipei 101, Double Ten Day is in many ways an indictment against China.
Newly-elected President Lai Ching-te’s speech came in at 20 minutes, but one sentence stood out: “The People’s Republic of China has no right to represent Taiwan.”
Three days later, I received a WhatsApp message, ‘How’s Taiwan? Saw the news China is circling it…’
China’s military had surrounded Taiwan in an exercise designed to demonstrate the mainland’s wartime capacity and ability to enforce a military blockade of the island. Again, locals and journalists alike hardly touched upon what at the time was a concerning act of provocation.
“It’s not something my friends talk about, really. Chinese war games and missiles are the norm for us these days. You’ll often see fighter jets being flown in our south at the military bases.
It’s just a commonplace fact of everyday life.
China wants us to be Chinese, and our politicians want us to be Taiwanese. I think most people just want the status quo, like how things were even just a few years ago. We know that going to war with China is not going to end well for us, let alone anyone else in the world.”
Interview Two
“In Taiwan you have to grow your muscles.”
As the Double Ten Day military parade ended, with colourful smoke still wafting overhead from the fighter jet flyover, I dropped my camera film off to be developed. On my way back to the hostel, a barista I had photographed earlier asked if I knew about the Taoist festival up the road.
I heard the festival, and quickly ran up the street lured by the sound of bashing drums and nasal trumpets. As I followed the parade, a devotee approached me and we began talking.
“My grandpa says that in Taiwan you have to grow your muscles.
He was a farmer who worked hard his whole life, and all those big muscles are really important to anyone who works in the fields. But really it doesn’t matter what the work is, or who you are, what you are… just go and grow those muscles.
When I was young, grandpa taught me to draw, and because of the farm we’d draw chickens, ducks, cows, sheep and geese. He was also our local temple host, so when my mother and father were too busy, I’d bring my homework to the temple and study with him. We basically spent every night there together.”
“I’m not superstitious, but I am religious, and although I don’t really do all the psychic things associated with Taoism, I do pray. For me this religion isn’t about healing sickness, it’s about having a family who have all died very young. One of my uncles died at only five or six years old, and my family misses him a lot.
We all want to know, how is his soul, his spirit, does he rest in peace?
This faith has given me that peace. When I’m lost, I go to the temple and pray to the God I believe in. As a kid going to temple with my grandpa, I wasn’t sure what religion meant to me, but the more I get into it, the more I realise it’s about how we relate to other people.
I think not many people are sure what religion is, they just go to the temple with their family and they don’t really get it. To me this is about helping each other, helping the people I love and helping the people I might not even know. So, we pray for ourselves, for others, and even lost souls.
On this day, we call upon all the spirits in this area to listen to the gods so they can be sent to a better place.”
As we shook hands and thanked each other for our time, I asked what he wanted for the future. He looked at me and said, “I’ll need to find a new home. I don’t know how long my home here can last.”
Interview Three
“There are no terms for negotiation.”
In many ways, Hong Kong has served as a cautionary tale for Taiwan.
After Hong Kong's 2019 pro-democracy protests, Taiwan issued 10,813 resident permits and over 1,576 permanent residency permits, almost double the previous year.
As one Hong Konger I met remarked, “We’re all frogs in boiling water.”
For some, moving to Taiwan allows for a better quality of life and a much lower cost of living. To others, however, Taiwan represents a means to escape political suppression and mainland control at home.
I arranged to sit down for coffee with a Hong Konger I had met some days prior. We agreed basic terms: no photo, and no audio recording. Instead, we passed a phone back and forth, typing questions and answers to one another. The reason? Even in a small Taiwanese cafe, you don’t know who is listening.
“People live a life of white terror while others choose to live in the present and accept whatever ideas are told to us. I work in design and I see everyday how people censor themselves more and more creatively.
It feels like we’ve become walking zombies.
Everyone in this city is overwhelmed. Most of the old buildings, even the small local shops, have closed down one after another without proper government support.”
“Before this, people could talk freely and even make criticism. There were TV programs dedicated to speaking out and discussing politics in community zones like Victoria Park.
If something went against the people’s livelihood, most of it could be overturned and put back up for discussion again. Today, all you can do is try to survive by passing on your ideas.
Most people who would agree with me have already left. Today all our votes are in the hands of unknown government officials. If people talk out they risk being accused of colluding with foreign powers. There’s a chance someone will report you.
It’s a fundamental reality that there are no terms for negotiation when the force is not equal.
There are no resources for us to struggle with like Ukraine. We’re no longer a small Chinese city. Today Hong Kong’s multiculturalism is only a place for shopping and consumption.”
Interview Four
“They don’t know what they don’t know.”
Ultimately, Taiwan’s identity isn’t limited to military parades and Taoist festivals, it lives in the streets.
For the over 180,000 attendees of Taipei Pride, the Taiwanese flag flies with the rainbow as a public declaration of identity and belonging. Both affirm a belief in life itself, even when overshadowed by looming missile tests, roaring fighter jets and live-fire war games.
In 2019, just two months after Hong Kong’s pro-democracy protests, Taiwan became the first Asian nation to legalise same-sex marriage. It led some to speculate if China would do the same.
“I was born into a family that, by Asian standards, was relatively open and accepting.
My parents often took us out to explore the world, and surrounded themselves with wonderful friends who encouraged us to travel and read. I’m turning 24 this year, and over the years I’ve visited quite a few countries and kept up my reading habit.
I often hold long conversations with myself, thinking, reflecting, and feeling anxious or lost along the way. Staying curious, and understanding I don’t know what I don’t know have stayed with me.
After moving to Canada, I noticed that most students here are confident and outspoken. In contrast, many of us, shaped by our education, are afraid of making mistakes.
When others question why I want to do things they themselves have never done, I tell myself I’d rather try and fail than live with regret. I grew up in Taiwan, and for the first 22 years of my life, I was surrounded by elders afraid of change. It’s understandable. The unknown is frightening. Many parents want their children to take familiar, “safe” paths, so they make the unfamiliar sound dangerous.
But they don’t know what they don’t know, and neither do I.”
Taiwan is bound by resilience, and its future is marked by uncertainty. It’s a strange coexistence, where people resign themselves to the worst while insisting on living the best they can. While fighter jets rip across the sky, and flags bustle in typhoon winds, beneath it all are people struggling to determine a future.
From the security perspective, it is easy to say the future looks anything but safe. China’s maw holds wide over Taiwan. The likelihood of war and its consequences are as equally intense as they are nightmarish.
On the personal level, largely ignored in the world of analysis and theory, the temples remain open and the parades continue as Taiwan waits under the shadow of something vast. Whether the shadow will ever break is uncertain but not impossible, and for those who live here, the act of carrying on is enough.
Yet that quiet defiance is Taiwan encapsulated: to live as if the storm will never come, even when everyone knows it's already forming offshore.
The ANU School of Culture, History and Language has partnered with former CHL student Oskah to share some of the stories he captured on camera during his travels across Asia. We look forward to continue sharing these stories with you as part of this series.
