Islam in Taiwan: From Quanzhou Guo-clan Ancestors to the Faith Mosaic of 300,000 Migrant Workers

30-second overview: Islam in Taiwan is not an imported alien culture — it is an ancient memory buried deep within the island's bloodline. From the descendants of Quanzhou "Huiding" (回丁, Muslim-ethnic settlers) who came with Zheng Chenggong in the late Ming and early Qing, to today's 260,000 Indonesian Muslim migrant workers who support Taiwan's long-term care sector and fishing industry, this faith has undergone a fantastical journey in Taiwan — from assimilation into disappearance to multicultural flowering.

In 1994, a scholar from Fujian's Quanzhou named Zhuang Jinghui set foot in Taixi Township, Yunlin. He was astonished to discover that this remote fishing village, where Ding (丁) was the dominant surname, had bloodline connections — severed for two hundred years — to Muslim families in Quanzhou's Chendai (陳埭).¹ This was not an isolated case. In Changhua's Lukang, in the northern neighborhood known as Guo-cuo (郭厝), residents enshrine Guo Ziyi — yet when holding ancestral ceremonies, they observe the peculiar taboo of not offering pork.² These descendants of "Hui people" (回民) sealed by history, together with the Indonesian migrant workers today praying in Taipei Main Station's lobby, jointly piece together the most authentic face of Islam in Taiwan.

The Vanished "Huiding": Islamic Codes Hidden in Ancestor Worship

Taiwan's first wave of Islam arrived as early as the 17th century. Among the civilians and soldiers who came to Taiwan with Zheng Chenggong were large numbers of Hui-people descendants from Quanzhou, most notably the "Baiqi Guo clan" (白奇郭姓) and the "Chendai Ding clan" (陳埭丁姓).³

The ancestors of these families were mostly Arab or Persian merchants who had come to Quanzhou during the Yuan dynasty; under the chaos of the late Yuan "Yisibaxie" (亦思巴奚) wars and the early Ming's exclusionary policies, they were forced to go into hiding, taking on Han Chinese surnames and moving to the countryside.⁴ After arriving in Taiwan, surrounded by the powerful Hokkien Han culture, their faith gradually "dried out."

📝 Curator's Note: Faith can vanish — but taboos become memory like genetic code, preserved on the dinner table and the ancestral altar.

Today, Lukang's Guo families and Taixi's Ding families have for the most part ceased to follow Islam, and like Han Chinese they burn incense before their ancestors. Yet history's traces remain stubbornly present:

• Lukang Guo-cuo: Some family members do not offer pork at ancestral ceremonies — and some even have a family precept of "not eating pork" — though they no longer understand the religious meaning behind it.⁵
• Taixi Ding clan: Known as "the Aladdins of Taixi," their ancestor Ding Su migrated from Quanzhou's Chendai during the Qianlong reign; their genealogy explicitly records their Central Asian lineage.⁶

"In the physical education class of 15, I belonged to the back group; Qi-lin was in the front group."⁷ This kind of pursuit of identity and belonging also exists in a different form among Taiwanese Hui descendants — in the process of tracing their roots, they rediscover their connection to a distant Central Asia.

The Second and Third Waves: From Generals to Caregivers

In 1949, the Nationalist government's retreat to Taiwan brought a second wave of Muslim immigrants. This group of approximately 20,000 "Han-language Muslims" were mostly military personnel and civil servants; the most prominent among them was Minister of National Defense Bai Chongxi.³ They established Taiwan's first mosque on Lishui Street in Taipei, transforming Islam from "hidden family precepts" into "institutionalized religion."

However, the force that made Islam truly "visible" on Taiwan's streets was the third wave of immigrants: Southeast Asian migrant workers who began arriving in large numbers after the 1990s.

Data source: Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Ministry of Interior statistics (2025)⁸⁹

Taipei Main Station's Black-and-White Checkerboard: A Spiritual Oasis for People Far from Home

During Eid al-Fitr, Taipei Main Station's black-and-white checkered lobby floor fills with Indonesian Muslims dressed in brightly colored traditional clothing. This once sparked controversy about "invading the station" — but for migrant workers like Desin, this is the only "home" they have in Taiwan.¹⁰

"To accommodate migrant workers in a friendly manner, the Main Station added a Muslim prayer room and directional signage on the basement level, so that Muslims no longer have to sneak prayers in corners."¹⁰ This contestation and empowerment of space reflects a shift in Taiwanese society's attitude toward Islam.

📝 Curator's Note: A city's progress is measured not by how many skyscrapers it has, but by whether it can make room for a prayer mat.

Yet challenges remain. In 2010, there was a scandal in which employers forced Indonesian Muslims to eat pork, drawing international attention.¹¹ Even by 2025, the number of mosques across Taiwan remains sparse, and many home caregivers — given the nature of their work — find it difficult to attend a mosque on Jumu'ah (Friday prayers).¹²

Closing: The Crescent Moon on the Island

From Quanzhou to Taixi, from Jakarta to Taipei, the history of Islam in Taiwan is an epic of "adaptation" and "perseverance." A minority of Taiwanese people's ancestors once hid their faith to survive; today's migrant workers strive in a foreign land to let the light of their faith shine.

When we see on the street a caregiver wearing a hijab, pushing an elderly person for a walk — that is not simply labor importation. It is the most recent piece of this island's four-hundred-year Islamic mosaic. Taiwan's Muslims are no longer simply "Hui-people descendants" or "foreign workers" — they are the most tender and most resilient crescent moon within this land's multicultural landscape.

References: