Four Yardsticks Beyond Blue and Green: From a Plot of Land to a National Health Insurance Card—Taiwanese Policies That Outlived Their Partisan Origins

30-Second Overview: A reader on Threads expressed being tired of the constant bickering between the Blue and Green camps; they just want to remember the things that are truly good for Taiwan and can endure. This article identifies eleven policies from the past seventy years for them—ranging from the authoritarian land reform involving compulsory land acquisition to the Forward-looking Infrastructure program, which is still being debated in 2026. We deliberately avoid measuring with Blue or Green yardsticks, opting instead for four metrics: Livelihood (has daily life improved?), Democracy (has the power to rule been returned to the people?), Civil Rights (are the rights of minorities being protected?), and Sovereignty (can Taiwan stand tall before the world?). These four metrics do not ask "who did it," but rather "what has it left behind for the people living on this island." The conclusion is somewhat counter-intuitive: policies that truly outlive their own politics are often the ones that were most fiercely contested on the day they were born.

During dinner, the television is on, broadcasting political talk shows. One guest slams the table, accusing the opposing party of selling out Taiwan; another guest sneers, calling them a corrupt clique. Change the channel to another show—it's the same drama, just different people in the seats. A reader—commenting under a post on Taiwan.md, known online as lov3ngine—says they are sick of it. They don't want to remember which party won which war of words. In their own words, they want to remember "looking back after the dust has settled, which livelihoods, democracies, and civil rights were truly beneficial to Taiwan." They cited several examples: the lifting of martial law, the Ten Major Construction Projects, the jie-ji-yong-ren (restriction on high-tech exports) policy, and the Forward-looking Infrastructure program. Both Blue and Green policies are included.

This article is an answer to that reader, but two things must be clarified first, otherwise the argument lacks a foundation.

First, this article uses four metrics to measure policy: Livelihood, Democracy, Civil Rights, and Sovereignty. These four metrics are not neutral standards dropped from the sky; they were proposed by lov3ngine. Their original wording was "livelihood, democracy, and civil rights," combined with a passage discussing whether Taiwan can stand tall in the world. I have organized them into four. They certainly carry a reader's value orientation and do not pretend to be purely objective. However, these four metrics share one commonality that is exactly what lov3ngine wanted: they all ask "is there long-term benefit for those living here," without any of them asking "who did this." In other words, using these four metrics means kicking the variable of "Blue or Green" out of the equation from the start. Laying this choice out in the open is far more honest than pretending these four metrics are physical constants.

Second, this entire article is "hindsight," and that is precisely its methodology; there is no need for apology. lov3ngine himself said it is about "looking back after the dust has settled." No one used these four metrics back then. During the year land reform was implemented, rural areas only knew "supporting the government" or "not daring to speak up." On the eve of the lifting of martial law, society only knew the "non-KMT" (dangwai) and the "party" (dang). These four metrics are a luxury available only to later generations. Therefore, what this article does is deliberately change the unit of measurement to look back: while we currently use Blue and Green yardsticks to measure policy, time uses these other four. Whether a policy can outlive its partisan origins has nothing to do with who implemented it or how fiercely it was debated at birth; what matters is what it leaves behind for Taiwan's livelihood, freedom, rights, and ability to stand in the world decades later.

First, let's look at the skeleton of these seventy years. The eleven items on the timeline below span from the authoritarian era to the contemporary age, implemented by figures ranging from Chiang Kai-shek, Chiang Ching-kuo, Lee Teng-hui, and Lien Chan, to Chen Shui-bian, Ma Ying-jeou, and Tsai Ing-wen. In other words, both Blue and Green (along with the KMT during the authoritarian era) are represented here.

Source: Compilation of historical materials and reports cited in various sections (Land Reform, Nine Years of Compulsory Education, Ten Major Construction Projects, Lifting of Martial Law, Direct Presidential Election, NHI, Same-Sex Marriage; see footnotes)

Next, we will examine them in four groups. Each group will honestly describe the controversies present on the day they were born. Describing these controversies is not to diminish the policies; quite the opposite: those very controversies are exactly what these policies had to "outlive."

The Authoritarian Hand That Planted the Fruits of Livelihood

The hardest group to discuss is this one. This is because they were all driven by the ruling Kuomintang during the authoritarian era using methods that, by today's standards, are highly problematic: compulsory land requisition, tax hikes, debt accumulation, and decisions made by a single individual. However, if measured by the yardstick of people's livelihoods, these actions did indeed improve many lives. To "whitewash" them through lies—pretending they left nothing good behind—is also a lie. One cannot do either.

It begins with a piece of farmland. Starting in 1949, Taiwan transformed its rural land through three steps: first, the 375 Rent Reduction (三七五減租), which forcibly pushed tenant rents from over half the harvest down to 37.5%. Next, in 1951, was the Public Land Distribution (公地放領). Finally, in 1953, came Land-to-the-Tiller (耕者有其田), where the government compulsorily requisitioned excess leased land from landlords and redistributed it to tenant farmers. ¹ This policy was led by Chen Cheng. To compensate landlords for the requisitioned land, the government issued 70% in physical land bonds (repayable over ten years with a 4% annual interest rate) and 30% in stocks of four major companies: Taiwan Cement, Taiwan Paper, Taiwan Industrial & Mining, and Taiwan Forestry and Agriculture. ²

For tenant farmers, this was a turning point. The round of Land-to-the-Tiller created 194,823 self-cultivating households and redistributed 139,249 hectares of land. ¹ The ratio of tenant-farmed land to total cultivated land dropped from over 40% before implementation to approximately 16%. For people whose families had farmed for others for generations, it was the first time they truly owned the ground beneath their feet.

Land was the first element touched by this group of policies. Tenant farmers who had worked land for others for generations did not truly own their soil until the land reforms of the 1950s. (Photo by Deng Nan-guang / Imagery Taiwan · Wikimedia Commons, Public Domain)

But for landlords, the same piece of land was a different matter. The requisitioned land prices were calculated at 2.5 times the annual harvest, which was generally low. The market value of the four companies' stocks received in exchange was also low at the time; many small and medium-sized landlords did not trust this "paper" and simply sold it off at a discount. Liu Rui-hua, a professor in the Department of Economics at Tsing Hua University, explicitly criticized the 375 Rent Reduction as an "unreasonable policy" that forced landlords to bear unreasonable losses for decades. ³ Research from Academia Sinica also calculated that the requisition rate for communal leased land was as high as 81.8%, while only 28.2% of privately held land was requisitioned. In other words, the communal small landlords, who had the least capacity to resist, were cut the deepest. ⁴ A few landlords took a different path: Ku Jen-fu of the prominent Ku family in Lukang was the third-largest landlord at the time; by cooperating with the land reform and exchanging his holdings for stocks, he acquired Taiwan Cement, which later developed into the Hsin Shin Group. ⁵ While some fell from their land, others used this stock exchange to rise up. So, did this land reform "drive Taiwan's economic miracle"? This is the most widespread narrative, but it does not hold up.

📝 Curator's Note
The prevailing narrative is that "land reform created 80% self-cultivating farmers and drove the subsequent economic takeoff." While catchy, both figures are unstable. There is no primary source for the "80% self-cultivating farmers" claim; furthermore, a 2024 causal study by Berkeley economist Oliver Kim and collaborators found that Public Land Distribution could explain at most one-sixth of the rice growth in the 1950s, and Land-to-the-Tiller did not even increase agricultural productivity—instead, it pushed rural female labor into manufacturing. ⁶ A more honest way to put it is: land reform was an achievement in distributive justice; it gave nearly 200,000 households land and halved rents. As for whether the industrialization miracle of the 1960s can be directly credited to it, scholars remain divided. Only by separating "fairness" from "growth" can this land reform be accurately measured.

The second matter is education. In December 1967, Chiang Kai-shek decided through the National Security Council to extend compulsory education from six to nine years. It was officially implemented in September 1968. ⁷ The effect on the numbers was direct: the rate of elementary school graduates continuing to junior high school jumped from 59.04% in 1966 to 80.85% in 1971. During those years, 254 new junior high schools were established, an 80% increase. ⁸ For a family unable to afford cram school fees for the junior high entrance exam, the door to higher education no longer had to be knocked on with money for the first time.

The cost of this was money. The total budget for the three years was approximately NT$3.6 billion; the government raised taxes to balance the budget to fund this. ⁷ And while many remember the saying that "nine years of compulsory education laid the human foundation for the economic takeoff," this is actually a retrospective inference without supporting positive causal research. A more cautious phrasing is "scholars believe it made a contribution," rather than "it therefore created a miracle." The pressure of entrance exams did not disappear; it simply shifted from elementary to junior high, and then to junior high to senior high. This barrier of entrance exams remained until the full implementation of the twelve-year national basic education in 2014. ⁹

From a field to a classroom, the actions of this authoritarian hand were relatively moderate. The third matter is far more controversial. On December 16, 1973, Premier Chiang Ching-kuo announced the promotion of the Ten Major Construction Projects; even then-Finance Minister Lee Kuo-ding was unaware beforehand. ¹⁰ Taoyuan Airport, Kaohsiung Port, railway electrification, the North-Link Line, Suao Port, China Shipbuilding, China Steel, petrochemicals, nuclear power, and the Sun Yat-sen Freeway that stitched Taiwan's north and south together. The freeway alone cost approximately NT$42.9 billion (including NT$8.1 billion in international loans), while railway electrification cost about NT$23.08 billion. ¹¹ A large portion of this money was borrowed.

Where was the controversy? The highways were criticized at the time as being "built for the rich": most people back then did not own cars at all, so why should the people's money be spent on a road for a few? ¹² Even Lee Kuo-ding, reflecting on this period in his 1993 oral history, used terms like "seeking grand achievements," "extravagant," and "a lucky accident." ¹³ Furthermore, the timing of the Ten Major Construction Projects was extremely poor: during the first oil crisis of 1974, Taiwan's GDP grew by only 1.16%, industrial production declined by 4.5%, and inflation soared to 47.5%. ¹⁴ To borrow heavily for construction at such a time looked like flooring the accelerator while heading toward a cliff.

By 1976, the numbers had flipped: GDP growth was 13.86%, industrial growth was 24.4%, and inflation was brought down to 2.48%. ¹⁴ It is easy to want to credit this beautiful recovery to the Ten Major Construction Projects, but that does not make sense chronologically: most of the projects were not completed until between 1977 and 1979, so they had no effect in 1976. A more factual account is that during the hardest days of the oil crisis, these public investments moved against the trend, preventing a deeper recession. The strong recovery of 1976 was the combined force of Taiwan's export capacity meeting a rebound in global demand; the true merit of the Ten Major Construction Projects was laying the foundation of transportation, energy, and heavy industry for subsequent industrialization.

These three matters all bear the imprint of the authoritarian era: compulsory requisition, tax hikes, and decisions made by one person. Yet, seventy years later, when measured by the yardstick of livelihood, farmers have land, children from poor families can go to school, and the entire island has a modernized skeleton. Whether a policy can outlive its politics—this group provides the answer: it can, but you must honestly look at its hand and its fruits separately.

The Steps of Handing Over "Who Can Rule"

If the first group consists of authoritarians acting on behalf of the people, then the second group consists of authoritarians beginning to return power to the people. To be precise, this is the process of handing over the decision-making power regarding "who can rule Taiwan" from the barrel of a gun to the ballot box, step by step. This group is measured by the yardsticks of democracy and civil rights.

Chiang Ching-kuo, the decision-maker behind lifting martial law. Whether he actively let go or was pushed by internal and external circumstances remains one of the most long-debated questions in Taiwan's history. (National Assembly Secretariat / Wikimedia Commons, Government Open Data)

The first step was the lifting of martial law. The martial law decree in Taiwan Province lasted from May 20, 1949, to July 15, 1987—a full 38 years and 56 days, making it one of the longest periods of martial law in the world. ¹⁵ On July 15, 1987, Chiang Ching-kuo lifted it. Before this, during the White Terror era, there were 29,407 cases of non-active duty military personnel facing military trials, and the Judicial Yuan estimates that over 200,000 people suffered. ¹⁶ Lifting martial law was equivalent to loosening a rope that had been tightened around the neck of the entire society for nearly forty years.

But was this step an active release by Chiang Ching-kuo, or was he forced to let go by the situation? This is one of the most long-debated questions in Taiwan's history; this article does not take sides but places two weighty interpretations side by side.

Source: Historical materials related to martial law and its lifting, and research reconstructed by Lin Hsiao-ting using Chiang Ching-kuo's diaries and declassified documents from multiple countries (see footnotes below) ¹⁵

Lin Hsiao-ting reconstructs this period using Chiang Ching-kuo's diaries and declassified documents from various countries, arguing that Chiang reformed in response to dual structural pressures: on one side was the pressure from the United States (the 1985 US Senate resolution, the 1986 US House of Representatives resolution, and Senator Lugar's visit to Taiwan), and on the other side was the competition from Deng Xiaoping, who was also proposing political reforms in the PRC in 1986. ¹⁷ Wu Nai-te's view is the opposite and represents the academic mainstream: without the 1979 Kaohsiung Incident (the Meilidao incident), there would be no democracy today, and Chiang Ching-kuo's actions following the incident were characterized by "uprooting" suppression, making it difficult to label him a driver of democracy. ¹⁸ Another frequently cited detail is that news of Chiang Ching-kuo lifting martial law was reportedly released to the outside world first through The Washington Post. ¹⁷ As for the widely circulated quote, "Times are changing, the environment is changing, and the trend is also changing," no primary verbatim source can be found; it can only be considered a secondary citation from various media reports, so this article does not treat it as a verified quote.

A common misunderstanding must also be clarified here: lifting martial law did not mean the simultaneous lifting of the ban on political parties and the ban on the press. Martial law was lifted in July 1987, but the press ban was not lifted until January 1988, and the ban on political parties was not officially lifted until 1989. The Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) had even announced its formation at the Grand Hotel on September 28, 1986, prior to the lifting of martial law. ¹⁹

In 2025, the number of days Taiwan has lived in democracy officially exceeded the thirty-eight years of martial law. This moment signifies: the time this island has lived in freedom is finally longer than the time it lived under martial law. (PTS Taigi Channel News)

Once the rope was loosened, the next question was: who exactly should elect the President? In 1994, the third constitutional amendment passed by the National Assembly mandated the direct election of the President by the people. ²⁰ On March 23, 1996, Taiwan elected its president for the first time using a one-person, one-vote system. This vote was harrowing: starting from March 8, 1996, two weeks before the election, the PRC began conducting missile tests 20 nautical miles off the coast of Keelung and 29 nautical miles off the coast of Kaohsiung. The United States dispatched two carrier battle groups, the Independence and the Nimitz, with the Nimitz even transiting the Taiwan Strait. ²¹ Under the shadow of the missiles, voter turnout surged to 76.04%, with 14.31 million registered voters. ²² Lee Teng-hui and Lien Chan were elected with 54.00% (over 5.81 million votes). ²²

Source: Reports regarding the National Assembly constitutional amendments and the first direct presidential election in 1996, and Central Election Commission data ²⁰

One thing must be tempered: it is easy to say that "the missiles instead stimulated the Taiwanese people's will to vote." This causal relationship has no empirical proof; this article only describes the coexisting facts that "under missile threat, 76% of people went to vote," without drawing a causal arrow between them. It is worth noting the debate at the time regarding "delegated election vs. direct citizen election": there was once a claim that the President should be elected by delegates of the National Assembly; it was only after the 1990 Wild Lily student movement and the departure of the New Party in 1993 that the path toward direct popular election was finalized. According to Su Chih-cheng's account to Wang Dao-han in Hong Kong in 1992, Lee Teng-hui had to push for direct elections, otherwise "direct election would become the DPP's sole advantage." ²³ The act of handing over the power to elect the President to the people was driven by both idealism and political calculation.

Vote distribution across counties and cities during the first direct presidential election in 1996. Under the shadow of PRC missiles, Taiwan elected its head of state for the first time using a one-person, one-vote system. (Qinshuiwan / Wikimedia Commons, CC BY-SA 4.0)

The people could elect the President, but one final step remained: once elected, would the winner be willing to step down after losing?

On March 18, 2000, the answer was revealed. Chen Shui-bian and呂秀蓮 (Lü Hsiu-lien) were elected with 39.30% (over 4.97 million votes), with James Soong closely following at 36.84%, and Lien Chan and Hsiao Wan-long at 23.10%. ²⁴ The voter turnout was 82.69%, the highest in Taiwan's electoral history and unsurpassed to this day. ²⁴ This vote ended the Kuomintang's 55-year rule in Taiwan, and Lee Teng-hui peacefully handed over power. Lü Hsiu-lien became Taiwan's first female Vice President. ²⁴ That period was not without tension: Chief of General Staff Tang Yao-ming recorded a video beforehand regarding "the professionalization of the military and loyalty to the Constitution" to stabilize the military's morale. Ultimately, however, there was no coup, and power changed hands quietly. ²⁵

📝 Curator's Note
You often hear a phrase in taxis: "Even after the change, life hasn't gotten any better; what kind of good policy is this?" — While Taiwan's GDP did indeed experience its first negative growth since 1949 in 2001, that was primarily due to the impact of the global dot-com bubble burst, not the rotation of political parties itself. ²⁶ There is a crucial distinction hidden here: the success of a party rotation is not measured by how well a particular president performs, but by the success of the yardstick of "democracy" itself: that a massive party which ruled for 55 years, after losing an election, handed over the entire country without relying on the military or bloodshed. As for the intense arguments regarding "a small ruling party and a large opposition party" (chao xiao ye da) that followed, that is democracy functioning normally, not democracy failing. Only by separating "the performance of a specific term" from "whether power can be peacefully transferred" can one understand the weight of this vote.

Authoritarianism acting on behalf of the people is a gift; authoritarianism returning "who can rule" to the people is an exit. From Chiang Ching-kuo loosening the rope of martial law, to Lee Teng-hui completing the first direct election under missile threats, to the Kuomintang quietly handing over power in 2000—measured by the yardsticks of democracy and civil rights, these three steps constitute Taiwan's most precious era. Its value lies not in how beautifully it was executed, but in the fact that the power that once held everything in its grasp learned how to let go.

One Card, One Apology

The third group has only two things to offer, but they address two different kinds of debt. One addresses "how the living can live with dignity," and the other addresses "how the dead are remembered." The former is a card; the latter is an apology.

First, the card. On March 1, 1995, National Health Insurance (NHI) went live. The NHI card that Taiwanese people take for granted today almost failed to exist. Yeh Chin-chuan, who was responsible for its implementation, later recalled in an interview that Premier Lien Chan ordered the program to launch on schedule on March 1, despite it being February 25. At that time, "the preparation time was actually only three days," "even the NHI cards hadn't been printed yet," and "the information systems were not yet settled." ²⁷ In the early stages, people used their ID cards or household registration booklets to see doctors; the physical cards were not printed until a month later. There was political pressure behind Lien Chan's decision: some KMT legislators at the time were concerned about the year-end legislative elections and had suggested a postponement. So why rush it on March 1? One must be careful here: we cannot directly assert that "it was rushed specifically for the election," because there is no primary document to confirm Lien Chan's true decision-making motive. The only certainties are two things: the preparation time was indeed only three days (as confirmed by Yeh Chin-chuan), and some legislators were indeed worried about the year-end elections. Regarding motives, leaving a blank space is more honest than fabricating an answer.

The card in Taiwanese people's wallets today almost failed to be born in 1995—there were only three days of preparation at launch, and even the cards hadn't been printed. What was rushed out in three days eventually became one of Taiwan's most cherished systems. (Solomon203／Wikimedia Commons, Public Domain)

What was rushed out in three days eventually became one of Taiwan's most cherished systems. Before its launch, about 60% of the population had insurance; now, the coverage rate exceeds 98%. In 2023, satisfaction stood at 91.2%. ²⁸ Academic research has also found that between 1996 and 1999, preventable mortality rates dropped by 5.83%, with the greatest benefits going to the most vulnerable groups in society: NHI reduced health inequalities between different groups. ²⁹

Source: Academic research PMC, Ministry of Health and Welfare

Of course, it has its own troubles: the medical community once protested (the Nantou Medical Association, for instance, boycotted it), the global budget system forces medical institutions into a "volume-chasing" prisoner's dilemma, and there is an approximately NT$70 billion gap in drug pricing. ³⁰ By 2025, the NHI total budget will exceed NT$900 billion; while the target point value is set at 0.95, it often falls short in practice. This means that for every NT$1 of service a medical institution provides, they might only receive 90 cents or even less. ³¹ As Taiwan enters a super-aged society in 2025, the fiscal pressure brought by aging is the deepest concern for this card after its 30th anniversary. One honest supplement: mandatory NHI coverage also includes migrant workers, but there are gaps when they change employers, and benefits differ. The yardstick of "livelihood" asks about "those living here," but in practice, it often centers on citizens, leaving migrant workers in a relatively marginal position.

✦ "The preparation time was actually only three days... even the NHI cards hadn't been printed yet." — Yeh Chin-chuan recalling the 1995 launch of NHI

Let me also clarify a common exaggeration: you may have heard that "Taiwan's NHI is number one in the world." This ranking comes from Numbeo, a website where netizens fill out surveys themselves, not from a comparison by the WHO or academic institutions. A more accurate way to say it is that "Numbeo user experience rankings have been number one for consecutive years," and it must be noted that this is based on crowdsourced data, rather than being "the world's number one healthcare." The fact that a system rushed out in three days has made it this far is dramatic enough; there is no need to inflate it.

If NHI compensates for the debt owed to the living, then transitional justice compensates for the debt owed to the dead. And this matter is harder than NHI because it spans three presidents from different political parties, and every step forward makes someone feel offended.

Source: Historical materials and reports regarding NHI launch and transitional justice cited in this article (see footnotes) ²⁸³⁰

The timeline begins with the Executive Yuan publishing the 《228 Incident Study Report》 in 1992. On February 28, 1995, the 228 Peace Memorial was inaugurated. Representing the government as head of state, Lee Teng-hui took responsibility for the mistakes committed by the government and offered a profound apology to the victims' families and all citizens. In March of that same year, the 《228 Incident Handling and Compensation Act》 was passed, with maximum compensation reaching NT$6 million. ³² In 1997, February 28 was designated as a national holiday, Taiwan's first statutory holiday established for victims of the authoritarian era. ³³ A 2006 report on the attribution of responsibility clearly stated that Chiang Kai-shek bore the greatest responsibility. On May 31, 2018, the Transitional Justice Commission was established. It was dissolved on May 30, 2022, leaving behind a 1.7-million-word summary report. ³⁴ As of 2015, a total of 2,288 people had received approximately NT$7.2 billion in compensation. The Commission also addressed 13,401 criminal cases. ³⁴

This path has spanned the presidencies of Lee Teng-hui, Chen Shui-bian, and Tsai Ing-wen. Both the Pan-Blue and Pan-Green camps have been involved, but this does not mean everyone agrees. Scholar Wu Chun-ying pointed out that while Lee Teng-hui was proactive regarding the 228 Incident, he was relatively passive regarding the White Terror. ³⁵ Even the terminology has been contested: when the KMT led in 1995, the term used was "compensation" (補償), but it wasn't until the Chen Shui-bian administration in 2007 that it was changed to "reparation/indemnity" (賠償). That single character difference reflects a fundamental disagreement over whether the government is "granting a favor" or "paying a debt."

Taipei 228 Peace Memorial Park, featuring the 228 Memorial inaugurated in 1995 at its center. That year, the head of state apologized on behalf of the government for this trauma for the first time. (Allen Timothy Chang／Wikimedia Commons, CC BY-SA 3.0)

What has kept this issue so heated since 2018 is the work of the Transitional Justice Commission. After its establishment, its focus on political parties like the KMT and the nationalization of political archives was viewed by some (especially certain waishengren groups) as political liquidation rather than historical reconciliation. In 2019, Ma Ying-jeou criticized this as being "equivalent to an authoritarian restoration," citing the term "Eastern Depot" (used by Transitional Justice Commission Vice Chairman Chang Tien-chin in a 2018 leak) to criticize the Ill-gotten Party Assets Committee for "exceeding the separation of powers." ³⁶ Both these voices of opposition and the voices of victims' families demanding the truth are real; this article records both.

At a 228 memorial event, Blue camp politicians attended while victims' families lashed out on the spot. This scene represents the truest form of transitional justice: apologies have been made and systems built, but the path to "reconciliation" remains unfinished today. (CNA Video News)

📝 Curator's Note
A phrase often circulates online claiming that Tsai Ing-wen once said, "Transitional justice is not targeting any specific political party." Verification shows that no such original quote by Tsai Ing-wen exists; this was actually an expression used by Transitional Justice Commission Chairperson Huang Huang-hsiung, and it should not be attributed to Tsai. What Tsai Ing-wen actually said, with a verifiable source, was during the 2018 inauguration ceremony of the Commission: "This is the time for us to settle accounts with the authoritarian era. Only by taking this step can Taiwan's democracy be truly consolidated." ³⁷ Why correct this in a curator's note? Because the most common harm in transitional justice is using a phrase that sounds reconciliatory but was never actually said to smooth over a wound that is inherently still open. Honestly admitting "no one said this" is closer to the spirit of transitional justice than quoting a warm falsehood: to investigate things clearly, even if the results make people uncomfortable.

One card holds the bodies of the living; one apology tries to hold the names of the dead. NHI is measured by the yardstick of livelihood, and almost everyone gives it high marks. Transitional justice is measured by the yardsticks of civil rights and democracy; the direction is right, but the progress is stumbling because it must simultaneously face two difficult tasks: "doing justice for the dead" and "not making the living feel liquidated." To live through one's own politics, in the context of these two matters, means: one has become as taken-for-granted as air, while the other is still being fought over as either reconciliation or struggle.

Still Being Measured by the Four Rulers

The first three groups have already been given answers by time, or at least most of them. This last group is different: they are still being measured; the lid has not yet been closed. The examples raised by lov3ngine—jieji yongren and the Forward-looking Infrastructure Program—are both here. They are included precisely because there is no final verdict on them, and they demonstrate one thing: sometimes the four rulers clash with each other.

The first case is jieji yongren (restraint and patience). On September 14, 1996, Lee Teng-hui proposed at a national entrepreneurs' conference that investments in China should follow the principle of "restraint and patience," restricting three categories: high technology, investments exceeding US$50 million, and infrastructure. ³⁸ This policy was later modified twice by Chen Shui-bian: in 2000 it became "active opening, effective management," and in 2006 it changed again to "active management, effective opening." ³⁸ Its most famous instance involved Formosa Plastics' "Haicang Project" (a single investment in China exceeding US$7 billion), which was forced to be abandoned under three ultimatums from the government: "stop stock trading, freeze funds, and restrict senior executives from leaving the country." ³⁹

Lee Teng-hui, the proposer of _jieji yongren. Whether this policy protected Taiwan or slowed it down remains undecided to this day—it is the most difficult exam paper to grade when "sovereignty" and "economy" among the four rulers collide. (Lee Teng-hui Foundation / Wikimedia Commons, CC BY 4.0)_

This is where the rulers clash.

Source: Related reports and polls on the _jieji yongren_ policy ³⁸⁴⁰

Supporters argue that it was jieji yongren that forced high-tech industries to "keep their roots at home," allowing TSMC to grow into the "protector of the nation" it is today, and ensuring Taiwan was less affected by the subsequent US-China trade war. ⁴⁰ Opponents are equally fierce: TSMC founder Morris Chang criticized improper government interference in corporate decisions and its damage to national economic development as early as 2001; Formosa Plastics founder Wang Yung-ching said the policy "had no logic"; and Chao Shao-kang stated it caused Taiwan's economy to stagnate and decline. ⁴¹ Furthermore, in reality, there was massive leakage: many Taiwanese businesses used third locations like the Cayman Islands or the British Virgin Islands to circumvent the policy; while the policy had formal regulations, its execution was full of loopholes. ⁴²

So, did jieji yongren protect Taiwan or harm it? The answer in this article is: Evaluations remain polarized to this day; a final verdict is difficult to reach. This is because two rulers are colliding here: the "sovereignty" ruler wants to prevent the economy from becoming overly dependent on a regime hostile to you, while the "livelihood/economy" ruler wants to ensure you don't miss immediate growth opportunities. Both rulers are right, but they point in opposite directions. Jieji yongren is a living textbook that tells us: when sovereignty and economy clash, there is no single answer that allows both rulers to receive full marks.

The second case is same-sex marriage. This demonstrates another set of clashing rulers: democracy versus civil rights.

On May 24, 2017, the Justices issued Interpretation No. 748, declaring that the Civil Code's failure to protect same-sex unions was unconstitutional and requiring legislation within two years. ⁴³ However, in the 2018 referendum, the majority voted against it: Proposal 10 (marriage should be limited to one man and one woman) passed with 72.48%, and Proposal 12 (protecting same-sex unions through forms other than the Civil Code) passed with 61.12%. ⁴⁴ While public opinion clearly opposed it, the Constitution required protection; this was a direct collision between democracy and civil rights. The final solution came on May 17, 2019, when the Legislative Yuan passed the third reading of the "Implementation Act of Judicial Yuan Interpretation No. 748" (66 votes in favor, 27 against), which took effect on May 24, making Taiwan the first place in Asia to legalize same-sex marriage. ⁴⁵ On that day, approximately 30,000 people gathered outside the Legislative Yuan. ⁴⁶

The Legislative Yuan chamber. On May 17, 2019, the special law on same-sex marriage passed its third reading here with 66 votes to 27—the Justices' interpretation, combined with a special law, bypassed the majority opposition in the referendum. (pichu / Legislative Yuan ・ Wikimedia Commons, Government Open Data)

There is a common misunderstanding to clarify: was same-sex marriage "bipartisan"? The answer is nuanced. It was not a traditional "everyone nods" bipartisan consensus; it relied on the Justices' interpretation and a special law to bypass the majority opposition in the referendum. Seven legislators from the Blue camp (Hsu Yu-jen, Lin Yi-hua, Ko Chih-en, Chen Yi-min, Hsu Shu-hua, Chiang Wan-an, and Lee Yen-hsiu) defected to vote in favor, but those were exceptions; the Kuomintang (KMT) caucus's position was opposition, and they also led the anti-same-sex marriage "Love Family Referendum" in 2018. Meanwhile, someone from the Green camp (Lin Dai-hua) voted against it. To say same-sex marriage was "supported by both parties" is inaccurate; what it truly demonstrates is something else entirely.

Source: Reports related to Judicial Yuan Interpretation No. 748 and the 2018 referendum results ⁴³

Supporters of the interpretation argue that the Justices' system of constitutional review is designed specifically to prevent a majority from using votes to infringe upon the rights of minorities, meaning the effect of an interpretation supersedes a referendum. ⁴⁷ Proponents of majority democracy point to Justice Wu Chen-chuan's dissenting opinion, which argued that the matter should be modified through legislation or a referendum; Yu Hsin-yi, convener of the Next Generation Happiness Alliance, even called the day it passed "the darkest moment for Taiwan's democracy." ⁴⁸ The Democratic Progressive Party's (DPP) role in this was also two-sided: regarding its proactiveness, Tsai Ing-wen did indeed nominate seven Justices who leaned toward supporting it; regarding its procrastination, despite holding a majority in the legislature, it did not take the initiative to amend the Civil Code, drawing criticism even from the Women's New Knowledge group. Both perspectives contain elements of truth.

But the most moving arc of same-sex marriage is hidden in a seven-year shift in numbers.

Source: Focus Taiwan (Trend Research)

During the 2018 referendum, the majority voted against same-sex marriage; by the time it was legalized in 2019, social support was approximately 42.3%. Seven years later, in May 2026, support rose to 54.3%, an increase of 12 percentage points. ⁴⁹ This arc, moving from majority opposition to majority support, is the strongest part of the same-sex marriage case. It doesn't say "everyone agreed from the start," but rather something deeper: when democracy (the will of the majority) clashes with civil rights (the rights of the minority), Taiwan chose to use the Constitution to uphold the rights of the minority first, and then let time persuade the majority. The Constitution did not wait for the majority to be ready, but eventually, the majority caught up. Democracy was late, but it caught up with civil rights.

May 24, 2019, the first day of same-sex marriage implementation. A couple registers their marriage at a household registration office, with Qi Chia-wei present to officiate. He has worked for this day for over thirty years. (CTS News)

The third case is the Forward-looking Infrastructure Program, another example raised by lov3ngine, and perhaps the one among these four groups where the lid is most loosely fitted.

In 2017, the Tsai Ing-wen administration promoted the Forward-looking Infrastructure Program. Originally planned as an eight-year special budget of NT$882.49 billion (Railways NT$424.1 billion, Water Environment NT$250.7 billion, Urban-Rural NT$137.2 billion, Digital NT$46 billion, Green Energy NT$24.3 billion), it was later adjusted to be implemented in stages, relying 100% on debt (bypassing the restrictions of the Public Debt Act and the Budget Act). ⁵⁰ Its inception process was chaotic: on the day of its third reading on July 5, 2017, physical altercations broke了 out in the Legislative Yuan; KMT convener Liao Kuo-tung carried a table and splashed water, while Chiu Yi-ying announced the first reading's passage amidst the chaos. ⁵¹

The controversy has not ceased to this day. Criticisms regarding fiscal discipline have been sharpest: publisher Hao Ming-yi launched a petition questioning whether the "normalization of special budgets" would undermine fiscal discipline. ⁵² Railway construction accounts for nearly half, prompting questions like "Does Taiwan really need this much rail?"; meanwhile, 124 parking lots were subsidized all at once, leading to suspicions of vote-buying. ⁵³ A TVBS poll showed 46% disapproval, 28% approval, and 75% believing it needs to be re-examined. ⁵⁴ Supporters, however, note that former Premier Lin Chuan believed "special budgets allow delayed projects to be realized sooner," and Tsai Ing-wen stated it aims to "reverse the imbalance between North and South"; a Taiwan Generative Think Tank poll showed 61.5% approval. ⁵⁵

Regarding the Forward-looking Program, three things must be honestly labeled; one cannot simply follow one side's narrative.

First, "vote-buying" is a political judgment with indications but no final verdict; ironically, Eric Chu, who criticized it most fiercely at the time, also applied for NT$450 billion in Forward-looking subsidies himself. Opponents are also fighting over this money. ⁵³ Second, regarding constitutionality, 38 legislators filed three petitions for constitutional review, but the results were all "procedural non-acceptance." This does not mean the Justices confirmed it as constitutional; that clause bypassing the Public Debt Act has never actually undergone substantive judicial review by the Justices. ⁵⁶ Third, implementation effectiveness remains uncertain: a parking lot in Pingzhen, Taoyuan, funded by the program collapsed during construction in 2020 (1 dead, 2 injured; it was later found that its load-bearing capacity reached only 14.7% of the standard); yet there are completed projects, such as the Taichung MRT Green Line which saw 17.22 million passengers in 2025; the Taoyuan Green Line's opening in 2026 remains uncertain, and the Keelung MRT is scheduled for preliminary construction in December 2025. ⁵⁷ Some tracks are still being dug, and polls contradict each other (it must be clearly stated which institution conducted them and when); this policy has not yet reached a stage where its lid can be closed.

Taichung MRT Green Line, one of the railway projects within the Forward-looking Infrastructure Program. Some tracks are operational and carrying passengers, while others are still being dug—the effectiveness of this policy is still being measured by the four rulers. (Foxy1219 / Wikimedia Commons, CC BY-SA 4.0)

📝 Curator's Note
Placing jieji yongren, same-sex marriage, and the Forward-looking Program in the final group is this article's most honest response to lov3ngine's "looking back after time has passed." Because for these three things, the events haven't finished, and the circumstances haven't fully shifted. They remind us of an easily overlooked fact: we can calmly say today that "while land reform used blunt methods, it left behind distributive justice" or "while the lifting of martial law had questionable motives, it loosened the grip," because we are standing in a position seventy or forty years later. Jieji yongren, same-sex marriage, and the Forward-looking Program are the land reform and the lifting of martial law of their time: argued over incessantly, with no clear view of what will remain. The four rulers cannot measure them accurately right now; the problem is not the rulers, but that the time has not yet come.

Authoritarianism acting for the people, returning governing power to the people, and making amends for the debts of the living and the dead—for the first three groups, time has helped close most of the lids. The lid for the fourth group remains open. Their greatest value lies in letting us see with our own eyes: sometimes the four rulers conflict, and the policies that truly live through their own politics are often those that were torn most violently by that very conflict at their birth.

Putting the Ruler in Your Hands

Back to that dining table where the Blue and Green camps were trading insults.

What lov3ngine has always wanted to remember is not a checklist of policies. Therefore, what this article ultimately hands over to him—and to everyone tired of the Blue-Green mudslinging—is not eleven answers, but four rulers: livelihood, democracy, civil rights, and sovereignty. Next time, when you are watching TV, sitting at a dinner table, or caught in a heated policy debate and hear someone slam the table saying, "This is a terrible policy caused by [Party X]," don't rush to pick a side. Try putting down the Blue-Green ruler and replace it with these four rulers to ask four questions: Has it made life better for the people living on this island? Has it more firmly returned the question of "who gets to rule" into the hands of the people? Has it caught those whose numbers are too small or whose voices are not loud enough? Has it enabled Taiwan to stand taller before the world?

After asking these four questions, you will discover an somewhat uncomfortable truth: almost none of the policies that were later proven to be truly good for Taiwan were universally praised at their inception. The land reform that forcibly requisitioned farmland, the Ten Major Construction Projects pushed through with debt, the lifting of martial law and transitional justice—which were criticized as "selling out Taiwan" or mere political struggles—and the legalization of same-sex marriage which bypassed referendum majorities; all were being cursed back then. Policies that survive their own politics are often the ones that caused the fiercest arguments on the day they were born. Because a policy that makes everyone happy the moment it is introduced has mostly failed to touch anyone's cheese; whereas policies that truly endure and change an island almost always strike a painful nerve for certain people at the moment of their birth.

So, returning to what lov3ngine truly wants to ask: Right now, are there any policies happening that will be affirmed by these four rulers twenty years from now?

To be honest, no one knows. This is where the ruler of hindsight is most cruel, yet also most fair: it only measures accurately after things have passed. Whether the jie-ji-yong-ren (restriction on high-tech exports) policy was right or wrong remains a matter of debate; the trajectory of same-sex marriage is still climbing; the tracks for the Forward-looking Infrastructure Development Program are still being dug. The policy receiving the harshest criticism today might be the very card, road, or vote that your grandchildren enjoy as a matter of course twenty years from now—having long forgotten how fiercely it was debated back then. Or, it might simply be a mistake. The four rulers remain silent for now.

But one thing is certain: if we only use the Blue-Green ruler, we will only ever remember who won that particular mudslinging match, and never remember what truly remains on this island. Time has never used the Blue-Green ruler. May you remember that you hold four other rulers in your hands before your next argument.

Further Reading

• Taiwan's Democratic Transition — From the February 28 Incident to the Sunflower Movement: How authoritarianism personally nurtured the force that buried it
• Transitional Justice in Taiwan — The gap between overturning nearly 6,000 convictions and the fact that almost no perpetrators were held accountable
• Cross-Strait Crises and the Development of Cross-Strait Relations — The full context of the 1996 Missile Crisis

Image Sources

• Koika / Wikimedia Commons — CC BY-SA 3.0 (Hero image, Sun Yat-sen Freeway)
• Teng Nan-kuang / Imagery of Taiwan · Wikimedia Commons — Public Domain (Rural areas)
• Qinshuiwan / Wikimedia Commons — CC BY-SA 4.0 (1996 election map)
• Allen Timothy Chang / Wikimedia Commons — CC BY-SA 3.0 (February 28 Peace Memorial Park)
• Foxy1219 / Wikimedia Commons — CC BY-SA 4.0 (Taichung MRT Green Line)
• Secretariat of the National Assembly / Wikimedia Commons — Government Open Data Declaration (Portrait of Chiang Ching-kuo)
• Solomon203 / Wikimedia Commons — Public Domain (National Health Insurance card)
• pichu / Legislative Yuan · Wikimedia Commons — Government Open Data Declaration (Legislative Yuan chamber)
• Lee Teng-hui Foundation / Wikimedia Commons — CC BY 4.0 (Portrait of Lee Teng-hui)

Video Sources

• PTS Taigi Channel News — Commemorating Taiwan's Democratization: Days of Democracy Exceed Martial Law (Democratization section)
• CNA Video News — Ma Ying-jeou and Chiang Wan-an Attend February 28 Commemoration; Families of Victims Protest Angrily (Transitional justice section)
• CTS News — Same-sex Couples Register Marriage, Invite Chi Chia-wei to Officiate (2019-05-24) (Same-sex marriage section)

References