Village Chief System: 7,748 Elected Heads, Taiwan’s Most Grassroots Political Unit

30‑second overview: All 7,748 village chiefs in Taiwan — more than the 6,600‑plus 7‑Eleven stores. Four‑year term, monthly administrative subsidy of about NT$45,000; this is not a salary but a government office allowance for “local‑relationship agents.” The village chief is the only position in Taiwan’s elections where non‑partisan candidates dominate, with over 60 % running without party affiliation; the incumbency advantage is several times higher than other public offices. The position traces its history to the Japanese‑era Baojia system, was renamed after the war, and has been directly elected since 1950 — earlier than county‑city mayor elections. Although the role feels less like “politics,” it is the evidence of Taiwan’s grassroots autonomy growing from the bottom up.

A 5:30 a.m. Village Office

At 5:30 a.m., the iron roller‑shutter of a lane in Wanhua District, Taipei City is slowly lifted. The village office lights turn on before the breakfast shop. A three‑term incumbent village chief is counting the lunchboxes to be delivered that day — twelve elderly people living alone, noting who prefers soft food, who recently had a tooth extraction, who was hospitalized yesterday and just returned, all memorised in his head, more detailed than the official resident database.

At seven, he rides his scooter around the neighborhood. On the way back to the office he receives three calls: a resident reports a flickering street lamp at the alley entrance; a mother asks about registration for the next semester’s community activity; a wife complains that the dog next door has been barking all night and asks the chief to “talk to them” — not call the police, just speak with them.

At nine he boots up his computer, logs into the Ministry of the Interior’s village‑chief system, and uploads the minutes of last night’s resident assembly. At ten, the district office calls to ask whether he can help with a household registration outreach next week. At eleven he receives a retired veteran who has just left the hospital, and helps him fill out a welfare application — the form is actually kept at the district office, but the veteran cannot navigate the MRT.

In the afternoon he patrols the village. At dusk he returns to the office to organise documents for coordinating the election polling station — six months before the 2026 November 28 “nine‑in‑one” election, he must confirm the venue for his village’s polling place. At seven p.m. the resident assembly convenes. After it adjourns at nine, he buys a rice ball at a convenience store for dinner.

There are 7,748 village chiefs across Taiwan.

7,748 Elected Heads

7,748 — a number larger than the chain‑store giant’s outlet count. By the end of 2024, Taiwan had about 6,800 7‑Eleven stores and over 1,100 supermarkets¹. The density of village chiefs exceeds that of convenience stores you might visit daily for coffee or a rice ball.

Composition (according to the Central Election Commission’s 2026 election announcement and the Ministry of the Interior’s Civil Affairs Department statistics)[^2]:

• Village chiefs in special municipalities: about 4,800 — the most grassroots level within the six major cities
• Village heads in non‑municipal townships (rural areas): about 1,800 — mainly in Hualien‑Taitung, Yunlin‑Chiayi‑Tainan, Miaoli, Nantou, Pingtung, etc.
• Village chiefs in county‑administered cities: about 1,100 — e.g., villages within Keelung, Hsinchu, and Chiayi cities
• Total: 7,748 (final figure based on the 2026 Central Election Commission announcement)

All 7,748 positions are contested simultaneously on 28 November 2026 — the same day as special‑municipality mayors, county‑city mayors, legislators, township mayors, indigenous district chiefs, indigenous district representatives, and township representatives, all on a single ballot, which is the ninth slot of the “nine‑in‑one” election².

Among the nine positions, the other eight feature party labels, policy debates, and large‑scale rallies. The sole exception is the village chief — most candidates run without party affiliation, hold no rallies, and do not print glossy flyers. Their campaign consists of door‑to‑door visits, ringing the doorbell, introducing themselves “I’m so‑and‑so from next door,” and slipping a business card into the mailbox.

Legal Basis: Hidden in the Last Three Articles of the Local Government Act

The legal status of the village chief is codified in Articles 59‑61 of the Local Government Act — the final three articles of the 88‑article law³.

Article 59 stipulates that each village or neighborhood shall have “one village chief or neighborhood chief,” elected by the residents for a four‑year term, with the possibility of re‑election. The key phrase is “re‑election allowed” — there is no term limit. In theory a chief could serve five, eight, twelve terms — as long as he wins every four years. In practice many serve three or more consecutive terms, and five‑term tenures are not rare⁴.

Article 60 states that the village chief is under the command and supervision of the township (or town, city, district) chief, handling village affairs and tasks assigned by higher authorities. The phrase “assigned tasks” captures the real daily workload — the law does not enumerate them, but in practice they are extensive.

Article 61 declares the village chief a non‑salaried position, but the township (or town, city, district) office shall allocate a monthly administrative subsidy. Since 2007 this subsidy has been uniformly set at NT$45,000⁵. The term “non‑salaried” is crucial — it means the village chief is not a civil servant, lacking labor‑insurance, health‑insurance, pension, or civil‑service performance appraisal. The chief receives an “administrative subsidy,” not a salary.

The design of a “non‑salaried position with a NT$45,000 monthly subsidy” reflects a subtle stance — the village chief is positioned as “a locally‑based individual willing to serve the community,” not a state employee. This positioning shapes the entire political economy of the role.

Statutory Powers vs. Actual Work

The law lists three statutory powers[^4]:

1. Convene village/resident assemblies — at least once a year to discuss public affairs
2. Execute tasks assigned by the township/city/district office — implement higher‑level policies at the household level
3. Reflect public opinion — report residents’ needs upward

Yet any incumbent will tell you these three are just the tip of the iceberg. The actual workload list is far longer⁶[^8]:

Mediation of neighbourhood disputes — water leaks, parking conflicts, pet noise, waste‑sorting disagreements. The chief is not a police officer, judge, or arbitrator, but often the final buffer before a dispute reaches the police. An experienced chief can resolve about 70 % of disputes in the office’s tea room.

Care for solitary elders — delivering lunchboxes, accompanying medical visits, reminding utility payments, checking on households that have been silent for days. Taiwan’s ageing index has surpassed 100⁷; the chief is often the first to notice an elder’s abnormal situation outside the Social Welfare Bureau.

Polling‑station coordination — each election requires the Central Election Commission to set up over 17,000 polling stations nationwide⁸; each venue’s location, flow, and accessibility need the chief’s assistance. Polling stations are usually in elementary schools, community centres, or temples — coordination power rests largely with the chief.

Disaster reporting — typhoons, earthquakes, floods, fires. The chief is the terminal nerve of the local disaster‑prevention system; when power or water is cut, residents often call the chief before 1999 (fire) or 119 (medical).

Community building — Mid‑Autumn barbecues, Dragon‑Boat Festival egg‑balancing, senior tours, mother‑child classes, children’s talent workshops. These activities are not mandated, but chiefs who organise them earn good reputations and are often re‑elected five times.

Household‑registration assistance — helping elders who cannot use computers fill out forms, explaining household‑registration procedures, conveying new district‑office policies.

The list has no ceiling. A three‑term chief can name 70‑80 % of the households in his village — not a matter of administrative skill, but of twelve years of accumulated relational capital.

From Baojia to Village/Neighborhood: Eighty Years of Institutional Inheritance

The village/neighbourhood governance unit was not invented by the Republic of China. Its predecessor was the Japanese‑era Baojia system⁹¹⁰.

In 1898, the Japanese Governor‑General of Taiwan promulgated the “Baojia Regulations,” reorganising the late‑Qing era Baojia organisations into the colonial administration’s lowest tier. Ten households formed a “jia,” ten “jia” formed a “bao,” each “bao” appointed a “baozheng,” each “jia” a “jiachang” — elected locally (though the candidate list required approval from the Governor‑General), with a two‑year term. The Baojia’s functions were broad: household registration, public‑health, tax collection, public‑order maintenance, and labour mobilisation.

The Baojia operated for 47 years, being abolished after the 1945 war‑end. Yet the “bao” unit did not disappear — it was renamed.

In 1946, the Taiwan Provincial Administrative Office abolished Baojia and established “villages” (rural areas) and “neighbourhoods” (urban areas)¹¹. “Baozheng” became “village chief” or “neighbourhood chief,” but the boundaries, household numbers, and organisational structure were largely retained. Many Baozhengs became the first post‑war village or neighbourhood chiefs in the 1946 reorganisation.

From 1950, Taiwan Province implemented local autonomy, and village/neighbourhood chiefs became directly elected by residents¹¹. This predates the first county‑city mayor elections, which only took place in 1950 in the province’s inaugural mayoral election¹². Village chiefs and mayors started simultaneously, but village chiefs have never experienced a break in direct elections, whereas mayoral elections underwent several central legislative adjustments between the 1960s and 1990s.

The 1999 Local Government Act incorporated the village‑chief system into a unified national law, formally establishing it as a nationwide grassroots autonomous position³.

From the 1898 Baojia establishment, to the 1946 renaming, to the 1950 direct elections, to the 1999 legal consolidation — this 128‑year institutional inheritance is evidence of continuity in Taiwan’s grassroots governance. The colonial administrative skeleton left by Japanese rule was refilled with democratic, elected content after the war and continues to operate today.

Why This Position Is Dominated by Non‑Partisans

Among the nine positions, the village chief is the only one where non‑partisan candidates form the majority¹³.

This is not accidental; scale determines it.

Very small electorate: an urban neighbourhood averages 2,000‑5,000 residents; a rural village may have only 200‑500 people¹⁴. At this scale, election outcomes depend less on party stance and more on whether the candidate knows the residents and vice‑versa. A chief who can name households gains more advantage than any party endorsement.

Factions outweigh party affiliation: local clans (especially in central‑southern Taiwan and the islands), hometown associations, temple committees, agricultural and fishery cooperatives, and industry unions wield more influence at the village level than political parties¹⁵. A candidate may belong to a temple committee or a farmers’ association, but will not display those logos on the ballot; only his personal name appears.

Incumbency advantage is huge: re‑election rates for village chiefs have long hovered above 70‑80 %¹³. A three‑term chief has served twelve years, knows every street‑lamp number, every household’s situation, and every district‑office contact — capital that new challengers cannot acquire within a four‑month campaign.

Party affiliation can be a liability: displaying a party logo on campaign material may alienate residents with opposite views. Village chiefs serve “all residents” regardless of stance, so the cost of party branding exceeds its benefit. Many chiefs may privately lean toward a party but register publicly as non‑partisan.

These four factors combine to create a unique electoral ecology: party affiliation is not the core variable; personal relationships and service records are.

Political Economy: NT$45,000 Is Not a Salary

The monthly administrative subsidy of NT$45,000 is often misinterpreted as a “village‑chief monthly salary” — it is not⁵.

What “administrative subsidy” means: the money is not a personal salary; it covers office expenses — utilities, internet, stationery, photocopying, fuel for official trips, tea and snacks for residents, printing of newsletters or activity flyers. The chief must bear all personal expenses related to the position and can deduct them from the subsidy.

In practice, a diligent chief often finds NT$45,000 insufficient. Many supplement the shortfall out of pocket — printing New‑Year couplets for residents, giving red envelopes to solitary elders, renting equipment for community events.

Additional activity subsidies: beyond the monthly subsidy, each county or city government allocates separate funds for village activities, business subsidies, New‑Year celebration subsidies, etc., with amounts varying by local fiscal capacity¹⁶. These are earmarked funds requiring reimbursement documentation.

No formal civil‑servant salary: county‑city legislators receive research allowances, attendance fees, health checks, etc., totaling over NT$100,000 per month¹⁷, plus labor‑insurance and parliamentary travel subsidies. Village chiefs lack these benefits — they are not civil servants.

Part‑time work is common: because of the “non‑salaried + NT$45,000 subsidy” design, many chiefs hold side jobs — taxi driving, small businesses, insurance sales, or retiree pensions plus the subsidy. Few rely solely on the chief role for livelihood, especially in small rural villages.

This economic structure determines who runs for village chief — typically middle‑aged to retired individuals with an existing economic base, time, and extensive local networks. Younger candidates face structural barriers: not that they cannot win, but that they cannot financially sustain the role.

Structural Tensions

After eight decades, the village‑chief system carries several unresolved tensions.

Urban‑rural disparity: a neighbourhood in Taipei’s Xinyi District may have over 10,000 residents, whereas a mountain village in Hualien may have only 200. With the same NT$45,000 subsidy and salary structure, workload can differ by a factor of twenty or more¹⁸. Urban chiefs handle dense populations and complex administration; rural chiefs serve sparse populations spread over large, sometimes rugged terrain, requiring hours of travel for a single round.

Proposals to adjust subsidies by population size have been made, but each amendment stalls because “all 7,748 villages and neighbourhoods nationwide are affected,” making reform politically difficult.

Low female representation: traditionally male‑dominated. While women’s participation in higher‑level politics (legislators, mayors) has risen, the proportion of female village chiefs lags behind¹⁹. Reasons include: traditional community politics (temple committees, agricultural/fishery cooperatives, clans) are male‑centric; the irregular, long hours clash with family‑care responsibilities; and campaign networks have historically been male‑led. Urban districts have seen more female chiefs recently, especially in younger neighbourhoods of Taipei, New Taipei, and Taichung, but the national average remains low.

“Head‑of‑village” phenomenon: a small number of villages are criticised as extensions of personal networks rather than genuine autonomous units²⁰. “Head‑of‑village” refers to villages where elections are virtually uncontested, incumbents have served 20‑30 years, resident‑assembly attendance is minimal, and the office is effectively controlled by a specific clique. Although not widespread, the issue recurs in academic and civil‑society debates on grassroots autonomy quality.

Reform discussions include mandatory public asset declarations (currently required for only a subset of the 7,748 positions), introduction of performance evaluation mechanisms for chiefs, and strengthening the statutory status of resident assemblies to ensure genuine participation. No nationwide uniform amendment has yet emerged.

International Comparison: The Village Chief Is Uniquely Taiwanese

Many countries have a “most grassroots local governance unit,” but their operational logic differs.

Japan:自治会長 (Jichikai‑chō) — Japan’s neighbourhood associations are non‑profit, community‑based groups, not an official governmental tier²¹. The chairperson is elected by members, has no legal authority, and membership is voluntary. Japan lacks a directly elected local public office equivalent to Taiwan’s village chief; the lowest elected public office is the municipal councilor.

South Korea: 통반장制度 — Under Korea’s “dong” (neighbourhood) system, “tong” and “ban” leaders are either elected by residents or appointed by the dong office²². This system is flatter than Taiwan’s, but the authority and resources of tong/ban leaders are far less than those of Taiwan’s village chiefs.

France: maire — French mayors hold substantive administrative powers, can issue orders, issue civil documents, and execute municipal budgets²³. The French mayor corresponds more to Taiwan’s township or city mayor, not to the village chief.

United States: precinct captain — In some U.S. states, precinct captains exist within party structures, not as government officials²⁴.

Thus, Taiwan’s village chief is a rare hybrid: a legally defined, directly elected public office with specific powers and a budget, yet classified as a “non‑salaried position,” not a civil servant, highly localised, and with minimal party colour. This hybrid likely results from the inheritance of the Japanese Baojia system combined with eight decades of autonomous evolution.

Observation Points for 2026

Six months remain before the 28 November 2026 vote. Several indicators merit attention:

• Will the non‑partisan share remain? Past elections have seen over 60 % non‑partisan candidates. Whether 2026 maintains this proportion tests the “faction‑over‑party” narrative in grassroots politics.
• Urban “young chiefs” phenomenon: recent cases of 30‑40‑year‑old challengers confronting incumbent chiefs in their 70s, using social media, community building, and family‑oriented activities. Expect more such contests in Taipei, New Taipei, Taichung, and Taoyuan.
• Female chief proportion: will the historical ceiling be broken?
• Generational turnover of local factions: many incumbents are second‑ or third‑generation (father‑son, father‑daughter, spousal succession). As many approach their seventies, the speed and direction of generational change will be telling.
• Villages with no candidates due to out‑migration: in Hualien, Yunlin, Miaoli, Nantou, etc., some villages may face uncontested seats or no candidates at all. The Central Election Commission has tracked this in past elections — will 2026 exacerbate the trend?

These are structural, not news‑style, observations. Village‑chief elections rarely make headlines, yet their long‑term trends reveal the pulse of Taiwan’s grassroots governance.

Conclusion: The Most “Non‑Political” Political Position

The village chief is Taiwan’s most “non‑political” political office.

There are no party debates, no policy white papers, no TV ads, no live‑streamed campaign rallies. Among the 7,748 positions on a single ballot, most voters forget who they chose for chief after casting their vote, yet that person passes by your alley every morning at 5:30 a.m., delivers lunch to the neighbour’s grandma, and answers the phone at midnight when the dog next door barks.

Nevertheless, this office is the most complete evidence of Taiwan’s democratization. From the colonial‑era Baojia’s peripheral administration, through post‑war renaming, 1950 direct elections, to the 1999 legal consolidation — each historical node retained an elected representative at the very base. Eighty years of uninterrupted village‑chief elections demonstrate that Taiwan’s autonomy grew from the bottom up.

The ninth slot of the “nine‑in‑one” election is so ordinary it is almost invisible. Yet 7,748 elected heads being refreshed on the same day is a scale unmatched in other Asian democracies — this is the density of Taiwan’s grassroots autonomy.

On the morning of 28 November 2026, when you enter the polling station, you will receive nine differently coloured ballot sheets. The last one is usually for the village chief — the name on that sheet is the person who for three consecutive terms has emptied the trash at 5:30 a.m., delivered a lunchbox to the neighbour’s grandma, and taken a midnight call about a barking dog.

That is not politics. That is Taiwan’s lowest‑level, everyday‑operating, eighty‑year‑uninterrupted democratic infrastructure.

Further Reading: Politics Hub · 2026 九合一選舉 (2026 九合一選舉) · 九合一選舉是什麼 (九合一選舉是什麼) · 議員制度 (議員制度) · 直轄市山地原住民區長 (直轄市山地原住民區長) · Society Hub

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v1.0 | 2026-05-27 | Created by Zhe‑Yu directive: 2026 Election Series Tier 1.3 — Providing a systemic history for the ninth slot of the nine‑in‑one election.

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