On Sunday March 18, Taiwan-based Chinese political commentator, essayist and novelist Li Ao (李敖) died in Taipei. He made a mark on Taiwan’s modern political history, and his unabashed love for controversy earned him friends as well as enemies from all across the political spectrum in Taiwan. His works are also well-known in China, both as a literary figure and a tour guide to Taiwan’s democracy for the Chinese generation born in the 70s and beyond.

Li was born in Harbin, in what was at the time Manchukuo, currently the northeast region of the People’s Republic of China. His fled China after the Chinese Civil War, and graduated National Taiwan University in 1959.

Li’s public life was full of controversy; more precisely, he invited controversy and reveled in it. Some regard him as one of the most brilliant, sarcastic, and outspoken critics of politics in Taiwan, as well as a defender of libertarian thought; his detractors say he is a backwards believer of Chinese nationalism, a wacko politician, and an attention-hungry talking head whose views are all but irrelevant to Taiwan’s younger generation today.

Li was unabashedly anti-establishment in his outlook on politics. During the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT)’s martial law authoritarian rule in Taiwan (1949-1987), he was well known as a political dissident, writing prolifically against the ruling clique and dictators Chiang Kai-shek and his son Chiang Ching-kuo. In typical Li Ao style, his publications often masqueraded as pornography to entice readers and avoid the censors.

He was jailed from 1971 to 1976 by the KMT, and again in 1981-82 for helping Taiwan independence advocate Peng Ming-min flee Japan.

In 1984, he was briefly the editor-in-chief of a dissident publication Freedom Era (自由時代), under radically pro-independence and pro-democracy activist Cheng Nan-jung (鄭南榕), who later refused arrest by setting himself on fire in his barricaded office. During his tenure, he worked with Chen Shui-bian (陳水扁), later the president from 2000 to 2008 and the target of Li’s attacks.

At the same time, he was also a firm believer in Chinese nationalism, and vehemently opposed Taiwan independence. He was a supporter of unification between China and Taiwan under the “One Country Two Systems” framework, where Taiwan would be allowed some democracy within Communist China, similar to Hong Kong. In 2005 he visited China for the first time since he left, and spoke in favor of the Chinese Communist Party. He also criticized the pro-independence Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) for lying to the voters, since, to Li, its leaders understood that independence was not possible in reality.

His later tenure as a politician under the new democratic system in Taiwan is more remembered for his farcical stunts, designed to troll his political opponents; in a way they were almost a sarcastic critique of the system itself. He ran for president for the staunchly pro-unification New Party in 2000 with 0.13% of the vote, and in 2005 was elected as an independent legislator. In 2006, to block a debate on purchasing arms from the United States, he sprayed tear gas in the parliament chambers; he also filed suit against all 222 of his fellow legislators for “violating his freedom of speech.”

In China, Li enjoyed a following that saw him as a Chinese writer who offered a fresh perspective and style, and Li found an eager audience for his brand of Chinese nationalism and anti-establishment bravado. Ironically, anecdotal evidence seems to show that news of his death spread on China’s social media platforms than on Taiwan’s. While his message of libertarianism coupled with emotional ties to Chinese identity would be apropos in a politically tightening China today, in Taiwan he is no longer widely considered an intellectual hero by today’s young intelligentsia, for his rejection of the legitimacy of their Taiwanese identity.

With Li’s passing, Taiwan bids farewell to a piece of its 20th Century history. Li was not just a product of his times, but through his provocations and caricatures, he moved Taiwan, and China, in a direction that was perhaps diametric to what he had hoped to see. Li Ao was 83 years old.

(Feature photo of Li Ao by Shizhao for Wikicommons, CC BY-SA 3.0)