The Sunflower Movement began on March 18, 2014. A group of NGOs and student activists who have long sought to hold the government accountable on human rights and trade issues stormed into Taiwan’s Legislative Yuan, occupied the legislative floor for 585 hours, and attempted to occupy the Executive Yuan building nearby.
This upheaval from 10 years ago is considered the largest political movement in the first two decades of the century in Taiwan. In many ways, it determined the future path for Taiwanese politics. A new generation of political leaders were born from this movement, and new political parties tried to speak to the people’s frustration towards the establishment. Finally, the majority of Taiwanese voters began to seriously question the policies of then President Ma Ying-jeou and his Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) calling for more economic integration with China.
What happened
In June of the previous year (2013), representatives from Taiwan and China signed the Cross-Strait Services Trade Agreement (CSSTA) in Shanghai. This agreement practically fully opens Taiwan’s market for services, including medical care, publishing, banking, and telecommunications. Free trade agreements are considered to be a legitimate tool for economies to foster trade under the rubric of globalization. But China has always pressed its territorial claims on Taiwan, and has insisted on war as a final solution. Opening up to China sparked deep anxieties for the Taiwanese society.
On June 25, 2013, under the pressure of many civil society groups, the Legislative Yuan promised to review and vote on each line of the CSSTA, rather than as an entire package. However, on March 17 the next year, KMT legislator and Internal Administration Committee chair Chang Ching-chung (張慶忠) took the floor of the committee meeting and announced that the CSSTA had overrun its three months review period and therefore is considered approved.
This was a procedural “black box” that went against the Legislative Yuan’s own resolution. It made Taiwan vulnerable to the capital and human resources from a rival authoritarian state. Furious activists broke through the police barricades the next night on March 18, and thus began a sit-in that lasted for 24 days.
As part of Taiwan’s political spectrum, opposing closer economic ties with China is undoubtedly closer to the position of the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP). But the participants of the Sunflower Movement very consciously kept their distance from the DPP (even booing DPP politicians who appeared in person in support). For most people, the Sunflower Movement was a student movement, led by youngsters who were not the usual cast of seasoned politicians, nor did not have specific political affiliations or personal interests. This helped the movement earn the support of the majority, even though the movement also had experienced advocates in the labor, environment, and human rights movements. Their involvement, planning, support, and sharing of institutional knowledge were certainly central to the movement’s success.
The book: This Is No Sunflower
The book This is No Sunflower: A Record of the 318 Movement (published by Asian Culture, 允晨文化) refutes the “Sunflower” label right off the bat. It protests any effort to simplify or label this movement but strove to reflect the movement’s complexity, diversity, and even internal conflicts. Among the many recollections and analyses in the years after the Sunflower Movement, this book from 2015 is widely considered to be the most complete.
Cover of the book《This is No Sunflower: A Record of the 318 Movement 》. Image sourced from eslit.com.
This is No Sunflower does not claim to look at the movement objectively (if such objectively ever existed). The publisher is sponsored in part by President Tsai Ing-wen, and the four authors are experienced journalists and academics, each with their own political preferences. Nonetheless, the book does a great job covering all aspects of the movement, detailed in every way. It takes into account all the complex, conflicting views of the participants, and while it affirms the core values of the movement, it does not overly romanticize the movement or its leaders.
For example, the book recounts how the planners of the movement did intend to storm the legislative floor, but thought it would be over very quickly. They did not plan on the movement turning into a long term occupation, and therefore all the logistical planning and chain of command to sustain an occupation were chaotically put together in a hurry.
But it was the very process of building an organization within the chaos that saw the true strength of Taiwan’s civil society. There were those who took it upon themselves to do the boring work of patrolling the grounds. Some people made makeshift barricades to block off the police by tying office desks and chairs together. Those with foreign language schools formed their own international press center. Still others used their iPads to livestream from inside the building, replacing traditional news media as the first source of information for the public.
In the next 24 days, tens of thousands of people came by the streets around the Legislative Yuan, and voluntarily organized themselves into a well-oiled machine distributing the food and drink donated by yet more people. There were people who helped with recycling and trash, people who looked out for order and stopped vandalism, and people who tried to watch for unsavory characters infiltrating the movement. Most surprisingly, there were public fora and open mikes everywhere, in tents or even just on the streets, where anyone can get in front of a crowd and share their thoughts, regardless of nationality or political stance. In these “democracy workshops,” even those who opposed the movement got a chance to speak, with no more than a gentle rebuttal from the crowd. Everyone who saw this ten years ago could not imagine a more pure form of democracy.
A young flower shop owner donated thousands of sunflowers, and gave this movement a name we all remember to this day.
What happens now
However, just like public movements around the world, the Sunflower Movement lacked a strong, centralized leadership and detailed planning. The inner circle of leaders had always had their differences. One faction called for escalating the movement and occupying more government buildings as leverage, but a more cautious faction opposed this move, worried that it would risk the support and momentum of what they already accomplished. The two factions did not communicate well, and caused the attempted occupation of the Executive Yuan on March 24 and riot police violently beating student protesters. This left a proud gash within the movement, as well as emotional trauma for the participants.
Not only did differences in strategy cause a rift in the movement, so did hierarchy and power. The movement couldn’t work without the involvement of the mass of passionate people, but only a few got to be “leaders” on the stage. No one questioned their intentions, but in a high stakes, chaotic movement like this, too many people did not get the credit they’re due. Too many emotions and voices went unacknowledged. A group of people put on something called the “Intestine Flower Movement,” using blunt, negative and suggestive language to express their frustration and disillusion.
The scope and depth of This Is No Sunflower made it a timely read even nine years after it was published. It could even, perhaps, answer the question Taiwanese people have for this movement at its 10th anniversary: was the Sunflower Movement about Taiwan’s democratic procedures, or was it really about fighting China? There are too many questions we can ponder about this movement, like: why did political leaders who came from this movement fall short of expectations, or even simply switched allegiances? Is there room for a third political force outside of the traditional KMT and DPP? As long as China holds on to its sovereignty claims on Taiwan, and China’s market still attracts Taiwan, these questions are worth thinking about.
(Feature photo by Kai on g0v.hackpad)
