Book Review: Reframing Matsu Beyond the Battlefield – The Evolution of Matsu’s Identity

Over the past two or three years, countless scholars and journalists from around the globe have traveled to Taiwan, drawn by its reputation as “the most dangerous place on Earth.” However, upon arriving in Taipei, they find themselves in a thriving, stable, and modern metropolis—a stark contrast to Taiwan’s reputation. To satisfy their intellectual curiosity or fulfill the assignments handed down by their news agencies, they venture to Taiwan’s remote frontier islands—Kinmen or Matsu. Yet for generations of Taiwanese men, including myself and my father, the names Kinmen and Matsu are synonymous with a common nightmare.

Most Taiwanese have never had the opportunity to set foot on these two islands, as both are over a hundred kilometers away from Taiwan and can only be reached by plane or boat. There is only one reason someone would go there: being assigned during the compulsory military service.

These islands lie just across a narrow stretch of water from Taiwan’s adversary, China, so close that you can clearly see the opposite shore with the naked eye. Before 1992, Kinmen and Matsu were under strict military martial law, hosting a massive military presence. In essence, these islands existed for the military purposes and nothing else.

Take Matsu as an example: at its lowest, the civilian population there dropped to just six or seven thousand, while over a hundred thousand soldiers were stationed there. As a battlefield, Matsu suffered from severe material shortages and harsh living conditions. The military imposed strict controls for security and confidentiality, and until 1979, the islands endured artillery bombardment from China. As a result, few on Taiwan’s main island ever wanted to go there, and many locals hoped to leave. For most Taiwanese men who served in Matsu, the two or three years of military service were likely the most painful and arduous times of their lives. Countless tales recount how a soldier’s girlfriend abandoned him during those years of service in Matsu.

Although Matsu played a crucial role in safeguarding Taiwan’s security, its long-standing military control severely restricted the flow of information, people, and supplies, all of which required military approval and relied on navy transport. Consequently, Taiwanese people remain largely unfamiliar with Matsu’s local culture and environment. Many are unaware that while martial law was lifted on Taiwan’s main island in 1987, Kinmen and Matsu had to wait until 1992 to gain many of the freedoms Taiwan had already enjoyed for five years, including the right to directly elect their county leaders.

Rediscovering Matsu

With the lifting of martial law there in 1992 and the subsequent expansion and improvement of civilian airports— following two tragic plane crashes that cost 21 lives —Matsu began to see a rise in tourism. Many former residents who had left Matsu for opportunities in Taiwan started returning to their hometowns, prompting a growing interest in studying Matsu’s history and culture.

A shift in local identity has since emerged among Matsu’s younger generation. Unlike their grandparents, who struggled to meet their basic needs, or their parents, who focused on earning a living to support their families, the younger generation takes a different perspective. They challenge the overdevelopment of the islands and oppose building casinos as a means of attracting investments and tourists. Unafraid to voice their political views, even at the risk of offending officials or elders, the youth actively engage in public affairs and aspire to transform Matsu into a distinctive tourist destination that showcases its unique natural ecology and cultural heritage.

Cover of the book《Reframing Matsu Beyond the Battlefield: The Evolution of Matsu’s Identity》. Image sourced from eslit.com.

Amid this backdrop came the book, Reframing Matsu Beyond the Battlefield: From Fishing Villages to Battlefield—The Evolution of Matsu’s Identity Under Martial Law. This collective work is the result of contributions from individuals who have long been dedicated to Matsu’s historical research and local revitalization efforts.

Writing about Matsu’s history and cultural characteristics is a challenging endeavor. The region known as Matsu consists of five major islands and numerous smaller ones. Due to differences in size and geographical location, each island has a slightly different development trajectory. The remarkable achievement of Reframing Matsu Beyond the Battlefield lies in its extensive and insightful interviews, which provides a systematic account of over 70 years of history from 1949 to the present. Through the memories of several highly representative figures, the book is both a deeply researched historical narrative and a vivid biography of the region.

Strict Control Under Martial Law

The keyword to understanding Matsu is “periphery.” Because its size is so small that even the largest island, Nangan, can be circled by car in less than an hour, it has always been on the periphery of something else. Before 1949, it was a borderland of China, inhabited mainly by fishermen from Fujian province across the strait. These fishermen came to Matsu temporarily to catch fish and, after transporting their catch back to Fujian for sale, they occasionally stayed on the islands for short periods. Therefore, early Matsu had no schools, no temples, and even no cemeteries—everything was a temporary settlement.

After 1949, Matsu became the frontier of the Republic of China, based in Taiwan. Following their defeat in the civil war, the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) ****retreated to Taiwan, retaining control over Kinmen and Matsu. The war between the KMT and the Communist Party across the Taiwan Strait meant that residents on both sides were completely cut off from communication for nearly four decades, leading to the separation of countless families. However, while both Matsu and Taiwan’s main island were both under KMT control and part of the “Republic of China” territory, this shift held vastly different implications for the two regions.

Before the end of World War II, the islands of Taiwan and Penghu was under Japanese rule for 50 years, which gave Taiwanese people a unique life experience and cultural identity distinct from the Chinese mainland. In contrast, Matsu was never colonized by Japan, and shared the same cultural and economic sphere as Fujian province, only a day’s trip by fishing boat. The people on both sides spoke the same language (Fuzhou dialect, or Min Dong, which is different from the Taiwanese Hokkien spoken in Taiwan) and shared similar religious beliefs.

For the people of Taiwan, the KMT, which ruled Taiwan with authoritarian control, was an external colonizer. However, for the people of Matsu, Taiwan was also an external power that forcibly took them from their home at the doorstep of Fujian for security and political purposes. Under the Republic of China’s military governance, Matsu was transformed into an outpost base for a “counterattack on the mainland,” and this military and political arrangement drastically altered the traditional way of life for the people of Matsu.

First, military control devastated Matsu’s fishing industry. Unlike farming, fishing requires flexibility to adapt to ocean currents, tides, and the habits of fish, but the KMT military stipulated that Matsu fishermen could only operate during the day, and required permits for each departure. Fearing collusion with China – where fishermen often had family or lifelong friends – the authorities controlled oars, rudders, and even engines. This disruption of traditional livelihoods forced many Matsu residents to abandon their hometowns in search of opportunities in Taiwan, though this only became possible after 1972 when military restrictions on Matsu residents’ mobility were eased. Even after arriving in Taiwan, they faced discrimination and struggled to integrate due to linguistic differences with Taiwanese people.

Moreover, the military’s dependence on Matsu residents, who shared a language with the people of Fujian, created a paradox: they were indispensable for intelligence gathering and infiltration, yet were constantly suspected to be potential collaborators with the enemy. This distrust was exacerbated by the fact that most KMT soldiers stationed in Matsu were from northern China and could not understand the local dialect, deepening mistrust and division.

The result was pervasive surveillance, with nighttime curfews, neighbors policing each other, and travel permits being required even for visits to nearby villages. In the name of rooting out Communist infiltrators, residents were frequently subjected to interrogations, often resulting in wrongful imprisonment, torture, and even execution were disturbingly common. After 1950, Matsu became a sacrificial pawn in Taiwan’s pursuit of its own security. For generations, Matsu residents lived without freedoms or political rights. Yet, for those who grew up during this era, they simply accepted this reality as normal.

Beyond political oppression, the KMT military also exploited Matsu’s residents by depriving them of basic necessities. For decades, the people of Matsu subsisted on leftover military food reserve. These foods had been stored for years and were often contaminated with high levels of aflatoxin. This led to an alarmingly high rate of liver cancer among Matsu residents compared to those on Taiwan’s main island. Could they not import fresh rice from Taiwan? Unfortunately, no—fresh rice was strictly controlled by the military and reserved for soldiers. For Matsu’s residents, fresh white rice became a rare and coveted luxury under martial law. Desperate families resorted to smuggling, risking severe consequences just to provide a small comfort to their sick or elderly family members.

Matsu’s Complex Relationship with Taiwan

However, repression and control tell only part of the story of Matsu’s complex relationship with Taiwan. Many Matsu residents remain deeply grateful to the Republic of China for the transformations it brought. As noted earlier, before 1949, Matsu lacked even the most basic amenities, including schools. While the KMT regime primarily treated Matsu as a military outpost, it also built schools, roads, housing, ports, and airports. In 1968, Matsu opened its first high school. By 1983, the forward-thinking commander of the Matsu Defense Command, Wang Yi-chien, introduced an unexpected perk for residents of Dongyin Island: if residents purchased their own toilets, the army would help install septic tanks and build bathrooms.

While on one hand the military’s presence devastated Matsu’s fishing industry, the influx of soldiers on the other hand created a massive, near-monopolistic booming market for food, lodging, leisure, and entertainment. It was as if the economic benefits were meant to compensate for the suppression of rights and freedoms under martial law. Despite the severe restrictions and rights violations they endured, the people of Matsu ultimately received economic compensation under the military control.

This duality created a love-hate sentiment among Matsu residents in their pursuit of democratization and political rights. Reframing Matsu Beyond the Battlefield cites the recollections of Liu Jiaguo, a pro-democracy activist who rallied Matsu residents to challenge the Taipei government in the late 1980s:

“Military governance brought education, improved transportation, built roads, and planted trees—all of which undeniably benefited the people. But it also restricted their freedoms in the name of national security. This system stood on a moral high ground, claiming everything was for the good of the nation. So, how could people oppose it?”

“Some people threw my publications onto the ground at the pier,” he recalled. “Others confronted me, asking if I would take responsibility if they lost their livelihoods.” Although the eventual lifting of restrictions benefited everyone, the initial uncertainty and potential economic disruption made them anxious rather than grateful.

Fortunately, under the broader tide of democratization, Matsu saw an end to martial law in 1992, granting its residents the same freedoms and political rights enjoyed on Taiwan’s main island.

Broadly speaking, Matsu’s political evolution mirrored that of Taiwan— both transitioned from authoritarian and military rule, under KMT that prioritized security and anti-communism, to a democratic system. However, unlike Taiwan, which had already developed a distinct cultural identity and political trajectory separate from China by 1949, Matsu had closer ties to the mainland yet was forcibly integrated into the Republic of China. To that end, the infrastructure and social benefits provided by the KMT solidified Matsu’s acceptance of its rule, despite its authoritarian nature.

The Political Identity of Matsu’s Youth Today

So, three decades after democratization, what is Matsu’s political identity today? This is a question burdened with immense political and historical baggage, and there is no simple answer. From a pragmatic perspective, Matsu is geographically too close to China. Militarily, Matsu cannot defend itself against a Chinese invasion, and economically, it is closely tied to and dependent on China. In recent years, China has aggressively employed “gray zone tactics”, including sending its coast guard ships into Matsu’s restricted waters and claiming to conduct regular patrols, all in an effort to create the illusion of Chinese jurisdiction over the surrounding seas.

However, a fisherman on Nangan Island told me just two weeks ago: “Matsu depends on China economically, but politically, we rely on Taiwan.” The people of Matsu recognize that China’s united front efforts in Matsu are ultimately aimed at controlling Taiwan. Without Taiwan as a political lever, Matsu holds little significance for China.

Matsu’s post-democratization generation, born after 1992, holds a different perspective. Democracy, the rule of law, and political participation are ingrained, as fundamental as breathing. Their activism in the 2012 referendum against the proposed casino development reflects their vision for the island—not merely seeking the employment and economic growth brought by large-scale construction, but exploring Matsu’s unique cultural heritage and protecting its natural ecology through new thinking and a sustainable economy.

In 2020, the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP), which represents Taiwanese identity and local values, established its first office in Matsu, the last party office the DPP opened in Taiwan. Earlier that year, the DPP also introduced its first candidate to run for Matsu’s legislative election. In 2022, a group of young Matsu returnees entered local council elections, seeking to promote a political ideology that differs from the pro-China, authoritarian leanings of their parents’ generation.

They are not soldiers, and Matsu is no longer Taiwan’s frontline as the frontline of anti-communist resistance. Yet, their unwavering commitment to democratic values and active participation represent one of Taiwan’s most resilient defenses against authoritarian threats.

This remarkable transformation and its far-reaching implications are vividly brought to life in Reframing Matsu Beyond the Battlefield .

(Featured photo by Matsu National Scenic Area Headquarters, Tourism Administration Website)