By Julien Oeuillet 曾樂昂
“If you do not work in semiconductors, you are nothing in this country.” That is what an 18-year-old told me after my speech at the Kaohsiung International Youth Forum. It was a heartbreaking comment — one that highlights how Taiwan ignores the potential of the creative industry and the soft power that it generates.
We all know what an Asian nation can achieve in that field. Japan led the way decades ago. South Korea followed with the enormous success of “hallyu” — also known as the Korean wave, referring to the global rise and spread of South Korean culture. Now Thailand is positioning itself as the next South Korea. None of those countries let the language barrier hold them back: They conquered the world.
The benefits are immense: Legions of people worldwide would care if a disaster occurred in South Korea or Japan, but the same people would not bat an eyelid if Taiwan disappeared. Why is Taiwan, a country that needs global presence and a worldwide “fan club” more than any other, not even trying to emulate this?
Sure, it takes money, and South Korea spent it. Even before the opposition-controlled Legislative Yuan pushed for a reduction of the Ministry of Culture’s budget, Taiwan was already lagging behind. In 2022, South Korea’s Ministry of Culture reached an unprecedented budget of about US$6 billion. In the same year, Taiwan’s Ministry of Culture only received about US$800 million.
Imagine what Taiwan could achieve if its government and its wealthy upper class decided to invest in pop culture. The talent exists, but remains untapped.
Taiwan lacks a healthy ecosystem that favors the rise of young performers from an early age. A dance teacher in Kaohsiung told me: “If you want to meet young people learning to dance, go to Hsinchu, that is where rich parents can pay for classes.”
A Latin dance teacher who moved to Kaohsiung from Hong Kong described her experience of working in Kaohsiung as feeling like she was practically begging, and she went back home disheartened. From day one, young people are discouraged and teachers marginalized.
That happens in the one Taiwanese city that makes an effort to cultivate a cultural scene: Kaohsiung, now known as the “concert city,” where its public authorities make an effort to support the musical scene. If one city can do it, should the national government not be able to do so as well? Kaohsiung’s efforts alone would never be enough.
Taiwan faces enormous obstacles, but none of them should prevent it from building up a pop culture that could be known overseas.
A recent documentary on TaiwanPlus by Taiwanese documentary filmmaker Lin Chen-yu (林真宇) showed the difficulties Taiwanese pop musicians face when dealing with Chinese pressure. Fair enough, but what would Taiwan do to support them? Would artists care about China if Taiwan had created an industry capable of supporting them and giving them a worldwide audience?
The Hoklo language, (commonly known as Taiwanese) already offers a window to ASEAN, which the New Southbound Policy aims to court.
Last year, Kaohsiung-based rapper Frankie (阿法) in an interview told me how his Taiwanese-language raps found an audience in Southeast Asia, where his lyrics were intelligible to many.
A study by University of Nottingham researcher Jeremy E. Taylor showed how there used to be a thriving Hoklo cinema industry in which Taiwan played a major role and benefitted greatly. Taiwan once had a powerful domestic tool for engagement with Southeast Asian audiences, but even Mayday, arguably Taiwan’s most famous rock band, eventually moved on from Hoklo in favor of Mandarin.
In many ways, the Mandarin language is the curse of Taiwan: it conditions its people (and its artists) to see China as the only horizon. Taiwan still defines itself as a small Mandarin-speaking country rather than a global player the way South Korea and Japan (and soon Thailand) do.
Changing that parochial mindset was a key part of Seoul’s strategic cultural investments: Only a similar national effort to assist Taiwanese performers in embracing a worldwide vision could challenge that mindset, giving them hope and incentives to reach out to foreign audiences rather than staying confined to Taiwan and China. However, it is not going to happen unless Taiwan is willing to seriously invest in pop culture and foster the foundations of a career for young talents.
Taiwan is so fixated on its semiconductor industry that it is passing on the opportunity to create its own world-class entertainment industry, even though it would add to the arsenal it needs to sustain its existence. South Korea did not sacrifice Hallyu for the sake of Samsung.
Everyone wants to know who the next Morris Chang (張忠謀) and Jensen Huang (黃仁勳) are, but we should also wonder who would be Taiwan’s first truly global pop idols.
Julien Oeuillet is an independent journalist in Kaohsiung. He produces programs for Radio Taiwan International and TaiwanPlus, and writes for several English-language publications globally.
