It was a sunny afternoon. At about 3:30 p.m., my secretary came into my office and said, "The military aide called. The President wants to see you."
I walked down the long hallway to the inner reception room and, as usual, bowed to the President after I had opened the door, but I immediately sensed that something was unusual. The President usually wore a familiar tan jacket unless he was to receive guests or preside over meetings, and I knew he had no such programs that afternoon. Yet he was neatly dressed in a deep blue suit, a white shirt, and a red necktie with blue stripes. He appeared to be in good spirits. On closer look, his face seemed to be radiant with well-being; I was delighted and silently wished him good health.
After we had discussed a few problems and I had noted down some instructions, I was preparing to leave when the President said suddenly, "I shall try using a waist protector and see if I feel better so I can attend the Central Standing Committee meeting tomorrow." I was pleased he had finally accepted a suggestion I had made several times based on first hand experience; it revealed a confidence he had in conquering pain and suffering.
Little did I know then that he would not be present at the CSC meeting the following day. The tragic news which came that afternoon was like a thunderbolt that struck on a bright, sunny day. I could hardly believe it. By the time I had rushed to his Tachih residence, the President was already resting in eternal peace. I bowed to him as I always did and with tears falling from my eyes, I said in a low voice, "Mr. President, you are now truly free."
The selfless, great man of this era who devoted his entire life to his country and people thus bade eternal farewell to the world.
One year has passed. Melancholic memories continue to fill my mind. The President's life had been full of countless touching events, and his great love and sincerity had added an air of unusualness to even the most ordinary and trivial events of his life.
Many have asked about my association with the President. Indeed, there was no association between us at all before he assumed the premiership, but having gained his trust during my 16 long years of serving him, I felt I had met one who truly understood and trusted me. During this period, many a friend offered such friendly advice as "serving a king is like living with a tiger" and "rulers of authority are unpredictable." They warned me to tread carefully, to avoid being charged for a wrong. But I must admit that in my years of service to the President, not once did I find him aloof, nor as friends said, "unpredictable." I never saw him scold, display anger, or consumed with wrath.
This may not sound credible, but through those years, every time I entered his office or the reception room, he always stood up in welcome and resumed sitting only after I had been seated. And he never failed to stand up and watch me leave the room at the end of our meetings. As a subordinate, I was overwhelmed and requested that we stand on less ceremony, but his courteous attitude remained unchanged. Even during the last years of his life when his health was failing, he would lean slightly forward and nod in welcome or farewell. No one could help but be moved by such warmth and cordiality shown to a subordinate by a superior, let alone by a head of state.
It was my personal experience that the President was an excellent judge of an individual's ability and talent. He knew each one's capabilities and assigned him tasks accordingly, seldom letting people feel incompetent or hard pressed to do a job beyond their abilities. Those who failed to live up to his expectations were not reprimanded; instead, he comforted and encouraged them. His subordinates were therefore never nervous or pressured when carrying out their assignments. However, the President insisted on honesty. He was ready to give praise as long as mistakes were openly discussed and people were not afraid to make amends. On the other hand, he hated hypocritical and deliberate turning of the phrase and defensive tactics, and would not forgive those who tried to cover up their mistakes or shirk their responsibilities.
The President had authority and augustness, but he was seldom angry, as one of the sages said: "Those who know how best to use their authority do not easily become angry." His friendly and affable nature made those around him feel very much at ease.
"Great wisdom," "great benevolence," and "great courage" have often been used to describe great men, and to me, President Chiang was the embodiment of these qualities, all in one.
Like "wise people who are never in doubt," he was farsighted and decisive when handling complicated national affairs. He was able to find a simple and logical solution to complicated problems. When confronted with difficulties, or so-called "crises," he was all the more calm and composed, tackling problems competently, and bringing into full play the spirit that "no obstacle was insurmountable." What was most admirable was his open-heartedness and dedication to serving the people, which fully reflected the wisdom and personality of a great leader.
The late President checks on construction—"dedication to service" meant everything from "minor jobs" to major policy decisions. (File photo)
Recently, when I was putting in order records of my earlier days, I came across a note in his own handwriting. On the note were remarks designed to encourage: "Detach yourself from right and wrong and you will finally recognize right from wrong. Detach yourself from good and bad and you will finally recognize changes in the good and the bad." These must have been the principles the President followed in his daily administration.
The terms "strongman politics" and "strongman era" have frequently been used by some news media in reference to the President. In my opinion, if it was meant that he had the superhuman wisdom, will, and integrity of a "strongman," that he had deep confidence and strong leadership ability, then the description fit. But if it was intended to brand him as a dictatorial and tyrannical "strongman," then the implication was ridiculous and way off the mark.
As for the "courageous man who fears nothing," it is known by one and by all that President Chiang's appearance and personality presented the very picture of a man of courage. From the many legend-like stories about him, he was undoubtedly a man whose courage had won the respect of all. He once said, "The most dangerous place is the safest place." During the Communist Chinese bombardment of Quemoy [in 1958], he repeatedly braved the shells that were raining down the island to visit the battle front. And as construction of the cross-island highway was about to get under way, he climbed many mountains and scaled many peaks to places uninhabited and full of hidden dangers. His fearlessness stood out in his administration of the country.
His unique courage was equally discernible in the trivialities of his daily life. I can recall the times when I accompanied him on his visits among the people and inspection tours of construction sites. His eyes were always focused ahead when he listened to reports as he walked through the work sites; he paid no attention to the ground beneath his feet. Sometimes he would step into a pool of water or mud, but he paid no heed and continued striding ahead. He marched forward, confidently and unconcerned. People could not but admire the distinguished leader for his concentration and resoluteness.
I especially want to emphasize his benevolence. In the Christian concept, "benevolence" is love, which in turn is eternal patience and tolerance for all. I have had first hand experience of the greatness of his love for all. He was ever gentle and fair with others. He could tolerate what others could not, and these traits can be traced to the compassion of this benevolent man. He cared when his people suffered, because he had an all-encompassing love, which he expressed not only in words but also in action. He never stopped to propagate the seeds of benevolence, whether carrying out important tasks such as planning for the people's livelihood or completing the most minor jobs.
When the world energy crisis broke out in 1973 and Taiwan's economy was reeling under the blow, the Executive Yuan adopted several countermeasures at just the right time. Every time Chiang (then premier) presided over a meeting on financial and economic affairs, his prime concerns were the people's livelihood and commodity prices. Questions he always asked when a new measure was being studied included, "Will it affect commodity prices? Will it cause inflation? Will it increase the people's burden?" He was concerned that an inappropriate step would negatively affect the lives of the people.
I will never forget the few principles he asked us to abide by: "Never try to boost exports with currency depreciation, never try to stimulate production through inflation," "the precondition for the taxation policy is not increasing the burden on low-income earners," and "seek economic growth with stability." Chiang also pointed out, "Our government is supported not by financial consortia, but by the people alone." These important principles and directives fully reflected Chiang's love for his people and dedication to serving them, as people's livelihood has been the major concern in the government's financial and economic policies in the past many years.
He frequently focused on particular cases as well, such as showing infinite love for a little girl, Yang En-tien, of the Liukuei orphanage who was crippled in both hands. He never tired of visiting her and encouraging her. It was certainly not a show put on by a political figure, but a demonstration of infinite concern that grew out of a true love.
Rare moments of relaxation for father, son, and family—"Sacrifice enjoyment, enjoy sacrifice" was an aphorism steadfastly obeyed. (File photo)
He was truly a president of the ordinary folk. He enjoyed being close to the people. In addition to the eleven old friends that were frequently covered by the newspapers, he had numerous others in every corner of the island. Once he learned they were in difficulty or celebrating a happy occasion, he did not wait to be consulted or invited but took the initiative to offer his assistance or convey his congratulations. He was filled with warmth and friendliness, and—as only a benevolent man can be—was natural and sincere about it.
At a meeting with twelve local elders in the summer of 1987, the President said calmly but with deep feeling, "I have been living in Taiwan for 40 years; I am also a Taiwanese." At the time, the gesture could have been misinterpreted as only a friendly overture to native Taiwanese, but I knew it was borne out of a special feeling that had built up over time in the inner depths of his heart.
He had been extremely pained in recent years when differences in provincial origins had stirred up opposition sentiments and thoughts of division in the minds of some people. Suddenly, one day, he said to me, "Whether Wu Feng's story [of a benevolent official in Taiwan who died in the line of duty in 1768] is true or not, if there was indeed such a person who was ready to sacrifice himself for the good of society, I have the greatest respect for him." I was shocked when I realized he was serious. Was he considering following in Wu Feng's footsteps? After all, he was a president constantly attentive to matters of national security.
Later, when I was able to tie this in with the statement "I am a Taiwanese," my heart felt heavy. I deduced that the thought must have occurred to him and he was prepared to sacrifice himself for national harmony.
The government eased restrictions on family visits to mainland China in November 1987. President Chiang had given the move much thought as early as the beginning of the year, completely out of humanitarian considerations. He realized that Taiwan residents originally from the mainland had been away from their native homes a long time and were getting more homesick each day. This was only human, and the government could not turn a blind eye.
The President said to me, "I am aware that many wide-ranging and complicated problems are involved and the matter must be handled carefully, but I have been deliberating over the issue a long time and am deeply concerned about it. I am anxious to see action taken with success." He asked Ma Ying-jeou [presently chairman of the ROC Research, Development and Evaluation Commission] and me to study as soon as possible the feasibility, the steps to be taken, the problems that could arise, as well as the possible developments from such a decision. We made a preliminary analytical report, which he immediately turned over to the ruling party to discuss and act upon. An ad hoc committee was organized to plan and realize his wish, although many legal problems remain to be studied and straightened out today.
To the unknowing outside world, it may appear that the government was compelled by the public to ease restrictions on family visits to the Chinese mainland. But the public is unaware that the move was initiated by the President out of benevolence and his dedication to serving the people and working for the good of the country.
Similarly, his empathy could be seen in the revision of the Law of Negotiable Instruments, which eliminated criminal penalties for check frauds. Chiang had been concerned by the fact that many of those convicted for issuing bad checks were innocent victims, and there had been instances when women were placed behind bars instead of their husbands, thereby forcing them to leave their children unattended. The President repeatedly expressed the hope that the Ministries of Finance and Justice would work to correct the unreasonable situation, and complete the legislative procedures of revising the law so that thousands could benefit from it.
It is widely known that when President Chiang was defense minister, he promoted the "four opens" policy in the military: open opinions, open financial affairs, open personnel affairs, and an open system of awards and punishments. This proved extremely effective in reinforcing military discipline and boosting the morale of the soldiers. When Chiang became premier in 1972, he again listed these "four opens" as a major part of administrative reform.
Chiang Ching-kuo celebrates his 20th wedding anniversary with his Russian-born wife, Madame Chiang Fang-liang. (File photo)
What is especially worth mentioning is an epoch-making decision with far-reaching influence in the history of our government—the making public of the once "classified" central government fiscal budget under the principle of "open financial affairs." The budget that used to be secretly reviewed by the Legislative Yuan was opened to public scrutiny, except when it involved classified information in defense and foreign affairs. All other related documents were reclassified as ordinary, and the legislature was asked to review the budget openly.
In the President's opinion, the responsibility of the legislature in budget review was to watch the people's purses for them, and the government's budget was drawn up in order to keep the people informed of the source of funding and how it was spent. It was therefore essential that the budget be reviewed openly. This was his basic concept and attitude in handling public affairs. Indeed, it proved to be an epoch-making breakthrough in the administration at the time, although the open procedure is now taken for granted.
When Chiang assumed office as President in May 1978, the first task I was assigned was to make sure that the Presidential Office did not receive budgetary support from other governmental agencies and that attempts would not be made to increase the budget. At the time, the fiscal 1979 budget (from July 1978 to June 1979) for the Presidential Office had already been reviewed and passed. And as expected, difficulties arose. But in order to obey the President's instructions, I had no choice but one—to tightly control spending and cut down on expenses in order to thoroughly enforce his directive of being thrifty in the building of the nation. All expenses were made public under the "open financial affairs" policy, and the accounting department was asked to keep a detailed account of the President's own "special expenses." This selflessness and openness won him the admiration and respect of all his subordinates.
"When called for, spend it; when possible, save it" was the principle in financial management followed by a president who did not waste a drop of the blood and sweat of the people.
The Ten Major Construction Projects were major undertakings directed by Chiang during his tenure as premier, and the fruits of his efforts are shared by millions of people today. The projects have also been widely acclaimed as the key to the subsequent economic takeoff. The proposal, which was made during the energy crisis when Taiwan was suffering from a sluggish economy, evoked widespread criticism and skepticism. Many people believed that the country was not in a position to proceed with ten projects simultaneously and thought that the government might be overly ambitious and not practical enough. There were even barbed remarks like "the freeway was built for the rich." But the farsighted and dauntless Chiang was not to be deterred. His declaration "if it's [the projects] not done today, we will regret it tomorrow" later became a well-known quote. He decided to make use of whatever resources were available and put all his efforts into accomplishing his goal.
With his outstanding leadership, the President assigned himself, the vice premier, and each minister without portfolio respectively to supervise a project. In addition, he arranged an extra schedule for himself to personally inspect every project each month, and he often visited construction sites to study the progress made and to solve problems on the spot. In less than five years, all ten projects were completed according to schedule. And the facts have proven that the Ten Major Construction Projects not only brought the country through the energy crisis, but also laid the foundation for its move toward the ranks of the developed countries.
His steadfast and non-hesitant style impressed me deeply. At a meeting on financial and economic affairs just before the conclusion of the projects, he urged the agencies concerned to "conduct a comprehensive review of each project in terms of its financial situation, progress, functions, coordination with other related aspects, re-employment of manpower and facilities after its completion, top-to-bottom planning, and contact with related industries to make sure the resources are well and effectively used." Chiang considered everything from the most important part down to the smallest details, and this professional approach was the guarantee of his successful administration.
The President led a simple life. He was not fastidious about his food or clothing, and material comfort could hardly be associated with him. His office and residence were sparsely decorated. The few sofas he owned had been used for years, but he was unwilling to replace them with new ones. He waived all suggestions of buying a new set, saying, "Just change the covers and it will be fine."
He was even less particular about food. In the past, the meals served in his home were the same as those served to his military aides and guards. Later, when he was suffering from diabetes, there were some foods that had to be eaten often and others omitted from his diet. Physicians, concerned about his health, suggested time and again that his meals be prepared separately, but it was not until a long time afterwards that he gave in to having his meals cooked to meet his dietary needs. Still, he instructed that the meals be prepared simply.
He enjoyed reading. He read extensively, diligently, and in great detail, often making notes. Reading and being with the people were the only two activities he took real delight in during his lifetime; these were also the ones he was forced to give up in the last few years of his life, when his health began to fail and his eyes grew weak, affecting his mood as a result.
Chiang did not seek comfort, and looked down on the pursuit of wealth and fame. During his tenure as premier, he hung in his office a scroll of a couplet which went, "Seek only gains that will benefit the world, and pursue only fame that will last forever." The couplet was intended to give inspiration, but when a friend casually observed that wealth and fame were still implied, Chiang took the scroll off the wall.
The President took major pleasure in sacrifice and dedication to his nation and people. For administrative personnel, he had these words of encouragement: "Sacrifice enjoyment, enjoy sacrifice" and "Live for work and not work to live." These sound ordinary, but they reflect his philosophy of life.
When I was clearing my office recently, after I had resigned from my post at the Presidential Office, every page, every sheet of the old documents and records I came across stirred up many memories of the days gone by. As past events flashed through my mind, in the notes written by President Chiang and documents where he made corrections, I saw comments of great wisdom put down in a forceful handwriting, all representative of a great leader who worked laboriously for the nation. Looking at today and thinking of yesteryears, I felt infinitely sad.
Although he was a president who enjoyed the highest glory, he exercised strict self-discipline. During the time when he could still read and write, he noted down meaningful phrases whenever he came across them, to inspire and teach himself. He had on occasion given me notes of encouragement, on which he wrote "proverbs of sages compiled by Chiang Ching-kuo" in his own handwriting. A look at these notes, and every word, every sentence, seems to jump up at me as though I am seeing once again how the strong, benevolent, and courageous man was using his unparalleled wisdom and all-encompassing love to lead this country steadily forward. My eyes are wet from these endless memories and feelings of gratitude.
President Chiang has gone, relieved of his great burdens, to enjoy heavenly peace. What is left to be done is for us to unite together to fulfill his will, to complete the unfinished great tasks begun by him, so that he may rest in peace.
My essay can describe not even one-millionth of his greatness or ordinariness. It is no more than an expression of my respect and memory of him. —January 1989.