Reflections After the Failure of Taiwan’s Recall Campaign
文：毛一炜（Yiwei Mao）
编辑：gloria wang 责任编辑：鲁慧文 翻译：鲁慧文
身在洛杉矶，看到台湾罢免案再度失败，我的心情沉重。作为一个来自中国大陆的人，我亲眼目睹过专制的残酷与荒谬。如今生活在自由国度，我愈发理解民主制度的可贵。也正因如此，看到台湾——这个我曾无比尊敬的“华人民主灯塔”——在关键时刻无法顺利行使人民正当的权利，我感到失望，也感到焦虑。
罢免，是民主制度下最基本的权利之一。当民选官员背弃承诺、辜负选民期待时，人民理应在任期结束前将其撤换。然而在台湾，罢免的门槛高得近乎窒息：投票率必须达标，选票还要在政党、媒体与资源极度倾斜的环境中争夺。对普通公民而言，这几乎是一场注定失败的战斗。
媒体说罢免失败是“民意未达门槛”。但在我这个身处异国的旁观者眼中，这不是民意不足，而是制度设限。民意被冻结，被动员“冷处理”，被技术性手段消解。这听起来像不像中国？当然，台湾绝不是中国，但当制度变得冷漠、不回应人民诉求时，再好的体制也可能失去灵魂。
台湾不是中国，但不能因此停止警惕。
反共不是一句口号，而是建立在亲身经历基础上的坚定立场。在中国大陆，选票是装饰，媒体是喉舌，法律是工具，历史不断被篡改。敢说真话的人，可能被禁言、丢饭碗，甚至锒铛入狱。
也正因为如此，我一直把台湾看作“我们可以成为的样子”。台湾的民主并不完美，但至少人民可以投票、抗议、监督官员，这已是极大的进步。但民主不是天赐的，它需要不断实践、更新、反思。
这次罢免案暴露出的制度性不平等，让我警觉：台湾的民主虽然形式完整，却可能在程序上压制实质民意。更令人担忧的是，一种对政治的“疲劳感”正在社会中蔓延——对公共事务冷漠、对抗争无感、对现状妥协。这种麻木，正是专制最希望看到的民主形态。
在美国，我更清楚什么是自由。
在洛杉矶，我可以公开批评总统，可以走上街头抗议，也可以写下这篇文章，而不必担心“被喝茶”或账号被封。这样的自由，对很多大陆人来说近乎奢侈。但我现在知道：自由是可以实现的，只要人民愿意争取，且制度为其保驾护航。
但民主不仅存在于投票日那一天，它是一种日常实践。制度若不合理，就应被质疑；权利若受限，就应有人站出来。我希望台湾的朋友，不要因一次罢免失败而沉默，更不要对制度失去信心。你们拥有的权利，是我们大陆几代人梦寐以求的。
我也希望台湾能继续成为华语世界中民主与自由的典范，而非沦为另一个“有选票、无力量”的政体。请记住：民主最大的敌人，不只是共产党，而是人民的冷漠与放弃。
民主不能停在“看上去还不错”的地方
这次罢免案的失败，对台湾来说是一记警钟，对我而言，更是一种提醒：民主不能停滞于表面“运作良好”，它必须持续前进，不断校正，勇敢对抗权力的傲慢。
我是一个来自中国大陆、现居美国的普通人。我反对中共的极权，也坚定支持台湾的自由。我相信，只要还有人愿意写、愿意说、愿意站出来，这个世界就不会被黑暗彻底吞没。
愿这篇文字，能激发我们重新思考：台湾的民主，还能走得更远一些吗？
Reflections After the Failure of Taiwan’s Recall Campaign
Summary: The failure of Taiwan’s recent recall campaign is a result of institutional restrictions on public will. This should serve as a warning to Taiwan to guard against becoming like China—and to never stop defending democracy and freedom.
By: Yiwei Mao
Editor: Gloria Wang Chief Editor: Huiwen Lu Translation: Huiwen Lu
From Los Angeles, I watched Taiwan’s recall campaign fail once again—and I felt heavy-hearted. As someone from mainland China, I’ve witnessed the cruelty and absurdity of authoritarianism firsthand. Now living in a free country, I cherish democratic institutions even more deeply. That’s why it’s especially disappointing and distressing to see Taiwan—once a “beacon of democracy for the Chinese-speaking world”—struggle to allow its people to fully exercise their rights at such a crucial moment.
Recall is one of the most fundamental rights in a democracy. When an elected official betrays their promises or fails their constituents, the people should have the ability to remove them before the end of their term. However, in Taiwan, the threshold for recall is suffocatingly high: voter turnout must reach a certain benchmark, and the vote must succeed despite an environment where political parties, media, and resources are overwhelmingly skewed. For ordinary citizens, it’s almost a battle destined for failure.
Some in the media claim the recall failed because “public opinion didn’t meet the threshold.” But as an overseas observer, I don’t see a lack of public will—I see institutional barriers. Public opinion was frozen, deflected, and neutralized through technicalities. Does this not sound familiar? Like China, perhaps? Of course, Taiwan is not China. But when a system grows indifferent and stops responding to the people’s demands, even the best-designed system can lose its soul.
Taiwan is not China—but it must never stop being vigilant.
Opposing the Chinese Communist Party is not just a slogan. It’s a conviction forged from lived experience. In mainland China, ballots are decorative, the media is a mouthpiece, the law is a tool, and history is constantly rewritten. Those who dare to speak the truth may be silenced, lose their jobs, or even end up in prison.
That’s why I’ve always looked to Taiwan as “what we could be.” Taiwan’s democracy is not perfect, but at least its people can vote, protest, and hold officials accountable—this is already a monumental achievement. But democracy is not a gift; it must be practiced, renewed, and reflected upon constantly.
This recall campaign revealed structural inequalities that make me uneasy. Taiwan’s democracy, while procedurally intact, may be suppressing substantive public opinion. Even more worrying is the growing “political fatigue” in society—a sense of apathy toward public affairs, numbness to protest, and passive acceptance of the status quo. This numbness is exactly the kind of “democracy” authoritarianism hopes for.
In the U.S., I have a clearer understanding of freedom.
Here in Los Angeles, I can openly criticize the president, take to the streets to protest, and write this article without fear of being summoned by the authorities or having my account shut down. Such freedom may feel like a luxury to many in mainland China. But now I know: freedom is attainable—as long as the people are willing to fight for it, and the system is designed to protect it.
But democracy doesn’t just exist on election day. It’s a daily practice. When the system is flawed, it should be questioned. When rights are restricted, someone must speak out. I hope my friends in Taiwan won’t fall silent after this failed recall, and won’t lose faith in the system. The rights you hold are the dreams generations of mainlanders have longed for.
I also hope Taiwan continues to be a model of democracy and freedom in the Chinese-speaking world, rather than becoming just another regime where people have ballots but no real power.
Remember: the greatest enemy of democracy is not only the Communist Party—it is the people’s apathy and abandonment of their rights.
Democracy must not stop at “looking functional.”
This failed recall is a wake-up call for Taiwan and a personal reminder for me: democracy must not stagnate in appearances—it must keep advancing, correcting, and bravely confronting the arrogance of power.
I am an ordinary person from mainland China, now living in the United States. I oppose the CCP’s authoritarianism and firmly support Taiwan’s freedom. I believe that as long as there are still people willing to write, to speak, and to stand up, the darkness will never fully devour this world.
May this piece inspire us all to reconsider:
Can Taiwan’s democracy go even further?
