Taiwanese Is Not the Enemy: Rethinking Language, Identity, and Inclusion

At a recent youth event organized by Hakka communities in Taoyuan, Taiwan President Lai Ching-te quoted a well-known Taiwanese (Holo) proverb "Ka-tī phāiⁿ hông-kim, koh the̍h lâng khòaⁿ hong-súi"  and asked the audience, “Do you understand Taiwanese?” What should have been a moment of cultural warmth became political fuel. Critics, including Kuomintang (KMT) Chairman Eric Chu, accused Lai of disrespecting Hakka identity by speaking in a language associated with Taiwan’s majority Hoklo population. Online voices went further, claiming this was yet another case of “linguistic oppression,” asking, “Why should Hakka people understand Taiwanese?” or “Why is Holo assumed to be the Taiwanese language?”

These arguments, though cloaked in the language of cultural respect and political correctness, betray a deeper historical amnesia and a flawed understanding of Taiwan’s linguistic landscape.

Let’s reframe the question. If it is controversial to ask whether Hakka people understand Taiwanese, why has no one ever questioned why Hakka people are expected to speak Mandarin? Why is it not equally provocative to ask why Mandarin—originally foreign to Taiwan—has become the island’s dominant language?

The answer lies in history. Before the Kuomintang arrived in Taiwan in 1945, few islanders spoke Mandarin. Its current prevalence is the result of an aggressive language policy under martial law that suppressed local languages—including Hakka, Indigenous tongues, and Taiwanese—in favor of a so-called “national language.” In this context, Mandarin's dominance is not natural; it was imposed.

By contrast, the language commonly called “Taiwanese”—a localized form of Holo—emerged organically as a common tongue because the majority of people on the island historically spoke it. This is neither unusual nor oppressive. Around the world, dominant local languages often serve as de facto lingua francas: Vietnamese is based on the Kinh language, French evolved from Latin in what is now France, and Shanghai’s “local dialect” is rooted in Wu Chinese. Languages become dominant not because they are pure or superior, but because of demographic, cultural, and historical realities.

Taiwanese was once such a language. Even many Hakka people, especially in mixed communities, spoke it fluently. The renowned Hakka composer Teng Yu-hsien was not only a speaker of Hakka but also a prolific writer of Taiwanese songs. His example is a reminder that multilingualism, not mutual exclusion, is part of Taiwan’s living heritage.

The recent backlash to President Lai’s use of Taiwanese reflects a mistaken zero-sum logic: that recognition of one language must mean disrespect for another. But the opposite is true. Embracing Taiwanese as a shared cultural resource does not diminish Hakka, Indigenous, or other local languages. In fact, it strengthens the case for a diverse, inclusive Taiwan where linguistic plurality is seen as a source of pride—not a threat.

So, should Hakka people speak Taiwanese? Of course—if they wish to. Just as Hoklo people should be encouraged to learn Hakka and Indigenous languages. No one language should dominate the others by force, but neither should any language be marginalized by misplaced sensitivities.

Taiwanese identity is layered and plural. Language, rather than dividing us, can be the thread that weaves those layers together. Recognizing Taiwanese (Holo) as one of the island’s cultural cornerstones is not an act of erasure—it is an act of remembering.

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