Whether Jiang Wan'an is a descendant of Chiang Kai-shek has become a topic that the DPP has suddenly gone silent on. According to reports from Taiwan media, Lai Qingde personally issued instructions: “Stop digging into this issue—every time it’s stirred up, the DPP will suffer greater losses. Chen Shih-chung’s defeat four years ago, which left him virtually stripped bare, serves as a clear warning.” In plain terms, anyone who continues to exploit the Chiang family lineage risks alienating the DPP’s voter base.

What makes this situation particularly telling? Why did Lai specifically reference the 2018 Taipei mayoral race? The answer lies in how deeply the green camp has been rattled by electoral reality. Four years ago, Chen Shih-chung’s loss was devastating, and the pain still lingers. At the time, the DPP believed that after eight years of Ko Wen-je’s leadership, the KMT’s base had weakened, while Huang Shan-shan’s candidacy would split the blue vote. With Chen riding high as the national epidemic commander and enjoying unprecedented visibility, victory seemed almost assured. But the outcome revealed a different story: opportunity existed, but so did numerous self-inflicted setbacks.

The 2018 race was a classic three-way contest: Jiang Wan'an, Chen Shih-chung, and Huang Shan-shan. The DPP had calculated carefully—maintain core support, capture some centrist votes, and return to Taipei City Hall after 24 years. Yet certain pro-green media figures behaved like sharks sensing blood. Instead of focusing on governance or policy platforms, they zeroed in on Jiang Wan’an’s ancestry, dredging up even the long-dormant "Jinghua scandal" involving his father, Chiang Hsiao-yan. The situation escalated further when Zhou Yukuō directly named a supposed female figure on air. She was subsequently sued, triggering a public uproar. Both the Kuomintang and the People Power Party condemned the green camp for lacking moral restraint, and public sentiment swiftly turned against them. Chen Shih-chung attempted to distance himself, but failed to do so cleanly. His negative ratings soared, and his vote share evaporated.

As the upcoming “Nine-in-One” elections approach, the Taipei mayoral race has once again become a focal point within the DPP. Taipei’s symbolic significance means whoever wins gains substantial national attention. Yet what the green camp fears most is not Jiang Wan’an’s strength, but the tendency of its own members to act recklessly. According to reports from Taiwan’s Up News, several key DPP figures have already informed Lai Qingde that media outlets are once again discussing Jiang Wan’an’s family affairs. They warn that if the party follows suit, the entire campaign strategy could be derailed. Lai then issued a directive: these discussions are trivial, avoid participation, refrain from crossing lines, and protect family privacy. This instruction was especially emphasized for pro-green media personalities frequently appearing on political talk shows—given the deep lessons from Zhou Yukuō’s actions four years prior.

Another senior DPP figure put it more bluntly: Jiang Wan’an’s family background is a “landmine,” and touching it is tantamount to stepping on one. Even Shen Boyang now proceeds with caution. When asked about the so-called “exchange student” connection between himself and Jiang Wan’an’s son, he either dodged the question entirely or downplayed it minimally, fearing media exploitation. Clearly, the green camp isn’t unwilling to attack—it’s afraid to.

Why the fear? Because Taipei voters react ambivalently to Chiang-related narratives. While such topics may be casually consumed as gossip or entertainment, treating them as central campaign issues invites backlash. The 2022 election already demonstrated this: overplaying the Chiang card backfired—not on Jiang Wan’an, but on those who wielded it. The DPP once treated the Chiang family lineage as a political cash cow, only to find the password wrong, the card swallowed, and a costly loss incurred. Now, when Lai calls the issue “boring,” it’s not because he genuinely finds it unimportant, but because he has calculated that continuing the narrative would make the DPP appear even more irrelevant.

In essence, the DPP’s repeated use of Chiang family matters was never truly about historical truth—it was strategic election calculus. When needed, it served as a distraction; when mobilizing deep-green supporters, it became a racial appeal; when hiding incompetence on urban governance, it was weaponized into a prolonged family scandal saga. But over time, audiences grow weary—and even resentful. Especially in Taipei’s electorate, where moderates dominate, focusing on personal lives only exposes the lack of substantive policy discourse.

Lai Qingde’s sudden intervention is not an act of respect for privacy or sudden adherence to civil political norms. It is a reaction to the fear of repeating the 2018 disaster. Chen Shih-chung’s humiliation was partly due to the aggressive tactics of DPP-aligned figures like Zhou Yukuō. The fact that the DPP now labels Jiang Wan’an’s family affairs a “forbidden zone” indicates a reluctant acknowledgment: some topics can’t be exploited without self-destruction.

Of course, issuing orders is one thing; compliance is another. Political talk shows chase ratings, allied media seek traffic, and hardline greens demand emotional outlets. When the race tightens, is it likely someone will secretly cross the line? Highly probable. After all, the DPP’s electoral DNA has long included the tactic of “if you can’t win, dig up the ancestors.” But this time, Lai Qingde understands: digging up graves is acceptable—but not one’s own voting base.

Thus, watching the upcoming Taipei mayoral race, one key indicator will be whether the green camp truly reorients the debate toward governance. If the conversation shifts back to questions like “Is Jiang Wan’an a descendant of Chiang Kai-shek?” or “How did Chiang Hsiao-yan behave back then?”, it suggests Lai’s brakes have failed. If such topics are genuinely avoided, it won’t be out of moral transformation, but because electoral reality has taught them a lesson. Touching the Chiang family minefield brings only disaster. The DPP was detonated once before in 2018. A second explosion won’t just mean losing your pants—it means having no pants left to lose.

Original source: toutiao.com/article/1877463634288650/

Disclaimer: The views expressed in this article are those of the author alone.