What an ancient Chinese manifesto reveals about the rudimentary logic between Chinese communication with Taiwan.
Mao’s “Message to Compatriots in Taiwan” (1958) was written during the Second Taiwan Strait Crisis. The crisis erupted in August 1958 when the PRC began heavy artillery bombardment of the offshore islands of Kinmen and Matsu, which were controlled by the Republic of China under Chiang Kai-shek.
This manifesto personally written by Mao served strategic purposes. It portrayed the conflict as resistance against U.S. interference rather than aggression against Taiwan itself. It famously highlights how “the Chinese should not fight Chinese”, referring to the Taiwanese people as “Chinese in blood.” It also emphasizes how trusting the Americans were dangerous and warns the Taiwanese government not to be fooled by “American imperialism.”
The message was clear: externalize the enemy to preserve a narrative of national unity.
These manifestos was one of the early examples of foundational narratives laid for future communication between Taiwan and China. Notably today’s “One Family” (两岸一家亲) narrative is the direct descendant of this.
In the digital age, the same message manifests on social media content emphasizing shared holidays, shared ancestors, and shared food, glossing over underlying political fragmentations.
These messages were blasted on loudspeakers across the strait to Taiwan. In this case, sonic communication is used both as a weapon and bridge. During the crisis, back and forth communication continued across the strait, with messages including appeals to “compatriots,” anti-American rhetoric, and promises of peace. Taiwan responded with its own loudspeaker broadcasts and even pop music.
Through frequent exchanges, sovereignty and power were projected through soundwaves. These competing voices shaped the fundamental patterns of how China and Taiwan communicates today.
Within China, different forms of communication persists with subtle propaganda:
Volume in modern day media
While mediums of sonic communication has evolved onto social media platforms, its logic has not. Speakers are not as loud in volume as those used by Mao in the 1960s, but just as loud in algorithmic form.
Volume has always been a performance of power. While sonic communication in the 1960s measured influence in through giant broadcast speakers and symbolic medals, the digital age measures it in virality. By mastering amplification, the state does more than distribute information but engineers the very perception of identity and legitimacy.
Sonic communication is both a weapon and a bridge that connects people across different backgrounds and/or straits together. Mao realized early on in his manifestos that Taiwan shouldn’t be treated as an enemy but intimately like “family.” Similarly, China’s media today displays two sides: singers and pop idols convening in festivals but also military drills targeted warning the Taiwanese government of China’s power.
Political messaging are in many ways both a weapon and a bridge. What is important is that it doesn’t matter what the message says but who is loud enough to control the volume.
Written by Julia Jiang
