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Academics have sold
their souls
By Lee Wu-chung 李武忠
For the past couple of weeks, reports about a government plan to lift the ban on
US beef imports containing residues of ractopamine, as well as about suspicions
of a cover-up of the outbreak of avian influenza, have dominated the news. These
have been fed not only by the actions of government officials, but of certain
experts, whose words and deeds many have considered extremely suspicious. This
has once again brought up the debate over whether politicians and academics are
in bed with each other.
Farming has always been quite a conservative and closed area. It is quite
difficult to get much information about what is going on in the industry, as
many people intent on promoting agricultural reform have discovered.
Investigating and reporting on issues concerning the rights of farmers is not
easy: Just ask documentary filmmaker Kevin Lee (李惠仁), who had to delve deep into
his own pockets to finish his film A Secret That Can’t Be Exposed (不能戳的秘密).
The main reason behind this is farmers, as a group, do not wield much power, and
find it difficult to exert any real political influence. Farmers’ groups are
rather strapped for cash and to a large extent have to rely on government
subsidies. In some cases, the representatives of these groups rely on official
support if they want to be elected, and as such, they are even less likely to
bite the hand that feeds them. It is therefore almost impossible to find anyone
willing to come forward and help fight for farmers’ rights.
Some of the senior figures in the farmers’ groups are also local vote captains
working to motivate voters at the grassroots level on behalf of political
parties, which sets many farmers at cross-purposes with their own peers and has
a destabilizing effect on the group as a whole.
The upshot of this is that some of these groups fail in their role of serving as
a bridge for communication between their members and the government, making
farmers feel that they have no voice and that the government performs less
efficiently than it otherwise would. The fact that President Ma Ying-jeou (馬英九)
could say to farmers in the south just prior to the election that they should
have voiced their concerns over the falling prices of fruit earlier speaks
volumes about how serious this problem is.
In the past, academics were able to remain impartial in all this, giving them an
important role in the formation of the nation’s agricultural policy. With the
proliferation in the number of universities over the past few years and the
limited funds available from the Ministry of Education, many academic
institutions have seen a drop in subsidies. Teachers have been obliged to look
elsewhere to make up the shortfall — and this also applies to academics
specializing in fields related to agriculture.
This actually gives government agencies something they can work with, a bit of
room to maneuver. There is the good old carrot-and-stick approach: the ability
to withhold research projects or to award large research grants, and various
combinations thereof.
Many academics, then, prefer to keep their heads down: Examples of those willing
to say what they think are few and far between, and some are, indeed, quite
happy to speak up for government policy. In short, they have lost their ability
to remonstrate against the government and ill-advised agricultural policies
continue unchecked, not only impeding the progress of agricultural reform, but
also keeping farmers in a vulnerable position.
One academic did speak to the press, saying that academia was being taken over
by thugs and that intellectuals were a dying breed; unfortunately, the public
paid little attention to this. This is all too clear in the way the ractopamine
and avian flu issues are being dealt with: It’s happening right before our eyes.
Not only is this detrimental to the image of individual experts, it is also
destroying the public’s trust and respect for academics in general.
Academia is in bed with politics, a problem that has been particularly evident
in Taiwan over the past few years. Many academics have been enthusiastic
participants in political events and on political talk shows, which some prefer
over teaching and research. It has reached the point where one’s political
stance is regarded as an adequate and accurate measure of the strength of one’s
argument.
The academic of yesterday who would plod away in solitude researching a specific
notion over a matter of years has become a rarity. Nowadays, many academics with
backgrounds in technology are more likely looking to patent their ideas, which
does not necessarily cater to the needs of society. They choose relatively
simple technology fields that are likely to produce results in the short —
rather than long — term, and then apply for the patent so they can flog it off
to the highest bidder and become a “famous” professor, get themselves a senior
government position or even a place in the Cabinet.
There are many cases of academics who initially showed promise, then opted for
the political route and pretty soon started spouting absolute rubbish, to the
consternation of anyone who cares to watch.
What, when it comes down to it, is the value of intellectuals studying? It
certainly isn’t about promotions to official positions, amassing a fortune or
gaining glory. It is about being the backbone of the country, of speaking up for
the weak and the vulnerable; it’s about giving society hope.
Being the backbone of the country means not bowing down to politics, not
deferring in the presence of power and not being afraid to speak the truth. In
Taiwan today, with its preoccupations with success, fame and fortune, these
expectations may well appear old-fashioned and behind the times, but they are
nevertheless essential if Taiwan is to progress.
The public should stop and reflect on this behavior, given the current stock of
officials in this country, who allowed things to get to this point.
Lee Wu-chung is a professor of agricultural economics.
Translated by Paul Cooper
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