Analyze

Formosa's current economic and cultural significance is closely tied to Taiwan's history of industrialization. Wang Yung-ching and his brother Wang Yung-Tsai founded the Formosa Plastics Corporation and Group in Kaohsiung in 1954. Wang Yung-ching grew up under Japanese occupation, earning a living by selling and delivering rice as a young boy, and later operating his own rice shop as a teenager. He later transitioned to the lumber business and benefited from market liberalization following the end of Japanese colonial rule (Lin 2016). Despite losing one of his mills during World War II, Wang received $800,000 from USAID, which he used as capital to establish Formosa Plastics (Shah 2012). Wang went on to become one of Taiwan's wealthiest individuals and was widely known as the "god of management" until his death in 2008 (Huang 2008).

“When the government of Taiwan planned for the future of Taiwan several decades ago, it focused exclusively on industrially stimulating the economy. It has been promoting that kind of economic growth and development since the 1970s, making it appear as if industrial growth is the only factor to consider with regard to the country’s future. In the name of progress and economic revitalization, state-led industrialization walks hand in hand with private corporations. Together, they compete for the world’s largest petrochemical plants. The industrial development policy of Taiwan is one of the factors in the loss of Taiwan’s coastal wetlands, the subsiding of land from industrial water withdrawal and sand mining, and the increase of toxic air emissions, contaminated water, and toxic buildup of metals in soils (Wu and Wu 171–2). This “macroeconomy” policy ruins bioregions.” (Chang, 2023, p. 171)” 

“It is important to understand the history of economic and industrial development in Taiwan and the role that the petrochemical industry has played in this history. According to Mingyi Wu, American investment as well as public and private capital in Taiwan gave birth to two giant monsters, Taiwan CPC and Formosa Plastics, which subsequently devoured the island’s future (“Preface” 3).” (Chang, 2023, p. 168)

In the 1980s, Formosa Plastics Corporation purchased financially struggling petrochemical plants in Delaware, Texas, and Louisiana. The company subsequently shifted its operations to Texas and Louisiana, where a competitive bidding process ensued between the two states, both of which were known for industry-friendly policies (Tubilewicz 2021). As political scientist Tubilewicz (2021, 16) has argued, the politics surrounding Formosa's investments in these states were not purely motivated by profit but were also shaped by the ongoing struggles of sub-state actors such as politicians and NGOs over issues of internationalization and representation in global affairs.

An example of this can be seen in Formosa's attempt to build a rayon fiber plant in Louisiana's St. John Parish in the late 1990s, an area also known as "Cancer Alley." Protests broke out due to concerns about massive tax exemptions, displacement of Black residents, and the plant's location on the historic Whitney Plantation (Tubilewicz 2021, 11). However, the project was eventually abandoned due to declining market demand and delays. In addition, the local St. John Governor was indicted for illegal industrial rezoning of land around the plantation and receiving $200,000 in real estate commission (Tubilewicz 2021, 11).

Taihsi Village is located in Changhua County, northwest of Formosa’s Sixth Naphtha Cracker complex, and colloquially referred to as the “cancer village”. Taihsi was founded by Han settlers in the 18th century who built close relationships to the river and sea through rice cultivation and fishing (Lai 2021, 673). Taihsi village expanded agricultural production under Japanese rule, yet state-led capitalist industrialization in the 1950s stunted development, pushing villagers to seek work along the Western coast and on sugarcane plantations in Okinawa (ibid.). Industrialization in the 1970s further marginalized Changhua, resulting in relentless out-migration of younger generations and state subsidies for watermelon harvest, duck farming, and clam fishing. In addition to agricultural challenges (water scarcity, flooding, soil salinization), Taiwan’s embrace of heavy industries in the 90s, including construction of the nearby Formosa complex, introduced unforeseen environmental problems (Lai 2021, 674).

Formosa's operations have been significantly influenced by Taiwanese politics and cross-strait relations with China. Its founder, Wang, was considered a moderate liberalizer with close ties to Taiwan's democratic party. However, he also sought to expand into the Chinese mainland during his lifetime, which often caused conflicts between Taiwanese and Chinese administrations (Lin 2016, 81).

Wang's plans to build a large petrochemical complex in Taiwan were initially halted in 1973 by the authoritarian Kuomintang (KMT) government. However, following the lifting of martial law in the mid-1980s, Formosa attempted to build the complex in the scenic Yilan County (Ho 2014). Unfortunately, rising concerns over petrochemical development and pollution led to mass protests by local residents and fisher people, which became a turning point for Taiwan's democracy movement (Ho 2014).

In the face of this opposition, Wang arranged secret trips to mainland China and announced that the plant would be built on the island of Haitsang in Xiamen province. However, due to economic sanctions between China and Taiwan and pressure from the nationalist KMT government, the construction of the vast petrochemical complex ultimately took place in the rural and impoverished Yunlin County in Central Taiwan (Lin 2016, 82).

Overall, Formosa's history reflects the complex interactions between Taiwanese politics, cross-strait relations with China, environmental concerns, and grassroots activism. These dynamics have played a significant role in shaping the company's operations and impact on the communities in which it operates.

As of today, Formosa Plastics' Sixth Naphtha Cracker Complex (SNCC) has become the main source of revenue in Yunlin County, generating about 90% of the local economy. Although the county has long been known as the agricultural hub of Taiwan, renowned for its fertile farmland and abundant fishing resources, it has also been plagued by ongoing conflicts with polluting industries. In 2010, a series of accidents and explosions at the Formosa complex resulted in significant investments in local schools, waste removal, and public infrastructure. 

In January 2023, Taiwan passed a bill "to establish a carbon fee system for large emitters and set a goal of reaching net-zero emissions by 2050" (Chien-shen & Mazetta 2023). The bill is also known as the "Climate Change Response Act". The net zero target puts pressure on Formosa Plastics to cut down its carbon emissions, currently at 51.83 million metric tons, a total 20 percent of Taiwan's carbon emissions, only superseded by the state's utility company, Taipower (Wu 2023). 

Lai and Huang (Focus Taiwan, Jan 11, 2023) report that the Formosa Plastics Group is paying employees a lower bonus compared to the prior year (four months salary instead of seven). The bonus is calculated based on average earnings per share (EPS), which decreased across the group's four major entities (Formosa Plastics Corp., Nan Ya Plastics Corp., Formosa Chemicals & Fibre Corp., and Formosa Petrochemical Corp.). According to the company, these losses are a product of inflation, Russia's invasion of Ukraine, and COVID-19 pandemic measures, especially in China. The comapny also expects lower demand for oil products in the United States, but increased consumption in China, as COVID cases peak and measures are lifted. The authors state that "FPG's year-end bonuses are usually closely watched by the market, because they tend to set the trend in Taiwan's industrial sector."

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I first read Gayatri Spivak's, "Can the Subaltern Speak?," many years ago and re-reading it now offers a different context and path to making sense of this work. First, Kim Fortun's contextual introduction is a generative space from which to read this brilliant and complex critique of the Subaltern Studies collective. She provides an opening from which to re-think the place of scholarly engagement within, and as participants of, communities of practices inspired by the research Katie Cox and Angela Okune. Fortun's introduction is a pedagogical gesture, a reflection on her own teaching and learning over time. In re-reading this essay, I can see now that Spivak's essay is also a gesture, opening a place of critique as the grounds for re-imagining and reclaiming the possiblity of Subaltern voices. Spivak highlights the assumptions, the metanarratives, embedded in the collective's historiographical practice as a form of knowledge production.

I have two reflections. First, in reading Spivak's critique of historiography both specific (Guha and Chakrabraty) and more general (Western European) and her analysis of their strategic utility is persuasive. I am reminded of other forms of historiography--specifically microhistory--which also engages in the practice of reading the archive against the grain and which, by avoiding making claims about broader historical patterns and systems, is not subject to Spivak's analysis of historiography. I wonder what microhistorical work emerges from the colonial archive.

My second reflection is more broadly about critique as a generative opening. In the zoom discussion there were moments when contributors began mapping their own encounters with theory (French, German), almost as a rite of passage. I began wondering what other genealogies we bring to our work. This text is a tour de force. It is powerfully incisive. Prerna Srigyan spoke of the multiple meanings of "dangerous" within it. As a strategic text, I find the difficulty in reading Spivak exasperating. As a narrative strategy I think the difficulty is, in part, intentional, which compounds my interpretation. I cannot read Spivak and find affinity, even as I recognize her masterful critique. In a prior discussion Duygu Kasdogan introduced me to the idea of dissenus, as opposed to consensus, as a strategic goal. In reading Spivak as critique, perhaps Spivak is an author willing to position herself not as a guide for collaboration but as a figure of dissenus even as she works to create this generative opening for further work.