THOSE WHO VIEW George W. Bush as a perpetually tongue-tied bumbler might take note of his landmark speech last week in Kyoto, where he eloquently outlined a vision for economic liberalization and democratization throughout East Asia–and which, at its most provocative moment, embraced Taiwan as a model for mainland China.
Bush mentioned the word “freedom” no fewer than 56 times. He used some variation of the word “democracy” no less than 21 times. And though he is occasionally given to grandiose language–about, say, “ending tyranny in our world”–Bush tempered his rhetoric with a heavy dose of realism.
Indeed, the president’s speech zigzagged its way through the conventional realist/idealist split. On the one hand, Bush zinged Chinese leaders for their denial of basic rights such as religious freedom. On the other, he stressed that open trade with Beijing was the surest way to promote civil society and foster a stable Chinese middle class that would someday agitate for democratic reform. “Economic liberty and political liberty go hand in hand,” Bush said, a comment wholly in tune with Western tradition and supported by recent East Asian history.
The president tied U.S. trade to China’s (gradual) loosening at home and maturation abroad. “Access to American markets has played an important role in China’s economic development,” he said, “and China needs to provide a level playing field for American businesses seeking access to China’s market. The United States supported China’s entry into the World Trade Organization because a China that abides by the same global rules as everyone else will contribute to a free and fair world trading system.”
In other words, enmeshing China in trading pacts such as the WTO will slowly boost Chinese living standards and concurrently make China a more responsible actor on the world stage. “The freer China is at home, the greater the welcome it will receive abroad,” Bush promised. Is there a realistic alternative to engaging China? Perhaps, he suggested. But China’s isolation during the 1960s and early 1970s produced the mayhem of the Cultural Revolution. And doing business with an isolated China would be much thornier than doing business with a WTO-minted China. “We look forward to resolving our trade differences in a spirit of mutual respect and adherence to global rules and standards,” Bush said.
Bush may be a China-trade enthusiast, but he is not a wild-eyed “Panda-hugger.” He refused to kowtow to Communist party sensibilities on Taiwan. He affirmed Washington’s longstanding “One China” policy–which calls for a peaceful resolution of the island’s territorial status and rejects unilateral moves by either side–but only after trumpeting Taiwan’s journey from “repression to democracy” and observing that China had “not yet completed the journey.” Indeed, Bush held up Taiwan’s evolution as a template for China. “The people of Taiwan for years lived under a restrictive political state that gradually opened up its economy,” he noted. “Economic liberalization in Taiwan helped fuel its desire for individual political freedom–because men and women who are allowed to control their own wealth will eventually insist on controlling their own lives and their own future.”
These may seem innocuous, patently obvious statements. But even the mildest pro-Taiwan gesture is bound ruffle Chinese feathers, as Bush’s did. (In a press conference with Japanese prime minister Junichiro Koizumi earlier that day, Bush had urged China’s leaders to “emulate Taiwan.”)
The president also made a broader point about democratization: Each nation must find its own path. That is, exporting democracy does not mean exporting American democracy. It means exporting such values as freedom of expression, property rights, the rule of law, constitutionalism, and representative government–and then letting individual cultures sort out the details. Seen in this light, the Bush Doctrine is hardly a function of cultural imperialism (as its critics on the left charge) or Utopian idealism (as its critics on the right protest).
“As you embraced democracy,” Bush told his Japanese audience, “you adapted it to your own needs and your own circumstances. So Japanese democracy is different from American democracy. You have a prime minister–not a president. Your constitution allows for a monarchy that is a source of national pride.” Which is how it should be. Democratic practices and institutions, if they are to survive, must be tailored to a people’s distinct traditions and social mores. You can’t fit a square peg into a round hole; and you can’t expect the seeds of democracy to flourish without taking proper measure of the soil in which you’re planting them. As Bush put it, “Japan is a good example of how a free society can reflect a country’s unique culture and history–while guaranteeing the universal freedoms that are the foundation of all genuine democracies.”
“I have experienced this transformation of your country in a highly personal way,” he explained. “During World War II, my father and a Japanese official named Junya Koizumi were on opposite sides of a terrible war. Today, their sons serve as elected leaders of their respected nations. Prime Minister Koizumi is one of my best friends in the international community. We have met many times during my presidency. I know the prime minister well. I trust his judgment. I admire his leadership. And America is proud to have him as an ally in the cause of peace and freedom.”
Extending his World War II anecdote, Bush pointed out that people had once questioned the viability of democracy in postwar Japan. “Fortunately, American leaders like President Harry Truman did not listen to the skeptics–and the Japanese people proved the skeptics wrong by embracing elections and democracy.” So, too, he implied, would democracy continue to spread across Asia in the 21st century.
And what of North Korea? The Korean war “has never really come to an end,” Bush astutely declared. (That’s Pyongyang’s view, so it should also be ours.) He pledged a “comprehensive diplomatic effort” to give the Six-Party talks some teeth. He also underscored the humanitarian dimension of the Korean crisis. “Satellite maps of North Korea show prison camps the size of whole cities, and a country that at night is clothed almost in complete darkness,” Bush said. “We will not forget the people of North Korea.”
He ended with a twist on the old shibboleth about “Asian values”: the notion that people in Taiwan, South Korea, and elsewhere–the Asian Tigers–needed authoritarian governments to be economically prosperous. The Taiwanese and South Koreans have long since put paid to this theory. Bush touted their experiences as grounds for hope in China, Burma, North Korea, and other autocratic societies.
“In the 21st century,” he proclaimed, “freedom is an Asian value–because it is a universal value. It is freedom that enables the citizens of Asia to live lives of dignity. It is freedom that has unleashed the creative talents of the Asian people. It is freedom that gives the citizens of this continent confidence in the future of peace for their children and grandchildren. And in the work that lies ahead, the people of this region can know: You have a partner in the American government–and a friend in the American people.”
The Kyoto speech was Bush at his finest: accepting the prudential limits of American influence, and recognizing the obstacles to spreading freedom, but also highlighting the potential of economic opportunity to propel democratic reform. “At the beginning of World War II,” he said, “this side of the Pacific had only two democracies: Australia and New Zealand.” Since then, the community of democracies has rapidly swelled. Bush appreciates these historical possibilities. Critics of his pro-democracy agenda would do well to appreciate them, too.
Duncan Currie is a reporter at The Weekly Standard.
