On October 18, the Kuomintang (KMT) concluded its chairmanship election. Cheng Li-wun（鄭麗文） won by a clear margin, defeating candidates supported by the party’s mainstream establishment and becoming one of the most hardline leaders in recent party history. Cheng has long advocated that “both sides of the Strait belong to one China,” opposes Taiwan independence, and emphasizes “national rejuvenation.” Her political language aligns closely with Beijing’s official discourse on Taiwan. In contrast, former chairman Eric Chu（朱立倫） and figures such as Hau Lung-bin（郝龍斌） continue to uphold the “1992 Consensus—one China with respective interpretations,” emphasizing peaceful exchanges under the constitutional framework of the Republic of China (ROC). The result has widely been interpreted as a major turning point in the KMT’s China policy, signaling the decline of constitutional conservatism and the rise of cultural nationalism within the party.

Shortly after the election, Chinese Communist Party (CCP) General Secretary Xi Jinping（習近平） sent a congratulatory message, calling on both parties to “work together for national rejuvenation and oppose Taiwan independence.” Cheng promptly replied, reaffirming “adherence to one China and opposition to independence.” Such swift and reciprocal signaling is rare in Taiwan’s political history, suggesting a high degree of linguistic and ideological symmetry across the Strait. It has refocused attention on how Beijing utilizes “united front resonance” to expand its influence over the KMT.

Cheng’s core supporters come from deep-blue constituencies and grassroots members who prioritize ideological purity, whereas Chu, Hau, and other establishment figures represent local factions and the moderate center. This election, therefore, was not merely a contest of ideas but a reflection of the KMT’s post-defeat anxiety and identity fragmentation.

Xi’s message was more than diplomatic courtesy; it served as a test of united front tempo and response. In the past, Beijing often issued such statements only after high-level KMT–CCP interactions. This time, however, the proactive gesture appears designed to manufacture an “instant political resonance” mechanism and reclaim narrative initiative. Substantively, it reveals the CCP’s approach: to identify “friends within the enemy’s camp” and redefine the boundaries of who counts as ally or adversary.

I. From Mao’s Friend–Enemy Logic to Xi’s Stratified United Front

In his 1925 essay “Analysis of the Classes in Chinese Society,” Mao Zedong（毛澤東） argued that the revolutionary question was “Who are our enemies? Who are our friends?” and urged “uniting with secondary enemies to strike the principal enemy.” This class-struggle logic continues to shape CCP political strategy. In today’s context, the “principal enemy” is the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) government, representing Taiwan’s subjectivity and democratic consolidation, while the “secondary enemy” includes elements within the KMT and centrist elites considered susceptible to co-optation or division.

Hence, the congratulatory telegram functions as a political marker. Beijing no longer regards the KMT as a homogeneous whole but classifies actors by stance: those aligned with a “one China, same interpretation” view are treated as friends, while those who emphasize the ROC framework remain under observation and guidance. This reflects a shift in united front tactics—from broad ideological appeal to precise, layered institutional engagement.

II. Inside the KMT: From Constitutional Conservatism to Cultural Nationalism

The chairmanship race revealed a deep structural split. Chu, Hau, and Zhao Shao-kang（趙少康） represent a ROC-oriented faction advocating peaceful engagement under constitutional order; Cheng, by contrast, embodies a cultural-nationalist turn that seeks to “end the DPP’s independence narrative and restore national identity,” asserting that both sides of the Strait are part of one China.

The outcome marks a movement from institutional conservatism to cultural conservatism. From Beijing’s perspective, this shift weakens the ROC’s institutional boundary and narrows the linguistic gap with the PRC. Put differently, Beijing’s goal is less to reorganize the KMT than to render it cognitively compatible with the CCP’s narrative framework.

For some grassroots members, cultural nationalism provides emotional resonance, yet it risks diluting institutional subjectivity and party differentiation. Comparatively, Hong Kong’s model of “patriots governing Hong Kong” offers a warning, though Taiwan’s multi-party democracy still retains genuine competition and internal pluralism.

III. The Upgraded United Front: From Party Outreach to Institutional Penetration

Under Xi Jinping, united front work has evolved from a propaganda adjunct into a technology of governance. The CCP integrates united front operations with ideological algorithmics, digital media, and information control, producing a hybrid system of psychological and narrative management.

At present, the united front operates through a three-tier structure:

• Party level: cultivating “friendly party recognition” through messages, forums, and media linkages;
• Local level: expanding city-to-city exchanges to form cross-Strait interest communities among municipal governments and business groups;
• Generational level: using scholarships, youth camps, and entrepreneurship programs to absorb KMT youth and academic elites, gradually constructing a “Cultural China” identity framework.

Within this architecture, the KMT functions as a testbed for non-coercive assimilation—a pilot case for verifying whether a major opposition party within Taiwan’s democracy can normalize CCP political language without external pressure. Yet this dynamic also tests the KMT’s institutional awareness: excessive linguistic alignment could marginalize moderate voices and erode democratic competitiveness.

IV. The Price of Being a “Friend”: Cooperation and Institutional Risk

History provides a cautionary parallel. The first KMT–CCP cooperation in the 1940s, framed as a united front against Japan, ended in the KMT’s retreat to Taiwan. The CCP’s approach has long followed a consistent pattern: “cooperate first, then replace; divide first, then absorb.” If today’s KMT misreads “cooperation” as equal partnership while neglecting the underlying logic of control, it risks repeating that trajectory.

Beijing will not tolerate the existence of “two Chinas.” Even if the ROC constitutional framework is tolerated tactically, it remains a transitional tool. Once the KMT’s rhetoric fully converges with Beijing’s, the “1992 Consensus” will likely be recast from “one China, respective interpretations” to “one China, same interpretation.” At that point, the KMT would have surrendered its last institutional boundary.

Domestically, such repositioning could backfire. Centrist voters may peel away, younger generations may disengage, and the party’s electoral base could further contract. A “united front victory” could paradoxically mark the beginning of the party’s long-term decline.

V. Democratic Guardrails and Political Self-Awareness

For Taiwan, the issue is no longer conventional blue–green rivalry but whether its democratic system can maintain institutional self-restraint and normative boundaries. When “opposing independence” becomes the sole criterion of legitimacy and “democratic defense” is mischaracterized as antagonism toward national identity, the logic of politics begins to erode.

The real guardrails of democracy do not lie only in the Presidential Office but in whether political parties can preserve independent judgment and value commitments. If any party sacrifices institutional subjectivity for short-term political gain, the setback extends beyond partisanship—it undermines the pluralism that anchors Taiwan’s democracy.

At the same time, the DPP, while defending sovereignty and democracy, must also avoid reducing the KMT’s historical and cultural positions to mere “extensions of united front work.” Only through a balance of critique and inclusion can Taiwan’s democracy exhibit true resilience.

VI. Conclusion: From Opponent to Prototype

If the KMT fails to recalibrate its China policy, it will continue to lose centrist voters; if it returns to a constitutionalist stance, it risks alienating its deep-blue base. This dilemma leaves the party trapped between two competing logics—united front alignment and democratic autonomy.

Mao’s notion of “fighting in the enemy’s heartland” has been reinterpreted under Xi as “conducting united front work within the opponent’s institutions.” The KMT now sits at the center of this experiment—both as the enemy’s heart and the friend’s prototype.

History’s warning is clear: when political elites trade institutional conviction for expediency, and when parties substitute national-mission rhetoric for democratic principle, united front operations need no secrecy—the enemy already appears in the friend’s image.

Behind Beijing’s congratulatory message lies not only a gesture of goodwill but a test of Taiwan’s democratic resilience. Should the KMT fail to remain self-aware, its second demise will not occur on the mainland—but within Taiwan’s own political history.