The History of Taiwan’s Industry

Written by Peter Li-Chang Kuo

President Ko-Wang Mei once told to me, “Peter Li-Chang, do you know that you yourself are the history of Taiwan's industry? We only returned from studying abroad in 1965, and you were already starting your own business — and creating many classic products and industries."

Dr. Mei, not only served as President of the Central Police University and later as Chancellor of Tunghai University, but also earned his Ph.D. in Political Science from the University of Michigan in August 1965. Upon returning to Taiwan, he was entrusted by the government to establish the “National Youth Commission” (NYC) under the Executive Yuan.

Starting from virtually “no resources, no personnel, and no institutional foundation,” he built the Commission into a first-tier agency directly under the Executive Yuan. Through this platform, he successfully nurtured a generation of young entrepreneurs, playing a pivotal role in laying the groundwork for Taiwan’s industrial transformation and rapid economic growth in the 1970s.

Fig 1: President Mei founded the Executive Yuan’s NYC

President Mei was born in 1918 and passed away on April 1, 2016. Almost ten years have passed in the blink of an eye. Today, let us pay solute to one of the greatest contributors to the progress of Taiwan and even the world.

In 1972, to fulfill my father’s wish (whom I call A-Kun) of becoming a chairman, I built a 2,300-ping factory (82,800 square feet) — Baisheng Metal Industrial Co., Ltd.—for him to lead. This unusual development drew the attention and harassment of the “Taiwan Garrison Command.” At the time, President Mei, who also served as Secretary-General of the NYC and held a senior position in the security apparatus, personally came to investigate. That visit marked the beginning of an enduring friendship across generations.

He mentioned that Chiang Ching-Kuo had instructed cabinet members to pay special attention to the emerging “Precision Industry” in Tainan. In 1974, when I was 21, Chiang visited my company, “Cheng Kuang Precision Industrial Co., Ltd.,” and later presented me with a plaque inscribed “Utilize for the Benefit of Society.” From that point on, the harassment from the Garrison Command seemed to disappear.

At the time, anonymous denunciations were everywhere. My father, A-Kun — long ridiculed and only recently imprisoned in 1966 on espionage charges — somehow staged a near-miraculous turnaround. By 1969, he had moved out of a borrowed residence at No. 69 Chong-An Street into a newly built home on Park Road. At the same time, he emerged as "the Owner of Cheng Kuang Metal Works," a key supplier to the “Kaohsiung Export Processing Zone” (KEPZ). Such an abrupt and unlikely rise quickly placed him under intense surveillance by the Garrison Command’s security apparatus.

In 1972, A-Kun inexplicably became the chairman of the “2,300-ping Baisheng Metal Industrial Corporation” factory on Chong-Cheng South Road in Yongkang — an ascent that made no rational sense. Upon examining the "Security Files," President Mei detected serious irregularities and suspected possible Communist infiltration, then "a top concern within the administrative system." He therefore came in person to investigate the reality behind it.

Fig 2: Baisheng Metal Industrial Co., Ltd.

When Baisheng employees called to inform me, they stammered nervously, “A… a… high-ranking official is here!” I immediately rushed over on my German Zündapp motorcycle. After hearing my explanation, President Mei smiled and reassured me, “No problem — don’t worry.”

Later, as we became closer, he told me that my father’s flamboyance had triggered security alarms. In the end, all of my father’s visible achievements were traced back to one reason: he had a son named "Kuo Li-Chang."

Because A-Kun often said he could no longer bear living on Chong-An Street — ever since the Lunar New Year of 1966, when he had been dragged in handcuffs and shackles all the way to Cheng-Kong Road before being put into a prison van, he felt that whenever he went out, the neighbors looked at him with strange, judgmental eyes — so I worked tirelessly for "20 hours a day." At one point, I even completed ten sets of molds in a single day. Before long, I finished building the house on Park Road, and we moved in.

My mother, whom I call “A-Jin,” had agreed with me in 1969 to register my father’s occupation as “Owner of Cheng Kuang Metal Works.” But in 1971, A-Kun showed me official records listing him only as a “technician.” This revealed a deeply humiliating family scandal —in short, he had been supplanted by my mother’s kept man.

Following the obsolescence of vacuum tubes in 1969, the electronics industry collapsed. Mr. Chen Yung-Tien, owner of Yongfu Electronics, sent his plant manager to my Cheng Kuang almost daily. Because he had once helped me in 1966, I developed numerous components for him free of charge. Eventually, he secured orders from an American buyer for "Portable Transistor Tape Recorders" and soon built a massive factory near the Yongkang Interchange.

At a celebratory banquet, slightly intoxicated, Mr. Chen said to my father, “Hey, Old Kuo, how do you have a son like 'Brother Li-Chang?' Why don’t I?” Both men were born in 1926. From that moment on, my life became increasingly difficult. My father treated me like an adversary — alternating between idleness and finding fault with me. Meanwhile, I had to handle demanding clients by day and attend night school to build my academic credentials, firmly believing that “to rise in status, one must pursue education.”

Around that time, a Japanese entrepreneur—Mr. Chikuda —came to Kaohsiung to start a business. Drawn by my reputation as the “Dr. Blacksmith,” he sought me out to develop new products. Even in the economic downturn of 1969, I managed to recover "NT$1.2 million" in payments from him within a short time.

Knowing that money entrusted to my mother would likely disappear, I quickly invested in land in Yongkang—at the time, the highest price was only “NT$100 per ping (35.583 sq ft).”My father boasted everywhere that he had bought vast tracts of land, while my mother, who neither studied nor read, claimed that all our wealth came from land speculation.

My father insisted that I owed him — because others praised me, he demanded that I build a factory on the 2,300-ping site on Chong-Cheng South Road so he could serve as chairman. Beyond constructing Baisheng, I even spent NT$ 450,000 to purchase and renovate a townhouse across from Ideal-brand shirts (now the site of Carrefour Yongkang), hoping he would simply cross the street to work.

The key point is that Baisheng was established as "a joint-stock company." My father gathered a group of questionable individuals from the Kuo-Mim Market of Kaohsiung, claiming they respected him and would support him as chairman. I spent six months building the factory to the point of producing saleable goods — yet not a single shareholder contributed any capital.

My father told me not to interfere — that it was his business. Aside from boasting about being chairman, he never once sat in the chairman’s office I had prepared for him, instead spending his days idly at Cheng Kuang.

What was inevitable finally came. The Garrison Command summoned both my parents for questioning — they were so terrified that they wet themselves on the spot.

In the end, I had to go myself to the Garrison Command office—located at what is now "Hayashi Department Store" — to explain the situation. I brought "a small film canister filled with my products." When I poured them out, I explained that each of these tiny components' prices less than "NT$0.10 per piece," yet after processing by American companies, they could be sold for up to one U.S. dollar. It was precisely because of citizens like us that the KEPZ prospered.

Fig 3: The small components from film canister

President Mei told me that after reviewing the “Security Files,” he too had held deep suspicions about A-Kun. Yet after listening in face to me — a 19-year-old at the time — explain everything with clarity and technical precision, he felt that even he, a PhD, was “unlearned” by comparison. With further supporting evidence and analysis, he ultimately concluded that A-Kun and A-Jin were merely "ignorant," not malicious of any plot. From the standpoint of a Confucian scholar, he sincerely praised my unconditional devotion to my parents.

When A-Kun was arrested during the Lunar New Year of 1966, I was only 13. I took on the responsibility of supporting the entire family. From 2 a.m., I worked at Chen Yan-Ting’s duck stall, helping to “inject water to make the duck carcasses look plumper.” And yet, A-Kun chose to associate with such unethical people to support his ambitions. At that time, I was only 136 cm tall, surviving on a one-dollar salted mackerel for an entire week. Each month, I earned between NT$3,000 and NT$5,000 and handed it all to A-Jin to take back to Tainan.

After the Dragon Boat Festival, I returned to Tainan during a day off. Upon entering the house, I was met with the stench of urine from my grandmother, whose foot had been broken by polices. My fourth younger brother lay bruised beside the bed. A small bucket still held spoiled bean porridge — relief food sent by my grand aunt. My third brother was nowhere to be found.

On the bus back to Kaohsiung, I made the decision to give everything up and move back to Tainan. This meant abandoning over a hundred clients and a steady monthly income. After returning, I reassembled a small factory and went to Yongfu Electronics on Min-Chu Road to seek orders. Some staff mocked me, but Mr. Chen Yung-Tien came out to stop them and purchased several hundred NT dollars’ worth of “eyelets” from me.

I went to work at the “Wanlong Electric Toy Factory,” founded by a Japan-educated PhD, a U.S.-trained MBA, and a master of electrical engineering. My monthly salary of 500 NT dollars was handed over entirely to A-Jin, yet she would still beat me with a stick, shouting, “You useless beast on four legs — why did you move back to Tainan?” The income she had expected from this “four-legged creature” (a degrading way she referred to me as an animal) had dropped sharply, but at least I was able to take care of my grandmother and brothers.

Unexpectedly, this seemingly elite team collapsed within three months. Just as I was at a loss, a large American man appeared at the narrow doorway, shouting, “Eyelets! Eyelets!” After confirming the specifications, I told him to return in two days for samples.

After delivering the samples, we went through a month of repeated revisions, all while enduring A-Jin’s constant verbal abuse. I even prepared an English “Approval Sheet” for that American at my age of 13. Finally, in December 1966, I secured an order worth NT$100,000 — earning a net profit of “NT$90,000” in just five days. Not only did I repay my parents’ debts, but the whole family was able to enjoy a proper New Year.

I gave the remaining money to A-Jin to purchase land on Park Road, where roadside plots cost about “NT$300 per ping.” Instead, she bought a low-lying piece of land next to a foul drainage ditch deep inside Lane 451 — and it belonged to a charitable institution. Nevertheless, I built embankments, filled the land, and quickly constructed the first home for the Kuo family in 32 years since it had been destroyed. Most importantly, my grandmother was able to spend her final two years living once again in her own home.

While the vacuum tube industry was being phased out, I remained busy developing new products for others, generating enough income to support A-Kun and A-Jin’s extravagant lifestyle — including the disgraceful relationships that followed. I had originally intended to use the land after completing military service, but due to A-Kun’s failures in abnormal relation, I had to use it earlier to build “Baisheng Metal.” In the end, he was still displaced by people like Chen Yan-Ting.

After retiring from Tunghai University, President Mei founded the think tank "Taiwan Development Institute" in 1993. As we worked together to realize the “Rich Taiwan Plan,” we invented the "Contactless TranSmart Chip" and established a “Chip Research Center” within the institute. Our relationship grew even closer. At every meeting, he would tirelessly tell others, “Peter Li-Chang has a golden brain. Together with Lin-Hong (Linda Din), they will ‘leave a legacy of brilliance’ in this lifetime and create a better world for the next generation.” He would also ask everyone to bless our newly invented techno-economic system — the “Total Economic System” (TES).

Of course, he never forgot to mention the old story of how Chiang Ching-Kuo once recognized me as the “Father of Taiwan’s Precision Industry.”

Back in 1972, when Dr. Mei was serving as president of the Central Police University — effectively the highest authority in Taiwan’s "Policing System" — he revealed that he had personally reviewed our “Security Files.”

A-Kun, my father who had a background in “Japanese Military Industry” (having served in a naval air arsenal) and had been implicated in an espionage case, had spent most of his life disengaged from productive work. The burden of supporting our family of nine fell on his elderly mother, who survived by doing paper-cut handicrafts. The drastic upheaval in his circumstances around 1966 made him a prime subject of surveillance by the Garrison Command.

In the early 1970s, following the Republic of China’s forced “withdrawal from the United Nations” under pressure from the Chinese Communist regime, the Garrison Command significantly tightened its internal security apparatus. This included intensified "workplace surveillance," ideological vetting, and frequent household registration inspections. Individuals with backgrounds in Japanese-era military industry or any association with alleged communist espionage were subjected to heightened scrutiny— A-Kun fit every category.

The methods of control were extensive: telecommunications monitoring, postal censorship, travel restrictions, and a vast grassroots intelligence network of over "20,000 security personnel." Detailed dossiers—such as the so-called “Security Files”—were compiled on individuals deemed politically sensitive or potentially subversive.

President Mei told me that, in those years, all correspondence of individuals under surveillance would "be steamed open," then examined line by line to eliminate any possible risk.

Amid the "mass emigration" that followed Taiwan’s withdrawal from the United Nations, and during the highly sensitive moment when Chiang Kai-Shek was re-elected to a fifth term while Chiang Ching-Kuo assumed the premiership, our factory construction of a 2,300-ping (81,833 square feet) — "Baisheng Metals" — was not merely abnormal; it was an act that could easily be construed as “a grave security threat,” one that risked bringing catastrophic consequences upon the entire family.

A-Kun, my father who had “no means of income and idled away his days” after his release from prison, could not possibly have financed such a large-scale project. The source of funds therefore appeared deeply suspicious, giving rise to a flood of anonymous accusations.

To make matters worse, A-Jin openly bragged about "engaging in land speculation" — an activity explicitly and severely prohibited under Chiang Ching-Kuo’s strict anti-speculation policies. Such reckless claims only intensified official suspicion, making it almost inevitable that the family would be placed in "a life-or-death predicament."

I asked, “If I hadn’t gone to explain things with my precision components, what might have happened?”

President Mei replied, “The consequences would have been severe. The policy in 1972 was: better to wrongly execute than to let one slip through.”

Had I not boldly brought my precision components to explain the situation at the Garrison Command office — located at what is now "Hayashi Department Store" — we might have been labeled as repeat spies, facing military trial, long-term imprisonment, or detention at the "Jingmei Military Detention Center" — an extremely terrifying facility. Even our entire family enterprise could have been shut down.

Fortunately, Secretary-General Mei intervened after sensing inconsistencies and conducted further investigation, ultimately resolving the crisis. This demonstrated that high-level intervention could still avert disaster — Chiang Ching-Kuo was not without judgment.

Later, having been classified as fully fit for military service, I was drafted into “a three-year term in an elite Army unit.” Unwilling to lose those years, I deliberately pursued qualification for the “Reserve Officer Training Program” —reducing my service to two years and securing a future window of opportunity. That decision ultimately enabled me, in 1974, to found "Cheng Kuang Precision Industrial Co., Ltd.," setting in motion the rise of Taiwan’s precision industry.

I structured the company with a registered capital of "NT$6 million." Although I was the sole investor providing the entire funding, I allocated only "NT$1 million of equity to myself." NT$2 million was assigned to A-Kun as Chairman, and the remaining NT$3 million was distributed among A-Jin and my brothers. This deliberate arrangement ensured that A-Kun could remain Chairman permanently — shielded from any future internal displacement.

On the very day that President Jimmy Carter unilaterally severed diplomatic relations with the Republic of China, I still took the risk of traveling to the United States for the future of Taiwan’s industry, developing "Satellite Receiver and Personal Computer (PC)." I established the "BSC Angel Fund" and built broad connections—including with William H. Gates Sr. —with the ambition of building a "Cheng Guang Precision Empire" in the United States, free from constraints.

Unexpectedly, the couple known as the “Gu-Sau” (Modern Heart-blind Elders”— A-Kun and A-Jin, used emotional coercion to summon me back from America to Tanan. On February 21, 1980, I was forced into marriage with a complete stranger, Ding Lin-Hong (Linda Din). Shortly after, on May 4, they launched a violent bleeding takeover of assets — what was locally referred to in Tainan as the “New Xuanwu Gate Incident.”

While in Tainan, I founded the “Golden Orchid Society” within the Junior Chamber of Commerce. Among its members were lawyers who advised me to take the opportunity to clean house. To their astonishment, however, I handed over a large sum of money to A-Kun and chose to leave Tainan instead. Coincidentally, Mattel needed a “Specialist,” giving me the chance to bring the "operational expertise of precision industry" to northern Taiwan.

Meanwhile, Linda Din, after witnessing Mattel shut down its Taiwan factory — leaving workers unemployed, some turning to taxi driving only to be robbed — conceived the “Total Economic Solution” (TES). She later presented it at APEC 1998, truly bringing new hope to Taiwan.

When Linda Din overcame immense obstacles and successfully secured the “E-Commerce Bill” — Steering the Global E-Commerce — at the APEC 1998 in Kuala Lumpur, President Mei was likely the happiest person in Taiwan besides President Lee Teng-Hui.

Fig 4: Winning the E-Commerce Bill at APEC 1998

On January 27, 2001, our company — Panhornic ComMec Inc. was struck by a massive robbery. Standing before the emptied office, Linda Din wiped away her tears and wrote a book, "The Daughter of a Defense Employee" (Din, Linda, 2001). When she presented the draft to President Mei, he smiled warmly and said, “Let me write the preface for you.”

Fig 5: The Daughter of a Defense Employee

Risking our lives, we accepted an invitation from the Australian government to present the “Global Channel-TES” proposal at APEC 2003, where it won “Best Practice” of guiding 240 thousand people to start their businesses. It was at this conference that the world effectively adopted our definition of a “Contactless Cashless System.” During the COVID-19 pandemic, this system enabled 1.5 billion people to continue earning globally from home during lockdowns. Annual cashless transaction volumes reached as high as USD 36 trillion and have continued to grow — revitalizing Taiwan’s semiconductor industry.

Fig 6: Winning Best Practice at APEC 2003

Most regrettably, a man surnamed "Chen" chose the very moment when we were dedicating ourselves at APEC to confront President Mei. He threw a copy of "The Daughter of a Defense Employee" in front of him on Chong-Gang Road in Taichung and demanded, “Why are you helping them enrich Taiwan?” The book’s cover and back cover featured the phrase “Rich Taiwan” four times. Today, the book’s vision—outlined in "The Path of Creation" and the “ICT Initiative” — has indeed been realized. Yet, tragically, funding for President Mei’s think tank was completely cut to zero.

Linda Din launched the “Rich Taiwan Plan” in 1986, advocating "Social Responsibility Investment" (SRI). By effectively leveraging the "Youth Entrepreneurship Loan Program" of the NYC (National Youth Commission), she expanded the global sales of electronic components. Through supplying three major electronics manufacturers in India, she developed a deep friendship with the Indian ambassador, while also accumulating critical resources that ultimately gave rise to the invaluable "Total Economic Solution" (TES) for humanity.

Regrettably, the “Executive Yuan's NYC was abolished in 2013” under President Ma Ying-Jeou. Whether this decision was in any way related to the fact that, in its early years, the Commission had once provided the salary that supported Ma Ho-ling (Ma’s father) and his family remains an open question.

On March 29, 2016, I called President Mei and arranged to visit him on April 1. Unexpectedly, he passed away on the very day. His driver later told me, “The President worked until March 31. After work, he asked me to take him to tidy up his appearance. On the way home, he mentioned that his old classmates Hsieh Tung-Min and Wang Sheng had come to see him…”

Today, seeing an old photograph of President Mei and his wife hosting Indian Ambassador Mr. Bhatia for dinner, I am reminded of a verse by Su Dongpo: “Ten years, living and dead, both vast and uncertain; without thinking, it is still impossible to forget.”

All the more so because President Mei was not only our mentor but, in many ways, our lifesaver — a bond that lasted 44 years.

Fig 7: Hosting the Indian Ambassador Bhatia for dinner

Peter Li-Chang Kuo, the author created Taiwan's Precision Industry in his early years. Peter was a representative of the APEC CEO Summit and an expert in the third sector. He advocated "anti-corruption (AC)/cashless/e-commerce (E-Com)/ICT/IPR/IIA-TES / Micro-Business (MB)…and etc." to win the international bills and regulations.