IT MAY BE just another triumph of the curator's art but it also may be, in part at least, a kind of political statement. In any case, one current exhibit at Taiwan's splendid National Palace Museum is devoted to 'Active Figures in the History of Taiwan During the Chi'ing Dynasty'. Not the most gripping topic, and the average visitor is more likely to linger before Ming blue and white than accounts of obscure provincial officials from long ago. But purposefully or not, the exhibit illustrates a growing Taiwanese fascination with the Chinese mainland and relations with its past, present and future. Though nothing dramatic will occur soon, whatever the results of crucial legislative elections on December 1, some important shifts of attitude are under way. And these raise the possibility of a changed future for both the mainland and Taiwan. The current relationship is one of careful ambiguity. Beijing considers Taiwan a wayward province whose only duty is to rejoin the family. Taiwan clings to its heritage as the Republic of China and dithers about whether to rename itself more modestly but also more provocatively as the Republic of Taiwan. Do so and there will be war, the Communists promise, and Taiwanese President Chen Shiu-bian backs away, even though his political party was founded on precisely that pledge. This leaves Taiwan less than a state but more than a province, not quite accepted into the community of nations yet recognising fundamental allegiance to no one. And despite frequent huffing and puffing, neither side is ready to force a definitive change; the price could be too high. Yet things are hardly static. Old anxieties linger, but from Taiwan, mainland China no longer seems such a strange and fearsome place. Several hundred thousand Taiwanese live or work on the mainland, at least part time, and many others visit. Taiwanese have invested perhaps US$60 billion there, and half or more of many 'Taiwanese' products actually come from mainland factories. Whole Chinese towns, such as Dongguan in Guangdong, and the Shanghai suburb of Kunshan, are becoming Taiwanese in nature. Many consider bustling Shanghai, in particular, a cool place to work - even if they often see mainlanders as unpleasant money-grubbers - and some older Taiwanese say they would like to retire there. The flow of mainland visitors is a comparative trickle, but it too is rising. Academic and quasi-official groups arrive frequently, many with connections in high places. For example, a daughter of the elderly Chinese official in charge of cross-strait relations led a delegation not long ago. All this takes on new relevance as Taiwan tries once again to work out its cross-strait relations, driven by economic pressures to seek closer ties without being smothered in the process. Yet, as the current situation shows, commercial connections inevitably have political implications. Striking a safe balance will be difficult. The immediate issue is that of establishing the 'three links', or direct trade, transport and communications between island and mainland. A high-powered advisory panel has told Mr Chen to do this quickly as part of a broader plan to revive a sagging economy, which just recorded its worst growth figures for 25 years. The goal is to promote Taiwan's prosperity by tying its technical and management skills more closely to the mainland's cheap land and labour, and to its huge potential market. A good idea, perhaps, but there's a catch. Beijing insists Taiwanese leaders must first acknowledge there is only one China, and that Taiwan represents merely one of 32 provinces. Trying to sidestep this issue by discussing only economic matters 'is unpragmatic and cannot be done', warned a recent Xinhua dispatch. Taiwan's politicians are trying to meet that challenge. Public-opinion polls show growing (if minority) support for the concept of eventual unity - but not yet; few Taiwanese are ready to trust their fate to Beijing's current leaders. Thus, while all parties promise they won't put Taiwan's security at risk, they have distinct differences about how to resolve the issue. The main opposition parties - the established Kuomintang (KMT) and its more popular offshoot, James Soong Chu-yu's People First Party - are ready to revive something called the '1992 consensus', which Beijing says would be acceptable for the present. This refers to a 1992 agreement which preceded cross-strait talks about practical matters such as trade and exchanges. In fact, there was no clear consensus about 'one-China' at that time. Instead, the two sides exchanged faxes which stated differing views and then agreed to take up more tangible matters. But this agreement carefully left open the possibility of eventual unification in some unspecified way, and opposition parties are ready to revive it if they are able to form a ruling coalition after the elections. Direct links are possible 'only if [both sides] accept the consensus of 1992 . . . which represents a Taiwanese promise not to rule out unification,' explains an official of Mr Soong's party. Like most others, however, he doesn't favour unifying with this particular Beijing regime. Mr Chen's Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) has a more straightforward approach. It contends that history makes Taiwan an entity distinct from China, and most Taiwanese might favour independence if proclaiming it was safe - but it is not safe. Washington, Beijing and many other capitals warn against it, and Taipei could not rely on United States military support if war ensued. Thus, Mr Chen has edged away from party doctrine, angering some stalwarts in the process. He agrees that closer economic ties are needed for the sake of Taiwanese prosperity, even though some DPP members consider them a trap. As one DPP official concedes, 'we can't fight it', so party officials talk of returning to 'the spirit of 1992'. They hope to revive the friendly mood of former days without conceding anything on unity, even for the distant future. That might not be possible, for Beijing says it won't compromise. In any case, concessions would be fought fiercely by former president Lee Teng-hui, who has all but abandoned the KMT he led for years to back the new Taiwan Solidarity Union. He hopes to join with the DPP after December 1 to control parliament and block anything which smacks of unification. But the 78-year-old Mr Lee is a fading political force. In the coming weeks, Mr Chen will make some unilateral moves to promote closer cross-strait economic ties. But Beijing is unlikely to respond on main issues before it sees election results. If KMT-linked parties can then set government policies, there will be a major effort to revive the 1992 mood and establish closer links. If Mr Chen's allies can form a coalition, that would be difficult. Yet if Beijing decides its long-term political goals are served by more social and economic integration, the two sides might find a way. For example, shipping and air travel connections could be worked out by the companies concerned, without official involvement of the central Government. Experience shows they can strike deals when the urge is there. A decade ago, two years of talks about exchanging illegal immigrants and criminals nearly collapsed because negotiators couldn't agree on the date. Beijing considered the year to be 1990, but Taipei insisted it was really - dynasty-style - the 79th year of the Republic of China. Easily solved. Officials left blank spaces on their drafts and filled in the dates after they got home. 'It was an excellent agreement and it is still valid,' says one of Taiwan's negotiators. Robert Keatley is the South China Morning Post's Editorial Adviser
