Stateswoman: Shin Kong pink (stories from Cynthia Wu’s grandpa, anthem included)
“Our company’s president is a Christian who believes in Jesus Christ, while I’m a Buddhist who occasionally goes to the temple to burn incense respectfully. Both of these are very good religions, but they simply provide spiritual solace and nothing more.
I worked hard managing an insurance company and popularizing the concept of insurance. I hope to give people a feeling of safety about both spiritual and material manners.
This is why I feel that insurance possesses religious significance.”
The Shin Kong empire’s corporate image conjures up an iconic image of a pink-tiled skyscraper, one that once was the tallest building in Taiwan up to 1997, the year that 85 Sky Tower debuted in Kaohsiung. The 51-floor Shin Kong Life Tower is rooted in the very heart of Taipei’s commerce hub, directly across from the bustling Taipei Main Station serviced by train, underground metro, and high-speed rail. On this very site once stood the exalted Taiwan Railway Hotel of “Taipei, Formosa, Japan.”
The colonial-era luxury guesthouse with 30 rooms, a bar, a snooker room, and a 1,000-person dining room was frequented by international travelers and the local elite for its French cuisine and UK-imported amenities like cutlery, porcelain loos, and a passenger lift. The Matsuzaki Munakasa-designed edifice was destroyed during the 1945 Allied bombings of Taipei, and Shin Kong founder Wu Ho-su (吳火獅, 1919–1986) purchased the land in 1973 for NT$80,000 per ping during an economic downturn.
Ho-su never did live to see the completion of his rosy skyscraper, the signature Shin Kong pink being a tribute to the national flowers of both Japan (cherry blossom) and Taiwan (plum blossom); he passed away in 1986 after suffering from a heart attack. Now a mall and corporate headquarters of Shin Kong Financial Holding, the Tower was completed in accordance to his specifications by eldest son Eugene Wu (吳東進), father to TPP vice presidential candidate Cynthia Wu (吳欣盈), on Dec. 21, 1993. The architect was none other than Kaku Morin (郭茂林, 1920–2012), a Taiwan-born Japanese known for creating high-rise structures in East Asia. In cooperation with Japan’s department store chain Mitsukoshi that provided training “including strategies and attitudes for serving customers,” Ho-su had based his mall dreams on New York’s Rockefeller Center by incorporating food courts and movie theaters to build Shin Kong Mitsukoshi.
“In the capital city, with its concentration of government and business offices where every inch of land is like gold, no other department store in Taipei has had the courage to provide so much space for city residents’ leisure and enjoyment.”
Ho-su’s Rockefeller Plaza, the Forest of Lions Plaza, was inspired by a 1948 visit to China’s Suzhou province where he saw a classic estate there reminiscent of the Lin Family Mansion in Banqiao here. Fondness for his namesake lions — as expressed in the donations of stone guardians to sites as diverse as the Civil and Martial Temple at Sun Moon Lake, Eight Hexagram Mountain in Changhua, the Yuan Tung Temple in New Taipei, and the Martyrs’ Temple in Hsinchu — led the businessman to adopt the name “Forest of Lions (獅子林)” for personal and marketing purposes.
As for Shin Kong itself, the title of his domain that started with the textile business pays tribute to both his hometown Hsinchu (新竹) and his Japanese mentor, Ogawa Mitsusada (小川光定), who promoted Ho-su from dock coolie to manager of a “new import venture” named Ogawa’s on Dihua Street in colonial Taipei due to the latter’s “ambitious, but meticulously detailed, plans.” As head of the Hirano Corporation, “a large merchant house managing the importing of cloth to service the wholesale dealers throughout Taiwan,” Ogawa bestowed Ho-su with the nickname Kintoku meaning “’Golden Virtue,’ pronounced ‘Chin-te’ in Chinese.”
“The reason I chose the name ‘Shinkong’ for my company was: ‘Shin’ (Hsin) pointed to my being from Hsinchu; and ‘Kong’ (Kuang) adopted one character (pronounced ‘mitsu’ in Japanese) from the personal name of my Japanese boss, Ogawa Mitsusada. I’ve heard some people explain Shinkong as meaning ‘Retrocession to the New People’ or ‘Hsinchu’s New Light,’ and these are apt explanations, too.”
In a 1982 meeting with Anzai Hiroshi, director of Tokyo Gas Corp, Ho-su shared his view on Taiwan-Japan economic relations, noting that the postwar Japanese economy “could develop uninhibitedly and rapidly” partly because “President Chiang Kai-shek had early on evoked the spirit of repaying injury with kindness, the Chinese Nationalist government never demanded one penny of reparations from a defeated Japan.” In “Business as a Vocation: The Autobiography of Wu Ho-su,” he also recalled a “psychology of revenge for prior Japanese injustices” among many Koreans and Taiwanese living in postwar Japan, who “seized Japanese men’s wives, and encircling any area they wanted, they occupied it as their own territory”; some merged with the underworld upon the restoration of order.
“I personally saw how devastated Kobe, Osaka, and Tokyo were in the wake of the American firebombing. Ordinary Japanese people were poor and their lives were miserable. I could fathom the depth of that misery from its manifestation in the faces of emaciated streetwalkers everywhere in the airports and train stations. Driven by hunger, women from various backgrounds were forced to sell themselves on the street corners. Is there really any need for any more graphic examples?”
War was a constant throughout most of Ho-su’s formative and prolific years. He was on a business run to Shanghai in late 1948, one year prior to the Nationalists’ retreat to Taiwan, when he “discovered that the situation had already deteriorated immensely. There were numerous wounded soldiers, refugees, and beggars, all with nowhere to go.” Some of the signs he saw were:
“Became homeless when Communists killed our family members”
“Benevolent people and gentlemen, please extend a helping hand”
“Postwar Japanese had a clear understanding of Japan’s strengths and weaknesses,” stated the Shin Kong czar, “it was their profound fear of losing the chance for national recovery that drove the Japanese to rally together, be very conscientious, and work so hard.” He was also believed that “if we are able to come to terms, communicate, and cooperate with the governmental administrators and technocrats who came over from the China mainland, Taiwan’s future achievements could possibly equal Japan’s.”
Ho-su juxtaposed the actions of his disheartened peers with his firm belief in “both Shinkong Life and Taiwan’s future” when public morale was low and “whole families migrated abroad” in the wake of the 1971 loss of United Nations membership and the United States’ diplomatic pivot to the People’s Republic of China in 1979. “Against popular opinion,” he demonstrated his faith by purchasing property and investing in Taiwan.
“The land I own across from the Taipei train station was purchased at that time (and later became the site of the Shinkong Life Tower). My present home in Yangming Mountain was built at that time. These diverse actions expressed my confidence in Taiwan.”
Interestingly, Ho-su saw South Korea as a direct competitor, given that “the industrial base that the Japanese left behind in Korea was actually much greater than in Taiwan.” He was of the opinion that Taiwan had a comparatively weaker ability to concentrate capital due to the island nation’s upholding of a certain “ideal — in Dr. Sun Yat-sen’s Three People’s Principles — of equalizing capital resources.” He was also impressed by the farming abilities of the Dutch: “If a place like Holland can raise cows, it should also be possible in Taiwan.” His own management approach looked up to corporate Japan’s “set institutional system” that provided “lifetime job security” in contrast to American business leaders calling the shots “only by how they see the circumstances.”
He was envious of the Swedish education system, but feared “people could become too accustomed to comfort in a nation with so many free services.” A president of Costa Rica, Luis Alberto Monge, entertained Ho-su at his home. A personal friend, congressman Lester Wolff who helped draft the Taiwan Relations Act, was the one who told the businessman about the inevitable diplomatic switcheroo and “that there was nothing that could be done.” After seeing British Prime Minister Harold McMillan and Queen Elizabeth II at London’s Second World Congress of Man-made Fibers in May 1962, he “realized that industrially developed nations must possess their own museum to verify the past and future of their industrialization.”
“I think of a healthy enterprise as a giant tree firmly established on a mountain peak … If an insurance company wants to establish strong anchoring roots, it must understand how to utilize its personnel. Appropriately using personnel establishes trust. An insurance company’s product is an intangible commodity; its investment capital is essentially trust.”
The Shin Kong founder has coined the term “Shin Kong Religion” to describe his employees’ faith in the company’s ability to provide for their material welfare and “spiritual safety.” Ho-su saw the insurance trade as a part of defending social order, and that Shin Kong Life had “both the ability to take care of society and the power to pacify society.” Ho-su personally welcomed every new employee to assure newcomers of “their own future in the company” and that his “cadres’ careers contribute to the public good” by framing life insurance as a public-interest business. A day’s work began by reciting the Shin Kong Anthem (新光頌).
“Giving birth to, and sustaining, a group’s feeling of identification is really an extraordinary important insight, one that Western theory doesn’t adequately appreciate.
Of course, comparing an insurance company to a religion is a bit ludicrous! But the comparison still contains an element of truth, and therein, you can perceive our commitment to giving something back to society.”
In return, he demanded a high degree of loyalty and devotion, stating that “I regard each employee as a ‘goal’ or ‘end’ rather than as a mere ‘means’” in terms of talent cultivation and how “the larger entrepreneur’s obligations extend to the entire society.” When Taiwan’s economy slumped following US diplomatic recognition of the PRC in 1979, he opted for a strategy of “natural attrition” — “when workers left, they were not replaced.” Ho-su also honored insurance payouts by sending a motorcade comprising over ten Shin Kong employees to visit the local borough chief (里長) and hand over bundles of New Taiwan dollars for delivery to the bereft family. Insurance fees were collected by predominately by women employees, due to their abilities to ingratiate themselves with clients and gain their trust; they were equipped with motorbikes, too, to extend their service range.
“A company is just like a large household in terms of the feelings and emotions among its members.
At the root of success or failure in business is whether or not the employees have a ‘centripetal orientation’ toward the leadership of the company, and this orientation depends on whether or not they ‘identify’ with the company.”
The rags-to-riches capitalist also ousted one type of personality unsuitable for his company — people who “only think in terms of maintaining the existing state of affairs and taking it easy.” He opined that “if one doesn’t have the spirit of respecting the vocation, one is subject at any time to being capsized by the billows of difficulties.” Ho-su uses this argument to defend the family-managed Shin Kong conglomerate, noting that his two brothers were placed in key positions because “it’s unusual for other people to have this spirit or to be this willing to shoulder responsibility and blame for the sake of the group and its members.”
“Some friends and cadres often laugh at what they regard as my excessive caution, and refer to me as the one who is ‘always planning and deeply calculating.’ Yet, they probably wouldn’t regard my caution so lightly if they were able to understand that it is grounded in my sense of duty and responsibility to the company and its employees.”
Ho-su’s momentum is etched in eight Mandarin characters: 維持現狀，即是落伍 — “Maintaining the status quo means lagging behind.” Derived from observing how “many people at work only sought to maintain the status quo — without any quest for progress,” not only did this personal coda become the corporate spirit of the Shin Kong empire, it became the focus of his calligraphy. Many early, framed editions of his slogan, however, were not penned by Ho-su. The industrialist was initially ashamed of his penmanship and requested the assistance of the classically trained Wang Kuei-mu (王桂木, 1913–1969), manager of his Wangtien Woolen Textile factory. This arrangement lasted until Wang’s death.
“What if someone insisted on taking a picture of me wielding the brush, wouldn’t everything be exposed?”
So Ho-su began practicing calligraphy by studying the script of his eight-character slogan during late evenings and pockets of free time, tearing through sheets of parchment “halfway through the night, until I’m satisfied with every character.” It became a true passion and outlet, an infusion of his character with his chosen words.
“On some inspired occasions, each and every stroke has special flavor, and there is no need for any touching up. My heart is then exceptionally happy as I write more and more.”
Ho-su was also overjoyed when Hsu Hsien-hsien (許嫺嫺), the wife of his firstborn son Eugene whose birth he missed during the aerial bombings of May 1945, announced her pregnancy and made a bet with his daughter-in-law: Bear a grandson and receive a new Cadillac. Cynthia’s arrival in 1978 meant that Hsu lost the bet but gained a child.
“After the Taiwan’s industrial takeoff, adequate employment has been readily available to everyone. I predict that Taiwan’s future progress will be even more remarkable. Therefore, with full confidence and determination, I cherish the chance to compete and to dash further forward.”
The empire-builder passed away in 1986 when Cynthia was eight. In a posthumous commendation, President Lee Teng-hui (李登輝, 1923–2020) highlighted Ho-su’s “fervor for the public good.”
This feature is based on 《半世紀的奮鬥》, meaning “My Half-Century of Struggle,” the official Wu Ho-su memoir published by his family in 1988. Its Mandarin text was written by Harvard-trained Taiwanese historian Chin-Shing Huang (黃進興) of Academia Sinica. A Japanese version was released in 1992 as 《臺灣の獅子》, or “The Taiwanese Lion.” It was released in English as “Business as a Vocation” in 2002.
The English quotes used here were not translated by me. They were taken from the 2002 Harvard University Press edition translated by scholar Hoyt Cleveland Tillman (田浩) from the Department of History at Arizona State University. “Business as a Vocation” was digitized by the brilliant Internet Archive in 2018 with funding from Kahle/Austin Foundation.
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