Wu Dianrong Column: Is Wang Ding-yu Profiting from Both Sides?

Five years after the last informant controversy, the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) is once again embroiled in a scandal over past informants. Unlike four years ago, when Huang Kuo-shu publicly announced his withdrawal from the party, elections, and factions after being exposed, this time those named as informants in declassified national archives—Legislator Wang Ding-yu, Tainan Mayor Huang Wei-cher, and Deputy Minister of the Interior Ma Shih-yuan—have uniformly denied the allegations. Senior DPP figures have remained silent. What should have been a pivotal moment for transitional justice has instead been quietly diluted through internal party power restructuring, revealing a deep irony: the injustice of transition may now define the DPP itself.

The contrast in the DPP’s handling of informant scandals five years apart is stark. Five years ago, then-DPP legislator Huang Kuo-shu was accused of assisting intelligence agencies in gathering information on opposition and student activists during his university years. At the time, related archives were not publicly available—only accessible through personal applications—and names were still pseudonyms. However, several members of the student movement generation cross-referenced the files and identified Huang, who then admitted to monitoring friends and comrades. Although Huang announced his withdrawal from elections, he was criticized for failing to fully reflect or repent. Yet compared to the current wave of denials, Huang at least publicly acknowledged his wrongdoing and paid a political price—offering an imperfect but somewhat acceptable closure to transitional justice.

Unlike Huang’s case, the new allegations are not based on rumors but on publicly released documents from the National Archives Administration. Files such as the "(Investigation Bureau, Ministry of Justice) Consultant Personnel Comprehensive Case" and the "(Investigation Bureau, Ministry of Justice) 1990 Deployment Comprehensive Case" mention "Wang Ding-yu" 17 times. As deployment records, they include complete documentation—from recruitment and initial payments to salary increases and case closure. A thorough review reveals that "Wang Ding-yu" was highly praised by the Investigation Bureau for sacrificing his academic time to infiltrate student groups and collect information on "radical" students, earning a monthly salary increase to 8,000 NTD.

According to national archives, Cheng Kung University’s Wang Ding-yu (hometown: Linquan, Anhui) was evaluated as "timely and proactively reporting on campus and off-campus subversive activities."

The case of Huang Wei-cher, first exposed by student activist Zhou Ke-ren, is indeed "old news," as Huang himself stated. Five years ago, when anonymously accused, Huang strongly denied it and even filed a lawsuit. But now, the evidence comes from the Investigation Bureau’s declassified "Strengthening Campus Security Work Case." The documents list Huang, then a student in National Taiwan University’s Department of Agricultural Extension, as the top name on a list of 13 individuals recommended by the Ministry of Education’s Second Division for continued direct deployment. He was praised for "providing data on radical student groups’ participation in abnormal activities, with outstanding performance," and recommended for a salary increase from 2,000 to 4,000 NTD per month.

Most surprising is Deputy Minister Ma Shih-yuan, whose name appears in the same informant files under the alias "Ma Chieh." His mission was to monitor Lin Chun-yi, a prominent environmental activist professor at the time. Ma has completely denied the allegations, and some media outlets have even argued he was a "victim" under surveillance.

Despite the exposure of three high-profile informants, the DPP—long the standard-bearer of transitional justice—has remained unusually silent. A key consideration lies in the ultimate accountability of transitional justice. Even supporters agree that real responsibility should fall on powerful authoritarian perpetrators, not low-level civil servants or gray-area informants. This argument may hold during the White Terror era, when the state could coerce citizens into becoming informants. However, the activities of Huang Kuo-shu and the three newly exposed informants largely occurred after martial law was lifted—when state coercion no longer existed, and incentives were used instead. The most striking aspect of the newly released files is the detailed record of payments adjusted based on performance.

Becoming an informant for ideology—such as underground CCP members—might earn respect even from opponents. But doing so for money is never justifiable. Moreover, stealing state secrets for a foreign power is treason; monitoring one’s friends and family is the most fundamental betrayal of trust. When such individuals enter politics, their credibility must be rigorously reassessed before being entrusted with power.

Beyond ethics, there are real political risks. This is why, among the estimated 30,000 informants, those who entered politics are particularly significant. For example, if Ma Shih-yuan, who served as an informant during his time at Tunghai University, is indeed the current Deputy Minister, the Lai administration must reconsider. Ma is a key executor of the Presidential Office’s Whole-of-Society Resilience Committee. For the Lai government, societal resilience may be as crucial as military strength. If Ma has a documented history of betraying friends and groups, can he still be trusted with Taiwan’s national security?

The greatest irony in this scandal is Wang Ding-yu. Predictably, he has once again flatly denied the allegations—just as he did during past extramarital affairs. Whether in marriage or politics, he has a consistent record of disloyalty.

Unlike other politicians with informant records, Wang has risen politically by leading the charge in extreme pro-independence actions—from physically assaulting Zhang Mingqing, deputy head of the ARATS during a visit, to being the first in the DPP to advocate "one side, one country." This mirrors the very "radical" student activities he once monitored, making him the perfect example of an informant mimicking his targets. In the pursuit of Taiwan independence, timing matters. Wang has always been a winner, regardless of political shifts—but this is precisely the greatest irony for transitional justice.

The DPP has used its party congress to restructure power, effectively preventing Wang from becoming a Central Standing Committee member—a move resembling a gang’s internal purge. In reality, Wang’s forced retreat was not solely due to the informant scandal. His recent controversies have led to declining votes in his district, and central party figures have long eyed his seat. The informant storm has been manipulated by the DPP into a power reshuffle between central and local factions. In the end, it is transitional justice that has truly lost.