Taiwan's Ocean: Past, Present, and Future

What Makes Taiwan's Ocean Unique

Thanks to its remarkable geographic position at the intersection of tropical and subtropical monsoon climates, Taiwan is shaped by vigorous tectonic activity that has sculpted endlessly varied geological landscapes. The Kuroshio Current flows year-round along the east coast, while the China Coastal Current sweeps in from the west each winter to meet it. The interplay of climate, geology, and ocean currents has given rise to an extraordinarily diverse underwater environment. Surveys estimate that as many as 3,200 species of fish are commonly found in Taiwan's coastal waters — nearly one-tenth of the world's total of roughly 34,000 species. For a people who proudly call themselves a seafaring nation, that is a figure worth celebrating.

And yet, why do so many of us feel that Taiwan's people are still so distant from the sea? There are several different angles worth exploring.

The Government's Sea-Prohibition Mindset

Ever since the Chiang regime relocated to Taiwan in 1949, successive governments — fearing communist infiltration and smuggling — have used laws and regulations to keep the public away from the ocean. The symptoms are visible even today: civilians boarding a vessel must go through customs clearance, and private yachts cannot simply dock wherever they please.

The government's approach to managing marine recreation has been largely passive. Whenever a drowning occurs in a particular area, the knee-jerk response is to post a hazard notice and ban access to the water — yet we never see proactive classroom education on how to choose a safe swimming spot or identify a rip current. Over generations, this quiet conditioning has left Taiwanese people feeling that the ocean is simply not for them. A trip to the coast means splashing in the shallows on the beach or heading to a fishing harbour for seafood — rarely anything more — even though the sea has so much more to offer in the way of life experience.

A Bureaucratic Tug-of-War

It is no secret that Taiwan's government apparatus is enormous. In recent years the ruling party has made efforts to streamline and restructure agencies, but meaningful results have been slow to emerge. The Ocean Affairs Council — the body most relevant to advancing marine policy — was only provisionally established in 2018. A single example illustrates just how tangled the regulatory landscape can be.

In 2016, the Keelung City Government designated Wanghaixiang Bay as a marine conservation zone (潮境海灣資源保育區). Over three years, the combined efforts of the Keelung City Government, the Coast Guard, the National Museum of Marine Science and Technology, and a dedicated community of local divers and instructors helped this smallest of Taiwan's protected areas become arguably its most promising. The recovery of underwater ecosystems has been plain for everyone to see.

Yet behind that success lies an uncomfortable truth. Promoting and managing the zone involves the Keelung City Government's Industry and Development Bureau; water recreation regulations within the zone fall under the city's Tourism and Transportation Department; illegal net fishing is enforced by the Coast Guard; final penalty decisions bounce back to the city government; and stray fishing nets that drift to the seafloor become the responsibility of the Environmental Protection Bureau. One small marine reserve, and already a bewildering tangle of overlapping jurisdictions — with untold amounts of time lost to paperwork and rubber stamps.

There is no shortage of dedicated civil servants who genuinely want to advance marine conservation — and we have always done our best to show up in support of the events they organise. But working within such a bureaucratic system inevitably grinds people down. Consider the 2018 fiasco in which the Keelung City Government issued a blanket ban on night diving, or the constant obstacles faced by Captain Xiao of the Penghu South Islands National Park when trying to enforce the rules as written — not to mention the near-certain interference of legislators every time an illegal net is reported. When frontline staff who truly care find their enthusiasm steadily worn away by the system, it is a serious blow to the future of Taiwan's oceans.

Encouragingly, scuba diving has seen a surge in popularity in Taiwan in recent years. More and more people are sharing stunning underwater photographs that inspire those around them, and a growing number of divers are taking the initiative to organise ocean cleanups and coral planting events, turning their convictions into action. One person's reach may be limited, but if everyone does their part — each extending even a small gesture of hope toward the sea — that collective faith is enough to move mountains.

The harsh reality is that Taiwan is a populist democracy, and politicians are acutely sensitive to votes. If those who cherish the ocean can use social media, public opinion, and ultimately the ballot box to influence government decisions, that will be the beginning of real change. But to get there, we first need to help more people rediscover the sea — and fall in love with it. Only when the public truly loves this ocean will they feel the urgency of the threats it faces.

Taiwan's marine future is confronted by no shortage of challenges: overfishing has pushed nearshore fish populations to the brink; marine debris litters the seafloor with plastic waste; destructive fishing methods with high bycatch rates squander precious marine resources; and the establishment and enforcement of marine protected areas remain mired in red tape. Government change takes time, and the Ocean Affairs Council may yet prove to be a ray of hope — but in an advocacy effort that demands long-term commitment, every one of us is capable of doing far more than we might imagine.

Finally, a line often shared by a veteran diver we admire: "The ocean changes because I dive."