The braised pork political economy
On Sept. 19, restaurant chain Formosa Chang’s third-generation heir Chang Yao-sheng (張耀升) attended a campaign event for Taipei Mayor Chiang Wan-an (蔣萬安) in Datong District (大同); he came bearing pineapples and wished Chiang success in his bid for re-election. Chang’s appearance prompted calls from some consumers to boycott the restaurant chain, which was quick to issue a statement saying that Chang had attended the event in a private capacity, and that his participation did not represent the brand’s position.
Someone who has been publicly positioned as the company’s successor cannot really be regarded as an ordinary employee. Chang is free to support any candidate he chooses — just as consumers are free to choose where to spend their money. The sticking point is the different identities he holds: all at once, Chang is an ordinary citizen, the son of the company’s chairman Chang Yung-chang (張永昌), an assistant to the general manager and the company’s future successor. When he walks into a campaign event, it is inevitable that all the public sees is the third-generation face of Formosa Chang.
This private-turned-public appearance is particularly sensitive because Datong District, where Formosa Chang’s roots were established, is one of the more staunchly pan-green areas on Taipei’s political map. In 2020, Tsai Ing-wen (蔡英文) won nearly 64 percent of the district’s vote; and in the 2022 Taipei mayoral election, it was the only district in which the Democratic Progressive Party’s candidate, Chen Shih-chung (陳時中), led against the Chinese Nationalist Party’s (KMT) Chiang. Chang Yao-sheng’s decision to publicly support the KMT mayor in the brand’s home territory was more than a personal political statement; it directly touched the local community where Formosa Chang first built its reputation. In a highly polarized political environment, a single move can tear at the emotional ties of longtime customers and turn what was originally an apolitical form of trust into a sense of betrayal.
Starting out as a roadside stall in Datong District, Formosa Chang transformed the humble Taiwanese dish of braised pork over rice into a Chinese-style restaurant chain with a clearly defined market position. Consumers choose it not for political reasons, but for convenience and dependability. This controversy might generate short-term publicity, and some supporters of the pan-blue camp or those opposed to online pile-ons might opt to patronize the chain in solidarity. However, those who wish to boycott the chain have plenty of options for pork rice and boxed meals elsewhere, while its most vocal supporters might not necessarily offer long-term patronage themselves.
The situation represents a conflict between rights and responsibilities in corporate governance. While Chang Yao-sheng enjoys political visibility because of his status as successor, brand risks are borne collectively by the company, its employees and other members of the founding family. Franchisees and frontline staff are the most vulnerable parties when a boycott of a restaurant chain occurs, and the headquarters’ insistence that Chang Yao-sheng was acting in a personal capacity offers a thin fig leaf at best.
Succession in a family business is not simply about inheriting shares and job titles; it also means managing one’s symbolic power. Chang Yao-sheng is free to choose his political preference, but he cannot pretend that the decision is a personal matter and nothing more.
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