When I was a student studying Chinese in Taiwan in the early 1980s, Chiang's influence still lingered. His son, Jiang Jingguo, had succeeded him as ROC president, and his Chinese Nationalist Party (also known as the Kuomintang or KMT), was firmly in control. Today, the KMT continues to play an important role in Taiwan's politics, but it is far less dominant than it was in the past, and it is widely expected that the opposition Democratic Progress Party will gain control of Taiwan's presidency in next year's elections. As for myself, at the time I found the official glorification of Chiang a bit too much. I recall visiting the newly-constructed Chiang Kai-Shek Memorial in downtown Taipei, the capital, which to me resembled a Chinese version of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C. Exhibits in the museum which occupied much of the memorial lauded Chiang's allegedly great achievements while, I noted, completely downplaying the fact that Chiang had been "the man who lost China" (the title of Brian Crozier's biography of Chiang). At that time, it seemed that nearly everything in Taiwan commemorated either Chiang or his mentor, Sun Yat-Sen (Sun Zhongshan), the founder of the KMT, who had inspired the revolution of 1911 which ended imperial rule in China. Every coin and every paper bill bore either Chiang's or Sun's portrait, the main highway linking the northern part of the island with the southern part was named after Sun, and the new international airport outside Taipei was named after Chiang. This all seemed to me rather over the top.
Chiang was in many ways a paradoxical figure. Although personally austere, he presided over a regime that became notorious for its corruption. The leader of what had started as a revolutionary movement, the KMT, he became a symbol of conservatism. Perhaps the greatest paradox is revealed by something he wrote in his last testament just before his death: "I have always regarded myself as a disciple of Dr. Sun Yat-Sen, and also of Jesus Christ" (quoted in Insight Guide: Taiwan, by Daniel P. Reid, p. 46). Chiang had officially converted to Christianity before marrying his second wife, Soong Mei-Ling, the daughter of a successful Chinese businessman who had been a Methodist missionary (she was also the sister of Sun Yat-Sen's wife). How sincere was his conversion? I have no way of knowing. However, it has long been difficult for me to see how one can reconcile Chiang's profession of Christian faith with some of his actions. For example, Chiang launched a bloody suppression of Communist forces in Shanghai in 1927, and in Taiwan he did not hesitate to engage in political repression to maintain KMT control. In short, Chiang behaved in a way not unlike many dictators throughout history. And yet, perhaps he genuinely did believe. According to Daniel P. Reid, every evening in his later years Chiang and his wife would "[kneel] together in Christian prayer" (Insight Guide: Taiwan, p. 46), and according to the Wikipedia article on Chiang, "studies of his recently opened diaries suggest that his faith was strong and sincere and that he felt that Christianity reinforced Confucian moral teachings."
In short, forty years after his death, Chiang Kai-Shek remains an enigma. What cannot be argued is that, for better or worse, he had a great influence on both Chinese and world history in the 20th century.
Image of Chiang Kai-Shek from Wikipedia.org