The first rally I came to hate took place when I was a fifth grader. Japan's invasion army, under General Tomoyuki Yamashita, conquered Singapore right after the empire's 2,601st founding anniversary thanks to an unconditional surrender by the British force defending that fortressed island, which was described as "unconquerable."

All of us schoolchildren were told to march past the Office of the Governor-General of Taiwan waving Japanese national flags under the blazing early spring sun. All my classmates save me -- almost all of them Japanese, and I believed I was a Japanese, too -- were jubilant because each of us was given two "manju (buns with bean-jam filling)" which were not easily available because food-rationing was in force throughout the whole of Japan, including Taiwan as its colony, and a soft tennis ball as a sop for our painful participation in the forced march.

Incidentally, that founding anniversary was a government-sanctioned historical hoax, the Office of the Governor-General is now the Office of the President of the Republic of China, and most of the British prisoners of war were shipped to Taiwan for hard labor.

After Taiwan was restored to the Republic of China, all of us junior and senior high school students were required to rally and march on every auspicious occasion like Youth Day, Double Tenth National Day, or ah yes, President Chiang Kai-shek's birthday. On one of his birthdays, we were ordered to rally at the Armed Forces Stadium, where the Ministry of Foreign Affairs now stands, to celebrate it by taking a vow to join the Anti-Communist and National Salvation Corps his son Chiang Ching-kuo wanted to found to please him (that organization has survived as the Youth Corps). I was a Taiwan University senior majoring in English, and assigned to a seat on the highest tier of the basketball arena, surrounded by a number of Chiang's security guards. As the Gimo entered the arena, everybody stood up to give him a standing ovation. I, of course, had to stand up, but did not shout "Long live President Chiang" because I was certain none of the security guards would spot me as a silent protester in the rousing din, albeit I had to raise my right hand lest they saw me as a non-conformist opposed to the longevity of their adored leader. Those were the days when Taiwan was under the reign of white terror and security guards were duty-bound to report any political dissident under the slightest suspicion.To tell the truth, I was much more than greatly relieved after I had finished my education in Taiwan. Only students were mobilized for government-ordered mass rallies! As a non-student, one was free from the fear of forced assembly and march in the free China which President Chiang liked to call Taiwan. During his long rule over Taiwan, President Chiang Ching-kuo approved of one student mass rally, the campaign for the defense of the Tiaoyutai Islands. After Lee Teng-hui succeeded him, the opposition Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) organized, or at least contributed greatly to -- though that was officially denied -- the Wild Lily movement. Both have further convinced me student movements benefited only those who organize them. Students are their tools to achieve political gains, particularly so in Taiwan.

That's how I view the Wild Strawberries. They are idealists. They believe President Ma Ying-jeou and Premier Liu Chao-shiuan have to apologize for police brutality. They demand that Wang Chuo-chun resign as the nation's chief of police. One thing these young students do not know, but their behind-the-scene organizers know full well, is police brutality is universal and historical. Do students really believe an apology of a president or his chief executive officer can end police brutality? Anybody who replaces Wang will condone police brutality either for what he believes may contribute to the maintenance of peace and order or just to keep his job.

On the other hand, do the idealistic students truly think those who "proudly" displayed national flags of the Republic of China shortly before and right after the arrival in Taipei of Chen Yunlin, China's top negotiator on Taiwan affairs, were doing their "patriotic" duty? Police tried to control the flag-wavers simply to please President Ma, who carelessly ordered a "no drop of water" tight security during Chen's stay in Taiwan (unaware that police are -- more often than not -- subservient to the high priest of the state) after Zhang Mingqing, a vice chairman of the Association for Relations Across the Taiwan Strait, had been mobbed at a Confucian temple by an unruly crowd led by a DPP Tainan city councilman.

Ma came to realize he had made a gaffe and then ordered a more "considerate" riot police control. On the wrong cue, brass hats relaxed riot control and rowdy mobs broke through cordons, attacking police and wounding at least 149 of them wounded in bloody clashes in the streets where Molotov cocktails were thrown.

Don't the Wild Strawberries suspect that the opposition party may have something to do with these incidents to showcase their utmost protest against what it believes a rapprochement between Taiwan and China? If they do, would they want to be their lackeys? I pointed out in this column before I honor their ambition to do something for the good of their country. I believe they are altruistic, but I want again to urge them to grow up. They must come to know what the real world is.

I am glad the Strawberries finally showed a sign of maturity. Toward the end of last week, they accepted an invitation to a Legislative Yuan public hearing on the Assembly Act. Lawmakers are planning to act on amendment bills and the public hearing is supposed to lay the ground for a better law.

There's no doubt that the public hearing offers the Wild Strawberries the chance to disclose their ideal. So now is the time they should go back to school. One word of advice again to them, which I hope won't fall on deaf ears: Don't be dissatisfied with whatever comes out of the public hearing. The lawmakers will choose an act that serves their purposes best anyway. But c'est la vie or "that's life." All young university students will eventually learn it after graduation. In the meantime, they had better learn what they have chosen to learn in school in hopes of putting it in better use in their future careers.