If you like Pride, you'll love Trans Pride

Yes, of course, neither parade is 'for me', I'm the cishet lady who shows up to support the community but whose presence and opinion aren't really needed. But I'm gonna write this anyway because I just am.

Taipei Trans Pride has been held since 2019, and takes place the night before the main Pride event. Participants gather around 6:30pm -- at Red House Theater in the past, but at the amphitheater at 228 Park this year -- and set off about an hour later. I've heard differing accounts of why the start point changed, either that it can accommodate more people, or due to the significance of 228 Park in Taiwan's LGBTQIA+ history. It's probably a little of both. The route runs through Ximending, starting down Hengyang Road. 

Trans Pride doesn't get much publicity, and can be almost impossible to find information about in English -- it exists, but good luck. I knew in advance and should have written about it, but didn't, so I'm not immune to that criticism either. You'll have better luck searching for 台灣跨性別遊行 (Taiwan Trans Pride Parade), which will bring you to the Taiwan Tongzhi Hotline Association event page, among others. It amuses me somewhat that UDN wrote about it in advance, but seemed more concerned with traffic routes than equality. Maybe that's a good thing, though -- let's make trans, non-binary and gender non-conforming acceptance and celebration just that utterly commonplace.

                  

While not many sources write about the event in advance, plenty reported after the fact, including CNA, ICRT and UDN. Around 2,500 people attended -- that sounds about right, I would have guessed 3,000 -- and all performers were from the gender non-binary and diverse communities, according to Taiwan Tongzhi Hotline. These included stage hosts Shuhong and Orange and parade hosts Feifan and Viva. 

If you're thinking "Feifan? Isn't he that Sunflower Movement leader?" Different Feifan. Quick side story, I once met Feifan the performer, and they told me that during the Sunflower Movement he was doing his military service, and was deployed as a guard to a government building (they told me which one, but I've forgotten). Their peers, also doing mandatory service, kept joking that they could stop the movement at any time. I found it amusing, anyway. 

Some people held signs that blended international politics with trans rights, including "I don't want an independent transphobic Taiwan" (我不要恐跨的台獨, which I agree with and is also a pun on "I don't want transphobic attitudes").

Another sign said "Taiwan doesn't want Taiwan's radical advancement" -- a reference to the Taiwan Statebuilding Party (台灣基進黨), which was accused of transphobia not long ago. It's a long story and I probably don't understand enough of the details to write about it yet (if ever, but I'll try), but former party member Liu Pin-you (劉品佑) wrote a long, somewhat difficult to read post blasting Statebuilding for supporting the continued requirement of gender reassignment surgery to legally change one's gender in Taiwan.

Statebuilding's post doesn't exactly specify that they support a surgery requirement, but it's a bit weaselly -- they acknowledge the financial and health difficulties of such major surgeries, but go on to say that if the government doesn't explicitly define gender, that "women's spaces" should be determined by "sex representation", that is, one's genitalia. 

Which is, of course, just another way to say that sex can be reduced to genitalia, a position I -- as a woman and vagina-haver, so the sort of woman that transphobes think should be welcome in "women's spaces" to the exclusion of others -- do not agree with. I don't want to be in exclusionary spaces regardless. 

Statebuilding is getting lots of heat from the Taiwanese left on this. Good.

Anyway, I have no time for TERFs. I may have a vagina, but I don't want their "vaginas only" spaces, so let's not pretend that all cis women are in agreement on their agenda. We're not.

Back to Trans Pride.

The parade included many international participants, especially from other parts of Asia where acceptance may not be as high as Taiwan (which is hardly perfect, either). I saw Malaysian and Thai flags, and attendees came from the Philippines, Japan and elsewhere, as well. 

Taiwanese human rights, LGBTQIA+, corporate supporters and political groups also attended -- a full list can be found on the Taiwan Tongzhi Hotline website. We noticed flags for the Green Party and Taihu Brewing, but they were hardly the only ones.

Hua, the organizer of Thailand's Transgender Pride Parade, was quoted on Taiwan Tongzhi Hotline's page as saying that when "transgender people can develop freely, all genders in society can benefit." I couldn't agree more. I'm cis, but honestly, I wasn't always 100% sure of that. A long internal dialogue was necessary for me to come to that conclusion, and increasing dialogue about and acceptance of gender diversity gave me not just the lexical resource but the confidence to have that conversation with myself. In the end I realized I was the gender I was assigned at birth, but the process was deeply beneficial, helping me to better understand and be myself. 





Specifically, this personal experience has taught me that increasing acceptance of transgender people and open-minded discourse on these issues also increases acceptance of gender non-conforming preferences even among cisgender people like myself. Despite greater theoretical freedom to be oneself -- from laws that don't allow employers to discriminate based on gender to basic access to things like healthcare (still a battle) and bank accounts -- there are still a lot of bitter idiots who believe men should think, act and be one way, and women another. Hell, the Republican presidential nominee, who happens to be a rapist, and his weird minion who isn't a rapist as far as I know, but has some extremely scary views on women, seem to think as much.

As a woman with a loud mouth who prefers cats over children, I've come to realize that greater transgender acceptance and embracing the infinite diversity of people, personalities and preferences regardless of their genitalia fuel each other -- and yes, that does benefit all of us.

The fight is far from over, though. To legally change one's gender in Taiwan, one must undergo both psychiatric and gender reassignment surgery, which are massive barriers. As someone who doesn't think her vagina is what makes her a woman and has witnessed societal discrimination against not just cis women but gender non-conforming people as well, I just don't think surgery should be the bar. 

As a cis woman, I am not just happy but enthusiastic to welcome trans women, including those who haven't had surgery, into women's spaces. I don't think merely having a penis (or not having a vagina) makes a person unsafe in such a space.

In fact, I don't want to be in spaces that don't welcome them as well. 

This is improving in Taiwan, with court cases such as those of Xiao E and Nemo, ruling that they did not have to provide proof of surgery. Nemo in particular was unable to undergo this surgery, whereas in Xiao E's case, the court found that the Ministry of the Interior's requirement of reassignment surgery violated both an abstract legal principle (reservation of statutory power) and violated such persons' right to "health, personal traits, and human dignity."

Societal discrimination is still a problem, as is discrimination against transgender people within the greater alphabet community. At Pride, one may unfortunately still come across people who talk about LGBTQIA+ acceptance and, well, pride -- but leave out the "T" in that acronym. I'm not really qualified to talk more about this as I'm not really part of either community, but I know it exists. I've witnessed it personally, and it's disheartening.

To be honest, it was also a lot more fun to walk through Ximending at night rather than from City Hall down Ren'ai Road on a hot day, although I know it can be hard for people to make it to the Friday event after work. The numbers were more manageable as well. The main Pride event matters, of course, and I attended that too. But it's a hell of a lot easier to walk on a balmy evening with 2,500 people. Still, let's hope it's even more next year. 

All in all, I was happy for the chance to walk in solidarity at Trans Pride. I know I don't get to label myself an ally, but it's what I want and hope to be. An imperfect person who just wants to be herself, let others be who they are, erase whatever residual discriminatory tendencies or beliefs I might still have lurking in my subconscious, and be part of a more accepting world. 

The "contempt of the Legislature" battle wasn't a difference of opinion -- the KMT was just wrong

I know this painting at New York's Whitney Museum has a name, but I prefer to call it "Speaker Han" (the photo is mine). 

As an American, I see a lot of re-framing battles over basic rights re-framed as mere "differences of opinion" -- as though the rights and freedoms that are foundational to democracy are as subject to personal interpretation as, say, pizza toppings. I've seen blatant power grabs dismissed as as mundane, non-threatening policy platforms. 

I was similarly dismayed to watch the KMT, handed the eensiest bit of power after eight years lost in the woods, engage in a similar power grab with its attempt to expand legislative powers -- dismayed, but not surprised. This is how the KMT are. It's in their party's DNA to consider themselves the rightful leaders for whom democracy is an annoying inconvenience. 

If you're thinking this is also one of the hallmarks of fascist ideology, well, yes -- it is. 

And yet, as in the US, the KMT's actions garnered a fair amount of defense, as though the majority coalition has the right to a naked power grab simply because they form a majority, and anything they do is just a different policy position. I watched TV news and various commentators deride the DPP for not understanding that they no longer control the legislature, as though they had no reason or right to oppose expanded legislative powers.

As it turns out, the Constitutional Court disagrees: most of the legislature's expanded powers were deemed unconstitutional. 

Here's a quick summary of the ruling: 

The president can give a "State of the Union" address -- which was always a non-binding right the president has had, so no surprise there. It's not typically done, although I've started thinking of the Double Ten speeches as performing a similar function, but it was always a possibility.

However, the legislature can neither compel the president to do so, nor demand a a specific time or date for such an address. They cannot require the president to undergo an immediate question-and-answer session.

Also kept intact was the legislature's right to conduct investigations. However, that was never really in question: in 2004, constitutional interpretation #585 outlined the investigative powers of the Legislative Yuan very clearly -- they have them, when such investigations pertain directly to matters under their purview. 

If the legislature wants to investigate a matter already being investigated by the Control Yuan, they must "enter into negotiations" with the Control Yuan to do so, and cannot interfere with powers given to other branches of government. 

Also thrown out was the idea of "contempt of the Legislature", which would have allowed the legislature to take on judicial powers, punishing anyone it found to be in "contempt" with fines. "Contempt" was poorly-defined, but included refusing to appear, refusing to answer questions (whether or not sensitive information such as matters of national security would be protected was left unclear), providing false answers (with the legislature again taking judicial powers to determine what would constitute a falsehood) or "counter-questioning".

Just about anyone could be called in for questioning, from government officials to military leaders to individuals. In theory, this included everyone in Taiwan. Quite possibly, it gave the legislators the right to drag in anyone they wanted, from TSMC C.C. Wei to a journalist whose writing they don't like, ask a bunch of questions, determine that several answers they didn't like were actually "false" and punish them with massive fines for each individual "falsehood". 

Some might call this interpretation of the law 'fearmongering', but it really was that shoddily written, and the courts clearly agree.

That's all gone now, which means that investigations opened under these expanded powers, such as the egg import "scandal" (there is no scandal) and Mirror Media will likely have to be halted.

I feel kinda bad for people who defended these laws as something within the KMT and TPP's rights, simply because they'd done well in an election, or calling the DPP "authoritarian" for opposing it. You know, as though any law the government passes is ethics-neutral or is acceptable simply because it passed.

If the Constitutional Court says they never had the right to expand legislative powers, then they never had the right. Defending their power grab was foolish -- it amounted to defending unconstitutional actions. Bad look. Not demure, not mindful. 

So, to everyone who insisted the KMT was acting within bounds and not going against the ROC constitution that they claim to hold so dear, I hate to say I told y....oh wait, no I don't. I freakin' love it. I told you so!

The DPP was right to put up a spectacular fight against it. On this matter, they were always right. That they are a legislative minority is irrelevant.

This specific battle seems to have been won, but it's unlikely that the fight is over. Back in September, the KMT began taking aim at the judicial system, first criticizing Lai's judicial appointees. Maybe I'm reading too much into this, but calling judges "thugs" sounded a bit like, "nice branch of government you got there. It'd be a shame if, say, the legislature mucked that up." In other words, "you'd better not find our expanded powers unconstitutional or we'll make life hard for you."

Since July, they've been trying to push through reforms to the constitutional court. This is important because without an executive veto, the primary check on the legislature is that very court. (Meaning criticisms that the executive branch has too much power in Taiwan show a fundamental misunderstanding of how the balancing act works). 

These proposed changes would raise the number needed to reach a decision from half to two-thirds, based on the set number of 15 justices -- not the total number of incumbent justices (the actual number of sitting on the court may vary as judges step down or pass away). This would mean at least ten judges would need to be present to reach a decision, with seven in favor. 

However, seven justices are set to step down soon, and there is no mechanism for temporary appointees or term extensions. New judges are approved by the Legislative Yuan (a process few disagree with). If seven out of fifteen justices are stepping down, that leaves eight, not ten. The constitutional court would at that point be unable to function.

All the legislature has to do is refuse to confirm Lai's judicial nominees, and blammo! The constitutional court cannot issue rulings, and the legislature essentially has no check on its power.

The Judicial Reform Foundation has pointed out that proposing such reforms in the midst of a bruising battle over the legislature expanding its own powers is itself threatening behavior -- if you stop us, we'll bind and gag you. 

Like Americans who convince themselves that Trump's blatant fascism is just normal campaigning and Project 2025 wouldn't constitute a massive right-wing power grab, those who consider the Legislative Yuan's actions in Taiwan to be a part of normal democratic functioning are, well, deluded. And those who think the DPP are the power-grabbers are just full of themselves.

Symphony in White, or welcome to my midlife crisis

"Did you make it to the NGA?" one of my oldest friends asked as I slid into the car near her office in northern Virginia. I'd planned to have lunch with my dad in Maryland and then metro to the National Gallery of Art to stare at James Whistler's Symphony in White for an awkwardly long time, just like I used to do in college. I hadn't even planned on seeing other paintings. 

The timing hadn't worked out, though, and like so many missed connections, I lost my chance to see one of my favorite paintings for at least a year. 

I wasn't even sure why I'd forsaken a free crash pad in New York City for the trees, school buses and starter homes of northern Virginia, but something under my outer skin of dissatisfaction and inner baseline happiness said that this was where I should be for a few days. It was the site of my last depressive episode late in college, which I'd mistaken for senioritis at the time. I was staying with a friend from that time, and we had plans to Facetime with another. The fourth member of our little group made up my cohort of bridesmaids in 2010 but wasn't available. 

Four women who graduated together and remained friends for decades, who'd all taken different trajectories in life. One became a lawyer, married and bought the Falls Church starter home where I was staying. She'd quit her respectable job in an instant if she felt she could. Another became a stay-at-home mom in the Baltimore suburbs. The third got a Master's in early childhood education, married, had two kids, moved to the West Coast, and is now battling mental illness. 

And the fourth? She spent a some time in Asia and tried to build a life in DC, but ended up quitting her boring office job with the greige cubicles to move to Taiwan and explore a newfound passion for adult education. She wasn't very good at it at first, but got better over the years. She owns no home and has no children, but lives in a beautiful downtown apartment, speaks Mandarin and spends her double-income-no-kids cash on globetrotting.

Add to that a recent family reunion which involved spending a weekend with a group of people who are mostly related to me but have chosen myriad different life paths. Things I could have done but didn't: doctor, park ranger, entrepreneur, marketing specialist, architect, product director, data scientist, schoolteacher, housewife. 

My friends' stories are their own, but all of us seem to have been wondering recently if we'd make different choices if we could go back. Personally, I know I made the right decision to stay childfree, but wonder if all those years of insisting that I'd intentionally not boarded the bus to a better-respected and remunerated corporate job and single family home was a big fat lie: had I missed that bus, and was presenting it as a choice a mere salve for the ego? 

It's unclear, but I can say definitively that something is amiss. It's not that I'm unhappy, and certainly I don't want to blow up my life like so many people in their forties who know something is wrong. 

I spent these days listening to my college friends' victories and tribulations, wondering if I wasn't a bit jealous -- but of what? If my marriage remains happy and loving, I don't regret not having children, and I like where I live, what exactly is causing this melancholy?

Work is an easy but incomplete answer. I haven't felt long-term challenge or mental stimulation in my career for a few years. The golden period when I was mostly doing teacher training has passed, and with it a series of novel challenges that forced me to be creative and use all my fancy certifications and degrees. The improved pay is gone with it; I still do some, but most of my work now is back to the regular classroom, plus occasional teaching material design. 

Even though I find it a bit easy as I've done it for so long, that would be fine if I felt I was bringing in a satisfactory salary and professional recognition. As I watch others in my social circle get promotions and earn progressively more money, I'll admit I do feel a bit trapped. I guess I thought my work would evolve into something more, with more challenge and money attached. It never did, at least not enough.

This isn't something I could have imagined saying even two years ago, when I was mostly doing teacher training and would have said without hesitation that teaching was a passion. Someone I saw as a mentor at the time assured me that the job can evolve, and with that you'll have both fulfillment and more financial security. The fact that teaching simply doesn't pay all that well compared to most other white-collar (and quite a bit of blue-collar) work was fine when it was a calling, a passion, a fulfilling occupation that gave life meaning. 

But when it started to get a little stale, a little this again?, I started asking myself why I chased a poorly-paying passion over corporate whoredom. If sustained passion for work is a lie, and I'm not going to be wholly fulfilled or challenged by my job even if I reach for that unicorn, then why did I limit myself like this?

I could have been a musician. I was good once, or so I'm told. I studied International Affairs; I could have been an analyst. It's too bad I don't respect the bad ones, and most of them are bad. I could have done anything else, but I chose teaching. Now, I'm not sure why.

The truth is, while I once would have clung to teaching no matter what, right now I'd quit without hesitation if something more challenging with better pay popped up. I don't know if this is a fleeting thought or a more permanent disillusionment.

It does go a little deeper than mere work woes: I have ADHD  and anxiety -- now fully diagnosed but only somewhat successfully treated -- so just about everything rots on the vine for me eventually. I get distracted or bored, and struggle to engage fully. I could have worked my ass off in that greige office for a promotion, or rather, I couldn't because my staticky, undiagnosed brain refused to care despite consciously knowing that I should. Perhaps my falling out with teaching as a passion and career choice is just another in a string of dots I simply cannot connect.

I want more money and more challenge, but if you asked me what actual thing I want to do, well, I haven't got a goddamn clue. I'm not sure I ever will -- how does the old quote go? I have no dream job, I do not dream of labor.

Perhaps I would have made different choices if I'd gotten diagnosed earlier rather than flitting to the next dopamine hit, the next challenge, the next country, the next set of coursework, the next language. Hell, I can't even concentrate on Mandarin and have abandoned it for Taiwanese because it's more fun, more in line with my politics and a hell of a lot harder. 

This is complicated heavily by my choice of home. I don't want to leave Taiwan. My husband and this country are the two best things about my life. As someone who's always sought a meaningful vocation, this is hard to admit. So my marriage and my home now mean more to me than my career success? In 2002, Depressed Senioritis Jenna would have never guessed. 

But what else exactly can I do if I don't leave Taiwan? There are office jobs if you speak Mandarin (and often if you don't), but I don't specifically want one. In fact, The lack of reasonable time off alone sours that idea. I can't point to any specific perks such a job would offer beyond a more stable (but not necessarily high) salary, but there sure are a lot of drawbacks. 

Even if I do leave Taiwan, I'm not sure what I'd do exactly. I have certainly limited myself as a teacher; every time a friend or family member brings up what I might do if I returned to the West, they describe a life which is a marked step down. 

That's privilege, of course. Living in Taiwan provides the privilege of a good life as a slightly-bored freelancer, and that is in no small part due to whiteness, foreignness, or both. 

One of those friends called it privilege without compunction. She pointed out that all of us are struggling in some ways and killing it in others. Those who are grinding at work might have unhappy marriages. Happily married couples face different challenges as parents. I agreed about the privilege but pointed out that I'm doing okay, but not as well as I'd hoped. I've wanted to be a homeowner for some time, but am priced out of just about every market. We have retirement savings, but not enough. In fact, it will never be enough. That's not hyperbole; I've done the math. I'm on this wheel forever.

"You live downtown in that gorgeous space and travel the world. You're doing fine," she said. 

A cousin at the family reunion expressed her admiration for how "accomplished" I am. The compliment felt good in the way getting a tattoo feels good: an endorphin rush from a million tiny needle pricks. I couldn't figure out how exactly I was accomplished, at least compared to the impressive careers of my relatives. I'm a freelancer in Taiwan with a lot of hobbies who hasn't done much with her life. 

Of course I didn't say this, and my cousin probably thinks I genuinely am accomplished, rather than just being some white rando who loves Taiwan, has lost her passion for her work, and is learning two languages. Maybe she's even right in a sense, but I couldn't tell in what sense. I have no idea how to come to terms with my own convoluted deixis. 

Being privileged but kinda sad is a trope, and often a pathetic one. It makes me think of a wealthy '50s housewife hopped up on barbiturates, washing the dishes as she stares out the kitchen window. But then there's that viral meme about how great it would be to vacuum the house while high on quaaludes like our ancestors. Honestly, some days it doesn't sound all that bad. 

The friend I stayed with -- the lawyer with the starter home -- has recently lost a massive amount of weight. That too is her story to tell, but it's more complicated than a straightforward celebration. She described a very unlike-her fantasy of moving out to a McLean McMansion to start her Hot Wife Life: yoga pants, Stanley cup, the lot of it. 

The Jenna who lives in Taiwan and has a lot going on in her life joked that she'd need a horrible pyramid scheme "job" to complete the tableau. The anxious Jenna whose career seems to have stalled and who never feels quite secure regarding money sees the appeal. 

On my last night in Falls Church, three of the old college gang were sharing memories. I love a good Terrible People story, so I talked about a Halloween party so bad that I took my bottle of cheap tequila home because I didn't want someone dressed as a sexy honeybee who was destined for the Hot Wife Life to have it.

Another recalled briefly dating my then-best friend (we no longer speak; it's for the best). The third asked if we remembered the time I bought a CD single of Live's Lightning Crashes at Eastern Market, an old song even at the time, and we laid on the floor in my Rosslyn apartment listening to it on a loop.

All I could do was exclaim that I couldn't imagine having bought a Live CD, but apparently I did. It reads a bit hokey now, a tad cringe, but then we were all cringe back then. 

But you know what has buoyed my maudlin thoughts on this train to New York, where I'll catch a plane back to Taiwan and a life I'm eager to return to while also feeling a little depressed about? A cringe 90s song about confusion setting in and forces pulling from the center of the Earth again.

It's the perfect lament for four hours gliding along a single track toward a final, immutable destination, alongside so many other inconsequential humans skittering like hard-shelled bugs to the myriad consequences of our privilege and our choices. 

What I've been up to with my writing

I don't blog quite as often as I used to, but that doesn't mean I'm not writing. I thought I'd add a post with a general redux of what I've been publishing elsewhere...y'know, in case anyone cares. 

Most importantly, I urge everyone to check out this feature in the Taipei Times. Despite same-sex marriage being legal since 2019, some same-sex international couples -- that is, a foreigner married to a Taiwanese person -- are struggling to obtain Taiwanese citizenship for their children. It's the subject of at least one lawsuit against the Ministry of the Interior, as you'll read in my interview with one of the plaintiffs. 

Despite equality being enshrined in the constitution, and access to some (but not all) equal rights being extended to same-sex couples in Taiwan, true equality remains elusive. I sincerely hope this lawsuit will change that, and that the issue gets the attention it deserves. 

Speaking of citizenship rights, I also wrote something for Ketagalan Media on an initiative by Crossroads Taiwan asking the government to provide a reasonable path to dual nationality for permanent residents in Taiwan. There's even a petition, and although the interface can be challenging, I ask that you not only sign, but share it widely. As someone who considers herself a 'lifer' in Taiwan, this issue affects me personally. Without citizenship, it's difficult to plan for retirement: where exactly are we going to live if we can't get a mortgage approved, when landlords don't like to rent to the elderly? It's saddening to have no representation or say in the government of the country I call home.

And the government's excuses for not providing a reasonable, accessible pathway ring hollow --  they speak of 'loyalty' but just about anyone whose ancestors were Republic of China citizens can become Taiwanese. So they assume that, say, a person of Chinese heritage born in the US, whose ancestors may have never set foot in Taiwan, will be loyal to Taiwan. But not someone who decided she loved this country so much that she'd decide to make it her permanent home? They speak of security, and yes, that's a concern, but again -- how likely is a permanent resident in Taiwan likely to be co-opted by the Chinese government, and do they even try to determine whether, say, an American descendant of an ROC national has been? Come on.

In fact, Ketagalan Media has been getting a lot of my attention now that it's been properly revived. As it turns out, I also have opinions about nuclear power in Taiwan! You'd think as a diehard Splittist Separatist Independence Dog that I'd fall in line with the DPP and be anti-nuclear, but I'm actually not. I have concerns about it, but I actually think it's possible to do nuclear safely in Taiwan. The real question is, why hasn't the pro-nuclear crowd (really just the KMT and their ancillary admirers) done more to reassure the public that they prioritize safety? Do they prioritize safety? Given their history of lies and some very scary allegations, I can't say for certain that they do.

I'm also one of the authors of the 2024 Louis Vuitton Taipei City Guide, which is pretty cool. I handled restaurants, style and nightlife, which is somewhat hilarious because I have no style and I usually don't partake in nightlife (but I did seek out lots of good recommendations, and I have ideas for the next edition if I'm invited back). While some of my recommendations have moved (Joseph Bistro is now Summer Flowers) and others are going out of business (I'm really going to miss A-Cai's), others are still going strong. 

I've also been writing for local travel and tourism magazines. I drank so much coffee that I made myself slightly ill for a piece on Taiwan's upscale coffee revolution (and got to interview some interesting people, including a coffee roaster who opened her own cafe, an employee at SanFormosan (they don't do 'titles' there, it's very communal), the general manager of Simple Kaffa, and representatives from the Coffee Industrial Alliance of Taiwan. 

In fact, I've interviewed a lot of fascinating people over the past few years. I learned more about the history of Bao'an Temple (保安宮) from its chairman, Liao Wu-jyh (廖武治), discussed history and aesthetics with an expert on the Eight Generals (八家將), and traditional Taiwanese puppetry and its history with Robin Ruizendaal, a puppet master from the Netherlands who has also made Taiwan his permanent home -- and probably speaks better Taiwanese than I do. (Mine's not that good yet). There have been other articles, but these are the most memorable. 

I've also been writing for Taiwan Scene, including a piece on working as an expat woman in Taiwan. I wrote another on places to visit in Wanhua -- I can't find the link right now, but will post it when I do. 

Anyway, I've been busy, and there's more to come, including completed interviews with the general secretary of the Taipei Zoo and a well-known Taiwanese designer, and two or three more rapid-fire pieces for Ketagalan Media. 

This year's Double Ten design is U-G-L-Y and it ain't got no alibi

 

No, not this. This is actually pretty cool -- it came from here -- and I'm in favor. No, no, the 2024 National Day logo looks exactly like a design for the Republic of China, not Taiwan. It's also an aesthetic monstrosity:

IT UGLY.

If you immediately clocked this as a KMT "Chinese identity" throwback, you're absolutely right. Although I did not actively know that the design committee is organized by the Legislative Yuan and chaired by the speaker, I subconsciously inferred it from this absolute blight on the eyeballs. The legislature is currently controlled by the KMT, so even though the DPP is the "ruling party", this looks like something your crotchety grandpa who shouts that you call yourself Taiwanese because "those 太綠班 brainwashed you kids" would wear on a t-shirt he got for free and wore for the next 17 years.

Maybe it's the subliminal messaging from the giant "H" in the center, that some have already compared to the old Han Kuo-yu bomber jackets. 

Maybe it's the return to the ROC-flag inspired blue and red, or the plum blossom that just doesn't seem to be sitting quite right in the center: I can't quite pinpoint why it looks wrong, but I'll offer a few thoughts on that below. Maybe it's the failure to mention Taiwan in Mandarin, referring to it only in English. 

Just kidding -- it's all of these things. And yes, there's been an obvious design shift based on who runs the committee: 

From here

Seriously, it screams "a government committee designed this", which is exactly what happened. As a commenter below pointed out, it's got big Iron Cross energy, though that's probably unintentional. It's giving "we got super fucked up and watched old Practical Audi-Visual Chinese videos all night". It's giving "Taipei is the capital of Chinese Taipei". It's giving "I fed an AI a steady diet of TVBS for six months and then asked it to design a logo."

Actually, while I didn't feed an AI months of TVBS (not even AI deserves that), I did ask it to generate some designs based on the typical parameters for these logos. Perhaps my prompt engineering could be improved as it kept defaulting to circles, not double tens, but here are a few that made me chortle:

AI seems to show a similar level of commitment to the CCP as the KMT does, but remember, AI isn't sentient. Anyway, I think that thicc-bottomed sun in the bottom left is actually a better logo than the one the government actually unveiled. 

As with the KMT, the AI generator likes big suns and it cannot lie:

Also a fan of the retro zero: 

Artificial intelligence creates even simple characters like 十 about as well as a tattoo artist on one of the seedier Jersey Shore boardwalks who misread the dose on his edible. And yet, it still understands the KMT's secret heart: 

...although I'm not sure why it decided that Double Ten needed to imply beeeewwwwbs.

And this one just looks kind of like a stylized butthole, heh heh:

I'll throw in a few more at the end for your amusement.

My favorite part of this isn't the comment about the giant H or that it looks like the Super Mario warp pipes, it's the defensive commentary from the KMT on a design so many people seem to hate. 

I mean, as a Facebook friend commented, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and perhaps Luftwaffe officers would appreciate the aesthetic. I can think of some dead KMTers with close family ties to the early regime who would love it. But, you know, probably unintentional, right?

Legislative Speaker (barf) Han Kuo-yu called it a "beautiful work" that "carries Taiwan's deepest emotions" -- which is true, if you assume only KMT settlers and their offspring over the age of 60 have emotions.

I also enjoyed this quote: 

Interior Ministry Deputy Minister Wu Tang-an (吳堂安) complimented netizens’ rich imaginations and added that if you look closely, the colors line up with Taiwan’s flag.

He's not wrong exactly, but to see that it imitates the flag, you'd only have to look "closely" if you had glaucoma. 

Wu also said that the theme of 2024's National Day celebrations was "happy birthday to the Republic of China". Okay, but I thought that was the theme every year?

Wu is an absolute comedy machine, by the way. He tied the plum blossom -- a symbol of the KMT, which ran a brutal, deadly suppression campaign for decades under Martial Law -- to "respect for history", and said the blue and red symbolize "different opinions and voices coming together". Sorry dude, but the Republic of China flag that the KMT imposed on Taiwan, which is obvious in the design, isn't known historically for "different opinions and voices". It's known for one voice -- the dictator's -- coming together with his minions and cronies to use the military to disappear, torture and slaughter dissidents. 

According to several sources, the design was created by a team of "passionate young designers". They apparently prefer anonymity, which should surprise no-one. As is common in Taiwan, the committee trotted out "it was designed by a team" to avoid admitting that anyone in particular wasted their parents' money on design school. 

Also, I gotta say, "young designers" created this thing? At some point in my prompt journey I told the AI to make the designs "more retro" and it came up with some ideas that, while very weird, at least looked retro in a cool way. This is the sort of logo you'd see on a mug in your parents' cupboard that you'd immediately donate it to charity. Retro, but it's not a compliment.

Or maybe these designers are indeed "young", if measured on a KMT timescale. You know, the same scale on which Taipei mayor Chiang Wan-an is young (he's 45). 

The thing is, my dislike of the design isn't just because the KMT sucks, the flag is an ugly reminder of a dead dictatorship, and contemporary, democratic Taiwan deserves better than to be forced to swallow a party logo as a national symbol. 

It's also just a bad design. 

I keep looking at that plum blossom, wondering what in the absolute hell is wrong with it. Perhaps the two petals on the bottom and one on top (which is standard) make it look bottom-heavy when it's placed in the middle of that long, slim line. The blue field taken from the ROC flag cutting into the H makes it look off-center, even though I don't think it is. The design lacks balance: this might be the only time I'll ever say that there's too much going on in the left and center, and not enough on the right. 

The whole thing also looks a bit like it's being crushed? Stretching it out on the sides but keepin' it stumpy on the vertical doesn't evoke progress, innovation or the future. It gives "we're trying to expand our influence but are being crushed by the weight of history" -- which I suppose is an apt metaphor for the Republic of China. 

Long 'n Stumpy here also has a certain...je ne sais quoi. Except, oh wait, je very much sais quoi. You could call it Iron Cross, but I'm gonna call call it "I want to take a picture of my junk, but stretch it a bit so it looks normal and less like a chode." 

I'm not sure if the designers wanted the 十十 to look slimmer, or if they were trying to evoke stately columns or...what, but the edges read "serif" and if there's anything that just doesn't work on Chinese characters, even the simplest ones, it's freakin' serifs. 

Personally, although I'm a Century Gothic acolyte, I like a serif in some cases. I enjoy a nice Garamond or Cochin from time to time. I can ride with Baskerville, and if you're looking for something new, Self Modern isn't bad. I don't think they're hopelessly old-fashioned per se. 

But they don't scream "modern and clean graphics" as Wu Tang-an suggests. I see defensive borders, pushing anything new or foreign from the center. Or maybe they're closing ranks, keeping the riff-raff out. A serif is okay in some circumstances, but these absolutely convey the message that the KMT wants you damn kids to get off their lawn. 

That's not even getting into the clunkiness of the design language. It does not evoke. It does not reference. There is no subtle metaphor. It whacks you over the head with a dollar-store baseball bat. It's the difference between the person who references their love of retro sci-fi with hints of chrome and black in their decor, versus the one who hangs a papier-mâché UFO in their living room.

It does not hint at the ROC flag -- there's a literal ROC flag in the motto! Y'know, because the theme is "happy birthday to the Republic of China", which is a totally fresh and innovative theme to have! It's not symbolic of the KMT's Republic of China vision so much as a simple product of it. And I do mean "simple" in the cruelest possible way.

Something about the size, thickness and spacing of the English, compared to the relatively lighter Mandarin is just off. It's too long and fat, which is yet another thing I never thought I'd say. I know that slogans which aren't necessarily sentences sometimes have periods for emphasis, but something about this period feels wrong. Perhaps the phrase is so long that one's brain is tricked into thinking it could be a sentence, but it's not one.

I didn't always love the Double Ten designs created by DPP-led legislative committees. But at the very least they were contemporary. They weren't afraid to look at colors beyond red, white and blue. You could tell someone under the age of 70 had a hand in designing them. With the possible exceptions of 2019 and 2023, if someone gave you a mug featuring one, you might actually keep it. 

That's all I really have to say, so enjoy some more trippy AI designs for "Republic of China National Day". While I like the terrifying birds, the Alien Body Horror Sphere is also rather eye-catching. 

Antique and secondhand shopping in Taiwan isn't always easy

I'm actually excited to tell you about this lamp

I've had a lot going on these past few months, from my cat's heart attack to a voracious return of my lifelong insomnia (it's ebbed and flowed since childhood). One way I find relief from this is physical activity, preferably paired with some sort of mental problem-solving. When we lived in Jingmei I'd take long bike rides along the riverside. I started blogging as an outlet. More recently, I've taken an interest in interior design, making my home look as good as it possibly can, while spending as little as possible. This usually means scouring everywhere I can go or Lalamove will pick up for secondhand finds. 

The problem: while secondhand shopping in Taiwan can occasionally yield some real treasures that it'd be difficult to find elsewhere, and is especially good for Shōwa-era vintage Japanese items, it is usually riddled with issues. 

First, however, I'd like to share a success story. I came across this old Japanese pendant light at April's Goodies a few weeks ago. NT$700 was an acceptable price, so I nabbed it. I removed the old light as it didn't look safe. I could have re-wired it as a ceiling pendant with a fairly straightforward lighting kit, calling an electrician for installation only. Instead, I saw its potential as a table lamp and ordered a wooden light bulb stand online (a 燈座, not 燈台, as I learned after an educated guess and a fruitless search). 

                    

I don't have much restoration experience, so while I theoretically know how to make old things beautiful again, I lack the practical application skills. This I could handle, though. I removed the acrylic panels, washed them and coated the yellowed ones in a baking soda and peroxide mixture to dry overnight. I cleaned the wooden base and applied butcher block oil to give it some new life. The acrylic was slighly warped with age, so they no longer snapped in place -- I added a small amount of plastic adhesive to each panel in turn, weighing it down from the inside to dry in place before replacing the next one. Plop the whole thing over the lightbulb stand and boom -- a gorgeous "new" lamp! It will be extremely easy to turn it back into a pendant light if I ever so desire. 


                      


A happy ending like this, however, feels pretty rare. Frankly, I find secondhand shopping in Taiwan a little difficult. I don't mean the language barrier; I regularly communicate with sellers on Facebook Marketplace. Rather, the overall secondhand scene is often not ideal. 

I'm a little wary of the markets under the bridges, which are probably the best places to hunt. I've heard on multiple occasions that some (though likely not all) of the best finds are actually stolen. In fact, our building had a shoe thief for some time, which prompted a security upgrade. I asked a neighbor once why anyone would continually scout apartment buildings for used shoes to steal and she said that's the origin of most of the shoes at, say, the secondhand market under Fuhe Bridge. 

The secondhand furniture and kitchenware markets on Xiamen Street and Chongqing South Road are more trustworthy, but also a bit more specific (and I've yet to find a piece of furniture I actually want on Xiamen Street, despite checking it out multiple times). 

Thrift stores seem to come in two varieties: clean and organized but small, like Kuang-ren Green Fashion (光仁綠時尚) or the small shops in some MRT stations, or big but -- how can I put this -- often a bit grimy, as with many branches of Flea Market (跳蚤本舖). There are some bigger secondhand furniture markets outside the major cities, but there's nothing quite like the thrift stores where I furnished most of my college and early-twentysomething apartments. I do understand that Taiwan isn't the US and I can't expect something like thrift store culture to be exactly the same, but an option that's even vaguely parallel would be welcome. Kuang-ren is the best I've found so far. 

The antique stores are a little better in terms of quality, and I usually have good luck at Shōwa Old Home Store, Qinjing Warehouse and April's Goodies, but every vintage fiend I know is still reeling from the end of in-store browsing at Treasure Hunters. Their Line group is a bit overwhelming and I'm not always free when the bidding starts. What's more, if you're not already in the group, it's now very difficult to join. I have to wonder -- do they really want our business or not? 

It's a real shame, as one of my favorite secondhand lacquerware items came from Treasure Hunters, as did the matcha bowl I use as a catch-all and my beloved live-edge coffee table.


                     


There's an exceptional antique market on the outskirts of Tainan City, with friendly owners and reasonable prices but, well...although I try to go every time I'm in Tainan, it's still far. There are also places that restore furniture, or make custom pieces out of reclaimed materials, but they can be hard to find and get to.

I've found all sorts of great things at these shops, from gorgeous lacquerware to the aforementioned pendant-turned-table-light. One has to be careful, though: mixed in with some real finds are random bits from IKEA and Zara Home. That would be fine at a thrift store, but I'm not thrilled to see these things at antique store prices. 

My best luck has always been with Facebook Marketplace. After months of bookmarking and training the algorithm, I managed to score this teak dresser/sideboard for approximately 70% less than it would have cost at Scanteak (and it is Scanteak). I scored a real marble bowl for NT$80 which is unreal. Negotiating with sellers in Mandarin has been good language practice, as well. I'm not even all that mad that some of the items are grossly overpriced. That happens in the US, too, although sometimes in the US the price reflects some effort put into refurbishing or restoring something.

In fact, most (though not all) of the items on this sideboard are secondhand. 

What bothers me is how difficult it is to find items with prices clearly stated. If I see a real price I can choose to pay it, try to bargain it down or pass. If I see something listed for NT$1 or $66 or whatever, I have to message the seller to get the price. If it's so high that I don't even think it's worth bargaining -- and it usually is, that's why they don't state it outright -- I've wasted my time and theirs. It's now to the point that I don't even try, even with items I want, if no price is given.

This happens in secondhand Facebook groups too. Often, leaving off price is the norm, so even frequent sellers who used to list prices no longer do. There are some bright spots, like Buy Nothing Taipei and various groups where people who see free curbside finds post photos and addresses (though this has never really worked for me in Taiwan), but overall the caginess around pricing really harms the usefulness of online secondhand shopping.

This isn't to say that secondhand shopping in other countries is easy. Its newfound popularity in the US has caused higher prices, and as someone who doesn't have to buy secondhand but rather chooses to, I am at least theoretically part of the problem. That said, I also don't want to buy new things that it took resources to produce when there is so much waste in the world. 

At least when we travel, I can hit up thrift stores in the US, charity shops in the UK, op shops in Australia. Even in Taiwan, I can't complain too much. It takes awhile, but I have found some real treasures. I just wish there were more or better options here. 

Book Review: Voices from the Mountain

Voices from the Mountain (2014)

Husluman Vava, Auvina Kadresengan and Badai

Translated by Dr. Shu-hwa Wu

Edited by David R. Braden

Recently, I've taken a greater interest in Indigenous Taiwanese literature. One big difficulty is the dearth of such literature that's both available in English and actually in print. It's also crucial not to lump all "Taiwanese Indigenous literature" into one category, as though the writers are interchangeable. All in all, it can be hard to know where to start. 

This is where Voices from the Mountain comes in. Containing excerpts of longer works by three prominent Indigenous writers -- Badai, Husluman Vava and Auvini Kadresengan -- it's a fantastic introduction to Taiwanese Indigenous literature. Instead of committing to a whole novel, you're committing to some of the most interesting parts of that novel, to get a sense of that writer's storytelling style, wordsmithing and the topics they tend to write about.

The only real issue with this is that if you like what you read, the full novel is not necessarily available in translation. It's not really a chance to read more if your interest is piqued, unless you can read Mandarin. As for me, I can, but I find novels challenging and I'm probably not going to. If anyone knows where to get full translated versions of Husluman Vava's Tattooed Face, Auvini Kadresengan's Wild Lilies or Badai's Ginger Road in English, drop a comment below. 

The effort taken to translate these excerpts is commendable, and although I'd have recommended a bit more editing to smooth out some of the rough bits (for example, the odd clause and collocation in the second paragraph of page 64), all three authors were a joy to read. It's not a long volume, making it both a quick read and an excellent choice to throw in a carry-on when traveling. 

Because Voices from the Mountain is a book of excerpts, not a novel, it's hard to review it per se. Each excerpt and author is different. Instead, I'll offer some thoughts on the stories that have stuck with me. I remember Tattooed Face (the first excerpt from the longer book of the same name) most clearly: the characters learn that a person from a different tribe with different traditions is not someone to be feared but respected. We learn, however, that Indigenous communities are not a monolith. Each tribe and sub-communities within those tribes may have their own customs, history and culture. So often, Taiwan is divided into neat little groups: Hoklo, Hakka, the KMT diaspora, Indigenous. Perhaps some include foreigners, mostly Southeast Asian, Western or Chinese. (Yes, China is a foreign country and people from China are foreigners in Taiwan just as British people in the US are). 

But it's really so much more complicated than that. Sure, there are the Zhangzhou and Quanzhou Hoklo, and there are different groups of Hakka (I don't know much about this but I am told that the Hakka community in, say, Meinong is culturally a bit distinct from Hakka communities in Miaoli. But don't take my word for it, I'm hardly an expert). And, of course, Indigenous communities have distinctive cultural and linguistic traits beyond even the 16 recognized tribes. 

Think about it: when I moved to Taiwan in 2006, 12 tribes were recognized. By 2007, it was 13. Several tribes (including Makatao and Siraya) are locally recognized, and several more are unrecognized but claim distinct identity. How can we possibly say that "Indigenous Taiwanese" are one cultural unit when even official recognition is so often updated? 

Auvini Kadresengan's excerpts more obviously follow the same characters, though it was a bit hard to figure out what was happening when. I enjoyed learning about the intra-village dynamics that gave rise to Er-sai's family situation. If you ever had any notion that Indigenous villages were bastions of purity where everyone got along and nobody followed their individual impulses to community chagrin, then please read these stories and wash the eau de sauvage noble out of your perspective.

I've read Badai before, so I know I like his writing style. His plot arc in Sorceress Diguwan was a bit nebulous until the very end, but he's engaging and readable. More than the other authors, Badai's writing focuses on the magic or sorcery aspects of his community's beliefs -- and if I remember correctly, his mother was just such a sorceress. Of these excerpts, The Shaman has really stuck with me. In it, a sorceress's son is in an accident, and she attempts to use her powers to save him, as he is being airlifted to a hospital and attended to by medical personnel. I won't reveal the ending, but The Shaman is a riveting story. It explores how magic works in Puyuma culture, and what the requirements of limitations of practicing it are. By contrasting it with Western (or modern) medical interventions, Badai makes it clear that the ability to keep someone alive through magic is possible in that belief system, but leaves you wondering to what extent that belief is in the mother's head -- or to what extent it might be real, and potentially more powerful than a modern hospital.

I don't actually think this is intentional on Badai's part: we're not meant to wonder, necessarily, if the shaman's magic is real. Perhaps I'm wrong, but I got the distinct impression that this was simply my own interpretation, as an atheist who puts no stock in the supernatural. But you know what else? If I've learned anything about such things after 18 years in Taiwan, it's that you just have to accept there are unknowable things, and ways of looking at those unknowable things that deserve respect.

I recommend Voices from the Mountain, and not only because Taiwanese Indigenous literature in translation is rare enough to find. Even so, on its own it's a worthwhile read for anyone who wants to understand more about Taiwan's Indigenous communities -- their literatures, cultures and histories.