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.