Renunciation

Squid in the air, still tied to something 

“Do you have a plan if things go sideways in Taiwan?” 

One of my oldest friends asks us this as he zips us to the BART station from his home in central Oakland. A pair of committed northeasterners settled permanently in Taipei, we’re properly visiting the West Coast for the first time as part of a trip for my brother-in-law’s wedding. 

It’s not the first time I’ve been asked this, and it will be far from the last. Most people assume we’ll leave if things get sketchy; this friend knows me well enough to know that’s not necessarily the case, and thus asks a more open-ended question. 

It’s hard to put this into words, though. I stumble around an insufficient lexicon, muttering about planning to stay — I’m not much of a fighter but I guess I could grow sweet potatoes — and reassuring him that if we were ever forced to leave, really truly forced, we have options. They're not very good options, but it remains that we have them.

It doesn’t need to be said that many in Taiwan would not. 

I slide sideways into a summary of my thought process over the past few years: you know how there are foreigners willing to fight for Ukraine? Well, Taiwan is my home, I’m willing to fight for it. Besides, if I don’t stand up for what’s right in the place I call home, can I claim to stand for anything at all? Certainly I can’t seriously talk about democracy and human rights if I won’t fight for them where I actually live. 

And yet, do I owe my life to a country that won’t give me a passport? That feels weird, too. 

There’s no end to this spirograph of questions, it just whips you around into some complicated, unending holding pattern. 

He’d asked earlier if we were citizens yet. I said no, we’re permanent residents (“like a green card, though we get privileges, not rights exactly, we can’t vote and its very hard to get approved for a mortgage or even a line of credit”). 

It’s not bad, I clarified. I didn’t want to seem ungrateful. But it still feels off — a Chinese-American whose grandparents were ROC citizens who never set foot in Taiwan and have only a tenuous relationship to Taiwanese history and none to Taiwanese culture is considered a dual national by default. We’ve invested most of our adult lives in Taiwan and are considered more foreign than that. I know, I know, not every country has birthright citizenship. I wouldn’t call it unfair exactly, except you know what? It feels unfair. 

“I actually have considered renouncing,” I say over coffee by Lake Merritt. “We don’t plan to move back, and even if we did, with my diabetes I don’t see how we could. I could not possibly afford my medication without a corporate-type job and I am deeply unsuited to exactly that.” 

The truth is, I can’t renounce. Brendan theoretically could; he was lucky enough to have been born in Canada and has that sweet sweet dual birthright citizenship. 

The reasons are simple: I’m too filial. What if my Dad needs help? My in-laws? Being allowed to visit for set periods but not work would be insufficient. I won’t give up my ability to potentially care for aging relatives; something you’d think the Taiwanese government would understand (but apparently doesn’t). 

What’s more, if China invaded and actually won, renouncers like us — well, me — would have no citizenship at all. I can’t think of much that would be as bad or worse than being a citizen of the PRC, but being stateless is quite undesirable. Even if I wanted to be a PRC citizen (I absolutely don’t), it’s doubtful I’d be allowed to do so. 

I did not say: this confluence of events has altered the course of my life in ways I could not have easily predicted. 

It's difficult to fully explain, so I avoid the discussion with anyone who seems to have overly binary thinking. 

I hadn’t known when I moved to Taiwan that I would want to stay. It certainly had not occurred to me that I’d care enough to consider fighting if China did ever start a war. But more than that, the slender exceptions that have opened for dual nationality have done nothing but throw into sharp focus how weird the whole situation is. 

Sat squarely in the middle of my thought process is this strait gait and narrow path, and how I might get on it. As an educator with an advanced degree who primarily works with Taiwanese teachers and their professional development, you’d think I’d qualify. I don’t. 

Educators not only have to be associate professors and prove some specific contribution to Taiwan, but also get their university to do the required paperwork to recommend them. Some succeed; I’ve heard stories of others who don’t simply because their university doesn’t care to support them. 

For awhile, I thought I’d just get my PhD and pursue that path. Getting accepted to a program wouldn’t be particularly hard — the director of my MEd program all but assured me I’d have a seat if I applied — but funding would be. 

Soon after, I had the opportunity to travel around Taiwan and talk to many university lecturers, professors and second language acquisition specialists. Almost all of them bore ill news: the only people doing anything remotely like what I do at the university level who also have tenure-track positions are actually professors of Linguistics or English Literature. If you have a background specifically in Education — not to mention Applied Foreign Languages — the best you’re likely to do is an annual contract, if not adjunct work. I met two exceptions; they prove the rule.

Forget that neither of those paths offer enough in terms of benefits and remuneration for the work required, or for me to give up my freelance career in which I never have to confront my deep-seated issues with authority. 

Neither of them are sufficient to qualify for dual nationality, so what exactly would be the point of doing a PhD if I want to stay in Taiwan? It wouldn’t get me the job I need to attain dual nationality, which under the current law I will never qualify for. It isn’t necessary for what I do now. I don't really want the jobs it could get me.

So why do it, putting in all that blood, sweat, toil, tears — not to mention money I don’t really have and don’t think I should have to spend? (To me, any PhD worth doing is a PhD someone else pays for.) 

I can’t think of a reason, so I haven’t applied. I likely never will. 

Who knew that deciding on Taiwan as our home would have repercussions not just regarding work and citizenship, but education? 

None of these issues has an endpoint. None of the questions has answers. It’s not quite tragic enough to merit sustained media coverage, not quite common enough to be a society-wide problem. It affects me and a small group of otherwise-privileged, mostly Western immigrants in Taiwan. It’s easy to be dismissive — you’d never have to fight, you’ll never be Taiwanese, you’re just here for your own benefit — and I won’t even say that these are entirely untrue. I wouldn’t have to fight, if I didn’t want to. I’ll never be culturally Taiwanese. As much as I want my being in Taiwan to be something good for Taiwan, living here does benefit me as well. It’s a tad specious to pretend none of it matters because a white lady like me will be alright no matter what, but it’s also not quite wrong. 

Yet wondering whether I’ll ever have access to something people with even less exposure to Taiwanese culture are entitled to, realizing that I can’t imagine a world where I ran away from Taiwan at the moment of her greatest crisis, and knowing that it will still never be enough no matter how impossible renunciation is for me? 

To stay in Taiwan, I've renounced quite a bit. Perhaps nothing tragic; can I really whine about career paths I did not take when I'm more or less happy in the one I've chosen? Who cares that I'll never be an academic simply because a reasonable version of that job, for me, does not exist here? I am salty about renouncing my chances for ever being a full citizen of the country I live in, though I'm not sure I have a right to be. Even though I couldn't really live in the US again, I did choose this. 

Whatever, y'know? All I can do is renounce the whole damn debate. I don't really care about anyone's silly opinion on whether or not I will or should fight in any potential Chinese invasion of Taiwan. It doesn't matter how I should feel, or what makes me one of the "good" immigrants, or whether I'm happy or grateful enough. I feel how I feel, I made the choices I made, I am where I am, and I don't have any answers beyond that.

The Newest Taiwanese

A long and unclear path

As the November elections neared, the social media posts piled up. Things like "Can't wait to vote for the first time in Taiwan!" and "Voting in my first Taiwanese election!"

A few years ago, I didn't know many dual citizens who were not born Taiwanese, and of them not a single one who could vote. As the shadows grew long on 2022, however, it became clear that something had shifted. Changes to the laws surrounding dual nationality enacted in 2017 were starting to bear some modest fruit: a small but significant minority of people I know were posting last month about how excited they were to vote in a Taiwanese election for the first time.

I was genuinely happy for them, in that friendly envious way that bears no ill will. To me, they represented small dots of light: these friends, for example, don't all come from the same background. Some work in business, some are academics, some in tech, and some do work for the government. Most have indeed acquired dual nationality, although one chose to renounce their original citizenship. Before 2017, there was essentially no path to dual nationality if one had no Taiwanese heritage. Post-naturalization, one could petition to regain their original citizenship, but not all countries grant it (the United States certainly doesn't). Or, finding Jesus and building a life as a missionary was always an option: perhaps as a nonagenarian the government might bestow the honor.

Now, anyone deemed a "foreign senior professional" -- a classification that differs from Gold Card-eligible "foreign special professionals" -- has a pathway to becoming Taiwanese. The eligibility requirements remain restrictive -- perhaps unfairly so -- but at least there is a path.

I thought, with the election well behind us, that it would be interesting to talk to some of these newest citizens about what it was like to acquire citizenship, what challenges they faced and how it felt to vote. Some agreed to have their real names published; others asked to remain anonymous.

Participating in Democracy

The first thing that jumped out from everyone I talked to was a passion for participating in the democratic process. Ben Homnick, formerly a vice president at a technology company in Taiwan, summarized it well: "I think it finally hit home," he said, "when I was walking back from the voting booth, and I realized that I finally have the ability to participate in the political process of the place that I’ve been calling home for more than ten years. Whether or not I agree with the outcome of the election, at least I have some measurable amount of responsibility for what those outcomes are."

Kerim Friedman, a professor at National Donghwa University, said he found personal meaning in voting for the first time. "For me, voting is kind of an important civic ritual," he said. "I’ve watched Taiwan, I came here for the first time in 1991 right after it had just democratized, so watching Taiwan’s transition to democracy has been a major part of my life intellectually and personally, having been here observing it."

"I was in tears," said Uma, who gave up her original nationality. (Uma is a pseudonym; she preferred to remain anonymous.) "I left [my native country] when I was a kid, I've never actually been back during elections." Uma's country of origin doesn't allow absentee voting. "I've always wanted to be part of the democratic process."

Jerome Keating, voting for his first time in Taiwan put it this way, "If you believe in democracy, and care for the place where you live, you want to be part of the process." 

Some voting experiences were more neutral. Another friend, "Ted" (a pseudonym), works in the tech industry. He said he expected voting to "feel like a triumphant rite of passage." But when actually going through with it, he described the process as "largely confusing and empty. Despite spending many hours preparing, there was much that was novel. There were a lot of assumptions they didn't explain -- I didn't realize you couldn't take anything into the booth with you and I didn't realize the city council was FTPT [first past the post] with a multi-member district. The ballot doesn't list party affiliation...even though I prepared, I didn't know the numbers of my candidates, and was a bit lost without the parties [as there was no guide allowed in the voting booth]."

Uma agreed. Although she speaks Mandarin, she believes that "Taiwan needs to have more information for people who don’t speak Chinese. People didn’t know how many council people to vote for, and I wasn’t the only one. I asked how many people to vote for, and they said just one. And I was glad I asked that question."

Friedman described the process as "remarkably quick." He said, "You take all these papers and stamp them and put them in the boxes. I was surprised, I’ve voted in the states. It’s also often in schools in New York City, but I’ve always had to wait on line. There was no line at all, it was just in and out." 

Friedman had no issue as a foreigner voting for the first time. "I twas all very cute and they stamped me, as I was at the counter and they were stamping me, the two women were speaking Chinese and I heard something about foreigners but they were all nice and polite and it was very quick."

Homnick and Uma also described the process as very fast. Uma added that with more and more foreigners gaining the right to vote, election workers didn't appear to be very surprised by her presence. There are guides -- Uma mentioned that there's a guide outside the booths that describes what is a valid or invalid vote, and the boxes where you place the various ballots are all color-coded, and there are people around to tell you what to do. Before the election, all eligible voters receive a newspaper-like bundle describing the candidates, with a picture, party affiliation and space for each to extol their platforms. The same paper is also displayed at the polling place.

However, that doesn't necessarily mean the process will be clear to dual nationals. "One Taiwanese guy tore his up, he was on the news. Two new immigrants form Hong Kong they brought theirs out. They were brought to the police station," Uma said.

Despite some of these issues, the overall feeling was jubilant. "In the US we’re so used to doing this. But inTaiwan [if you can't vote], you feel like you’re a passenger. You’re watching the election with your friends on election night, you’re kind of passive about it. Actually having some skin in the game, it feels different," Homnick observed. 

"I was definitely elated to put my vote in," Keating added.

Becoming 'The Newest Taiwanese'

The actual process of getting Taiwanese citizenship and emotions around acquiring it seemed to influence how these new citizens felt about participating in the 2022 election. 

Ted said he "didn't expect citizenship would change" how he felt or how his life worked. "I just wanted to belong. Boy, was I wrong. I feel like a totally different person. The US has fully become 'the old country'," he said. 

One example is his attitude toward US policies. "I noticed that it made me way more ambivalent," he continued. "I wouldn't say my US politics have changed. I like Millenial socialism in theory, but find actual Millenial socialists a bit much. But it just takes up way less headspace than it used to."

For Ted, the most important change has been his ability to open businesses and protect his partner. "We are unable to marry as his home country doesn't recognize same-sex marriage, so instead of having a marriage, I have a business that sponsors his ARC."

Uma, who gave up her original nationality, said she felt like she was "betraying" her native land, and wished she'd perhaps waited longer to see if she qualified under the new regulations. "We did it because my daughter was graduating from school, and she was going to go to the Netherlands for college. She had a logical argument, she wanted to get Taiwanese nationality so she could travel around Europe freely, and didn’t want to go through the visa process," she said. (Uma's original nationality doesn't usually qualify for visas on arrival). "[My daughter] was under 20, and in Taiwan that’s considered not an adult, so one parent needed to do it with her. So I did it."

Homnick described the process as "bittersweet", pointing out that it feels like only a small step in the right direction.

"In some ways it’s the culmination of 13 years in Taiwan and calling this country my own," he observed. "On the other hand, it’s often a publicity stunt. There's always a press release, and they make the giant ID card. It's like, 'hey look how international we are', without always being super international. And I think it’s great personally, obviously there are benefits to having an ID. But does it really serve the purpose of paving the way for more acceptance of dual citizenship? I think it probably does — any sort of cracks in the long-time policies of excluding most immigrants from citizenship are probably a good thing, even if it’s just getting visibility to starting a conversation."

Ted did not experience the publicity 'circus', however. There was no press release and after some thought, he declined to be interviewed by the media.

Friedman also pointed out the narrowness of the path to dual nationality, but added that there is a logical explanation for it. 

"I’d like to see Taiwan become more multicultural," he said. "The vast majority of foreigners in Taiwan are Southeast Asian workers. So if Taiwan did open [dual nationality to more people], they would be the main beneficiaries. If Taiwan were to shift to becoming more of a Southeast Asian country, and more of an immigrant country the way the US and Europe are more immigrant countries....wherever that’s happened, it’s sparked anti-immigrant backlash mostly sparked by false information and false ideas about who immigrants are and their impact on the economy. Most studies show that immigrants are actually good for the economy and don’t cause rises in crime. But you know Taiwan’s media landscape...and you can imagine how that’s going to be spun by the media."

He went on to emphasize that much of this backlash is sparked by political and media disinformation. "Fearmongering from some politicians and the media are going to be a challenge. So I don’t blame the government for being a little cautious."

In terms of the difficulty of actually acquiring dual nationality, experiences varied quite a bit. All encountered challenges, though some, such as Friedman, found the process smoother than others. Some found the challenges, including significant ones, to be less than expected. Others encountered more difficulties than they'd anticipated. The only universal was that no one's journey was entirely without obstacles.

For Homnick, the whole process took about a year and included an initial rejection. "I applied thinking that I had been a vice president with a tech company for awhile, I’d done some open source projects that had to do with TW as well.  I figure that would be enough...the first time I actually got rejected. They were pretty good about giving feedback, they said, 'we felt you didn’t have enough contributions to Taiwan.' It was good of the committee to give me the feedback, even though I think the standards are ridiculous. So I went back, got a bunch more recommendation letters, and really focused my application on contributions to Taiwan." 

He added that some fields seem to provide easier paths to dual nationality than others. Academia in particular, he said, "seems to be one of the reliable ways to get through the committee. You have to be an associate professor, and if you have that you are pretty much greenlit." 

Ted had a more difficult time of it than either Homnick or Friedman, calling the process an "unparalleled chore." He applied through the Ministry of Science and Technology, and submitted his tech portfolio as proof of contributions to Taiwan. He also noted that one has to have Mandarin language proficiency. 

"[For] the second phase review, my local HRO (Household Registration Office) demanded 39 separate documents, including an FBI background check translated into Chinese, verified by TECRO, and then again by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, then notarized, then translated, then notarized again," Ted recounted.  The local office rejected the translation twice...after giving them all that, they said that I wasn't qualified. It took the intervention of my new employer, lawyers, the Ministry of Science and Technology and the National Development Council to convince the HRO to forward the application." 

However, he states that he's not resentful about the process. "I actually thought it would be worse," he quipped. 

Uma also faced challenges as a new citizen. Receiving citizenship doesn't necessarily grant all the rights of citizenship immediately, as she found out to her detriment. 

She said, "There’s a lot of paperwork you need to give up your own nationality. After that, it’s better if you don’t travel for a period, maybe a year. You just have a passport but it does not show your ID card [because] you don’t have a household registration. So you don’t have the visa-free entry to anywhere in that year. If you have to travel, you have to wait two years to get your household registration. So we didn’t travel for that year, and I lost a lot of job opportunities by staying. After one year we got the national ID the household registration and everything, the works. [Since then] it's just been like a Taiwanese citizen [for me]."

While Homnick noted that gathering paperwork was the most time-consuming part of the process, Friedman emphasized that it comes in two steps, and one is smoother than the other. 

"The first step is to get approved as a special foreign professional," he said. "Once that comes through you are allowed to apply for citizenship without having to give up your passport. That’s fairly simple and straightforward. The first part is occupation specific, and each occupation has their own procedures.

As a professor, I go through the Ministry of Education....The fact that you’ve already been given tenure is proof that you’re a special foreign professional. For a filmmaker, unless you’ve won an Academy Award or something. Some of these professions are made for it, like basketball players, or if you have a Plum Blossom APRC [which] is already proof that you are a special foreign professional. There are certain disciplines where it’s much easier to do it than others."

"It’s a little arbitrary," he continued. "But if you happen to be lucky enough to fit into one of these slots — priest, basketball player…then it’s not that hard. Usually if people have problems, it’s because their institutions weren’t supportive of them. I think as time goes on, more and more institutions [will be] willing to do the process."

Uma agreed, saying that "I used to think you have to be 90 years old and build 90 churches to get citizenship, and that’s too hard. Even now they’re not very realistic. Even now, people who’ve really contributed and who really deserve it are falling through the cracks. It’s getting better, Taiwan is like that." 

Homnick added that it seemed as though someone who didn't have specific institutional backing would need to "win a Nobel Prize" to qualify.

Who's a Foreigner? Who Isn't?

Everyone had something to say about how Taiwan regarded them in the context of being newly, officially local, both in general and in the context of last month's election. Most didn't cite ongoing discrimination, however, it bears mentioning that of the people I interviewed, only one was a person of color. 

Friedman said that when he went to vote, "the two women were speaking Chinese and I heard something about foreigners but they were all nice and polite," and that more than voting itself, talking to others about becoming a citizen might have some kind of impact. "But it's hard to know," he admitted. He also noted that he talks about how perceptions of him as an "American Taiwanese" are likely to be quite different than Taiwanese who gain US citizenship and become "Taiwanese Americans". 

In line with Friedman's earlier point that it would benefit Taiwan to be more multicultural, Homnick noted that while he does have neighbors who will sometimes complain or assume the "foreigner" is at fault, the doormen of this building will stand up for him, especially now that he is a citizen. "They'll stand up when people say 'waiguoren'," he said, "they'll say 'he's not a foreigner!'" 

"It's going to take awhile to get over that stuff. Having people who break conceptions of what a Taiwanese person looks like are probably good in the long run. And I think that’s really in the benefit of Taiwan in the long run as well. You look at China which has tried so hard to become this ethnonationalist state, anything Taiwan can do to set themselves apart from that is a good thing." 

Uma described her experience when voting: "I think there are more and more foreign faces with ID cards now, so they’re not that surprised. First they said, 'do you have an ID?' I said yes. I had my ID in hand so they understood I was a citizen."

"I no longer care if people mislabel me as a foreigner, or try to speak English when Chinese would be easier...I have nothing more to prove, but seeing my partner face so much discrimination is heartbreaking. As a foreigner, I always felt like citizens had so much untapped power, but now as a citizen I feel this kind of surreal helplessness. I'm safe, but I cannot extend that safety to others," Ted added.

Homnick also noted discrimination against Southeast Asian immigrants in Taiwan, citing a bulletin in his building requiring families to sequester any domestic workers in their apartments during the pandemic, and not let them leave. "That's definitely illegal," he clarified. "I said, 'if you don't take this down I'm calling the police." (The notice was taken down.) 

While voting and being part of the political process is the most meaningful benefit Homnick says he's derived, the one he feels on a daily basis is having a regular Taiwan identity card. "The biggest quality of life improvement is having the number that works on websites, he said. "Which is funny because they said they were going to solve this issue by standardizing the ID numbers, but their solution didn't fix anything!"

Homnick also noted that access to government subsidies and other services is a major benefit, but that he's never tried to get something like a mortgage. "Some things haven’t changed," he added. "I still get called laowai, waiguoren, people still ask for an ARC. I went to Chunghwa Telecom to renew a contract and they still wanted to see an ARC, and I needed to explain that I don’t have [one]. There’s still some discrimination by banks. It’s more about being born outside of Taiwan."


The November Election

One thing struck me as I talked to this group of new Taiwanese with many divergent experiences: the extent to which they agreed on the November election. 

"Politically, I have way less patience for the KMT than I used to. I was never a tankie, but I was educated by them and felt they had good points on some issues [such as nuclear power]. But I'm not willing to entertain them because I don't trust them to handle China, and if they don't get that through their heads, the party and country will suffer. The Communists might not allow me to leave the way a foreigner could," Ted observed.

Homnick is similarly worried. "I am a lot more wary of China," he said. "I don’t think I’ll ever go back to China. I think the national security law probably applies to me now. Even if it doesn’t, it’s not worth taking the risk. What if they start arbitrarily detaining Taiwan citizens? What happens to citizens if there is some kind of conflict?"

"I didn't have a lot invested in who was elected to the city council," Friedman said. "but I really cared a lot about the referendum [to lower the voting age to 18], and I’m very upset about that. I didn’t expect it to win. I was for it [but] I was shocked by now disinterested and now unmotivated people were to make sure that it passed...for me, it seemed an important measure in terms of Taiwanese democracy. And it’s again something I’ve talked about with my students. I have had students who said they thought they weren’t mature enough to vote. I showed them a map of how in other countries, 16 or 17 year olds might [have voting rights].  'Do you really think you’re less mature?'"

He continued, "Then they started thinking, maybe you have a point. Even young people seem to buy into [the attitude that they shouldn't be voting.] I found that very depressing, I think it’s important for young people to become civically engaged and start participating in the process. Politics shouldn’t be left to just old people either."

Homnick agreed, saying he was "disappointed but not surprised" regarding the election results. "I feel like I don’t have a good understanding of why people vote the way they do. I’m not sure I have a good understanding in the US either. I don’t see why anyone with Chiang in their name is still relevant these days. [My girlfriend said] her friends said they voted for him because he's handsome, or their parents told them to. [But] if you want to pick the most handsome candidate, you have the right to. No matter how I feel about it, it’s your choice. I was disappointed about the referendum on voting age. A lot of the justifications for people voting against that: '18 year olds are not mature enough to make decisions like that.' Well they’re not going to be if you treat them like children!"

Friedman tended to agree regarding the election of Chiang Wan-an as Taipei mayor. "It's hard for me to know how much of a factor it played, it's obvious that Wan-an is cashing in on the Chiang name, which is weird that that would have resonance for people. One argument is 'well, they didn't really vote for him for that reason', [but] the fact that he chose that name didn't hurt him either. It's like in the Philippines with the Marcos family getting re-elected. The parallels are interesting."

"I’m really sad the referendum thing didn’t go through," Uma concurred. "The voting age should be 18. They’re saying there wasn’t proper education about it. There might have been some misinformation as well. People were saying that older people thought that people aged 18-20 could also run for elections as a candidate, and older people didn’t like that, so they voted against it."

Not everyone expressed a specific opinion on candidates, but Uma offered one perspective: "Chen had a town hall for foreigners, when he started [campaigning], when he first announced, and I got to go. And I interacted with him and…I watched him for 900 days. I was very excited to have the possibility of being mayor. So that was quite sad." 

In the end, Friedman and Uma offered up perspectives that perhaps summarized the feeling of participating in a democratic process as citizens rather than foreign residents. 

Although Friedman described voting as "a little anticlimactic", he didn't mean it in a negative way. "For democracy to be kind of boring is a good thing," he said. 

In fact, Friedman pointed to social movements as another vital part of civic engagement and the democratic process. "When the Sunflower movement happened, the students we had comment to university were very politicized. Since [then], that faded into the background, young people seemed less politically involved. It’s interesting, because my general feeling is that the quality of education is improving in Taiwan, and the quality of college students is improving, [but they seem] less politicized...Wage justice, environmental justice -- there are some, but broadly speaking people tend to be more focused on their personal career. Social movements invigorate people and get people involved in politics."

"Because when we say Taiwan is a beacon for democracy in Asia, it’s like the front line against an autocratic country," Uma concluded. "I feel like I’m part of it. And I’m not sure whether it excites me or scares me. Family back home, [ask] 'aren’t you scared of living in Taiwan?" Because the media really hypes up the whole China thing, [such as] when Pelosi came and [China's military drills]. I said no...it’s just like part of our daily lives. It’s something we’re used to...Taiwan is upholding this light of democracy,  and Taiwan is dealing with that on a daily basis. Being part of the voting processes [and] making sure they don’t sell Taiwan out to China is an important part of that." 

Immigration and racism in Taiwan: it's not about who you are when you come, but who you become after you arrive

Silhouettes of a visitor and a foreign resident in Taiwan

Perhaps an explosive title, but hear me out. I'm going to talk mostly about Taiwan in this post, but the ideas I want to express can be applied to more or less any country (there may be a few exceptions that I'm not aware of  - but by and large this is a global problem). Otherwise, let's just jump right in.

In Taiwan, it's fairly easy for professionals to immigrate and gain permanent residency, at least compared to much of the rest of the world. If you are a professional with at least two years' experience in your field or a Master's degree in any field (which has to be a face-to-face program and in some cases, excludes part-time programs) and someone will hire you, you can come to Taiwan with few problems. If you stay for five years, you can get permanent residency. That's actually not bad by global standards. It's much harder to get a visa to work in most Western countries, and permanent residency (e.g. a green card) can take ages. Of course, some are easier than others.

But it is discriminatory - if you're from a family that is middle class or wealthy, you're more likely to have access to the education you need to get hired. You're more likely to speak an international language (such as English, though for Taiwan, Mandarin is a huge help), because you had access to that same education which probably included it. You probably also come from a worldlier 'family culture' that would have encouraged knowing such a language: families where parents and relatives speak a foreign language are more likely to have offspring who also grow up to speak that language.

So, off the bat, any sort of points-based or 'professional' based visa system is automatically classist, because mostly people born into certain social classes have the access to the education and training they need to get hired and obtain a visa in a country like Taiwan (or Australia, or the US, or...etc.)

If you come from a 'developed' country, many (or most) of which are majority-white for historical reasons that are deeply unfair, you are far more likely to be born into such a family. What is the likelihood of, say, a European being born into circumstances that would allow them these advantages, compared to, say, someone from Southeast Asia outside Singapore? A lot greater. So what are your chances of meeting visa requirements calibrated to attract 'professionals' if you already come from a developed (and therefore more likely - though not necessarily - majority white) country? Comparatively speaking, how likely are you to be able to meet those same requirements if you come from a developing country that is almost certainly not white? Anecdotal evidence does not count. "I'm white but my life was tough" does not count - that's not statistical likelihood. "I'm from Vietnam but my family was rich" is also not statistical likelihood. On average, what are your chances?

Since race intersects with class - the color line is the power line is the poverty line - and you are simply more likely to be from a privileged background if you are white - such a system also gives an unfair advantage to people who are white. There are exceptions for sure, but again, we're talking averages here.

In Taiwan's case, I simply don't care if the goal is to attract certain kinds of professionals, in part because doing so is simply inherently classist (and therefore racist) - and that is exactly how Taiwan's immigration system works, both in terms of getting visas to come here, getting permanent residency, and getting citizenship. If you qualify for a professional visa, permanent residency is fairly easy, but if you come here to study - say, you are one of the Southeast Asian students that Taiwan hopes to attract - that doesn't count, and it can be difficult to transition. If you are a blue-collar worker, there's no path at all. To be a citizen, you have to be even more 'qualified', which probably means coming from an even wealthier background, or have 'Chinese ancestry' (which is a law that's obliquely about race).

You can come here and seek a better life, but probably only if your previous life was comparatively privileged, and you can stay forever, but you're probably already really privileged if qualify just isn't a good look.

I also believe that it doesn't actually achieve Taiwan's goals. The birthrate is falling, and while I don't necessarily think "we must unceasingly increase our population so the young can support the old" is a good long-term plan - Taiwan's easily habitable areas are already densely populated and there is finite space and resources - the best way to ensure population stability is to loosen immigration requirements. A lot of these immigrants will marry and have children locally, which is a huge bonus for Taiwan. Not just  professionals: everyone.

In addition, I'm not at all convinced that the visa requirements and citizenship, plum blossom and gold card requirements actually meet Taiwan's needs. Taiwanese media routinely talks about the need to train more vocational workers, there is an oversupply of local workers for white-collar jobs (which is one reason wages are low, though not the only one), and with a low birthrate, Taiwan's labor force depends on immigration. Yes, this is true even despite the brain drain due to low wages and stressful, borderline-tyrannical office culture. And yet, it's especially true for blue-collar workers, because local vocational training is not particularly good and not highly-respected.

It would simply be smarter and truly meet Taiwan's needs, then, to relax rules for blue-collar immigrants, not just white-collar ones. So why have white collar workers been specifically prioritized? (That's a rhetorical question. The answers are racism and classism.)

And, of course, that's not even getting into what white collar workers Taiwan actually needs compared to whom it is trying to attract. With an initiative to become "bilingual by 2030", you'd think they'd want more qualified teachers and teacher trainers who can train up newly-hired local and foreign teachers, and yet for the education sector, only "associate professors", not regular teachers, qualify for dual nationality. That makes no sense at all.

And finally, it's simply the right thing to do. A place - whether that's a country, region or city - prospers when it is open to everyone seeking a better life, and the drawbacks are few. Yes, an influx of labor may cause short-term drops in wages, but those tend to recover. Yes, increased multiculturalism can cause friction, but it doesn't have to be that way, and the advantages of being exposed to people whose backgrounds and worldviews are unlike your own outweigh the drawbacks. Plus, it's a super great way to not be racist! They bring talent and creativity as well as hard work. They open businesses, get married, start families. They fill needs and niches in society. They matter, even if they don't come with a pre-fab education or specific work experience.

In other words, it's not about who you are when you come. Or it shouldn't be. It's who you become after you arrive. 

I want to insert a little story about how I came here and taught English with very few qualifications (some teaching experience in a variety of settings, from children to adults, from monolingual to multilingual, in the US and outside of it, both English and native-speaker literacy, but no formal training.) I want to talk about how the only way I got to where I am now - the person who trains people like my former self - is because of the opportunities I could only access after I got to Taiwan. I want to talk about how I could never have afforded my subsequent training and education with the low purchasing power my American existence felt like it was dooming me to. But I won't (I mean, other than the fact that I just did). I grew up with English as my first language, and standard American English at that. I'm white. I was privileged enough to be born into a family that, with some difficulty, sent me to university. I'm already privileged, so my story isn't the point.

Otherwise, if you say you support immigration to Taiwan but you only mean immigration for the already-privileged, you don't really support immigration. You support classist, and therefore racist, immigration policy. You support people who look and sound like me, but not anyone really different from you. I mean that for Taiwanese as well: yes, we are different, from different backgrounds. Yes, this might lead to some differences in worldview. But, educated Taiwanese readers who can read this in English, you and I have more in common because of our class background than either of us have in common with someone from a truly marginalized community. Especially if you are Han Taiwanese - Han privilege is absolutely a thing, and you know it.

If those other people like us are Asian - say, Hong Kongers, Singaporeans or Japanese - then they are just that much more similar to you, coming from the same region, though not the same culture and society.

Do you really want to support only people who don't seem so different - people like me - or do you really want to support Taiwan being an international society where everyone can seek a better life?

Taiwan is already a multicultural society - though the rate fluctuates, the number of Taiwanese children with a foreign parent has always been higher than a lot of people realize. After all, most of the time, those foreign parents are Asian, so it's hard to tell. For the past few centuries, this country has had foreign travelers, residents, colonizers and spouses interwoven into its cultural and historical fabric. Although there's a 'majority' culture, it's only a monoculture if you want to believe it is (and if you think 'monoculture' includes other foreigners if those foreigners happen to be Asian).

I see no reason why that can't be reflected in a better, more egalitarian, more welcoming and less racist immigration policy. 

My latest for Ketagalan Media: we need to raise awareness about immigration reform

I know I've beaten this topic to death, but I don't feel bad about that - as my latest piece for Ketagalan Media makes clear, a huge part of the problem is either a lack of awareness about or a misunderstanding of immigration laws in Taiwan. It's a common misconception that Taiwanese don't support dual nationality. Some don't, but generally speaking the issue is that they're not aware it's not already possible.

If there is one thing I want to drive home, it's this: my beef is with the double standard surrounding immigration laws.

When it comes to dual nationality alone, some countries allow it, and many don't. The key here is that those who do allow it for all, and those who don't allow it for none. Take China and Japan, for example. Those countries don't allow dual nationality either - few in Asia do. However, the same rule applies to those born as citizens of those countries just as it applies to those wishing to naturalize.

Some countries, such as Austria, only allow dual nationality under special circumstances. However, the law still applies to both born and naturalized citizens equally. Although it is unlikely that a naturalized Austrian may be granted leave to retain his or her original nationality, it is still theoretically possible, just as it is for a born Austrian.

The only other exception I can find is South Korea, and as I don't live there and the laws changed recently, rendering a lot of the information online outdated, I'm not even fully clear on that.

While I would not support Taiwan abolishing dual nationality for everyone, if they did so, at least I'd have no basis to complain about a double standard. The law would stink, but it would at least apply fairly to all people.

That, right there, is the crux of the problem, and that is what so few people understand.

Taiwan doesn't value professional educators, or, why I'm still pissed at the government

Yes, I know that sounds like a giant duh headline, something we all know. But bear with me, please. 

Earlier today, I got a message from a student thanking me for helping bring his IELTS score to the level he'd need to go abroad, a fairly dramatic improvement for what was a short class (this is not typical; it usually happens when a student has the language level needed but needs guidance as to how the test works and how the productive skills sections are assessed). Another student let me know recently that she also got the score she needs, and will be attending a top school in the UK. These are young people who are Taiwan's brightest lights and future leaders - in the two examples above, they'll be going to some of the best schools in the world and studying in a science faculty.

It felt great, but it also hit me: this is why I'm angry about the new dual citizenship qualifications in Taiwan on such a personal level.

I have worked hard to be the sort of teacher who can bring about that kind of improvement, or at least identify where longer-term study needs to be focused. I've put myself through CELTA (not a big deal certification-wise but it was a huge commitment to leave Taiwan for a month to get it done, as no course is offered here), Delta (which is a much bigger deal and a real professional qualification), received other useful training - there is a reason why I can't be specific - and I'm about to start a Master's program in the field. After that, I might go on to a PhD, or I might get a teaching license if I want to work in an international school. I might do both. 

This is in addition to getting results in the classroom while still building rapport with students, and a decade of experience doing it.

Nobody can say that I haven't done my time professionally. I've neither over-relied on experience without a training foundation nor leaned too much on credentials. In any other field, including education focusing on any other subject, few would dare to imply that what I do is not professional.

And yet, this is exactly the message the government is sending with dual nationality regulations that seem designed to keep English teachers out, to differentiate them from everyone else as some sort of lesser labor.

I won't deny that a lot of English teaching jobs are like this. Many are just fancy daycare, where the purpose is to provide a place for kids to go after school so Mom and Dad can work insane amounts of overtime. A lot of teachers really are not qualified, either - and I don't just mean through lack of credentialing, I mean through lack of meaningful training or improvement. I would like to see this change, while still providing a place in the industry for new potential talent to find work (and I'd like to turn the majority of the industry into something worthwhile and respected enough that true talent is more likely to stick around).

The problem is that the new laws, essentially, say that we all work at fancy daycare. That none of the work many of us put into professional development - essentially what makes us real professionals - matters. That not only could we be replaced by 22-year-old Whiteguy McBackpacker, but that if we were, performance would be essentially the same. That working for a university teaching 65-person "conversational English classes" (if you're wondering how one teaches conversational English to 65 people at once, the answer is that one doesn't) is more valuable than working one-on-one or with small group classes to bring about real improvement that has real world effects. Effects like, oh, I don't know, ensuring a business presentation goes well enough that it plays a tiny part in keeping the economy humming. That one of Taiwan's potentially great future scientists gets to go to Oxford. In ensuring a speech delivered abroad makes Taiwan more visible to the world. 

They lay bare what Taiwan (the government, but also many people) think about English teachers: that we're useful but our job is not meaningful, that those of us with professional qualifications don't have serious qualifications, that it doesn't matter, any unqualified person could do our job, because all English teaching work is essentially unskilled, undifferentiated labor. That they think we don't do real work at a real professional level. They make it clear that the government, and many people, really do believe one native speaker is as good as another, and any native speaker is better than a local (this is, of course, not true).

This is why I've asked you to bear with me: most people make this argument in terms of wages or jobs. They say improving yourself through training and meaningful experience won't get you a raise, and most jobs aren't worth it. They're right that most jobs in Taiwan aren't worth the effort, but not all jobs are created equal. People saying this generally have not worked to get to a higher level themselves, and are thus not aware that there is a whole level of better jobs available if you just make an effort to be a professional. My argument is different: I might complain that wages are stagnant and there are deep issues in TEFL in Taiwan that need to be addressed, but I do essentially believe that if you work towards professionalism in ELT, the industry will reward you somewhat. You will find better-paid jobs with better employers. To some extent, ELT takes seriously those who take it seriously. My issue is with the government essentially turning a blind eye to this, paving the way for so many everyday citizens to do so, as well.

I find intrinsic meaning and professionalism in my work and don't need the Taiwanese government or people to take it seriously for me to do so. That's important; I need that if I'm even going to carry on. I do truly believe my work is meaningful. I won't even hedge that with a sentence header expressing a personal opinion. My work is meaningful.

It seems clear to me that Taiwan would be a stronger country if everyone who was committed to this nation - from blue-collar workers to the folks mopping up kids' pee at Hess to me to a tech worker somewhere - had a path to citizenship. I do not mean to imply that I deserve one but others don't. The purpose here is to point out a problematic attitude held by the government and many people here.

Of course, this issue is not limited to Taiwan, and finding intrinsic meaning in what I do is important.

But it still stings, y'know?

On sacrifice, history and what we are 'owed'

I've received a fair amount of feedback, most of it positive, regarding the case I made recently for allowing dual nationality to all foreigners. But, there are a few points I'd like to clarify here, which I think merit further discussion.

On selfishness and sacrifice

The first is this idea that, impossible or not, to decline to renounce one's original citizenship is somehow inherently selfish - to want the best of both, or to be unwilling to make any sacrifices.

I understand this as an instinctive first reaction - it's one of those "makes sense on its face" arguments - but with even a bit of dissection falls apart.

First, I reject on its face the notion that a person should have to make massive sacrifices to be a part of the society of the country they call home. That's not the argument I want to make, but I want to put that core idea out there. Some people take this further, and try to justify giving missionaries dual nationality on the basis of their "sacrifices" for the good of the communities they live in, but that the rest of us don't because we live more comfortable lives.

First, let's be clear: missionaries are not selfless. The good works they do - and they do some good things, I admit, and I don't think they're bad people - are done with their own goals in mind: converting members of the community to their faith, which is a benefit to the churches that often fund their missions. I still think they deserve a path to citizenship despite fundamentally disagreeing with the notion of evangelizing, because I think anyone who has decided to make Taiwan their permanent home and contributes to it in some way deserves that path. However, this argument is then extended and ends up somewhere around "you have a nice apartment and a job and therefore you don't deserve citizenship", which I quite literally do not understand as a logical conclusion. Do we really judge who gets to be a member of society based on whether they have wood floors or not? "You live well so you don't deserve political representation"? Really?

I get it, I really do - the idea is that we already have good lives, so we shouldn't want more. However, wanting political representation and to live a normal life as a member of society is not the same at all as having a couch that is not from IKEA (though honestly, if we hadn't inherited the couch we do have from the former tenant, our couch would absolutely be an IKEA model). The logical conclusion of this is that you should not agitate politically if you are comfortable economically, but economics and politics are separate things. I don't want more money - I want to be a member of society.

That said, I really don't want to make it my main argument - I want to point out the ridiculousness of it and move on.

Here's the thing about assuming that renouncing one's original citizenship is a 'sacrifice' and to not want to do so is 'selfish'.

To take the only path to citizenship currently available to me, I would have to quite literally renounce my core values. As much as I complain about the US and insist on my own self-sufficiency and freedom, fundamentally I believe in caring for one's family when they need it. I have already written about why I must retain American citizenship if the need to care for my father arises, and won't repeat myself.

I will, however, point out that the selfish act here would be to abandon my family for my own desires vis-a-vis my life in Taiwan. It is, if anything, a sacrifice that I do not pursue this route, because family, should they need me, trumps what I want in this regard. I would also point out that this means that asking me to renounce American citizenship is tantamount to asking me to put my desires over the needs of said family, and to essentially change who I am as a person - to be willing to be the sort of cold-hearted individual who would choose her immediate satisfaction over possible future family caretaking.

I mean it - I will give Taiwan what they want in any other regard. They want money? I'll pay it. They want me to get my PhD and become a professor, even though I'm happier (and I think a more effective teacher and contributor to the field) outside the academic bureaucracy and would normally stop at a Master's? I'll do it. Mandate that 36-year-old women must also do military service? I'll do it. Pound of flesh? That can be arranged. Start a charity and work at it as my main cause? Already considering it, though kind of hard to do if I'm going to go the academic route until I'm finished shuttling back and forth between Taiwan and the UK for my degree(s).

But I will not abandon my family.

For a culture that places so much emphasis on being filial, you would think the Taiwanese government would understand this.

All that aside, I fundamentally find the idea that wanting to be closer to - rather than maintaining and enforced distance from - the society of the country one calls home is inherently selfish in some way. That wanting to participate civically is selfish - I thought civic duty was meant to be an act of giving? I truly don't understand the logic here, that it is somehow a problem or indicative of bad character that I'd want these things.


On history

I also got a very interesting comment on my assertion that "Taiwanese history is not my history". The point that was made was that if we expect the descendants of the 1945-1949 KMT diaspora, as well as those who took part in it who are still alive, to consider their history to be intertwined with "Taiwanese" history rather than Chinese history, how can we decline to do the same?

However, I'm not saying I won't do the same. I gladly will.

In fact, the ten years of Taiwanese history that have occurred while I've lived here are my history - I live here too. If we stay permanently and do get citizenship, when I am old I will look back on my life and perhaps then think of myself as Taiwanese, and Taiwanese history being my history.

What I meant by that comment was, the agonies and successes of Taiwanese history that happened to the ancestors of the Taiwanese alive today did not happen to my ancestors. I don't want to appropriate or seem like I am appropriating that legacy. The sum of history and cultural legacy that made me who I am, compared to that of my Taiwanese friends, is different, and I feel it's OK to admit that while still hoping to assimilate more. The idea is to avoid "you owe me your history, culture and legacy!" and instead aim for "I would like to be a part of your society if you'll have me, and as I do want it badly, I would like to make a case for that."


On being "owed" something

There is a popular meme going around that shows a blank piece of paper with a title along the lines of "a comprehensive list of everything you are entitled to and the world owes you".

It's cute, and I get the instinctive reaction to agree. However, I actually don't fully believe that - if you live in the forest as hermit who doesn't pay taxes or contribute to a society in any way, the world owes you nothing, that's true. But if you are expected to pay taxes, obey laws, support yourself, contribute to the economy and civic life of a society, in fact, I do believe that society owes you something in return. This is the basic argument for why societies that can do so owe their citizens a social safety net, and I happen to agree with it. Like dedication to family, it is a core value.

That, again, is not the argument I want to make however. I just want to point out that that line of thinking is inherently flawed.

What I want to say is this: I didn't come to Taiwan already knowing citizenship was almost impossible to obtain, and thinking I'd just complain about it whenever I decided I happened to want it. It was a much more organic process. I came here thinking I'd stay for two or three years, but Taiwan, being like Hotel California (as someone once put it to me), has made it so I can check out any time I like, but it seems I can never (don't want to) leave. Only then did I decide to advocate for the chance to participate more fully - after I'd already been here for a decade, contributed in the same way citizens who were born here have done, and tried to be a net benefit to this country rather than a drain on it. I was already here contributing when my thoughts on this topic became defined, not standing on the outside banging on the door.

Do I think, for all of this, that I am "owed" citizenship? Well, no, not in the sense that every country gets to decide for itself what foreigners can and cannot have. I think I've earned it, but I don't think I'm 'owed' it, at least not in the world we live in.

Taiwan, however, is a country that has increasingly insisted it is based on shared cultural values rather than ethnocentric nationalism. They themselves insist that one does not need to be from a particular ethnicity, culture or group to be 'Taiwanese'. Their history museum in Tainan even has a plaque saying so!

If they truly believe this, and this is the kind of country they want to build, it is hypocritical to then make it difficult for those who lack blood ties to Taiwan who are not the lords and ladies of the 1% (or missionaries) to be a part of that society. If they really believe it, they need to stop setting up impossible barriers (and, as I've explained, the need to renounce is an impossible barrier for many of us) and allowing double standards for naturalized vs. born citizens. If they want to keep up that rhetoric, they do owe the people they're talking about a shot at actually being 'Taiwanese'. Forcing us to be perpetual outsiders who can't even have a mortgage or vote for the leaders whose governance affects us is the opposite of this sentiment. It's having your cake and eating it too.


On radical social change

I've also heard the argument that changing the law so completely cannot be done quickly because Taiwan progresses slowly, and to do otherwise would constitute 'radical social change' that would somehow cause problems for society.

This is wrong.

Just as marriage equality is not 'radical social change' but rather a logical expansion of human rights and recognizing what, for many couples, is already true, allowing immigrants in Taiwan to naturalize as dual citizens is not radical. We're already here and already contributing - not much will change as a result. All it is doing is expanding the scope of the rights of people who live in Taiwan, and acknowledging what is already true about our lives here.

Most Taiwanese, when made aware of the double standards that currently exist, voice support for creating a more possible and reasonable path to citizenship for foreign residents. They too are done with ethnocentrism, whether it's Hoklo or Han chauvinism. It is not scandalous or radical to then make the necessary political changes reflecting this.

I don't believe a change like this would result in an influx of people hoping to get citizenship - at least not among white collar workers (I don't believe in dividing who can have dual nationality and who can't based on social class, I'm just pointing out a reality.) Most would come, and eventually leave. Those who stay long enough - seems like it would have to be about ten years to get an APRC and then citizenship - would have demonstrated enough of a commitment to Taiwan to merit naturalization. Most importantly, they'd already be here. It would be a mere formalization of the status they already possess.

The Archaeology of a Protester

I was born in autumn, at a liminal time between more distinct seasons. My birthday was technically in the summer but not quite summer. In New York it would be cool at night, and the school year would have started, but not really started - I had hardly had time to get to know my new classmates when my birthday rolled around.

Not to wax too poetic on this point, but that "what season is my birthday even really in?" feeling seems to have transposed from general childhood anxiety about who would come to my parties (when I had them, they were lightly attended because my old classmates were making new friends and my new ones didn't know me. Also, I was a huge dweeb but let's not talk about that) to generally feeling more comfortable in liminal spaces. I get a little nutty if the space I inhabit is defined too clearly.

People deride expats for going abroad because they like feeling like they don't belong, which seems to be taken as a symptom of being generally socially incompetent or a failure in your native country. This is especially assumed of the ones who went abroad by themselves and have never enjoyed a cushy expat corporate or government package. I see where that stereotype comes from but I'm OK with it. I get it. Charitably, it might describe me, though I was doing fine in the US and have had a thriving social life ever since society decided dweebs were okay.

Ten years later, here I am. I've been trying, sincerely, to get more involved in activism aimed at the US: Indivisible, protesting the direction the Republicans are taking America in (I do pin blame on Trump, but jellyfish Republicans are letting him do it and I harbor no sympathy), generally raising a ruckus. I've been feeling slightly 'meh' about it, though, despite being deeply against the new administration and horrified and upset about pretty much every news alert on my phone. Something isn't clicking. I have that familiar old grade school feeling of wanting to do something, seeing the goal, but for no clear reason, lacking the motivation to get started.

One could assume that my ambivalence was due to distance: there's not that much that a long-term expat in Taiwan can even do vis-a-vis issues in the US. Letters, I suppose, to newspapers. Calling one's elected representatives at hours when one really ought to be sleeping. Gaining political awareness through reading. I like that last part, but have been immersed recently in books on Taiwan, having realized that I am poorly-read, practically unlettered, in a subject I ostensibly know quite a bit about. It's the Taiwan books that are holding my interest. But all in all, the work that can be done from Taiwan doesn't seem like particularly effective work (it doesn't help that the biggest group doing the same thing meets in the evening, exactly when I am rarely free). Perhaps as I push ahead, I'll gain a different perspective and be heartened. I'm not sure though. Deep down I don't think it's the distance, or at least not only that.

So what is it, then?

Just yesterday, I unearthed - I mean, from my closet - my box full of all the flags, headbands, stickers and other paraphernalia I've been given at every protest, rally and parade or march over the past 8 years. It's all there: Furious, UN for Taiwan, Pride, marriage equality, the Sunflowers (I was there for the Hong Zhongqiu outcry too, but gave my headband to a student who wanted it) and more. It's like a time capsule of 8 years of showing up. More importantly, of caring enough to show up.

This excavation also churned around some fertile brain matter. I have cared enough to walk for hours, plop my ass down at Jingfu Gate with 200,000-400,000 other people to stand (or sit) for what I believe in, wave a flag in the air, tie ribbons to my head, arm and purse straps. I have been willing to physically be there for all sorts of issues in Taiwan (and I did attend rallies and protests in the US before I moved there, but more rarely). I tend to prefer non-party-affiliated single-issue protests - I am aching to get back out on the street for marriage equality, but was ambivalent about Furious. Yet clearly, I care about something.

Archaeology of a protester

But that something seems to increasingly be Taiwan - or rather it has been for awhile, but I'm just really noticing it now. It's not that I don't care about the US. I do. I'm horrified and disgusted. I'm somewhat ashamed to have a passport from there (and ashamed of the privilege that entails, and the privilege to even feel ashamed). At the end of the day that is the country I have spent 24.5 of my 36 years in, the country I was born in, the country of my citizenship.

I have to admit, though, that the visceral sincerity just isn't there. It's a shame, because being a citizen of the US, I have more standing to be active. In Taiwan, I do show up (boy do I show up), but I never get too close. I never get too involved. I don't organize. I keep my distance because I'm aware that this is not the country of my birth, I am not a citizen, and Taiwanese history and culture is not my history and culture. To do more than show up would feel inappropriate - my voice isn't the voice that should be elevated. I don't mean to bring in identity politics - I don't think it's wrong for me to speak up. I wouldn't have a blog about Taiwan if I didn't think that. I live here, things that happen here affect me, and I have the right to talk about that. Familiarity and impact on daily life do breed loyalty even when the passport doesn't match.

However, it's important when joining the struggle of another group to be aware of one's privilege and perhaps listen before one speaks. By dint of being born white and American, I have the privilege of having the voice that, in the past, as not only taken precedence (that is, the white Western voice) but drowned out other voices (anyone who was not white). I do feel it's crucial to understand that, and I feel more comfortable simply being supportive than trying to take any sort of organizational or leadership position. I'll have my voice, but I won't allow it to drown out people who could more appropriately lead.

Except not really. Yet I took the picture anyway (forgive me). 

This is perhaps the source of my annoyance when a friend said, not long ago, that I could "occupy Trump's office". Sure, I could try. I could fly back and get arrested or shot attempting it. I am a citizen of that country after all. The annoyance came from the assumption that, being originally American, that I would primarily care about American issues, or that my loyalties would be to the US.

That, right there, is what I mean about being in a liminal space, belonging where I don't belong. I am not Taiwanese, Taiwanese history is not my history. I'm not even a citizen. Yet I am loyal to Taiwan, at least, more so than to the US. I feel I belong here, even as I know I don't fully belong. There are limits on the appropriacy of my activism, perhaps, but ultimately this is my home, and I feel that full-throttle sincerity when advocating for Taiwanese issues that I don't feel when advocating for American ones, even though that is the country of my citizenship.

I have no clear answers to any of this, I just thought I'd put it out there. If other people feel this way too, comments or thoughts would be most welcome.