Of Typhoons and Fighting Back: Consumer Rights in Taiwan

Several years ago, I took a series of one-on-one Chinese classes at TLI (Taipei Language Institute), and while my teachers were fine (not particularly trained, but nice people and I did learn from them - mostly I got in some good speaking practice). I didn't continue the course for a few reasons. Because I didn't like that my two hour block was split between two teachers - I liked them both but I really just wanted one teacher so we could progress more. Because I was not allowed to take any classes off and make them up (if I couldn't take a class, it was considered forfeit), but at one point one of my teachers took a few classes off and I got a substitute (again, really hard to progress that way), meaning she could take time off, but not me. Because at one point a teacher just didn't show up and I waited 20 minutes or so before telling TLI, and they got irritated at ME - apparently I should have told them almost immediately so they could find me a quick substitute and not have to do a make-up class (again, how does this help me progress?).

And finally, because one of my classes was postponed due to a typhoon day. When I asked when the make up would be, I was told there would not be one. I asked, then, when I would get my refund as I'd paid for two hours of class (it was an hourly rate) that I would never receive. I was told there would not be one. 

My teachers seemed genuinely surprised that I was upset by this: "but we're teachers, we're guaranteed certain earnings! It's not fair to us to not get paid because there was a typhoon!"

Okay. I mean, office workers and others get that courtesy. You don't have to go in to work but you still get paid. So I understood why they might feel that way, and why the school might back them up.

But this wasn't office work, and it wasn't a course for which you paid tuition for the entire term. This was paid by the hour. As I saw it, I paid for two hours of a service (Chinese class) and as such, I was owed the two hours I'd paid for. Otherwise I'd paid for something I'd never get. It would be like paying a plumber to come to your house on Tuesday, but he's sick that Tuesday, so he takes your money but says he's not coming. Or paying someone to translate your resume into Chinese by September 1st, but they go out of town unexpectedly until September 5th, don't translate your resume and don't return your money. 

As a teacher myself, if there's a typhoon day I don't get paid. I mean, we make up the class. I always get the money eventually. But I don't get it right then, for work performed that day. Is it totally fair? No, but you deal with it because that's what it means to work this kind of job. If it was so important to me I'd go looking for a salaried position, and I notably have not done so.

And my students? If there's a typhoon day, they get a make-up class. I have a student who pays me for ten classes at a time. Last week our Wednesday class (#9) didn't happen because of Typhoon Trami. If I'd then said, "well, #9 was cancelled due to typhoon, next week is #10" she would simply decline to be my student any longer. I teach her privately, but I don't know of any English school that would have any other policy. They'd lose too much business.

Taiwanese learners of English who take one-on-ones don't stand for that sort of bullshit, so why should I? I left TLI, figuring it was one bad experience and I'd just go elsewhere. I still wasn't fond of Shi-da, so after another tumultuous semester there, I decided not to return. I happen to think the most common "methodologies" (if you can call them that) used by teachers at MTC are atrocious, even outright wrong from a language teaching/Applied Linguistics perspective.

It didn't occur to me to complain, because I didn't realize something: typhoon day policies like TLI's are illegal. If you pay for a service by the hour, you are to receive that service or receive a refund. 

So I drifted for awhile, and finally signed up for one-on-one classes at Chinese Culture University. Again I liked my teacher, my class wasn't split in half, she helped me learn some Taiwanese, and I was mostly happy. I was told that in the event of a typhoon, there would be a refund or a make-up. Yay!

About halfway through the course, right after Typhoon Soulik (which did not affect my class), they sent me an e-mail saying that the rules had changed - in Chinese - "for the next term, in the event of a typhoon cancellation, there will be no make-up and no refund" the e-mail said. "I know we promised you this term that you would get a make-up or refund, so if there is a typhoon cancellation, we will help you to make it up. For the next term, however, the new rules will apply. We are sorry for the inconvenience."

So I wrote back (in Chinese, badly), saying "unless this rule is changed there won't be a second term. I've already told you that I lost money from TLI for this reason, and I refuse to accept that this may happen again. If I sign up anyway, your management may feel that this rule is fair and acceptable, but it truly is not. I don't blame you" (the admin who wrote the e-mail - not her fault) - "but I hope you will pass my message on to the boss to let him know that this policy is not fair to students and Chinese Culture University will lose students and revenue as a result. I simply cannot accept it and I am not prepared to negotiate."

She wrote back to say she understood, and would pass on my message. Nothing happened. I posted about it on Facebook - yet another school off my list because I could not abide this policy.  

A few people replied - and I found out that this policy is, in fact, quite illegal. 

I took it up with the government, sending in a complaint (in Chinese, badly), with screenshots of the e-mail I received. They sent me a letter within a week to say they'd received it and, as it was the jurisdiction of the Department of Education (or somesuch) that they'd sent it on to them. I didn't have to do anything. I got a letter from the Education department saying they were looking into it and to sit tight (but in Chinese Bureaucratese, of course). 

Then two weeks pass. Nothing. I begin to worry that CCU has some sort of 'guanxi' or relationships in the government and so they got them to just drop this complaint from a small fry like me. Damn it. I didn't really want to write an editorial or something like that, I just wanted it taken care of. I was assured again that the policy was quite illegal. One friend noted that his school used to have such a policy, but they had to change it to offer make-ups as students complained and the government came down on them.

On the last day of my course, Chinese Culture University gave me a final letter, again in Chinese Bureaucratese. I could barely read it; we read it together as a part of my class (my teacher was well aware that I was complaining and said she agreed with me). It said, after three or so bullshit points (they always do that), that in the case of a typhoon, there will be no refund but I will be able to schedule a make-up. 

Okay. That's fair! 

I haven't signed up with CCU again yet, as I can't really take an evening class right now, but the teacher who teaches Taiwanese is only free after 4:30pm. I want to see how my September schedule might work out before resigning. I couldn't help but note, though, that on my last day I was not handed a feedback form or a sign-up form. I was not contacted at all. It was done, and I couldn't tell if this was just them not providing good follow-up, them just assuming I'd take the initiative, or them thinking I still would not sign up for a new term...or them trying to indirectly tell me that I may have won the fight, but they didn't really want me as a student anymore, so to kindly not return. I have no way of knowing.

I just wanted to share this to let you all know: if you take a Chinese one-on-one class and your school (if you take it through a school) tells you that you won't get a make-up or refund in the event of a typhoon, that it is illegal, that you can complain through official channels, and that you absolutely should.  It's not even that hard to do.

Why they think they can have policies like this is beyond me - the Taiwanese would never stand for it. Do they think foreigners are dumb (I don't think so, but I have to wonder sometimes)? Do they think they can get away with it because there aren't as many Chinese schools as there are English schools, and less competition means they can get away with more crap (see: airlines)? Or do they think this is actually a fair policy (I can't believe they do)?

I don't know the answers to these questions, but I do know this. The state of "getting things done" in Taiwan is not totally broken. Consumer rights exist (although property rights don't seem to) and even if you're just one person you can sometimes get someone to enforce laws that are on your side. DO complain. DO make a fuss. DO stand up for yourself. DON'T let them steal your money.

Drum Majorettes and the Goddess of the Sea

I sincerely apologize for my extended absence - work has been ridiculous, I've had a lot to do, and something had to give. I hope, though, that I'm baaack now that I have a little breathing room during the week. At least for the next few weeks.

About 2 weeks ago (maybe it was 3? Who even knows) I went to Dajia and Lugang for Tomb Sweeping. In Dajia, Tomb Sweeping happened to also be the day that the Matsu Pilgrimage kicked off, thanks to a coincidence in lunar calendar calculations and the results of the ceremony to ask Matsu, via fortune blocks, on which day she'd like her pilgrimage to be (no joke).  So we went down to see the pilgrims off, rather luckily catching a ride with a student of mine from Dajia who was heading down to sweep a tomb with his family. It saved us having to figure out how to get there in the ridiculous traffic on Thursday. The festival really doesn't get going until Friday afternoon and night, and it poured most of the time, but we had fun anyway, and briefly met up with some of the wanderers and short-cut takers joining them in Zhanghua the next day.




The pilgrimage starts at  Jenn Lann Temple in Dajia - there isn't much info in English but they post pilgrimage information in Chinese here (if you can't read Chinese, get a friend to help you). The dates are decided on Lantern Festival, 15 days after Chinese New Year. This is also the time, if you want to go, to book hotels as they sell out quickly. Try to stay downtown. We stayed here: Dajia Hotel － old, but clean and friendly, very central, and not skeevy at all. Try the taro pastries that come out fresh in the afternoon from the coffeeshop two doors down (next to the fabric shop).

You can spend two nights in Dajia (get there a night early because on the day the pilgrimage starts, traffic is congested and highly restricted - trust me. Spend your time checking out the temples, eating, drinking coffee, whatever - there's not a lot to do in Dajia but you'll be fine. There is a Starbucks, oddly enough). Or, after the pilgrims leave you can go with them, but be warned: they walk for most of the first night and don't rest much until they get to the outskirts of Zhanghua City. You could easily sleep in Dajia, then catch a local train to Zhanghua the next morning, putter around there and meet up with them when they arrive later.

Schedules pop up online of the plans for the Matsu idol, which is carried around central Taiwan, stopping at various temples, for 9 days - but you won't know what it is until just after Lantern Festival.  That said, once the schedule is up it's fairly easy to head to where you can intercept the pilgrimage and take part in it, even for just a short while.

Noah Buchan has already written plenty on this event, so I won't repeat it here. You can read about it here, and read his own account of participating here.



Awwww.





The night before many festivals, a Taiwanese opera will be put on in the open air for the public (Baosheng Dadi's birthday includes this aspect, as well). These guys, who wear more comfortable clothing and do impressive acrobatics, are basically inserted into the plot as something to entertain the masses.





The chairman of Djen Lann Temple (Zhenlan Temple?) is currently in jail for using government money to visit a brothel. The temple itself is one of the oldest and most influential in Taiwan, and is very deeply connected to the old gangs and brotherhoods not unlike the ones explored in Monga, the film about Wanhua gangs in the 80s that came out several years ago. As old as it is, and as deeply tied to community life as it is, I was afraid of violating some cultural or religious taboo akin to wearing one's hat in church or eating a ham&cheese sandwich in the foyer of a synagogue.

Then I saw this guy on his phone up by the idol and behind Thousand Mile Eyes (Matsu's green demon attendant) and realized I was probably projecting Western taboos and could relax.



Marching bands are really popular in west-central Taiwan for such occasions. They usually have a few "sexy" (if that's your taste) bandleaders or drum majorettes.



I am a big fan of old buildings.



Then we wandered over to the Wenchang Shrine (built 1886 in a breezier, less ornate, more provincial Qing Dynasty style - Wenchang Dijun is the god of literature and culture) a little ways out of the most crowded part of the town center, where a pilgrimage group was about to set off and getting a pep talk about the journey. There had been a lantern-painting contest not long ago.













Then back to downtown Dajia where god costumes and fireworks took over the streets and a night-market like carnival atmosphere kept things interesting. It rained a lot, and hard, so we escaped to a nearby coffeeshop several times, running out for food and photos.











I think this is Jigong, but I decided to call him Guido God. He clearly approves of the smoking.



"Sexy" bandleaders.





Things didn't really get started until nightfall (and the rain also got worse). The temple filled with people and there were so many firecrackers going off that the streets were covered, in many places, with a thick layer of red paper and ash. We had to truck, in the rain, 2km out of town on foot (no taxis would take us although the road was not clogged) to get to our hotel for the 2nd night as everything downtown was booked, including our first hotel (which was just called "Dajia Hotel" and is friendly and has great wifi and cable, and despite its looks is old, but is not a love hotel at all).

Our second hotel was a love hotel. Very much so.









Another thing they love at festivals? Glitter cannons. No joke.





Lion dances are common - this one is notable for the sheer number of lions.



And every god loves an LED-bedecked palanquin.









Flags (which pilgrims carry to various temples on the 9-day route) covered in talismans (acquired at each temple) started to appear, this one at a betel nut stand.

Also, GLITTER CANNONS!





Sadly, we did not get any good photos of Matsu coming out of the temple, but I did get a video. There were so many people and I was pushed so far back with rain and umbrellas everywhere that the shots are pointlessly unclear. But as she passed to set out on her 9-day journey, people did begin to pray:



All in all, the Matsu Pilgrimage is different from other temple festivals - it attracts more people, it's not done when the parade departs, it starts officially around midnight (but all the interesting stuff around the temple starts up well before that), and things like marching bands not commonly seen in Taipei and the larger, crazier, more LED-tastic floats make it worthwhile.

Opposite Day: Pseudo-Philosophical Thoughts on Annual Parties

I even made a video this year...

Every year, I have the pleasure of attending the annual party (尾牙 or "wei ya") of one of my clients. They're a small, local semiconductor company located out in Taipei County (I still haven't gotten used to this whole "Xinbei" thing) and, unlike a lot of companies, their annual party is an absolute blast. Some combination of being staffed by geeky, overworked engineers, the outside-Taipei mindset and the local flavor of the firm means lots more alcohol, lots more craziness, an insane talent show, and really exciting lucky draws.



 Last year I just wrote generally about the culture of annual parties in Taiwan - the short of it being that in a country where working hours are so long, and opportunities to socialize fewer due to family obligations, more structured social circles and those aforementioned working hours, the annual party is often a blowout party where otherwise mild-mannered geeks (and I don't say this to stereotype - the folks at this particular firm really are best described as "mild mannered geeks") go hog-wild and wake up with a raging hangover the next day. It's one of the few times when drinking in Taiwan finally reaches levels of craziness and obligation seen in other parts of Asia: the CEO and GM, you see, must get drunk; it is, for all intents and purposes, a rule.



 This year I observed a bit more of what was going on, and had a few other thoughts.

The annual party is ostensibly an event held by a company in appreciation of its staff (and often key clients, customers or vendors - I got to go because I'm a "vendor"), but certain aspects of it reminded me a bit of older traditions - Saturnalia, Opposite Day and the Lord of Misrule - the offering of one fun party, like a piece of fruit covered in silver tinsel, in exchange for something of far greater value: the continued loyalty of overworked and underpaid employees. This isn't to say the annual party I personally attended was full of overworked and underpaid employees: I'm talking in generalities here, not pointing fingers at individuals, but it is an issue that's been on my mind a lot.

At an annual party, the people at the top serve - not literally, but in terms of paying for it (often out of their own pockets) - those at the bottom, like an inversion of masters and servants. While new employees are often conscripted into entertaining on stage, the guys at the top also have an obligation to get up there, wear crazy outfits (I know one guy at another company who dressed up like Lady Gaga and did a whole routine) and get drunk for the entertainment of the rank-and-file employees.



 The biggest deal of all is the lucky draw, or lottery: prizes depend on the company budget as well as donations from executives and higher-level managers, but it's common to have many small prizes and one or two top prizes of NT$60,000, or something similarly nice, like an iPad Mini or iPhone 5. At Foxconn, I've heard the prizes go into the millions, but for the top prizes the lucky draw boxes are only full of the names of those deemed to be "excellent employees".

If the lucky draw were put together just on a company budget, that'd be one thing - but it's not. Company budgets for these things can be surprisingly stingy (not the one I attended - as a smaller and very local company, they take the lucky draw quite seriously and budget lavishly for it) - what happens is that managers and directors get up on stage to draw the winners, but when they're doing so, they're expected to generously "donate" to the prize about to be drawn. It's not uncommon for a manager to get up on stage and announce that he or she will double or even triple the coming prize out of his or her own pocket. One guy I know at another company donated two iPad Minis, one black and one white. Another got onstage, announced he'd double the prize, and then drew his own name - culture dictates, apparently, that he then had to triple or even quadruple the amount. He did, and ended up being out over NT$100,000. If one manager draws a prize and gets the name of another manager, the winning manager is still expected to donate the prize for another draw as well as add to it (I've heard of that happening too).



 Technically, these donations are voluntary: nobody will tell higher-ups that they have to donate to the lucky draw. It's just expected. It's part of the culture. I've heard of just once instance in which the guy in charge didn't beef up the lucky draw prizes out of his own pocket. Nobody told him he had to, nobody forced him to do it, but let's just say that things in his department didn't go as smoothly as he would have liked the next year.

I also see it as a bit of a social equalizer, albeit a very minor, inconsequential one. Pretty much the only people who earn even close to what they're worth in skilled labor are higher-level managers, perhaps some (but not all) doctors, and unqualified English teachers (the qualified ones are generally underpaid). It makes sense, then, that on this Taiwanese iteration of Opposite Day, of the leaders putting on a show to entertain the workers, that there'd be a tiny bit of wealth redistribution. That the person who makes more than enough to buy a nice apartment in Taipei and raise a family on one income (still usually male) would be out tens or even hundreds of thousands of dollars (one chairman of one company I know has a personal, not company, but personal, lucky draw budget of NT$10million per year), while the family making do on two incomes and living too far from the MRT out in Taipei County would get a windfall.




 To me, a lucky draw is a form of gambling - some would disagree as you don't put any money in unless you're the person in charge, but prizes are distributed unevenly and in bursts of good luck. How is that not like gambling? That, to me, makes it something of a cultural thing. When I see or hear of people playing the lottery or gambling in the USA, it tends to be something done rarely, but meant to inject a little fun into life, like occasionally deciding to play a game of pool for money or picking up a lottery ticket on a lark. Here, it seems to go on at a constant low level, from the receipt lottery (I don't play because even though it's free, it's time consuming) to mahjong being far more common at get-togethers than card games in the US, and more often played for money.

Or maybe I'm wrong and I just didn't hang out with gambling types in the USA, but I don't think so. Considering the stronger belief in luck - luck coming in, luck going out - this makes sense. There's even a saying in Taiwanese (not sure if it also exists in Chinese): 娶妻前，生子後 (in my crude understanding of Taiwanese phonetics I'd pronounce that as something like tsua-mbo jian, xi-gya ao). Meaning that you're prone to good luck "before marrying, and after having a child". Students will insist that this is true: "the only time I ever won a big prize was just after I had my son", or "yes, that really seems to happen? Why? I don't know. 財神 (the god of wealth) maybe." When someone at the weiya I attended won - a woman about to get married (even though "娶妻前" is meant to be "before taking a wife, in the modern world it can be translated more equitably as "getting married"). At my table someone muttered "of course she won. She's getting married soon." "Uh huh," her friend replied. "When you get married it's easy to win".



 I'm not really a believer in luck: coincidence, yes, random windfalls or tragedy, sure, but not "luck" insofar as its a force in the universe beyond statistically possible windfalls or tragedies. I personally suspect more of those lotteries are fixed than people would like to admit, or even consider. I've mentioned this to a few people, just to see their reactions, and oh my! You should see the horrified look on their faces. Eyes widen. Mouths drop. "NO! Absolutely NOT! The lucky draws are NEVER FIXED!" they say.

Maybe not. Or maybe so: I could very easily see, in Taiwan, many bosses who decide that the "lucky" draw should be appropriately "lucky" for the right people, and seeing to it that it happens, while everyone else pretends that no, it's "luck". I don't even think this is a bad thing. I simply suspect it happens. Perhaps not every time, but from time to time.



 And as for lucky draws, I'd rather see everyone get a slightly nicer bonus than see one guy win big. That could be a cultural difference, or it could be just me.

Hanging on to Confucius

The other week I blogged about being quoted in the Liberty Times and United Daily, more out of the pride of being able to deliver a decent quote in Chinese and have it printed accurately (meaning that people can actually understand me! Wow!).

What I didn't write about until later was that when I went to buy a copy of the Liberty Times containing my quote, that I had a little run in with a dying breed, a species I hope is slowly going extinct, an ancient throwback. I live in the heart of Da'an (be jealous, mofos), an area that is super-duper deep blue. Most of my neighbors are veterans. Some even fought Communists. As I'm buying my paper at 7-11, which I don't normally do as I read Taipei Times online and practice Chinese with free papers I pick up, some old dude says to me in English, "don't buy that paper. It's lies!" and "We are Chinese! We have 5,000 years of history. You foreigners can't understand."

Edited for clarification: the veterans aren't the "ancient throwbacks" I hope will go extinct. I mean the rude guy and his ilk. Most of my neighbors are very nice people with whom I happen to disagree politically, which is not a big deal - I'd rather have good relationships with them and not talk politics. Few if any of them would say the sorts of things this guy did.

This recent memory was yet again thrust to the forefront of my poor embattled cerebral cortex when someone else I know said that it wasn't that she didn't want Taiwanese independence - she did, someday, not now ("it's not safe now", which I'd agree with even if it makes me angry, because it's the work of Chinese bully politicians), but that she didn't want Taiwan to be called "Taiwan" beyond it being the name of the island. She wasn't interested in a Republic of Taiwan - she wanted independence as The Republic of China.

I should note that this person, while she did vote for Ma Ying-jiu, is not particularly blue and has voted green in the past. She'd said that she actually prefers Tsai to Ma, but that she doesn't like the people Tsai has surrounded herself with. While I'd say that the greater good comes from kicking the KMT out of power and elevating the basic ideals of the modern DPP, I can still see and understand her views. She also feels more disappointed in the DPP - saying they help themselves at the Buffet o' Corruption shamelessly, when they were supposed to have done better (which is true, but sadly not surprising), whereas the KMT has always been known to be corrupt so it's to be expected, even though in the end they've stolen way more over time from Taiwan.

I get that, too, but then I feel that if faced with two corrupt parties, you've just got to go with the one whose policies you agree with.

Why, then, does this name matter so much to her and to many others, in much the same way that "Taiwan" matters so deeply to the other side (the side I'm unabashedly on, if that wasn't clear)?

Her rationale is a common one - despite not wanting to be a part of the PRC, she still felt a cultural connection to China. "I love Confucius and Lao Tzu" - it's part of her heritage, she said, and she didn't want to give that up. She saw no reason why the name "China" should belong to the PRC when it's her heritage, too. She doesn't want to give up the Analects and the Tao Te Ching, the art and the music.

OK, I see that.

I also feel, though, that we "foreigners who can't understand China's 5,000 years of history" (BLLEECCCHHHH) do have something worth contributing to that conversation. Most of us come from immigrant stock. I will only speak for Americans here, but I do think it is more universally valid, to say that this isn't just true for minorities: some or all of us "in the majority" white people are also immigrants from hundreds of years back ("all" if you're talking American, "some" if you're talking British, it gets complicated). In the case of America, it's been a comparable amount of time between when some of our families first settled here - and totally screwed over the Native Americans, something that history loves to repeat on every continent - and when the Hoklo were settling Taiwan from Fujian.

I'm American. I am not British, Armenian, Polish or Swiss by citizenship. My passport says "United States of America" on it. Does that mean I can't still feel a connection to the cultural heritage of the places my ancestors came from? Do I have to be "British" to appreciate Britain's cultural contributions, and recognize that part of my family is from there? Do I have to be "Armenian" to appreciate the strong culinary traditions that still run in my family from that side? Can I not appreciate those things and still be "American"?

I'm not going to say that these things aren't important - they are. Knowing and appreciating where you came from, even if that place is not the country you live in now and doesn't bear the same name, is vital to most of us. I'm not going to say "eh, who cares, let 'em have Confucius", although I have heard people say similar things. Armenians are pretty intense about their heritage, and yet I don't feel shut out just because I don't look Armenian, have an Armenian name or citizenship in a country with the word "Armenia" in its official title.

But then, she was pretty clear that part of her attachment was to the name "China" alone (why let them have it? being part of her reaction), and my resolution to culture vs. citizenship wouldn't satisfy her. Edit: as J said so wisely in the comments, identity is a feeling, and you can't argue that away.

That's why I fall on the side of "this is Taiwan", not "this is the Republic of China". It's true that I have no specific attachment to Chinese culture beyond my expat experience, but it's not impossible to understand that attachment. And yet, as an American, I'm able to get past my own tangled ancestry and appreciate what it's given me without insisting that I need, absolutely need, to hold on to those names. Heck, I feel just as strong an attachment to my Armenian side as my Polish one, and yet I grew up with a Polish surname, not an Armenian one. It is clearly not impossible.


Or maybe I'm just a blundering big nose who "can't understand" "5,000 years" of Chinese history and culture. Who knows.

Yes, I Can Use Chopsticks: A Rebuttal

It's been a long weekend and I'm still recovering from a party last night (oh, Kaoliang, you evil temptress!) but I've been turning this article around in my head since I read it nearly one week ago, and thought I'd share my delayed reaction.

Before I go further, I should note that it's written by a famous - and to some extent, infamous - expat-cum-immigrant in Japan. Asia expats might have heard of Debito: he has settled permanently in Japan and regularly makes the news for his social activism. Some agree with him, some disagree, some agree but don't care for his abrasive manner. The last I'd heard of him was from something he wrote about being excluded from "Japanese only" hot springs along with his child who looks more foreign, while his child who looks more Japanese was allowed to enter. Another Taiwan blogger linked to this most recent article saying we'd "recognize our Taiwan experience" in it.

Here are my husband's thoughts, too. He articulates a lot of things more clearly than I have. His two best thoughts, in my opinion, are 1.) that a lot of expats in Asia expect that Asian countries should approach race in a way that mirrors their own culture's idea of political correctness, and get all bent out of shape when they find out that their own country's way of dealing with it isn't universal, and that not everyone in the world agrees that it's "rude" to bring up race; and 2.) a lot of expats see insult or aggression where there is none, because they're not used to not having the privilege of being one of the majority.

On one hand, yes, there are some things I do recognize. The constant wonderment at the fact that I speak halfway decent Chinese. Friends who know I understand Chinese and yet still ask me if I can "read this menu" or if I need an English menu when we've gone out to eat. People amazed that I can use chopsticks. I've been asked "when" I'm moving home. I suppose, in the right frame of mind, you could consider these, as Debito puts it, "microagressions", whether consciously or not by the employer of them, a means to keep me in a subordinate position, to remind me that I am "other", and to imply that I am not of their country. I can't honestly say that I don't recognize some of my Taiwan experience - some - in these incidents. And yes, at times they can be draining - times when I feel like having a real conversation, for instance.

On the other, no, I just don't buy that they are "microagressions". Something can only be used as a subordinating tool if either the speaker and the listener feels that it is. If the Taiwanese person asking me how I learned to speak Chinese, or expresses amazement that I can use chopsticks, but is asking out of a genuine desire to converse with me and not out of a desire to remind me of my "otherness", and I take it at face value: this person is chatting with me in the way that we might bring up the weather, traffic or something around us to a stranger back home as a means of striking up a conversation. That's all. Are they doing it in a somewhat awkward and occasionally annoying way? Yes. I'd go so far as to say that they probably want to talk to me specifically because I am foreign, and they choose these irritating topics because they just don't know what else to say. I mean, think about it - with a new person in your own country, you start with boring, even annoying topics. Who really cares about the weather? If you don't know someone, you have to start somewhere, and there doesn't seem to be much of a cultural equivalent in Taiwan to chatting with a stranger about how rainy or sunny it is.

Could their amazement at my level of assimilation (which is not 100%, not by a long shot) be construed as an assumption that I am "other", with a whole set of prejudices to go along with it? Yes.

That doesn't mean that such talk is designed - consciously or not - to put me in my place, any more than chatting about the weather is. If they don't intend it that way, and I don't take it that way, then how can it actually be that way? It's not a tree falling in the woods - if nobody is there to scream "racism and microaggression!" - then no, it did not make a sound.

Next, I find that once those "yes I can use chopsticks" topics are exhausted - which is pretty quickly - that if you have chemistry as potential friends, most people do want to keep talking to you, and the conversation becomes more interesting. If they lost interest after all their curiosities were satisfied - OK, she can use chopsticks and has lived here for five years, I know everything I need to know, time to move on - then that would be upsetting. More often than not, though, it's simply not the case.

This may well be one of the reasons why foreigners in Taiwan seem to have so few Taiwanese friends - although I have noticed a greater proportion of local friends among expats here than in China, and we seem to have more Taiwanese friends than our friends in Tokyo have Japanese friends. If you're nobody's classmate, few peoples' coworker and nobody's family, and you rebuff locals' efforts to chat with you when you're out and about, then of course you're not going to make many local friends. DUH 101.

Next, I really feel you can't quite equate foreigners in Asia with immigrants and expats in the USA or any very diverse country: in the USA an Asian person or person of Asian heritage (or whatever, I don't want to twist myself into linguistic pretzels) is not a rarity, at least not in the part of the country I'm from. There's no reason to think any differently of that person than anyone else you'd see on the street. In Asia, I'm sorry but if you're a foreigner, you are a rarity, even in major cities (although to a much lesser extent). That is never going to change. Not even if you stay here forever. Not even if you marry local. The people who live around you and see you everyday will get used to seeing you around, but most people aren't your daily crew. The questions might be old to you, but they are new - or rare - to the person asking them. The dynamics are just different: you can't compare a mostly monocultural/monoethnic society with a diverse one and expect the same prevailing attitudes. This is also why I don't think it's a big deal when Taiwanese people relate to race and relate to foreigners differently than, say, Americans, British or Australians might. They come from and are in a country where most people look like them and, more or less, share their culture. We are not from such a country. You can't expect the same attitudes (although I'd like to see more diversity generally. That would help ameliorate such issues).

Furthermore, Debito might be fully Japanese and attempting to assimilate as an immigrant would, but most of us aren't. Most of us are expats. Sure, we can expect similar treatment to locals in terms of friendliness of service and generally not being subject to racism, but we can't expect to be related to as 100% locals, because we aren't locals. We're not at all. Most of us maintain - as my friend J put it - some sort of connection to an identity that's tied to our own culture and country. It is not wrong to recognize that (although I would draw the line at unfair treatment as a result of it, which does happen). I do think there is an acceptable balance between locals knowing I am a foreigner - because, duh, I am! - and yet treating me respectfully and kindly. To some extent, I am an other in the way that a minority in the USA isn't.

To add to this, I feel that a lot of the time, locals just don't expect that we're interested in assimilating into their culture. Let's be honest - most of us aren't (I am, but only to a certain extent and in certain ways). Most expats will stay as long as their assignment lasts, or will slum it in a cram school for a few years, or take some Chinese classes, and then go home. A very few will stay long-term and fewer still will assimilate fully. Even ones who marry locals might not assimilate, and might eventually return "home" with their spouses. Most locals figure, these folks come from countries we want to move to (allowing a broad definition of "we"). They come from countries that attract immigrants. Westerners already have it all: they wouldn't want to immigrate to this hot, crowded island that I want to escape! For the most part, the locals are right. Few of us are interested in full assimilation, and fewer still actually want to immigrate permanently and gain citizenship. I can't fault the Taiwanese for being right about this. Immigrants and minorities in the USA, while retaining their home culture to some degree, also tend to assimilate through generations. Expats who will eventually go home tend not to. Exceptions are few. We are Other.

The chopsticks thing is annoying - I have been asked this but my husband says that while it happened in Korea, it has happened to him exactly zero times in Taiwan. The other questions, though - well, most foreigners can speak some Chinese, but not always well (and so many can speak hardly any, if any). In fact, the people who seem most impressed by my Chinese ability are other foreigners who haven't learned it. Most do seem to hang out with other foreigners, which I can't entirely blame them for, and are not necessarily knowledgeable about local affairs. Locals express surprise that I know who 千里眼 and 順風耳 are, but let's be honest, while plenty of long-termers or enthusiasts would know, the majority of foreigners would not.

I also feel that a lot of foreigners in Taiwan and elsewhere in Asia are often "looking for a diss". If you're always on your tiptoes looking for something to bitch about, to hate about where you live, to be offended by, BY GOLLY YOU WILL FIND IT. Sometimes the complaints are valid - even I need to blow off steam sometimes. My pet peeve is slow walkers with no consideration for other pedestrians sharing the sidewalk, escalators or MRT platforms. Especially in the rain.

Sometimes, though, they're ridiculous.

"People never sit next to me on the MRT or bus. They're afraid to sit next to foreigners!" Yeah, no. I have found that to be completely untrue. Maybe you just look creepy, because I don't have that problem. I've heard this three times, once on a blog, once from someone whom I think heard it said at Brass Monkey or whatever and was just repeating it, and once from a guy with really bad breath (so with the last one, well, that's the reason, we're just all too polite to say so).

I'm sure this has happened - I'm sure that occasionally a foreigner will find themselves on a full train or bus and notice that the only empty seat is next to them. I just don't think it's a "phenomenon", I do think that sometimes (not all the time) this has to do with the actual foreigner in question, and that occasionally those who notice this might not notice the 1 or 2 other empty seats also on that bus or train car. Allowing for random chance, that brings the likelihood that this is some sort of anti-foreigner racist no-sitting conspiracy very low, if not nil.

Or in IKEA, between two foreigners in line behind me: "The Taiwanese don't understand foreigners speaking Chinese! Sometimes I think they don't want to understand us. They don't want us to learn their language, so they purposely misunderstand! Just a minute, I need to buy a bag and the 22 kuai ones aren't there." Then, to the clerk, "可以買二十二塊的包子嗎？"

And, y'know, maybe if you're constantly looking for a diss, looking for offense where none was meant, then maybe again that's why you're having trouble making local friends. Debito says some foreigners "cultivate a group of close friends, hopefully Japanese but probably not" in order to deal with this. I can't speak for Japan, but while I concur that it can be challenging to make local friends in Taiwan, it's not impossible (I did it, and I can be so socially awkward it's not funny, despite being outgoing). If you're a long-termer and your circle of good friends includes no Taiwanese other than maybe your girlfriend, then the problem is you.

Obviously, there are times when locals - especially in a work situation, or when members of the opposite sex are involved - do try to put foreigners "in their place". These instances are especially insidious, though, and have much more impact than a simple "oh, wow, you can use chopsticks!". While many locals might feel shy or a bit nervous around foreigners - something more diversity will help change, as will more cross-cultural friendships (not so much relationships, but friendships - I feel that when you take sex out of the equation the influence is actually stronger) - fairly few will feel the need to force you into a subordinate, "other" position. And they're usually your boss, or some local guy who wants the girl you're macking on.

Finally, a quibble with the article itself rather than its assertions. To quote:

Alas, my actions to stem or deter this just make me look alarmist, reactionary and paranoid in the eyes of the critics (especially the NJ ones, who seem to think I'm somehow "spoiling" Japan for them), either because they haven't experienced these microaggressions for themselves, or because they live in denial.


Well, if someone who lives abroad hasn't experienced these microaggressions for themselves, then maybe they're not as common as you think? DUH 201, which you can take after you pass DUH 101 as a prerequisite? I can understand how the constant sameness of the questions wears you down, but maybe, just maybe, the "invisible insults" you read into them aren't the microaggressions you are making them out to be? 


I also can't really get on board with "...or because they live in denial". I mean, that's just like saying "those of you who don't agree with me are stupid" or "if you don't see what I am talking about, you are an idiot" rather than forming a clear argument and strong case. It's a wimp's way out - although I am tempted to use it on certain types of conservatives.


I get asked these questions fairly frequently. It gets irritating sometimes, but I don't feel insulted or subordinated. I do draw a distinction between actual subordination based on racism and these silly conversation topics. I don't think this means I "live in denial" - just that I approach it differently.

BFF

My BFFs from college - like Sex and the City except we look like normal people,
don't live in New York and don't sleep around
(this is at my wedding - they're all bridesmaids)

So, recently I've gotten some bad family-related news. I don't really want to give too many details, but it's illness-related, not so serious that I have to move home (which is not a realistic option anyway, although if necessary I would make it happen), not anything terminal, but definitely not good. We've been through it once before, but it's stressful no matter what.

If I don't update as often, it's not because I've got no free time - although often, I don't - but when dealing with stress like this, I might feel like leaving writing alone except for the occasional "cool thing I did on the weekend" or restaurant review. Which is too bad, because I'm still working on a post countering a lot of terrible things I hear said in the expat community about Taiwanese men.

So, with this illness in the family to deal with, I've realized something. I'm very happily married and have an active social life that includes both expat and local friends of both genders (not a lot of people can say that, I've found). I always have something social to do, someone I can call, people to invite places or have coffee with. On weekends when I don't do anything social other than hang with my wonderful husband, it's by choice.

And yet, there's something I don't have: a best girlfriend in Taiwan. Someone I can call up for a moment's notice to get coffee or a 3pm margarita - no joke, I've done that, Taiwan and my job in general are great that way - and complain with, cry on the shoulder of, joke with, go nuts with.

I have a lot of good female friends - I meet up and have frank discussions and fun times with other female bloggers, I go to Taiwanese opera and talk about cultural differences with Sasha, I talk frankly about personal matters and make dirty jokes with Cathy, I complain about work with Aliya, and I'm very close to my sister (who also lives in Taipei), but I don't have anyone who I *know* would call me if they needed someone to drop everything to come over in a crisis, or who would be the first person I'd think to call if a crisis were to hit me. I mean, my sister would come, but at other times she runs with her own younger buxiban teaching crowd, being in her mid-twenties and single and all.

You can accuse me of being too girly if you want, but I do think this kind of BFF friendship is an important part of being a woman, even an adult woman, even a married woman. Yes, of course, in any crisis the first person I'd call would be my husband, but there's something about having a BFF who you can also call - like your girl-husband (or, as one very close pair of friends call themselves, "Wife", as in "WIFE! Skype date!") - because sometimes you just need another woman's perspective. I have been blessed with the best husband on Earth - I really mean that, I do not believe it is possible to find a more wonderful, supportive and good-to-the-core man, and this is not hyperbole - so I'm not talking about someone I can call up to whine about Man Problems, Sex and the City style. Maybe 8 years ago, but not now. I'm talking about, well, that female perspective. The unconditional mutual love and support of someone you are not legally bound to, who enjoys things like shopping and crafts (which, awesome as he is, Brendan unsurprisingly does not really relish or, well, do at all).

Someone you can go wedding dress fabric shopping with, get your hair done with, and drink those all-important 3pm margaritas with.

There's just something about that dynamic - mostly drinking caffeine or alcohol, eating delicious, or deliciously awful food - making crude vagina jokes and BSing, but knowing they'd be there for you, no questions asked, if something really bad happened. Having someone who also possesses lady parts and lady hormones and lady hobbies to talk to, who isn't afraid to get personal.

I'm really not joking. It's Margarita O'Clock!

With my Taiwanese girlfriends, they rule, but they don't generally talk as much about very personal matters (like, oh, sex) - with the exception of one I know. They definitely don't drink as much (no margaritas! Waaaah). I have some awesome expat female friends but we're all very busy people with mismatched schedules, and beyond that, well, there just aren't a lot of expat women in Asia. Certainly not in Taipei, and those who are around are often older and married to men here on business - trailing spouses.

I'm not a trailing spouse so I don't do playdates or coffee mornings. I mean, what is this "morning" of which you speak? Is that even a time? Who does that? "Coffee morning" to me is when I roll out of bed at 9:30am and pour myself some coffee from the kitchen. If I don't have work that day I put whiskey in it, although I try to limit that because I'm not a total train wreck. I'm not gonna haul my ass to Starbucks at that godawful hour). In my younger days I might drink that coffee with whoever was crashed out on my couch from the night before, and we'd sort of mumble pleasantries at each other through bleary-eyed light hangovers. Now I'm much more domestic. I have a living room that doesn't have random people sleeping in it. I haven't had a hangover since January - and even then, it was because I was invited to an annual party and getting a bit sloshed is a requirement at those things. Ah, to hit one's thirties...

My point: we younger-but-not-too-young, say early thirties, female expats are thin on the ground. There are millions of great Taiwanese women to befriend, but there are cultural differences to account for as well.

And, as a result, I'm feeling like I could really use a BFF.