Dancing the ol' Taiwanese Government Shuffle on dual nationality until we all die

 

I don't always use Wikimedia Commons for cover photos, but sometimes you just need an old lady dancing

It's no secret that once we decided Taiwan was our permanent home, we truly meant permanent. We intend to work, build lives, retire and die here just as millions of Taiwanese do, despite not being citizens. For people like us, dual nationality just makes sense. I've talked about this extensively before, and I'll summarize my case again below. 

But first, let's talk about the preliminary comments from Taiwan's Ministry of the Interior (MoI) on Crossroads Taiwan's petition to amend the nationality law and end the country's double standard on who can and cannot obtain a second nationality.

Those comments (translated by me) are a big fat pile o' nothing: 

 

Wu Hsin-te, Chief of the Nationality Administration Section of the Department of Household Affairs of the Ministry of Interior, said "Those with special distinctions and senior professionals can obtain dual nationality. This year's amendment allows senior professionals, who originally had to wait three years before they can apply for this period of residence, to do so in two years.”

Okay Mr. Wu, but that's not very helpful for those of us who are professionals and are skilled in our fields, but do not meet the frankly insane requirements in all but a few fields to be officially deemed "senior" or "special" professionals deserving of a path to dual nationality. 

In education, you have to be a professor. There is an exception for those who've published in "high impact journals" but this is a bit of a joke: who has the time or support to do that without the funding and access provided by universities? I have a Master's and I train Taiwanese teachers in exactly what they need to meet a specific government goal -- Bilingual by 2030 -- which happened to be the brainchild of President Lai Ching-te. I also help Taiwan's businesspeople better engage with international counterparts. I have been a teacher for two decades.

Yet I don't qualify. I'm not "special" or "senior" enough. 

I'd say that I "should" qualify (and I do feel that I do, without shame), but the entire notion of a class system of Deserving Foreigners vs. Garbage Foreigners is ridiculous. It should not exist at all. More on that below, too. 

 

The Ministry of the Interior emphasized that the country has a single nationality system...

 

This is false. Taiwanese can have more than one nationality, and so can the foreigners they deem to be not garbage. The MoI should not lie like this. 

...and the Nationality Law was just revised in May.

So? Revise it again. I don't care what you just did. Fix your problem, don't say it's half-fixed like that's sufficient.

Except for senior professionals such as senior engineers, or clergy and other distinguished persons who have contributed to Taiwan, they do not need to give up their citizenship, they can get ID cards.

Okay, so Taiwan doesn't have a "single nationality" policy. Why lie? 

What I want to know regarding this "single nationality policy" is why they think the double standard is acceptable. Most countries have the same law for everyone, naturalized or born. Either one can have multiple nationalities, or one can't. It's actually fairly rare to allow that privilege for born citizens, the descendants of ROC citizens abroad, and a very few Special Magic Foreigners but no one else. A few countries do this -- South Korea comes to mind -- but most don't. 

The US, for example, doesn't recognize other nationalities their citizens may have, but won't end their citizenship over it (most countries that allow multiple nationalities have such a policy). In fact, a few Americans who don't have ROC/Taiwanese heritage have obtained Taiwanese nationality without renouncing US citizenship.

Japan, on the other hand, has the same rule for everyone regardless of how you became Japanese: you can only be Japanese. If you're caught with another nationality, you either have to give it up or lose Japanese citizenship.

Besides, they think people like me and thousands of others who do work every day that do contribute to the economy, tax revenues and in other ways don't "contribute to Taiwan"?  My training Taiwanese teachers and helping Taiwanese business leaders do their jobs isn't "contributing to Taiwan"? 

Thanks. 

 

The revised law also solves the problem of the status of children born in illegal households. Stateless children can apply for naturalization with the assistance of social welfare agencies and guardians. 

 

That's great. Cool. But it doesn't really help the other mmigrants who have made their lives here but don't have the tools they need to retire in the country they call home. So it's a good start, but completely insufficient. 

Needless to say, it's disappointing. It's a nothingburger. 

And it underscores the completely bonkers caste system of Deserving vs. Garbage. I know there's an argument out there that Taiwan has the right to determine who gets access to dual nationality based on the talent it wants to attract. 

This is a stupid thing to think. 

First, the immigrants Taiwan needs the most are the blue-collar workers, mostly from Southeast Asia, who keep the factories and fishing boats running and take care of the grandparents. The Taiwanese government surely knows this, but doesn't tend to admit it. Without them, the economy would grind to a halt. 

Besides, having "the right" to do something (which Taiwan unarguably has) doesn't mean it's the right thing to do. 

I think what I do matters. I do believe I contribute in my way. However, if I left, Taiwan would survive. I'm white collar, but I am absolutely not as critical to Taiwan's core economic interests as the group who gets paid the least and treated the worst. The group that isn't even under discussion as having a path to dual nationality, even within Crossroads' campaign. 

Unfortunately, Crossroads' strategy is realistic: if the public can see that people like me deserve a path to dual nationality, it should be then a little easier to convince them that  similar path for blue-collar workers won't flood the country with job-takers, and most who come here to work eventually leave, anyway. Those of us who want to stay, including among blue-collar workers, are a smallish slice of the total foreign population.

With people who have ancestors who were ROC citizens having fairly easy access, despite the fact that their families may have no other connection to Taiwan, it's easy to see that Taiwan's preference is still based more on race and politics than actually "attracting the talent" Taiwan needs. The caste system is thus:

1.) People with Chinese (ROC) ancestry, under the assumption that this will make one "loyal" to Taiwan.

How? I cannot say. Loyalty isn't a genetic or race-based trait. I'm not against such people having that right, but can we just admit that it's also just an ethnic preference, like most jus sanguinis citizenship paths? 

2.) Relatively wealthy Westerners, most likely envisioned as "white people" in most Taiwanese government minds, even though not all Westerns are white, and Chinese spouses. 

In fact, Chinese spouses might be in the first group. It's debatable. 

3.) Regular Westerners (like me). White still probably preferred, because racism.

4.) Southeast Asian blue collar workers and most foreign spouses.


So please, please, do not tell me it's about "attracting talent". It's not. Taiwan needs the fourth group the most. But while I'm being hyperbolic when I say I'm considered garbage (I'm more like very nice recycling?), this crucial group is actually treated like garbage. It's not right.

It's all politics and discrimination. An absolute clownshow. Don't even pretend otherwise.

There is an optimistic reading of these comments, however. The Taiwanese government tends not to show its hand even if changes are being considered. It simply won't admit as much until the change is official. 

Take the economic subsidies. When Ma Ying-jeou's government handed out cash, permanent residents were excluded unless they had a local spouse. When we inquired, we were treated rather rudely. The subsidies were for "taxpayers". I am a taxpayer, but was told that being a taxpayer is not sufficient to get the benefits of...being a taxpayer. 

The government lackey who had the absolute stones to say that with a straight face has my eternal emnity. 

But then the COVID vouchers and NT$6,000 tax payback were rolled out under Tsai Ing-wen, and after a brief back-and-forth, permanent residents were included. This is certainly due in part to a different attitude toward foreign residents from different administrations -- Ma's people streamlined some processes for us, but at the end of the day, would never actually consider us part of the fabric of Taiwanese society. 

But it also means that a general attitude shift was afoot. We were rebuffed, but then the system changed.

It's an oft-made observation that the Taiwanese government does things in baby steps. Evolving nationality laws are part of that, and I have it on good authority that Tsai Ing-wen understood the need for them to change. Eventually, someday, Taiwan will probably relinquish the double standard, just as it's slowly fixing its mess in not making marriage equality truly equal. 

And I love Taiwan because here, things do tend to get better.

Here's the thing, though: it's too damn slow. Yes, I want this for Taiwan's own wellbeing -- immigrants are vital to its future. I want it for new generations of immigrants who move to Taiwan. 

But damn it, I also want it for me. And at the pace the government is moving, the change that will make it possible for me to truly call Taiwan home won't come until I'm too old to benefit, or long dead. 

What good is dual nationality, which would make it more possible for us to own a home where we can grow old in Taiwan, if we're 70 when it happens? Who buys their first home at 70? Who can? I'm not angry that it's a step-by-step process. I am very angry that it's going so slowly that I have less and less hope of seeing it in my lifetime. This doesn't just matter in general, it matters specifically to me. 

The only thing that does give me hope is that groups like Crossroads are making an effort. When civic groups get involved, it tends to speed up the pace of change. 

Why do I care so much? As a permanent resident, don't I have access to pension plans, labor insurance and health insurance? 

Yes, but it's not really sufficient. Leaving aside the more abstract desire to vote -- to have a civic voice and representation in the country I call home and would fight for  -- it matters for practical reasons as well. 

After building careers here and contributing to the country through our labor (we hope, anyway), access to the tools we'd need to retire here matter. Permanent residency is usually sufficient, but it does not give us access to everything we'd need to feasibly retire in Taiwan.

Home health aide and long-term care subsidies are out of reach. Although legally foreign residents can buy property in Taiwan, actually getting approved for a mortgage can be a challenge. If approved, we're likely to be asked for an infeasibly large deposit (I frequently hear 40%) and frankly insane interest rates. Programs to ease the burden for first-time homeowners? Once again out of reach. 

And yet, where are we supposed to live when we're old? Landlords don't like to rent to the elderly, but we don't have local family to take us in. 

Why don't we just renounce?

We have obligations in our country of birth that are not easily discharged, such as aging relatives. Post-renunciation resumption of citizenship is not a feasible option for Americans. As above, most other countries have the same rule for born and naturalized citizens, so we resent the double standard. 

More importantly, however, if we renounce, what are we supposed to do when our aging parents might need our care? We're not rich, we can't pay full-time health aides. We can't go back temporarily to be caretakers and not work as well. We just don't have that financial flexibility. 

I thought that Taiwan cared about family responsibility. Filial piety and all that. What is this if not the definition of filial piety, and yet Taiwan doesn't seem to value it at all when it comes from a foreigner. Does it only matter when the aging parents are Taiwanese?

Usually, we love that Taiwan is not like "most other countries". Life here is good. In this particular way, however, Taiwan diverges from the norm and for a country seeking to attract "foreign talent", it's a big fat problem.

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." 

Not being racist is free, but some companies still insist on skirting the law

 

Update: very soon after the original post, Wistron changed their policy and now, they only lock employees in their dorms most of the time, rather than almost all the time! The new notice is above. It's not a big improvement. Do better, Wistron.

The original notice and post are below.

Over two weeks ago, the Ministry of Labor announced that companies who restrict the freedom of movement of their employees (such as factory workers in a company dormitory) are in violation of the law, and any such restrictions will be "regarded as a serious matter".

While in theory this applies to all employees, it's common knowledge in Taiwan that the dormitory residents are almost entirely (if not entirely) foreign workers from Southeast Asia, and their rights are the ones being restricted. In fact, the MOL pointed out that this is also specifically a violation of laws pertaining to hiring foreign workers, and that the company could see its permit to employ such workers, and the quota they are able to employ revoked. The UDN article above also mentions possible prison terms.

That doesn't seem to have stopped some companies, however. I knew something was amiss when I heard that some workers were being allowed out for just 45 minutes a day.  This is despite Miaoli County (the worst offender, but not the only one) being "reminded" by the central government to follow the law, and the county government subsequently ending the restrictions on foreign workers' movements. 

The government never said anything about 45 minutes a day that I could find, but it turns out these are restrictions coming from the companies. Other than a tweet from a friend that this was the news going around, I couldn't prove it until now, however. 

It seems Wistron -- a company I have worked with before, so I hope a few of my former contacts are reading this -- is one such company, restricting dormitory residents to leaving the dorms in at least one location for no longer than 60 minutes a day. You can read the notice yourself up above. It's dated July 13, so well after they would have received notification that they cannot restrict workers' freedom of movement.

Upon hearing that it was illegal to lock foreign workers in dormitories, apparently some companies are trying to skirt the law by allowing them to leave in very restricted time frames. I suspect this might still be illegal, as according to UDN the law requires "freedom of movement" and treating all workers the same regardless of nationality (which would also imply that it's illegal to restrict workers residing in dorms over ones who have their own accommodation). As most if not all dorm residents are foreign workers, it amounts to treating foreign workers differently, and still is a restriction on "freedom of movement", just a less harsh one. 

There's a good legal case to be made here that these companies are still acting illegally, and should be held accountable. (I am not a lawyer, but it certainly does seem like there's something here to go on). 

At the very least, companies like Wistron are violating the spirit of the law, if not the letter of it, and I must hope that that's not enough of a loophole to keep them out of trouble. 

It's still frustrating that there isn't much the rest of us can do about this. However, if you would like to donate to organizations fighting this sort of discrimination, you can do so here (one of the choices works with migrant workers) with a credit or debit card. This site makes it easy to do in English. If you are in Taiwan, you can make a bank transfer donation to TIWA here (TIWA is the Taiwan International Workers' Association). There's also a monthly donation option but it's a bit more complicated.

Racist treatment of foreign blue-collar workers in Taiwan continues

From Pinoy Taiwan News

A week ago, I was mentally preparing to draft a positive post about Taiwan's handling of the current outbreak. The main thesis? That the government had made mistakes, but coverage of those mistakes was devolving into taking potshots: people are frustrated, anxious, possibly out of work (our income has decreased, but we'll pull through) and it's leading to them kicking at Taiwan to a point I felt was unfair.

The shortened quarantine of pilots? A bad move, but few complained about it when there were no outbreaks. The slow vaccine rollout? Come on -- y'all didn't want AZ when it was available, and people like me signed up for self-paid shots because we thought we were saving them from the garbage. That Taiwan is facing Chinese interference and a global vaccine shortage? Not Taiwan's fault. That the government hadn't kept up with evolving data on the emerging variants? Not great, no -- but Taiwan is shut out of the WHO; was this entirely an issue of complacency? The worrying use of data to monitor people in outbreak areas such as Wanhua? Not ideal, but people who don't want to use the QR codes (a level of contact tracing that other countries never even attempted) can still register on pen and paper.

Basically, I was a bit annoyed that, as the rest of the world got an F in its coronavirus response (the US seems to have done a bit of extra credit and might squeak by with a D-), Taiwan was getting kicked because it got an A on the last test but only a B on this one. Like people were ready to turn on an administration that had competently seen us through 16 months of safety -- 16 months made necessary by the fact that (again!) the rest of the world couldn't get its shit together. 

I had intended to say that while some people in the Chinese-speaking public discourse sphere were indeed being constructive and offering ways to do better next time, some were absolutely using this as an opportunity to attack the Tsai administration, CCP-style. Some members of the foreign community were being outright ridiculous in their willingness to buy the bullshit the KMT, CCP and their associated compradores were selling. Although I can't influence local discourse, I was going to state that I would not be a party to this in the foreign community, and that while there are valid criticisms to be leveled at the government, I would not feed the growing toxicity of the discourse in English.

The thing is, I no longer want to write the longer version of that post. I'm angry. 

I can forgive a few mistakes. I can point out where constructive criticism turns toxic. What I cannot forgive is unconscionable racism towards the Southeast Asian immigrant community, which the central government isn't doing enough to combat.

We were all angry when the Miaoli County government forbade foreign blue-collar workers, who are generally from Southeast Asia, from leaving their quarters (most live in cramped factory dormitories or live with the families who employ them as caregivers). We all felt that relaxing restrictions for some foreign workers was completely insufficient.

The move can not be justified on any grounds except discrimination: those workers mix with Taiwanese workers at factories and Taiwanese families in homes, so locking them up while their Taiwanese colleagues and employers are free to move about makes these measures even more cruel and meaningless. The domestic workers are often tasked with running errands which include taking elderly charges out, refilling medication or accompanying them to the doctor. Unable to do this, families would have to do these things themselves -- what purpose did it serve, if other members of the household could still go out?

But now it's not just Miaoli. This is happening in Tainan, in Changhua, and beyond. The central government have handled this issue weakly at best, and have implemented their own restrictions, mostly regarding employee transfers. They have not done nearly enough.

As a result, it hasn't stopped, and with the central government limited in their ability or willingness to shut down the actions of the local governments, I'm not sure how it can be stopped.

I'm not really sure how it is that the government can lay claim to all our data -- including data we weren't asked if we wanted to provide and weren't told was being collected -- but not shut down the completely unacceptable treatment of these workers across the country.

Like a virus, it's spreading. It gets stamped out in one place and breaks out in another. Blame the foreigners. And not just any foreigners, blame the most marginalized foreigners (who happen to also be the majority of foreigners) in the country. If you thought barring foreigners from restaurants and cafes was bad -- and it was -- this is exponentially worse. The former was a form of unfair discrimination. This is outright, blatant, unacceptable and disgusting racism. 

Let me repeat: this is not acceptable. There is no justification. From an epidemic prevention standpoint it doesn't even make sense, because people do not spread diseases on the basis of their national fucking origin. The immigrants who live here interact with Taiwanese and will continue to interact with Taiwanese, because they're still going to work. Forcing them to stay in disease-prone crowded dorms with poor ventilation will only make it worse. 

If you think it is justified, then fuck you.

It's not about race plenty of Taiwanese citizens are from Southeast Asia because they married in and gave up their...no.

 

But COVID is spreading in those communities so it makes sense even though they're still interacting with locals who have freedom of moveme...no.

It is about race, and you know it's about race. 

There's a class element as well, but those factories also have Taiwanese workers who are not locked in, so it is primarily just plain old racism. 

Some companies even try to spin these lockdowns as "helping" the workers, rather than literally jailing them:

                       

In fact, the right move both isn't just to end these racist practices immediately, but to reform the entire blue-collar labor system, top to bottom. It's to proactively prioritize these immigrants on the vaccination list because their living and working conditions increase chances of an outbreak, and to improve those living and working conditions in the long-term. This isn't just for them, but for the country: to prevent further spread, and also ensure the outbreak doesn't shut down vital industries.

What frustrates me -- and why I'm taking it out here -- is that I don't know what to do about it. 

When it was cafes banning foreigners I could contact them privately, and I spent hours doing so, among other actions. Most agreed to change their policy when presented with a reasonable argument and the chance to save face before their businesses got review-bombed. When it's something like trying to wheedle Last Week Tonight into doing an episode about Taiwan, I have a plan for balancing relentlessness with comedy that I hope will work (please sign, by the way). When it's discriminatory Youbike rules, I can write to Taipei City government. 

But this? Yes, we can donate, and should (see the links at the bottom of this post for places where you can do so). We can sign this petition. I suppose I could write to each government to lodge my complaints, but if they're not listening to the CECC, why would they listen to me? So I just don't know what to do except write about it. 

That is incredibly frustrating. I would help occupy the street outside of one of these factories if I thought it would do any good, and if public gatherings were possible. I would write up a letter in Mandarin, if I thought I could influence the discourse, but there are native speakers more eloquent than me with a more local perspective who are better qualified to do this. 

In fact, there is one positive I can think of: there are locals angry about this too. On the social media of politicians promoting these restrictions, the pushback has been local (with a few of us angry foreigners mixed in too). Local friends have been sending me the aforementioned petition so it's getting local attention. Not everyone in Taiwan is as awful as those clowns in Miaoli.

In other words, I feel completely impotent in the face of this issue which angers me so very deeply. It's hard to even write more than a few pieces on it because "Racism Continues To Be Racist" only has so many variations. Your suggestions are welcome. 

Recent immigration reforms in Taiwan are a mixed bag

Stop. 

The cabinet has just approved a new draft amendment that would relax requirements for foreign professionals coming to Taiwan, including those enrolled in postgraduate programs in Taiwan.

As an immigrant myself, it makes sense to be generally in favor of streamlined immigration requirements. But I’m ambivalent about this. 

On their face, the relaxed rules are fine. I don’t see any good reason to make foreigners wait six months for National Health Insurance coverage if they’re committed to being here for at least a year, and it’s smart to encourage talent cultivated by Taiwan — graduate students at Taiwanese universities — to stay here. 

The enhanced tax incentives, immediate NHI coverage and shortened permanent residency eligibility period apply to “foreign special professionals” — that magic, golden class of foreigners who glitter all the more in comparison to everyone else, who is apparently garbage.

I'm not at all sure that these are the issues that would tip a "special" professional towards coming to Taiwan if they had doubts, with the possible exception of the NHI coverage, as health care is likely a major consideration when making such decisions.

I’m also concerned that these changes target the wrong issues and add yet another layer of elitism to already stratified regulations. While the government has moved quickly on “foreign special professionals”, they neither invest in the foreigners who are already here and committed to Taiwan, nor do they address the horrific human rights abuses and poor working conditions endured by foreign blue-collar workers, most of whom come from Southeast Asia.  

The amendment would also relax requirements for foreign teachers coming to teach subject classes at schools for the children of foreign professionals. Frankly, I do think some  requirements for working in Taiwanese schools can reasonably be relaxed — ask me for examples if you care. However, the lack of specificity in the announcement is jarring: what requirements will change, exactly? The students are children of foreign professionals, who all presumably speak English already, how does this do anything to support the Bilingual by 2030 plan? 

A friend of mine has been having trouble in one such “bilingual school for the children of foreign professionals”, dealing with teachers who create unprofessional materials including a “textbook” that consisted of printed-out Wikipedia pages. Such schools need more professional teaching expertise, not less.

The original draft called for graduates of “Top 500” universities to be allowed to work in Taiwan without the requisite 2 years’ related experience or a Master’s degree. However, that clause was dropped.

That’s a shame, as I supported it. Though I have no idea how “top 500” would be determined (most ranking systems are questionable), it would ensure that prospective immigrants won’t feel they need to teach English to come here. I am in favor of any regulatory change that reduces the non-serious people in my field. If they’re better at doing something else and don’t want to be in a classroom, let them, and leave teaching to people who actively choose it — even if they require training and experience, as I once did. 

So, it’s disappointing that the most promising clause in the amendment was dropped. What’s left is...okay. I’m not against it, but I’m not impressed.

As someone who went through the 5-year wait for her APRC, I have no particular desire to force that on newcomers. And yet from my experience, a five-year wait is an entirely reasonable requirement, especially now that it’s easier to change jobs. I suppose it's a positive change for those with graduate degrees from Taiwanese universities, however: student visas don't count towards the permanent residency clock, but Taiwan would be wise to incentivize such people to stay.

I have no opinion on tax incentives, but it sure feels like offering more benefits to the already-privileged. And everyone should have faster access to NHI, not just Special Magic Wizard Foreigners. 

I can’t help but compare this to the very minor recent improvement to working conditions for foreign blue-collar workers. Starting this month, most of these workers are now being provided with work documents in their native languages as well as Mandarin, rather than Mandarin only. 

That’s great, but frankly, I’m shocked that that wasn’t already the case (and embarrassed that I hadn’t realized it wasn’t)! How did take until the Year of Our Good Lord Baby Jesus in Goddamn Heaven Twenty-Twenty-Fucking-One to make this happen? Seriously?! 

It’s disheartening that the government can move so swiftly to accommodate the already-privileged, but can’t seem to get basic human rights sorted out for the vast majority of immigrants to Taiwan.

You can whine all you want about how it’s the Taiwanese government’s prerogative to “attract” certain “talent”, but the cold fact is that Taiwan needs these workers to keep the economy running way more than they need some tech bro. The fishing, the factory work, the elder care — those jobs are at the solar plexus of Taiwanese society, not whatever Craigstopher McJuggerton from Indiana will be doing here. I will freely admit that what they do is more vital to Taiwan than what I do, as well. 

It's not that I think the Splendiferous Glitter Foreigners shouldn't be welcome in Taiwan. Of course, they should -- but it's already pretty easy for them to come here. The people at risk of indentured servitude or outright slavery perhaps have more pressing concerns.

Finally, it annoys me as a long-termer that the government still seems to be unaware that there are foreign professionals who are already here, who are already committed to Taiwan, and what most of us seem to want is a realistic shot at dual nationality. 

At the risk of sounding like a big baby whinerpants, I’ve recently become aware that the path to dual nationality for someone like me is even more narrow than the existing one. For an educator, the requirement is to become an assistant professor. However, for language teaching professionals, there are essentially no such positions. The very few exceptions I’ve met merely prove the rule. Were I to get a PhD, the most I might reasonably hope to achieve in Taiwanese academia is an annually-renewed “lecturer” contract and very little access to research funding. Even that is rare: most new hires are low-paid adjuncts. The language teachers who are professors are generally Literature or Linguistics specialists who’ve been asked to teach language classes. 

So, it doesn’t matter what I do. I’ll never be a “professor” in the sense that the government requires. That job simply doesn’t meaningfully exist in Taiwan in my field. And yet, that is the requirement to apply for dual nationality. I could “publish in major international journals” (most likely without research funding), but I’ve been too busy training the teachers the government says it wants to cultivate!  

All this despite the government saying repeatedly that it wants to elevate the quality of language teaching in Taiwan, and therefore ostensibly wanting people like me as part of Bilingual by 2030. 

I’m not against these new rules. I wouldn’t even call my ambivalence “jealousy” because I’ve managed to carve out a good life here, get my APRC, and cultivate a career I’m passionate about. Hell, I went to two “Top 500” universities (whatever that means). I have NHI and neither need nor want tax incentives. It is a little depressing to see how pointless it would be to get a PhD for career-related reasons, but that’s a personal issue. 

Rather, the ambivalence stems from annoyance: the relaxed regulations aren’t a bad thing, but they don’t do much to the kinds of immigration reform Taiwan actually needs.  

Book Review: Migrante

 Migrante by J.W. Henley

“Even if your case is closed and they say you can change your employer, it’s like there’s a black mark on you. You didn’t finish your contract, and the next man wants to know why. They think we’re troublemakers. Runaways. They actually think we’re out to cheat them, if you can believe it. Us cheating them,” he scoffed. “Not all of them, but enough.”

— Mak to Rizal, Migrante

Many keys have been pounded in the effort to bring attention to the working conditions of foreign blue-collar labor in Taiwan. At this point, I would find it highly suspicious if anyone in Taiwan was not aware of the way these workers are treated: fishermen worked to exhaustion in life-threatening conditions (in some cases even killed by the captains of their ships), wages withheld to the point that they are more enslaved than employed, rampant physical and sexual abuse. Domestic workers forced to work outside their contracts, seven days a week. Factory workers enduring constant safety violations, including dorms which are little more than fire traps. 

However, if you think that everyone is aware of these horrors, you would be wrong, as this jaw-droppingly obtuse letter to the Taipei Times illustrates. If you need another anecdote, consider my neighbor, who once insisted that the way Southeast Asians are treated in Taiwan is “not racist” because “they come from poor countries so they are more likely to be criminals”. 

Sometimes it takes a novelization — the closest one can often get to being transported into another’s shoes — to really bring home what a deep, black mark this paints on Taiwan’s human rights record. How utterly unacceptable it is, across several industries. 

Enter Joe Henley’s Migrante. Henley himself takes on an aura of Upton Sinclair in the story of Rizal, a fictional man from the Philippines who comes to Taiwan to work on a fishing boat. If the narrative reminds you a bit of The Jungle, that is clearly intentional. If you are asking yourself why working conditions in wealthy, democratic, 21st century Taiwan echo those of American meatpacking factories a century ago before the concept of labor protection was more common...well, yes, that’s a very good question indeed.

In Migrante, the various experiences of foreign blue-collar workers are teased out as Rizal interacts with his fellow fishermen, women who had been abused and raped as caregivers, staff at a cantina in Zhongli, fellow “runaways” at a shelter and finally a factory floor. (Henley addresses both the reasons behind the choice of protagonist, and why a comparatively well-off Westerner in Taiwan wrote Migrante rather than an actual migrante in the preface.)

Although a great deal of fiction weaves social issues into larger narratives, Migrante is more like The Jungle in that narrating social injustice is its main — perhaps only — goal. Don’t let that fool you into thinking it’s simplistic, however. Henley uses Rizal’s experiences to show that the story isn’t as simple as “Taiwanese employers bad”. Yes, the labor broker and boat captain are passively and actively cruel in their respective ways. However, Rizal is eventually offered shelter and a chance to change his job; people do show him genuine kindness. Contrast a Taiwanese government worker’s attempt to help Rizal with the way he’s treated by the Filipino broker in his hometown. Neither cruelty nor kindness know national borders.

Migrante also teases out issues that tend not to be sufficiently examined. For example, as bad as the situation is for blue-collar labor in Taiwan, in many cases the conditions they are trying to escape are as bad, or worse. Toward the end, Rizal starts talking like his employers: keep your head down, don’t complain, you’re lucky to have been offered a job. He knows as he says this that none of it is true, but the way he adopts the language of his abusers is chilling. 

I also noted that throughout much of the story, Rizal was showing classic symptoms of situational depression, an issue that affects every stratum of society but tends not to get much attention in the very poor, as issues of more immediate desperation take precedence. This may be why some people think of depression as a problem affecting the comparatively wealthy. Of course that’s not the case. It’s helpful, then, to see it portrayed here. 

I can only imagine that all of these details came out of the extensive research Henley did in order to write this book, including interviews with the workers whose experiences he is drawing upon. Oft-ignored issues like these are far more likely to be brought up when one actually talks to members of a community in order to tell a well-informed story.

If I have any criticism of Migrante at all, it’s that in some places the prose is laid on a bit thick. It mirrors The Jungle in this way, as well. It doesn’t do this in every way, however. There are clear differences in the personalities of Rizal and Jurgis Rudkus, and Migrante does not end with a discordant “happier ending” of an orator proclaiming that socialism is coming and will save us all. This is to the novel’s credit: Henley doesn’t treat us like dumb capitalist puppies who need a good lecturin’, and I appreciate that. 

It would be fantastic if the ignorant letter-writers and racist neighbors in Taiwan read Migrante, although I know they probably won’t. Those of us who are already aware of the situation should step up our agitation for change. Those who unequivocally tout Taiwan as a bastion of human rights are not entirely wrong, but would do well to reflect on areas where drastic improvement is needed. And we should all remember that when we talk about “foreigners in Taiwan”, the vast majority have experiences closer to Rizal’s than to, say, mine. 

Just as Henley did not write Migrante to bash Taiwan, I am not writing this to attack this country. Both of us call Taiwan home, and I assume both of us will continue to do so. There is so much good here, but human rights need to be taken seriously for all workers. Period.