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.

Do people actually leave the United States because they're angry about politics?

One cold morning in 2004, I walked into work to find my colleagues congratulating each other. We're talking clinking coffee mugs, back pats, louder greetings ("HEY!"). I was crestfallen, but alone. In a financial services office, most employees voted Republican. Of course, the back-patters were the managers, the people with offices; as a twenty-something administrative assistant in a cubicle who took the bus to work and struggled to make rent, I most certainly had not. 

It wasn't just that the much-touted tax cuts hadn't helped me at all, or that the excellent Afghan restaurant in Georgetown closed despite hanging a huge American flag over the door; the new rah-rah-America-stop-the-Muslims ensured few customers. Of course it wasn't just about that one Afghan restaurant; it was a whole culture of bullying and distrustfulness that I could not stomach.

Having lived abroad before and already starting to feel that America being the richest country in the world did not necessarily equate to it being the best. There were other places I might live. Perhaps not China, where I'd recently lived. India didn't seem to have any job openings for me. Taiwan, however, looked intriguing.

I was frustrated with my coworkers but held my tongue. It seemed unprofessional, and besides, the one time I had implied I didn't agree with them my supervisor asked me not to talk about politics at work. 

"But they talk about politics," I pointed out.
"Yes but..."
"But..?"
"I mean, but the office is...most people are...there's no disagreement."
"So, it's okay to talk about politics here if you are a conservative because enough people in power agree with you, but if you are a liberal you shouldn't? That's blatantly unfair. Either it's okay for everyone, or no one. So maybe go talk to them."
"But they're senior managers."
"So?"

She just sighed. It didn't matter. I was on my way out anyway.

Then the election came around and I lost my head all the back-patting. I snarked that I was gonna leave the US and go live somewhere else as soon as I could, because I was done with a country that would re-elect George W. Bush.

A manager laughed at me, and said I probably wouldn't. I wonder if he thought I simply couldn't afford it, or that I was young and naïve but soon I'd see that the US was the greatest country in the world, or something. A few months later, the same guy said "I thought you were planning to leave?"

"Yeah, it takes some time to plan these things." 

He walked away. I guess he didn't know what to say.

So I got a second job, started saving my cash, found a job at some cram school in Taipei, quit my job and left. 

* * * 

This story is true, but contains a massive lie of omission. 

I did indeed snark at a manager. I did leave after the 2004 election, though it took me until 2006 to make it happen. I was broke, after all. Bush-era American culture -- the culture that had helped close my favorite restaurant and "cancelled the Dixie Chicks" -- was one reason for that. But the truth is, I was kind of trolling my coworkers. I was annoyed with them, and if they thought I left only because I didn't like W (and they did), then that suited me just fine.

The whole truth is that I was coming to realize that I'd preferred being abroad, though I wasn't sure why (there was certainly a huge amount of unexamined white privilege in there. I apologize. It was 2004 and I wasn't even 25.) I was figuratively sick of exhaustingly inefficient public transit. I was literally sick from not seeing doctors when I should have about chronic back pain, because even with a good company insurance plan I still couldn't afford the co-pays. Even then, I was sick of people trying to expand rights for guns but reduce them for women, expand savings for the rich but reduce social welfare for those who needed it, and sick of how much the United States tolerated that -- encouraged it, even. I was sick of people pretending centrist (or generously, center-left) Democrats were "on the left" when that's never been true. 

There were also positives, too: I wanted to explore and understand a new culture, try living abroad for longer, practice Mandarin in a country where it's a lingua franca. 

So, do people actually leave the United States because they are angry about politics? 

Sometimes, yes. Or at least, that's one of the reasons more often than I think Americans in general want to accept. 

I had a list of reasons, but politics was definitely on it. I've met people for whom it played an even bigger role. Couldn't afford health care, one expat told me in those early years. It was actually cheaper to pack up my life and move to Taiwan than to pay what they wanted to charge me. Another cited fear of mass shootings, but also fear that the people Americans elect don't do a thing about it. She was sick of the thoughts and prayers. These issues aren't directly about Republicans or Democrats -- except when they are -- but they are indirectly political.

Often, people move for similar reasons to mine: politics is part of it, but a combination of not having any strong feeling about (or actively disliking) the USA, coupled with a desire to learn more about another culture or study a foreign language bring a bit of weight to the desire. Frankly, if someone isn't interested in learning a new language or living in a different culture, they probably won't move -- "politics" or not. 

For others, politics might give a nudge to all the other reasons they were interested in living abroad in the first place. 

Of course, let's not forget that these stories come from people with some mobility: they're native English speakers, they have whatever degree or job prospects they need to move abroad. They have the ability to save enough money to leave, and enough freedom from whatever other constraints might keep people in place to do it. Fundamentally, we're talking about a privileged group. Myself included, despite being broke as a joke when I actually left. 

Regardless, my experience picking up 16 years ago -- in part because of politics -- has me scratching my head at some current social media discourse. 

"What's stopping Americans from picking up and moving to Europe?" one massive Twitter thread asked recently, in the wake of Roe v. Wade.

ok serious question, what keeps the average American (that can afford it) from moving to Europe?

please enlighten me

— Peer Richelsen 🗓🍊 (@peer_rich) June 25, 2022

The answers people gave for not leaving straight-up scrambled my brain. Seriously guys, some of them were bonkers.

Apparently, in the wake of many American women losing not just abortion rights but basic bodily autonomy, some big reasons for staying included "bigger cars", "big lawns", "better coffee" and "monolingualism" (America isn't actually monolingual, but alrighty). All of these, to me, are downsides of America -- yes, even the big lawns, because they create communities that necessitate driving and exclude anyone who won't drive, or can't for whatever reason -- and it only got more bizarre from there. Someone complained about beans on toast being bad. 

First of all, my grad school experience is screaming that beans on toast are not bad, if you add some nasty cheese slices and a squirt of hot sauce. But secondly, I will gladly eat beans on toast in a country where I can get a fucking abortion, Chadston. 

When you live in a place with a variety of food available, you can cook whatever you want in your own kitchen. It's not like you move to the UK and suddenly the Beans On Toast Police come to your house and ask why you are not making the legally required beans on toast. 

The same goes for coffee. Maybe you don't like tiny European coffees. Fine. Buy an American drip coffeemaker, a French press, a goddamn Turkish ibrik. Nobody cares. It's your house. You're not on tour. You aren't restricted to six overpriced cafes near the Eiffel Tower. When you actually live in a place you can make your own coffee any goddamn way you want, but crucially, you do not have to do your own abortion. Which is kind of the point. 

My final shock regarding these threads was how so few people brought up the obvious reason why many don't leave: work and visas. We were lucky that we wanted to live in a country that made it fairly easy to come here, and as teachers, we wanted to do the jobs that were available to us. Mostly, it's quite difficult getting a work or residency visa. It might be easier if you're privileged, but it's not just something you can do. You can't just move to Paris, get any old job and legally work at that job with no issues. Do people assume that you can? Is "I don't like the coffee" too big a barrier but "I literally cannot get a work visa approved" not?

Just as bad, however, were all the people saying it was silly to think about moving, or just dismissing it all with "eh, you won't move and you know it! Don't be childish!"

As someone who did move, I can say that this is also wrong. America isn't some unique paradise in comparison to a world where everyone walks around caked in mud with their thumb up their ass, or heaven forbid, drinks coffee you don't like.

Sixteen years in Taiwan and I do not feel like I've lost anything significant by moving here except for time with my family. People cite "freedom" as a reason to stay, but that's not a uniquely American thing. Taiwan is a free society, too. Or they cite "quality of life", but in this advanced Asian democracy, quality of life seems pretty similar to me, if not somewhat better thanks to the great healthcare. And that's not just me: though Taiwanese do leave (some percentage of any population is going to), my friends generally say they stay because they want to. 

Sure, I don't have a lawn in Taipei (though if I moved to the countryside, I might). But I can afford to see the doctor and even get an abortion if I need one. Taiwan has freedom of speech, freedom of assembly and a free press -- though that doesn't always equate to a high-quality press. Taiwan also has democratic government, good public transportation and offers a reasonably normal life in a reasonably safe country. I can walk down the street as a woman alone at any time of night and not worry about my safety. I've learned a language and built a career and community of good friends. It's not a lonely life. Finding food I like is not difficult; it helps that I enjoy local cuisine, but there are options if I'm feeling international, though that wasn't always the case. 

With the exception of good bagels and voting rights (for me specifically, as I'm not a citizen), I can't think of a single positive thing the US offers that Taiwan does not. There are negatives to life in Taiwan, but I doubt they'd be much different elsewhere.

In other words, the bad things about the USA seem uniquely bad by developed-economy standards. But the good things about it -- and there is some good! -- aren't particularly unique to it. 

There are indeed plenty of reasons to stay. Aside from the obvious barriers to leaving (not enough money, can't get a visa), people may have family obligations, jobs they actually want to keep, or their own personal reasons. Some may not think voting, donating and contacting one's representatives is sufficient activism, and want to stay and fight. I respect that a lot, though honestly I think it's unfair to insist that any woman worried about being affected by an abortion ban who can leave should actually stay and have her rights stripped away as she fights back. It's admirable to stay and fight, but it's wrong to demand of anyone.

I'm sure someone will read this and think, if someone can pick up and move to another country, surely they can afford to get an abortion in another state?

That is true. But with right-wingers talking about finding ways to ban that -- I'm not sure how it would be possible, but that doesn't seem to stop them -- it's honestly unclear if a year from now a woman will be prohibited from crossing state lines if it's suspected she's trying to get reproductive healthcare. If you're worried about being treated like a trussed-up incubator, you may want to get out now.

And yes, I do believe anyone who gets stroppy enough to imply women shouldn't leave even as they're being accorded fewer human rights than corpses in some states probably just hates women. The guys going off about how "oh but the coffee is bad" perhaps don't realize that this question isn't about coffee but basic humanity; they don't have a uterus so it's easy to forget. Those that think anyone who can get pregnant should sit tight and wait to be told to what degree they are considered mere egg sacks -- that leaving is "silly" -- are simply misogynists.

For me, the overturning of Roe v. Wade has tainted my impression of the United States, possibly irrevocably. Now, leaving in part because I didn't like George W. Bush feels almost quaint. How young, how naïve. I could still think of things to like or even love about the US, even as I chose to build a home in Taiwan. 

Now, thinking about the US is like mistaking salt for sugar when making cookie dough. It doesn't matter if the chocolate chips are still fine; the whole thing is ruined. Maybe some of the other ingredients are right, but the wrongness is pervasive and the result is inedible.

If you are thinking of leaving and able to do so, don't let the naysayers get you down. Don't let them convince you that nobody actually leaves for these reasons. People kind of do, and not just to Europe. Some of us have been gone for the better part of two decades, and aren't moving back. 

I don't have a statistical breakdown or a study to show you. I'm not sure anyone has actually researched expat populations to see how many left for political reasons. All I can say is I've met such people. To some degree, perhaps I am one (though again, I'm overstating the degree to which it was politics compared to all the other reasons.)

If you join us abroad, I promise you can make your coffee any way you want. 

And if you're a woman afraid for the security of her basic bodily autonomy and are thinking about moving to Taiwan, feel free to ask me for any advice. 

I'm also curious about foreigners in Taiwan reading this. Did you leave because of "politics"? Why did you leave the countries of your birth?