Taiwan, in an Atheist's Eyes

This is one thing that's been on my mind recently, as I make arrangements to go to Donggang for this year's King Boat Festival, which centers very much around gods (or god-like beings) and how they are worshipped in Taiwan.

I'm an open atheist (used to be agnostic, but some life events changed my mind and hardened my views) - and very much a secular humanist in my moral code. This has led to problems in the USA - I do still have family members who aren't happy about, or don't accept, my lack of faith and who have said so openly. I've had people just assume I'm Christian - I was asked "where's the reception" a few times when planning our wedding (the assumption being that the wedding was in a church) and shocked people by revealing that I had no intention of getting married in a church, even if we were married by my parents' pastor.

I've had my beliefs questioned, been told I'm "wrong", and had people say - as well as seen many a comment online - about how I'll eventually "find the way" or some such. I know that I can never run for public office (not that I ever would!), because I won't hide my beliefs as many secular politicians do and an atheist is more or less unelectable. I've sat through a work event in which an award recipient spent 20 minutes talking about God. I was happy he found fulfillment in his faith, and some mention would not have bothered me, but 20 minutes? At a work event? I'd rather that work be a place where faith may be mentioned briefly but is otherwise not an issue up for discussion. It still would have been fine if he'd kept it to personal anecdotes of faith, but all the talk about how it's the "one true way" and the implication that this is what "good people" believe really got to me. Would he stop thinking I was "good" if he knew what I really thought? And why was it OK for him to talk about God for 20 minutes at a work event, whereas if I'd won the award it would have been extremely gauche for me to talk about my lack of faith for even a second? Not that Id've wanted to - just sayin'. It wouldn't have been acceptable in the same way.

I get the very strong sense when I'm back home that my lack of faith is an issue and something people would worry about if they knew me. I've had friendships fail to grow because being a part of a community of faith was extremely important to the other person, and not something I could share in. I had one relationship - a bad relationship, but it happened nonetheless - in which faith was an issue: I didn't mind that he was Christian, but he sure seemed to mind that I wasn't (and seemed surprised to learn that I wasn't: I honestly believe he had this idea in his head that good people are religious in a way he understands, and atheists are sketchy people, and since I was a good person, it shook his worldview that I did not share his belief). In another, faith was not an issue, but had the relationship lasted - good relationship, not right for me - hed've been OK with me not converting, but would have wanted any children raised Jewish. Leaving aside my desire to remain child-free, that was not going to work for me.

And, of course, the constant reminders that, despite a separation of church and state, that there's quite a bit of church in the state. I'm not leading the charge to take God off of our money, out of our pledge of allegiance (I always mouthed the words anyway and have very little allegiance to the USA) or take Bibles out of the halls of politics or the justice system: I've got better things to do than that. All it does for me is serve to remind me that I don't fit in, that I'm not one of "them", that there are a lot of people who'd view me as a weirdo or outsider for being an atheist.

And, you know, as someone who has no faith but is interested in how faith is practiced around the world, I do like to visit temples and churches, and I do like to observe religious customs when appropriate. It feels kind of weird, however, to have a look inside a church in the USA - even though I'd probably be welcome if there were no service going on, or be welcome to sit quietly and listen to the service if one were, it would label me as someone who shared the beliefs of those in the church. It would be interpreted in a way I am not comfortable with - so I don't.

I will say that this is not a problem among my friends. They are either atheist, secular, "spiritual" (as in they believe in a supreme being but aren't interested in organized religion), culturally religious (as in "I'm Jewish, I guess, but whatever" or "I celebrate Christmas because it's fun but that's about it") or are religious but respectful of differing views (which is cool - unlike women's rights, racism, certain views on poverty and gay rights, this is not an area where a difference of beliefs causes me to question someone's character). It's more of a family (not every member of my family, but some) + everyday life issue.

Then, I moved to Taiwan.

And...it's great. Religion is just not an issue. Nobody cares that I'm atheist - even my Taiwanese Christian friends. Well, I am sure some of them care, but we respect each other and don't talk about it. I don't feel like they worry about my eternal soul the way people back home might, or judge me for it. I can go to temples - fine, nobody cares. I can even light incense or draw a fortune stick. Nobody cares. Even if I say openly that I don't believe in something...OK. That's fine. So what? I can go to festivals and watch temple parades, and it's all cool. Nobody will come up to me and ask me if I want to chant a sutra or join their fellowship group. There's no cultural equivalent I can find (anyone?) to Bible study so I can't even make a comparison there.

"I don't really believe it either," some will say, "...but Grandma wants me to do this so I'll just do it."

"Does Grandma know you don't believe it?"
"Yes, but she doesn't care. As long as I do it she's happy." or "I don't know, she's never asked. It's probably not that important to her whether I believe it or not."

Imagine that - while some of that's true with my family: they know I don't believe but would prefer I go to church with them anyway, but there's still this lingering hope that I'll find my way back to the path they want for me. Grandma Huang doesn't worry about it in the same way.

If I tell people I'm an atheist - which I only do if asked, or if the person is a very good friend - the reply is generally "cool". It's just not a big deal. So much of life in Taiwan centers around religion: Tu Di Gong shrines, temple parades blocking the street, the lunar calendar cycle of holidays, the fortune telling required before marriage or baby-naming, the "yellow" almanac telling people when they may do things, and yet if you don't participate, or just observe, or go through the motions without believing, it's not a problem.

Best of all, you don't have to worry that someone's faith will come with a pre-set belief system. I realize that not everybody who is Christian shares the same beliefs - Stephen Colbert has been quite the shining example for the liberal, irreverently faithful, to the point where I refer to my liberal Christian friends as "Colbert Christians" - but there's really no fear in Taiwan that someone who genuinely believes in praying to Guangong or Matsu will let that belief influence their opinion in other areas. In the USA, I always have a moment of worry when talking to a new person who has professed a faith - so, do they think gays are evil because someone told them it's in the Bible? Not necessarily, but it happens. Do they believe that a woman's place is subservient to a man's, because that's what they've been taught is God's way? Again, not necessarily but it happens (am thinking of a blog I was reading once in which the blogger said something along the lines of "well, it makes sense that a household should only have one head, and the Bible says that's the man so I accept it to be so"). Are they going to be super conservative and go all ape-shit about Obama being a Secret Muslim or have retro views on sex in society? Not necessarily, but again, it happens. I've had such a debate - and at the bottom of it, the other person believed that pre-marital sex was wrong for religious reasons. Fine if she's just applying it to herself, but she was judging others for their choices - and how do you even have that debate when you don't agree on the fundamentals? What do you say when what you want to say is "I can't agree with you, because your views is based on a belief in a God that I do not share"?

In Taiwan, I love that someone can believe, or not, and have their views without worry or the need to reconcile them with their beliefs: nobody's going to go all "Tu Di Gong says gay sex is wrong!" (hey, that rhymes). Nobody's going to say "well because I pray to Hua Tuo, I believe that women should be silent in temples". You can believe in Tu Di Gong, or not, and it has no bearing whatsoever on how you feel about women or homosexuality. I realize there are Christians out there with similar worldviews, but it seems to me like those views would require at least some thought and reconciliation with the teachings of the Bible.

Are they going to assume that because their way is the right way, that I necessarily agree? Like that one  Western couple I was chatting with awhile back - I said something about the fat, laughing Buddha - and the guy said "well you know he isn't real, right? You know there's only one true God and it's not him?" and I was all..."uh...there is no non-awkward way to respond to that". Which, again, it's socially sanctioned in the USA for him to say that, but not for me to talk openly about my beliefs. Why? And Taiwan is so much better in this regard because I can speak openly if I choose without it getting awkward.

Nobody will make you feel like a weirdo. Nobody will make you feel like an outsider. Nobody will make assumptions about you, or be shocked that such a good person doesn't believe in the Baosheng Emperor or Matsu. Nobody will judge your character. You don't have to worry about people's reactions to your atheism. Religious displays - especially festivals - are as much cultural as they are religious, like the bling-blingiest bits of Christmas parading down the street every few weeks. Observing a festival or going to a temple is not linked to an assumption about belief - it's linked to a cultural practice.

People in Taiwan tend to joke about the local folk religion all the time - and nobody's offended. You can make a joke about Wenchang Dijun, Guangong or Confucius's birthday ceremony and people will laugh sincerely. It's just not a big deal. You don't have to worry that you've offended someone - "you can't say that about the City God!" is not something you'll hear crossing anyone's lips.

You can just...be.

And it's great.

Waiting For The White Horse

Medium-good or slightly above average luck, waiting patiently afte preparing things diligently and in great detail: this fortune is just about right.

Two things today.

One, I have learned the value of not reading too quickly and then jumping to conclusions on comments when the commenter is someone who has offended you in the past. So chalk that up to two mistakes this month (the other was taking that stupid "this isn't actually a trail" trail up a mountain). Next time I'll read more carefully rather than seeing a commenter's name and assuming things.

Two, I was a part of a program that took students from one of the Big Four accounting firms to Longshan Temple today. The purpose was to train them in explaining interesting things about the temple to foreign visitors, so they'd have something to say in English about the things they already know in Chinese (plus some things they didn't know!).

During the program, the students practiced their English by going with me to draw a fortune stick. First you pray (apparently this is not strictly necessary, though), then you throw the fortune blocks (those crescent-moon shaped blocks) to ask the god if you may ask a question - if they land one side up, one side down, the answer is yes ("no" is two sides down, and "later" is two sides up - the god is laughing). You ask your question, and draw a stick. Then you throw again to see if it's the right stick (if not, you draw another). You take the stick to get a corresponding scroll with your fortune on it - the fortune is usually a poem, riddle or otherwise difficult to decipher message.

I got two "yes" answers and went to get my scroll, and ended up with 中吉, meaning "neutral luck", but my students said that it was not so much "neutral" as "medium good" - it was in the middle but still above average. I've had generally above average luck for most of my life, but not amazing luck (although I guess you could say that being born in the middle class of a developed nation in a peaceful region - even if the USA is not really a 'peaceful' country - to loving and supportive parents is amazing luck, which I guess it is from a global perspective). So...this made sense.

The little poem or message is something along the lines of preparing everything in great detail, and having the preparedness to deal with any problem. At that point, all one can do is "wait for the white horse to return in the sunset" or something along those lines.

So, slightly above average luck, you've prepared everything to the best of your ability, now calm down, be patient and wait.

I've been assured by my students that it's fine to post the fortune here, and even to admit what I asked for (it won't alter the fortune or render it invalid). So I can say here that I asked if my permanent residency application would go through.

Considering the headache I got preparing the documents, and the headache NIA gave me when they lost my records for 2007-2008 (and all I had to prepare to prove to them that I did, in fact, have an ARC at that time), this sounds just about right.

So...I just need to be patient. I've done all I can. It's been five weeks, though - I'm wondering when that white horse is ever going to show up.

My Second Editorial

Had a letter published in the Taipei Times today...enjoy!

(Copied below - title is not mine)

Philosophical glove fits all

Albert Shihyi Chiu (邱師儀) gave an impassioned opinion on the spiritual and philosophical immaturity of the Taiwanese, citing qigong masters, temple rituals, doomsday prophets and other eclectic hustlers of heaven, hell and every ghost in between (“Breaking through Taiwan’s babble,” May 19, page 8).

I respectfully disagree with his opinion, not because it implicitly supports secularism — as an agnostic, I am also inclined toward secular philosophy — but because my impression from talking to Taiwanese has been that they are practical about their beliefs. While a few people still surround themselves with superstition, the vast majority are able to separate the possible from the ridiculous. Every opinion I have heard of Wang Chao-hung (王超弘), who “predicted” the nonexistent May 11 earthquake, has been wryly dismissive or humorous (“Are you sure I have to practice my presentation? Don’t you know the world is going to end tomorrow?”)

Furthermore, dealing in the ephemera of folk belief and spirituality is hardly unique to Taiwan. Why single out Taiwanese as philosophically immature when around the world, people are doing the same things with different names and aesthetic trappings? Why criticize Taiwanese when a good portion of the US believed that the world was going to end on Saturday, or when Westerners make, sell and buy “spell rings” and “magic crystals” on the Internet, pay for tarot readings and ascribe supernatural causes to everyday occurrences?

Taiwanese are also hardly alone in other spiritual beliefs: spirit mediums, firewalking and processionals also exist in India, and you’ll see similarities in saint’s day parades in Mexico. You can find an Evil Eye charm in any Mediterranean country for every ba gua mirror and amulet in Taiwan, and if you whittle yoga and taichi down to their spiritual core, you’ll find similarities there, too. For everyone in Taiwan who prays to Confucius or Wenchang (文昌帝君) for a good test score, there’s a kid in some other country begging their own chosen god for some literati luck.

I cannot say that people who believe in these things are intellectually inferior or use religion as an opiate. I believe they have a way of looking at the world that, while I might not agree with it, works for them. To criticize Taiwanese for this is to criticize most of the world. If Taiwanese are not philosophically mature, then nobody is.

In fact, I’d say that Taiwanese spirituality is a part of what I love about this country. I see these beliefs as a window into one culture’s traditions and world view and as artistic expression. Would Mr Chiu prefer that Taiwan become more like China, turning out the “old religion” in favor of ... what? Nothing at all? “Nothing at all” might be my philosophy, but I find learning about the myriad beliefs and traditions in Taiwan to be deeply enriching. Whether or not you burn ghost money or throw fortune blocks, these things do provide the open-minded with a chance to see life and philosophy from a fascinating perspective.

Musings on Intercultural Relationships

I want to start this post by saying that I have no answers, I have no conclusions – I only have my own experiences and am approaching this topic with personal thoughts and anecdotes, not proclamations. I don’t even have anything particularly deep to say, because it’s all been said before. All I can do is add my own story to the mix.

That aside, as I mentioned in a previous post, I recently received news that a friend’s marriage had dissolved. The marriage happened to be an intercultural one (American/Hispanic). I won’t give details – that would be inappropriate – but one of the things that caused the whole hot mess is something that is more acceptable in one culture than the other. I’m still not necessarily inclined to believe that the resulting split was caused by cultural issues – in fact, it’s more likely irreconcilable differences between two individuals.

Regardless, it’s caused me to muse on intercultural relationships – both of the romantic and friendly kind. I’ll be focusing on romantic relationships for this post, and am planning a future post musing on making Taiwanese male friends (as a foreign woman)…because, y’know, it’s quite hard to do!

Obviously, “intercultural” does not necessarily mean “interracial”. That’s the first thing I want to mention: I know plenty of couples of different races who share a common culture, and my husband has observed that while we’re very much the same race, there are a lot of cultural differences between our families.

When we first started dating, I didn’t think of it this way: I thought of it in terms of “I’m outgoing, and my family is predisposed genetically to be loud, boisterous and extroverted. He’s more laid-back, and his family seems more predisposed to a quieter approach to life”. It never occurred to me that it might actually be a cultural difference.

Then, in the middle of wedding planning, we rented My Big Fat Greek Wedding Subconsciously, somehow, I wanted him to see it – he had seen it but didn’t remember much, and I remember how the film really hit home for me. If I had such a strong reaction and he could barely remember it, there was clearly something worth exploring there.

After watching the comparison of the two families – one laid-back and the other a big pile of boundary-crushing madness - and as a result of those two environments, some of the differences between Tula and Ian in the film, Brendan turned to me and said, tellingly,

“Now I understand.”

“You understand what?”
“All this stuff with the wedding planning, and all of the stress…it’s cultural. It’s like with your big Armenian family, I just don’t get yet how they work because my family is more like that guy’s.”

Note that he did not say I’m like Tula – because I’m not. I have no problem striking out on my own, nobody tried to stop me from going to college, my family is devoid of the sexism seen in the Portokalos clan, and I am happy to stand up for myself (even if an argument ensues).

And that’s just it – the difference isn’t simply between two families – the fact that my family (at least the biggest component of it) immigrated to the USA in living memory and we have relatives who still speak the old language – an Armenian-based polyglot with elements of Turkish and Greek – does have something to do with how my family works, how I was raised, and as a result, to an extent, what my personality is like.

I do have Polish relatives as well, but other than my beloved Grandma G and aunt, I unfortunately see them far less often.

So we visit my family home and drive up to Grandma L’s. People begin arriving, often there are young cousins underfoot. Hummus, olives (real olives, not canned or jarred), cured string cheese and babaghanoush are set out. It’s mid-afternoon and uncles are already double-topping-up their drinks – often, Ararat Armenian raisin brandy. Grandma asks me when I’m going to lose weight and have babies. Like in a Taiwanese family, in my family this is considered fine (I personally consider it a major breach of boundaries, though). Jokes are made about sleeping arrangements - “She made us sleep in twin beds before we got married, and M was visibly pregnant at the time!” – all fine.

Brendan says nothing – “not my culture!” – or whispers something dryly amusing to me along the lines of “So apparently losing weight and having babies go hand in hand?”

Despite my own Daoist/agnostic inclinations, my family is fairly religious, and grace is said, often in Armenian. I am as lost as Brendan is for this part – I don’t have two words of Armenian to rub together (well, I have two: ‘vart’ means “rose” and ‘yavrom’ means “dear”). We eat at a big table – lamb kebab, pilaf and lahmajoun are served. The dishes match, but are kind of tacky. It’s too crowded. I’m asked again about the babies. We argue about politics. My grandparents still hate Turks (and Muslims generally) for the genocide Turks unleashed upon the Armenian people in 1915.

I don’t dare say that Turks alive today can’t be blamed for the actions of their ancestors, just as you wouldn’t shun a German woman born in 1975 because of Nazi atrocities. It’s a shame that they are educated to believe that the genocide never happened, but nobody has control over what their teachers tell them, and many lack the intellectual curiosity to question. I don’t speak; I think these things, though, and Brendan knows it.

(Yes, I realize my family might well read this, but I mention below that I’m OK with how they work and anyway, if they’re going to ask me at the dinner table about popping out babies, then they lose any right to wring their hands when I write about it).

Brendan smiles like it’s a particularly lively television show (and in a way, it is). We don’t quite get to the part where we start dancing in a circle and breaking plates, but I’d say we stop just short of it – that’s Greek, not Armenian and probably an urban legend, but my family lived in Greece for years after running from the genocide and before immigrating to America.

You know who doesn’t ask me about babies and weight loss? My in-laws. You know who doesn’t argue about politics and ask personal questions around the dinner table? My in-laws. You know who isn’t all up in everybody else’s, ahem, bidness?

And yet, I wouldn’t trade my family for the world. I love them and their intrusive questions to bits. It’s taken me years, but I agree with my husband. These differences are cultural, even though Brendan and I look similar enough that we could probably pass for distant cousins (it’s mostly the coloring – fair skin, blue or green eyes, light brown hair). I resemble Brendan more than some of my actual cousins, who tend to be olive-skinned with dark features and coal-colored hair.

Another point I’d like to make – I have been in more obviously intercultural relationships: the last two men I dated before Brendan were Jewish and Indian, respectively. This is where it gets quite hard to draw a line between the cultural and the individual – did those relationships fail because there were cultural differences, or was it entirely that we, as two individuals, were incompatible?

My experience? I do generally default to “we’re just two people who weren’t compatible” but I also think cultural differences had some role to play in why we were incompatible. I was simply not that attracted to the first, although part of that had to do with the fact that he sincerely wanted to have children and raise them in a Jewish home (I don’t even want kids, and am not religious – if I had kids I’d encourage them to follow an ‘ask questions and find your own path’ sort of philosophy, hippie that I am). While, in the end, it was really a lack of a physical spark that did us in, I admit that part of that lacking was caused by my being a bit turned off by such disparate life goals.

The second? Well, we had plenty of chemistry. Culturally I think the only real issue was that he did believe that couples who have children ought to have one parent stay at home, and that that parent ought to be the mother (I have no problem with mothers who choose this path, but deciding it’s the only correct path for everyone really rubs me the wrong way – and I hadn’t gotten to the “don’t really want kids” decision yet, so it was relevant)…and when he said it, I could really hear, behind his voice, a lot of the defenses of the traditional order of things that I heard in India. I’d like to say that this is why we broke up, but it wasn’t – it was (im)maturity on both our parts. Had we been more mature, though, this would have become a dealbreaker. (We agreed on religion and other issues such as telling his parents – mine were totally cool with it and even met him – never came up because it was fairly clear that we weren’t going to last despite all of our chemistry).

That said, such a dealbreaker could arise between any couple regardless of cultural background – I do feel that this sort of dealbreaker is more likely to arise between intercultural couples.

This is not to say that such relationships always face these issues, or that they can’t overcome them. As I’ve said before – and I’ll say it again (I’m secure enough in my relationship with my wonderful husband that I feel I can do so) – if the world had moved a little differently on its axis and I’d spent my time in Taiwan single, well, I’ve met Taiwanese men that I would have dated. Just because things didn’t work out with two other men for reasons that can be partially attributed to cultural differences doesn’t mean they never can.

And, as I said, I have no deep insights. I have no final proclamations. I have only my own experiences to add to public discourse.

Baosheng Cultural Festival 2011: Why I Love Temple Festivals

Firewalking at Bao'an Temple earlier today

Every year, the Bao'an Temple in Taipei holds a long "cultural festival" to mark the birthdays of its two most revered gods - Baosheng Dadi, god of medicine and Shennong Dadi (I've also seen it spelled 'Sengnung Dadi'), god of herbal or Chinese medicine (there is also a fairly well-known Shennong Dadi temple in Dashe, Kaohsiung County). There are Taiwanese opera performances, talks, awards ceremonies, god parades and finally - the most interesting if you ask me, as it is so rare in northern Taiwan - firewalking.

On a specified date of the lunar calendar, the idols are taken out of the temple and their carriers walk them over a bed of hot coals (made slightly less hot by a white substance, which I believe is salt or salt with rice) while a crowd watches and temple workers form a human shield around the whole thing to keep people from getting hurt.

I thought this was unnecessary until I ran into a woman sporting a pair of tongs, clearly hoping to snatch a piece of hot coal as a souvenir.

The firewalking was held today and not many people attended - it was fairly easy to get a first-line view. I blame the rain, which alternated between pouring and drizzling, for keeping the crowds away.

Ow ow ow ow ow.

I had to postpone at least one engagement to make this year's festival, conveniently held over the weekend. All week long I've mentioned to students that I'm going, as I hadn't been able to attend for years due to the dates falling on weekdays.

The most common response is - "why?"

Or "Baosheng Dadi's birthday? What does that have to do with you?" (for the more fluent ones)

It's not easy to answer, really - I'm not even inclined towards my 'native' religion, so why would I be inclined towards the folk religion of Taiwan?

The answer is that I'm not - do I really believe in Baosheng Dadi, fortune tellers, the Old Man Under the Moon, spirit mediums, firewalking, burning a boat for The Thousand Years Grandfather called in from the sea, Matsu, the Lord of Green Mountain etc. etc.? Do I really believe that bajiajiang, when they don makeup and costumes, become the eight generals that they are representing, or that spirit mediums are truly possessed by gods?

No, I don't, to be honest. I don't believe that any of it is true.

So, why the festivals?

Simple.

Because they're awesome. The Taiwanese - generally - will be the first to tell you that in many ways, these festivals are just as cultural as they are religious. This seems to be a common thread among religions with native roots, that weren't started by a single person or prophet - a belief system so ingrained in daily life and custom that it's hard to even define it as a "religion" in the Western sense.

You would likely offend a few Christians, Muslims or Jews by attending religious services for those religions simply because they're "cool" (imagine, ironic hipsters flooding the church or synagogue!). They'd expect you to be genuinely interested in spiritual matters or at least curious - many might humor you, but on the whole there'd be less tolerance for someone who showed up just because the whole thing was very aesthetically pleasing.

Folk religions are simply not like that - whatever the reason, you're welcome to show up and even take pictures. Many Taiwanese will admit that they practice a lot of the old customs just as much for cultural or family reasons as religious ones - it's a part of a way of life, not necessarily an organized view of how the spiritual world works.

But, you know - bajiajiang, spirit mediums, lion and dragon dancers, tall gods, firecrackers, suo na (those screechy oboe things), drummers, martial artists - it's not only visually stunning, it's not only culturally fortifying, it's also fascinating.

I'm a big believer in people finding their own path - if it works for you and doesn't hurt others, then it's right for you and nobody should be able to tell you otherwise or insist that you follow their ideas of how you should live. Along these lines I respect the views of people of all religions (up to but not including the point where they try to tell me that their way is better for me), I respect atheists and agnostics, and I respect people who follow folk religions such as is done in Taiwan, even if it's just for cultural reasons.

I guess, in a way, that sort of makes me Daoist, though I don't identify as such. Lao Tzu's super hippie "find your own way" and all that.

There's another element to it, though - the wild dancing, the betel nut and energy drink consumed in liver-splitting quantities at the larger festivals, the joyful noise, the firecrackers set off in places that can't possibly be safe, the darker undertones of some of it (what with the gods of the underworld also in attendance at these festivals, the firewalking, the fireworks festivals where they pelt people, the self-injury of the spirit mediums)...it's so very, very un-Chinese.

I don't mean that in a political "Taiwan is not China" sense (although that is also true!) or in a "this is not really Chinese" sense. It is Chinese, but I mean Chinese in the sense that many Westerners and many Taiwanese and Chinese have come to view this culture (as different as it is in Taiwan and China).

How do they view it?

Mostly as something very Confucian.

You know - sit down, do what you're told, respect your leaders, don't talk back, subjugate the individual, let's all dance to terse, dry music in perfect harmony and let's all agree that that's what's best.

As a friend put it yesterday, that view is very KMT: sit down, do what you're told, your leaders know what's best, don't talk back, maintain the status quo, we are your betters. There's a reason why the KMT generally favors straight-laced Confucianism over crazy, earthy, follow-your-own-path folk Daoism.

It barely exists in China anymore (there's Buddhism and great reverence for Confucius, but you'll never get photos like these of folk festivals in China because there aren't any - or there are very, very few), and I feel as though there is a great divide in Taiwan over its continued existence here. Nobody of any clout actually comes out and says "this is for low-class people, this is for tai ke, we're more refined than that", but you know plenty - including most likely Ma Ying-jiu - think it.

I'm not just making this up - we chatted with someone who works at the Confucius Temple and she confirmed that it gets preference and often more funding than Bao'an Temple - or the funding is split because "you are right next to each other so you can work it out" and then before Bao'an can get its hands on it, it just...isn't there.

It's almost like a tiny re-enactment - a play within a play - of broader Taiwanese politics, lobbing preferential treatment, resentment and ideology across narrow little Hami Street in Dalongdong.

As a result, she said, whenever the Confucius Temple has one of their staid and buttoned-up functions, Bao'an Temple comes up with a reason to set off fireworks and beat drums: basically screw you guys and the Analects you rode in on!

Which I totally respect - I think it's very much a part of this system of folk beliefs to basically give someone the finger if you think they're undermining you.

The preference is quite clear. "Follow your own path"? Crazy dancing and folk beliefs? The government allows it but deep down, I think they're a little scared of it.

This is just as legitimately "Chinese culture", but it's the darker, more individualistic, more passionate, more uncontrollable version of it: sort of like the yin to Confucianism's yang. You can let go of "sit down, shut up, respect your elders" and be yourself.

All that blather about how "Chinese culture is homogenous" and "They revere the group over the individual" and "they respect authority" goes out the window.

And I love it. This is the "Chinese" (I'd say "Taiwanese" because you really don't see this in China - you might come across some lion or dragon dancers on Chinese New Year or when a new store is opening, but that's it) culture that appeals to me.

In fact, I'd go so far as to say that this is a big reason why I'm still here. It's so exuberant. It's so celebratory. It's so individualistic. It's so loud and in your face. It's everything you don't think of when you think of Taiwanese kids (or Chinese kids) taking math tests and doing what their parents tell them to.

You could almost say it's the ultimate Chinese hippie revolt, or the ultimate indie vibe.

It's also loud.
And ebullient.
And maybe a little dangerous.

...and it's very Taiwan.

Ghost Month

Last night was the 15th day of the 7th lunar month (Ghost Month), and Keelung held it's celebrations as usual, despite the rain-on-rain-off typhoontastic weather. The 14th day is for the parade and candle lighting, and the 15th - the one I attended - is the massive food offering, prayer and throwing of food at people. All around your city you may have noticed huge offering tables outside businesses and larger than usual fires outside houses (enough that the smoke changed the quality of the air in Taipei, which is amazing considering how bad it can already be at times). Keelung takes that to an extreme.

I apologize that the following photos are in no particular order, but it should be clear how things went down anyway.

Some photographers checking out the crowd.

Every year, a different clan sponsors the decoration and food-buyin' and leads the prayers. This year, as the sign says, it was the Zhang clan. Since my name is Zhang - not really but it's my Chinese surname - they asked me to be in one of the formal portraits of the clan. I kind of hope that one will make it into the temple where the keep the clan photos for each year.

For the offerings, long tables were set up full of food, some of which is shown below.

This year there were more foreigners than usual. Last year we were the only ones. This year nobody could come with me so I went alone, and saw a lot of Westerners. Despite our increased presence, the local kids were fascinated as usual.

Toward the end of the evening, some Zhangs got up on the dais in front of the temple and, while singing incantations, flung food (fruit, bread, candy etc.) at the crowd. I got a few videos of the throwing but no photos - didn't want to get beaned on the head with a snow pear while trying to take a picture.

Incantations...

Still more incantations...

Just before that, the Zhang family and basically anyone else who wanted to participate walked around the offerings with incense, praying for it to multiply. Then some Zhangs donned traditional clothing and led more prayers.

People walking around.

The walkway up to the temple was also decorated...in the classiest possible way. I love the subtle play of light and color, so minimalist you'd hardly notice it. (snicker) Apparently ghosts like serious bling.

One of the displays around the temple was of figurines. When the offshore typhoon caused sudden downpours, they were protected.

This boat is made entirely out of rice flour goo and painted - it's a food offering. The characters say, basically, "Celebration - Zhang Clan - Ghost Month"

Around the temple, banners are hung. The writing on these, visible in another photo below, is not Chinese. They're special "spirit characters" meant to invoke various things.

As you can see, this set of photos uploaded backwards - the sky is getting lighter. That's not the ghosts coming.

The temple where this takes place is on a hill and while it's brightly colored all year, only at this time of year is it blinged the heck out.

This balloon pig looks mighty happy considering what's happening to his people below:

Ouch.

I wonder what she sees under there...

Like some sort of medieval punishment.

How funky is your chicken?

Decorating teapots made of rice - all of this food is made of rice goo and painted. Not edible to humans but perfectly ingestible to ghosts. At the end of the night you can keep whatever you can get your hands on, but since you can't eat it (and we have a cat who would try) I only took some orchids.

Rice fish.

Rice spiders.

Rice beetles.

Rice guy with dragon between two cones of bread.

This is how the temple normally looks - minus a few million lights.

Around the temple, to please the ghosts, the sponsoring clan erects shiny depictions of various gods. I think this is Guangong.

...and tinfoil elephants...

Here are the spirit-character banners I mentioned above.

The Butterfly Effect

The following is a somewhat sappy tale, but it's entirely true and, I figured, worth mentioning.

About a month ago, my student's grandfather died. He was 92 and had lived a good life, so while his family grieved, they were also heartened that he lived to such an old age and was in good health for most of it.

He lived in a more traditional time when men ran the household and brought in money, women married young and kept house while popping out babies and children were firmly controlled by their parents up to and often after their own marriages. Daughters were not always wanted, and were often given away to infertile families as open, semi-official adoptions. Some were sent to live with other families with the understanding that they would be raised as daughters (or maids, depending) until they could marry the son of the house. That's exactly what the old grandfather did with his three daughters; he sent them away to live with other families so as to concentrate on raising his sons. The daughters knew where they came from, though, and often came home to visit.

They visited again when the old grandfather died - one a professional swimmer married to another athlete, the other successful in the banking industry and the third a homemaker in name, but everyone knew she was the brains behind the family business. The old grandfather's own family business happens to be fishing; my student was sent to study and work in business while his brother, it was decided, would continue in their traditional industry. They were not typical fishermen, however - they were in the toro tuna business. Toro is one of the highest quality tuna fish in the world; it's used for sushi and sashimi and is widely considered a luxury good. What I mean is, while laying in his casket, the grandfather may have looked weathered and saltwatered from years of fishing, but that casket and the flowers and other funereal gifts surrounding it were quite lavish.

In China and Taiwan, people often believe in something called tou qi - or the seventh day. On the seventh day, it's said, the soul of the departed returns to earth. That soul, apparently, is embodied in a butterfly - hence the famous opera "Liang Zhu" or The Butterfly Lovers.

On the seventh day, just before the funeral, the entire family including the three adopted daughters was in the family's ancestral home in Yilan in an area that does not have many butterflies, even though Taiwan is well-known for being packed with butterflies in general. According to my student, a butterfly flew in through the window and alighted on the grandfather's body - setting aside my own queasiness from the idea of keeping a departed loved one in the house for seven days - that was apparently something big. The butterfly then took off, touching the heads of everyone in the room and the grandmother, now a widow, twice before leaving again.

Astounded, the family had the eldest son throw fortune blocks to ask - Was that you as a butterfly? Yes. Did you come back to say goodbye? Yes. Are you happy now? Is everything OK? Yes. Yes. The family's sadness lifted, if just a little bit.

My own student told me he hoped he'd get to be that old, and vowed to spend more time with his aunts.

Just the other day, at another company, when I asked my student how his weekend was, he looked grief-stricken. Apparently a well-known sales rep at that company, his close colleague, had succumbed to pancreatic cancer and her funeral was held over the weekend. There were both Buddhist and Catholic ceremonies, as she was Buddhist but her husband is Catholic. During the rites, her two daughters began crying "Mama! Mama!", not realizing she was gone. That made everyone begin crying; the woman had been in her mid-30s and had only just begun to build the life that the old grandfather had. Many of the attendees were her colleagues, so the death threw a shroud over daily office life.

I saw the same coworker a few days later after another weekend had gone by; he's the sort who works hard and gets ahead, often skipping activities with his family, even on the weekend when he's off attending conferences and symposia.

"When I was home yesterday," he said on that Monday morning, "a butterfly flew in my house."

"Oh really?"

"I thought about it and remembered those two sad girls cried at N-----'s....her...."

"Funeral."

"Yes, funeral. I thought even though the Buddhist person who called her ghost said she was OK, I think maybe she misses her daughters. So I said to myself I shouldn't do that. I shouldn't work so hard and spend less time with my wife and kids. When I am die, if I am die early, I want my family to remember spend a lot of time with me. Now I will work hard, but not work SO hard, and try to have more weekend days with family. Tonight I want to finish my work by 7 so I can go home and eat dinner with them."

I know. Sounds completely fabricated, like something out of a contrived short story. It's not - these are two stories told to me by two different students.