Temples, Rebuilt and Abandoned: A Luermen (鹿耳門) Day Trip

When I was young, my parents would take long Sunday drives, often stopping off at areas of historical significance. Dad was interested in wars and their associated geography; Mom, old houses and mansions. I was bored witless. I had no appreciation for that kind of history in my youth, and while the old houses could sometimes be intriguing — I’ve always been into cool structures and antique objects — the geographical locations themselves were generally quite bland. It honestly did not matter to me that “George Washington had a meeting here”. 

Taiwan, however, has kindled some interest in historical locations for their own sake. 

Enter Luermen (鹿耳門), where Cheng Cheng-kung/Koxinga (鄭成功/國姓爺) first landed in Taiwan. I’d been interested in the area since reading Tonio Andrade’s Lost Colony despite knowing that there was no longer a “landing site” per se, as the entire area had silted in through the intervening three centuries. 

I hadn’t prioritized a trip to the area in part because bus service is spotty: you can take a bus out to the park at the Koxinga landing site from Tainan City, but there isn’t much there other than a decrepit park, and the trip will take you between 1.5-3.5 hours despite it being just 15 kilometers northwest of central Tainan — about a half-hour drive. There are other things to see but they either require walking, or are simply too far away. I’d also heard that there just wasn’t a lot going on there, hardly worth organizing an excursion. 

We went with a local friend from Tainan, whose ancestors came to China with Cheng Cheng-kung and, having recently moved back to Tainan, was interested in finding the spot for her own heritage-related reasons. It certainly helped that she speaks fluent Taiwanese as you won’t find many people who prefer Mandarin in these parts. 

While it’s true that there’s “not a lot going on” in this corner of Tainan, if you have access to a car and some free time, I actually recommend taking a trip out that way. From temples of historical significance to a truly isolated beach and some cool old houses within driving distance, you can easily fill up a day out here. 

Oh yes, and you can visit what I believe to be Taiwan’s most scenic bathroom.

We began our journey at La Belle Maison in the back lanes of Anping, in a building that I’d rather confidently place as Art Deco/Streamline, though I didn’t ask. La Belle Maison is run by a friendly Frenchman and has excellent meals and coffee, luscious desserts (the tiramisu is the size of a baby’s head!) and is decorated in a sort of botanical-vintage style. See if you can find the partially-hidden Chiang Kai-shek bust. Then it was time to hit the road. 

Beishanwei Matsu Temple / Luermen Tianhou Palace (北汕尾媽祖宮/鹿耳門天后宮)

This temple was our first stop. At first I was impressed by the size of the place, but aesthetically it isn’t particularly unique: it has that late-70s red granite and orange roof look common to many temples across Taiwan. This rather boring facade hides a fair amount of history, however. 

Although it’s impossible to tell from the current structure, Beishanwei Matsu Temple was founded in 1661; the temple’s website states that this was done by Koxinga himself, as he had prayed to Matsu at that spot for a successful siege against the Dutch at his first arrival. Over time, the temple expanded with added gates and banyan trees, and in 1719, funds were donated to turn it into “Tianhou Palace” (天后宮). A flash flood in 1871 destroyed the temple, although the Matsu idol was saved. The idol itself is still ensconced in this temple and according to the website, is in fact the original, made of fine wood with emeralds set in her robe — not that one can get close enough to admire all this. 

The temple was rebuilt in 1977, which is why it looks as it does now. Nearby, attractive Luermen Mansion (鹿耳門公館) is a restored heritage building, though it appeared closed when we popped by. 

At the time Beishanwei Temple was located at the south end of Luermen Harbor, on a bit of land that sure does look like it was once a tail (尾) stretching into the water. I'm not sure of the reason for using "shan" (汕) in the place name, but this post names the area Bexianwei 北線尾 or "north thread tail", which makes sense if you look at the included map. Don't quote me on any etymology, though. I also think this is the island Andrade calls "Baxemboy", as that sounds like it would be about right in Minnanyu -- but don't quote me on that either. 

There had been a small Dutch fort on Beishanwei guarding Luermen (鹿耳門 the Deers' Ear Gap), but it had been destroyed in a massive 1656 typhoon. I don't know exactly where it was, but it couldn't have been far from where the Matsu temple now stands. The destruction of that fort is one reason Koxinga was able to sail through.

In addition to slow sedimentation in the years after Koxinga drove out the Dutch, a flash flood caused by a typhoon in 1823 silted in much of the Taijiang “Inner Sea” (台江內海). This was the wide, shallow body of water separated from the Taiwan Strait by a series of sandbars, called the seven "kunshen" (鯤鯓) which now form several place names along the coast. That sea once stretched from the front of Chikan Tower in central Tainan to Xigang 西港 in the north, down to the northern edge of Kaohsiung County. Roughly, anyway: the sandbars and edges of the inland bay shifted frequently due to storms, floods and sedimentation.

I haven't seen a place name like this before and thought it might perhaps be derived from an Indigenous language, as with Chikan Tower (赤崁樓), named after the Siraya village of Saccam that once existed in the area, and some people are quite upset by the characters chosen to depict it. It's not, however: a kun 鯤 is a mythical sea monster or massive fish, like a whale, and a shen 鯓 is its back rising out of the sea.

Due to these geographical changes, the Taijiang area went from being navigable -- albeit dangerous -- by sea to being slowly silted up, with the old "sea monster's back" forming the coast. Now Beishanwei Matsu Temple is surrounded by dry land, shallow waterways and fish farms. 

There is another reason to stop at Beishanwei Matsu Temple: if you want to make a wish on a wooden plaque as close as possible to an area of great historical significance, this is the closest you’re going to get as the other nearby Matsu temple doesn’t have wishing plaques. I always wish for Taiwan independence (台灣獨立) and although I’m an atheist, it felt significant to make that particular wish at a temple founded by a man who was not the “hero” the ROC wants to portray him as, but still historically important to Taiwan. 

Luermen Matsu Temple （正統鹿耳門聖母廟)

This “orthodox” (正統) Matsu temple a few kilometers north of the Beishanwei Matsu Temple has a confusingly similar name, but the Chinese names help differentiate them. This is the closest temple to the actual Koxinga landing site.

People working/hanging out there (it’s hard to tell with temples sometimes) told us that Koxinga had passed by this spot on the way to the site of his first proper ‘landing’ and again prayed to Matsu. A related website also states that in 1661, Koxinga funded the reconstruction of the temple that once stood here as he prayed in this spot as well.

Temple rivalries are fairly common, so it could be that these temples disagree on which one the story relates to. However, it’s not inconceivable that he prayed at both places and ordered the founding of two Matsu temples in the same year to thank the sea goddess for her help in his victory over the Dutch. 

This temple was destroyed in 1831 by yet another Zengwen River flood, and its Matsu idols relocated to the Sanjiao Hai’an Temple (三郊海安宮) and Water Fairy Temple (水仙宮), both still in existence (the former seems to have undergone its own 20th century renovation, the latter still boasts an older structure, in the middle of a bustling market). It’s not clear if the idols are still in those temples or have been re-ensconced in the rebuilt Luermen Matsu Temple.

The site lay dormant until 1913, when a King Boat from Quanzhou’s Fumei Temple — the same type as the one they burn to Wang Ye in Donggang every three years — was found drifting near the site. Apparently, was pushed out to sea several times and floated back each time. People felt this was a good reason to rebuild the temple, although that structure doesn't seem to exist anymore, either. The current structure dates from 1981. 

According to this blog, that same boat can be found on display at the temple, but we didn't see it (that place is huge and we didn't know it was there).

So why visit? In addition to having reported historical ties to Koxinga, this temple boasts of being the “largest Matsu temple in the world”, though other sources merely state it's the largest in Taiwan. It is indeed massive, dwarfing the Beishanwei Matsu Temple, which is itself quite large. There’s also a bustling night market that sets up here, and two massive statues of Matsu’s guardians, Thousand Mile Eyes (千里眼) and Ears Hearing on the Wind (順風耳), which are apparently the largest statues of their type in the world.

Cheng Cheng-kung Memorial Park (鄭成功紀念公園)

A short drive from the Luermen Matsu Temple, you’ll come to what might well be the most underwhelming part of a day driving around the area: the actual landing site of Cheng Chenggong. There is a park here, with a cute vintage-y arch and a stone monolith. It’s poorly-maintained and usually empty; the only people you’re likely to encounter in the park itself are the folks watering the plants. There is a restroom here, but no promises on how well it actually works. 

It's worth revisiting the story of Koxinga's landing, as most summaries don't do it justice. To face the Dutch, Koxinga needed to get into Taijiang. But with Fort Zeelandia guarding the deeper channel into the Taijiang Inner Sea, Luermen was the only suitable alternative. The channel was far more shallow and full of shifting sandbars. Andrade notes that maps differed quite a bit, in part because the geography kept changing, but some clearly show a set of islands in this area that do indeed look like two deers' ears. 

Koxinga did not just successfully navigate this treacherous channel, he used strategy to do it. He braved foggy rain on the way from Penghu in order to reach the area by the new moon, when tides would be high. That higher tide allowed his deep-cutting ships to pass through an area that would have otherwise destroyed his fleet.

Anyway, back to the park.

Enjoy the middle-of-nowhere decrepitude for awhile, and meditate on how this spot used to be on the water — now completely silted in and well inland. Then, poke around behind the park, where a small road (which turns off just before you reach the park and runs behind it as a country lane) reveals a few rundown houses on the edge of yet another milkfish farm. A friendly guy who once trained in Hawai’i as an athlete for Taiwan — I think he said he’d played rugby — owns the small house back here, inherited from his parents. He doesn’t live there full time (honestly nobody would want to), but he sometimes pops around on the weekends to hang out and tend to his garden. He told us he always enjoys making new friends, and gave us some passionfruit from his garden. 

He also let us know about Luermen’s best-kept secret, a wide, clean beach at the end of a mangrove estuary, which you’ll probably have all to yourself. While you can take a bus out to the temples and park above, at this point driving is necessary.

The quiet beach

Here’s how to get there: drive towards the coast on the main road (Chengxi Street 城西街) that passes by the Memorial Park, to the very end. When you hit the T-junction, turn left. Keep going along the Zengwen River, do not turn back inland. Stop and walk up the concrete embankment to get a view of the river if you feel like it, though we didn’t. Take this embankment road all the way to the end, where there’s a small parking lot. In fact, it is possible to continue driving as the road you’ll be walking to the very end is passable by car and scooter, but it’s a pleasant walk through woods and mangroves. 

It’s perhaps another ten-minute walk to the beach; you’ll know it when you see it. You can continue along the path away from the beach, but we didn’t. 

When we went, the area was completely deserted and peaceful. We weren’t dressed for swimming or even going barefoot — I had socks and sneakers on — so we didn’t go in the water, but you absolutely could. Just be careful as there is literally no one around to save you if you get into trouble. It’s just you, the sand, the sun, the sea and lots of oyster shells. Perhaps a fisherman, but likely not even that. 

Nanching/Lady Tsai Temple (南清宮/蔡姑娘廟) and Taiwan’s most scenic bathroom

After the beach, it was time to take a pit stop. I have no idea how our friend found this small temple in the middle of miles of fish farms, but she did. We pulled up, asked about a bathroom — most temples have them — and were directed out back. 

I wish I’d stopped to ask the locals hanging out what the history of this temple was, but we were so focused on a bathroom that it slipped our minds. This website says that Lady Tsai would sail between Taiwan and Fujian in the jewelry business, and seeing all the corpses from shipwrecks in this area — remember, it was once a shallow harbor full of deadly sandbars — had a temple founded there, though it’s obviously been rebuilt many times since, and the current structure has a 1980s look to it. 

Anyway, I didn’t get a picture, but climb the stairs from the big metal structure in front of the temple to the raised dirt path out back, and enjoy the view across the fish farms! There’s even a picturesque palm tree swaying in the wind coming off the flat land transformed into a series of ponds and farms. The actual toilet is in a building with no view, but if you have the right parts, the open-air urinal will allow you to feel the country breeze on your cheeks (your other cheeks) as you relieve yourself. 

You're welcome! 

Abandoned Ji Gong Temple (Wansheng Temple) (萬聖宮/濟公廟)

On the road to the deserted beach, you’ll pass by an oddly-shaped temple structure topped with a huge Ji Gong statue. Ji Gong was a 12th century monk known for his tattered robes and proclivity for meat and wine, which got him kicked out of the monastery. He is commonly said to appear to spirit mediums, and has a strong presence in Yi Guan Dao (一貫道), a modern religious group with some fairly conservative strictures on practice. 

Curious, we pulled in just to see what the place was like. Though it’s not obvious from the road, it is indeed abandoned and locked tight, although one of the automatic lights at the entrance blinked on while we were there. I don’t know why this temple was abandoned, nor anything about it, but whatever happened, it occurred sometime after 2013, when a blogger was able to go inside and the temple still seemed to be active. 

The spot is quiet and slightly creepy, as the building itself appears to be in good condition but there’s nobody around. 

Heritage Houses (古厝)

From here, we looked into stopping at the black-faced spoonbill sanctuary, but the viewing platform closes in the late afternoon, and we wouldn’t have made it.

Instead, I keyed  “heritage homes” (古厝) into Google Maps and found a few that, while not in Luermen exactly, were within driving distance. My best guess for why Luermen lacks historic buildings? For the same reason the temples keep getting rebuilt: the area had once been a bay and was prone to rapid geographical change, flash flood, and sedimentation. I wouldn't have built a house there, either. 

I’ve gone "old house hunting" before; this is how I found the Liu Family House in Liucuo (the town’s name is literally Liu House, so it’s kind of a big deal), itself not far from Luermen. 

However, unlike the Liu Family House, which isn’t inhabited full-time, some of these other houses are, or at least the owners tend to be home on the weekend. The Liu house can be viewed from the road, so it’s worth stopping even if you can’t enter, whereas the houses we visited are set back from the road; to see them, you have to trespass on private property. 

The good news is that the owners of both houses we visited are friendly people all too willing to let some random historic house enthusiasts take a look at their courtyard (one even invited us into the family shrine). One family included a centenarian grandmother who was married in that same house at age 18 and her son — himself grandfather-age — watering the beautiful garden, and told us the inscription on the entranceway referenced the family’s original hometown in China some centuries ago. The other boasted gorgeous original paintings on wood; the ones on the outer doors are in dire need of restoration but it’s an expensive proposition. The painted panels in the family shrine are in far better condition, and the shrine itself boasts pristine original Majolica tiles. 

But, because people actually live in these residences, I don’t feel comfortable sharing exactly which ones I visited. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for a trickle of visitors to people who will be hospitable if you drop by, but probably don’t want their lives interrupted that much. In any case, there are lots of options in the area: just find some near your chosen day trip route and go hunting. You don’t need me. 

I will, however, offer some photos: 

There is a lot we didn’t see on this trip. Historic houses and nature sanctuaries we didn’t get to and at least one seafood restaurant that looks excellent. There’s plenty to do in the area if you’re willing to go hunting. 

Because night fell while visiting the second historic house, we decided it was time to head back to Tainan. Our friend knew a good place in the East District near National Cheng-kung University called 鯤島xSoshow.

There's that sea monster 鯤 again: this should be a clue that KundaoxSoshow takes an interest in Taiwanese history, geography and agricultural products.

This restaurant specializes in traditional Taiwanese ingredients are used to make entirely new fusion-style dishes and boasts an excellent cocktail bar. I had a drink made with pomelo, tea, flower petals and gin, and another topped with egg white and served in a traditional steamed rice cake (碗粿) bowl — white with a cerulean rim, which could have passed for a steamed rice cake itself. It was delicious! 

Taiwan's anti-stalking laws are getting much-needed reform

I think this picture metaphorically depicts the current state of Taiwan's anti-stalking laws.

Years ago, the ex-boyfriend of someone I once knew was engaging in aggressive stalking and harassment. We're talking the stuff of horror movies here. Despite showing up at her work and later the same night outside her front door as she was coming home (!), it struck me that there seemed to be so little the police could do. She called them and they came, but they weren't able to guarantee her safety in any meaningful way. She had been planning to end her time in Taiwan in the near future, but it was clear that staying would have been a dangerous proposition regardless. I don't know the extent to which his actions hastened her departure, but it almost certainly had some effect. 

We're not in touch anymore, so I'm not willing to include any more detail than that. However, what remains with me is this: Taiwanese law enforcement could not or would not do anything to make Taipei a place where she could safely remain.

Now, imagine if she had not been planning to leave, or was from here and either had nowhere else to go, or didn't want to leave her life behind just to rid herself of a stalker. 

That's not the only story I've heard; I'm intentionally not including more recent tales from others I don't know the extent to which doing so -- even with permission -- might impact their safety. Others have been in the news, most recently a woman in Pingtung who had reported her harassment over several months to police, but was still killed by her harasser. 

Given all this, Taiwan's new draft amendment to improve anti-stalking laws in Taiwan is mind-bogglingly overdue and hasn't been reported on nearly enough, although taiwanreporter has consistently highlighted the importance of this subject for some time, as has the Taipei Times.

Here is what the new law would do: 

According to the bill, the police will have the right to issue a written warning to a stalker or someone accused of harassment, once the victim's report can be corroborated.

If the accused disregards the police warning, the victim, police or prosecutors can seek a restraining order from the court, the bill states. Currently, restraining orders are issued only in cases of harassment or violence within a family or between couples.

Under the draft bill, the maximum penalty for stalking and/or harassment is five years in prison or a fine of NT$500,000 (US$17,667), and it allows preventive detention if the offender is deemed a likely recidivist. [The current fines are far lower: see below for more information]. 

It broadens the definitions specified in both the Sexual Harassment Prevention Act and Domestic Violence Prevention Act and makes them applicable in almost any situation, not just in a home, workplace, or school.

In particular, the definition of harassment has been extended to include making unwanted advances on someone.

You might be wondering if it's really true that currently, the police can only issue a restraining order in cases of harassment between family members or cohabiting couples, and whether most relevant laws are truly only applicable at home, work or school. What's more, are the current penalties truly so low? Are people being stalked in situations outside these narrow definitions truly left without protection? 

The answer to all of these is "yes". 

You may also wonder how it got to be that way. The problem is that work, home and school were each targeted with specific laws, with no umbrella anti-stalking or anti-harassment law covering all situations beyond one very general and low-stakes provision in one very broad law. Since I am not constrained by inches or word count, I have the space to sift through these laws. So let's do that, and take stock of where they currently fall short. 

I'm probably not including every relevant sub-code or detail of every pertinent act and regulation because I'm not superhuman, but there are three that stand out: the Domestic Violence Prevention Act (家庭暴力防治法), the Sexual Harassment Prevention Act (性騷擾防治法) and the laughably inadequate Social Order Maintenance Act (社會秩序維護法). Also relevant are the Gender Equity Education Act (性別平等教育法) and the Gender Equality in Employment Act (性別工作平等法). 

The Domestic Violence Prevention Act covers harassment, stalking (which is specifically defined) and other abuse by family members, including spouses and ex-spouses, relatives and cohabiting or formerly cohabiting couples. This is the act that allows for restraining orders to be issued, and allows for fines of up to NT$100,000 for contravening court rulings, including restraining orders and orders to relocate. However, it does not cover non-familial, non-cohabiting relationships -- so it would not cover a creepy date, friendship-turned-sour or terrifying ex that you didn't live with. 

The Sexual Harassment Prevention Act covers school and workplace sexual harassment, and stipulates fines of up to NT$100,000 (and higher for certain professions) and imprisonment for up to two years for unwelcome touching. The act includes threats, offense and intimidation, inundation (of behavior, approaches or images), creating a sense of fear or hostility or impinging on rights and interests of a person within the organization. Although the organization is meant to conduct its own investigation, it must report to municipal authorities and can be punished for not investigating appropriately. This act does not mention stalking, but the focus on the reaction of the targeted person to the unwelcome behavior might potentially cover this.

The Gender Equity in Employment Act and the Gender Equity Education Act cover any sexual harassment at school or work not covered by the Sexual Harassment Prevention Act, and include language against discrimination (which includes bullying or verbal harassment) based on gender or sexual orientation. Neither clearly stipulate that harassment or bullying of transgender workers or students is included in this definition, and neither use the term "stalking". 

The Social Order Maintenance Act attempts to cover everything else. This is the one that would cover that creepy date, rando who follows you or ex you never lived with. However, it does not define "stalking", saying only that it prohibits "stalking another person without justifiable reasons despite having been dissuaded" (emphasis mine).  It stipulates a fine of not more than NT$3,000 for stalking, and includes defacing someone else's property, such as a house or car. 

I have no idea what a "justifiable reason" for stalking would be, and am nonplussed that this language would be included in such a wide-reaching law. It goes without saying that NT$3,000 is barely a punishment; it's essentially a stalking fee, which if you have to pay it at all amounts to permission to keep on stalking. The law mentions "dissuasion" but makes no provisions for issuing restraining orders against such stalkers. Police may, however, restrain a person who is -- and I am quoting the law here -- "caught red-handed in the commission of an offense". 

It's terrifying to me that this is the only law under which my then-friend could have sought redress, and it would not have even stipulated so much as a restraining order.

Clearly, this change has been long overdue. Every time there is a widely-reported case (or number of cases) that could potentially have been prevented by more concrete anti-stalking laws, there is an outcry, followed by a call for reform, followed by what seems to be...no reform. 

It happened in 2018, when the Executive Yuan approved a draft bill to bolster harassment and "pestering" laws. That seems to have gone nowhere, as it did not have the support of women's rights groups. From the Taipei Times: 

While they support the idea of the bill, [women's rights groups] said its current version would not provide enough protection to people who are being harassed or stalked.

Once a person files a complaint with police, the police are required to spend three months investigating the allegations, which is both time consuming and fails to provide a victim with timely protection, Taipei Women’s Rescue Foundation deputy chief executive Jasmine Bai (白智芳) said.

It happened again in 2020, when the National Police Agency proposed anti-stalking legislation. It's not clear if that's the same proposal that was lambasted once again by women's groups, as by November 2020 the anti-stalking proposal under discussion came from the Ministry of the Interior (I was following this issue, and couldn't figure it out then, either).  This time, criticisms of the proposal included a lack of immediate tools to protect victims, and equating stalking to sexual harassment, even though not all stalking is sexually motivated. 

By March 2021, the New Power Party (NPP) was pointing out that the government was taking far too long to take action. Of course, as we now know, that short lag between March and April meant that there was no law already in place when the woman in Pingtung was murdered by her stalker about two weeks ago. 

That was the price society paid. A life was lost. This isn't abstract, it's an immediate need. 

The approved draft amendment seems like it will go further than its dead-on-the-vine predecessors, as Premier Su has requested that it be implemented within six months rather than the originally-slated year, according to the Taipei Times. It includes immediate protection for victims, expanding the power of law enforcement to issue restraining orders on any harasser, not just those with family/couple relationships. It includes non-sexual stalking, such as spying, sending unwanted messages, images, goods or services -- meaning it should also cover cyberbullying and online stalking -- and raises the penalty for aggravated stalking with a weapon. Because it covers stalking behavior rather than who is stalking (e.g. a colleague, family member or person at school) or why they're stalking (e.g. for reasons related to sexual desire, gender or sexual orientation), it ought to cover marginalized groups such as transgender people who face stalking and harassment.

Most importantly, the passage of this new law is more likely because it finally "draws on relevant laws in other countries and on the views of women's rights groups and legislators in Taiwan", according to Focus Taiwan. 

Imagine that. The government finally listening to women's voices when drafting legislation that will help protect women. 

Imagine if they had done that in 2018. How many people might still be alive?

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.  

Mythbusting Bilingual by 2030

I dunno, this just seemed like a good photo to illustrate the current debate around Bilingual by 2030

There is an ongoing series of interesting and worthwhile dialogues in Taipei affiliated with Fulbright and Taiwan NextGen which include discussions of the Bilingual by 2030 initiative: there's one tomorrow, (most likely today by the time you read this). Having attended the last one, I am considering returning, but I need to be available for last-minute feeback and questions for trainees who are doing their teaching demonstrations on Sunday, and I'll always prioritize them. 

However, I thought this would be a good opportunity to "mythbust" some common misconceptions about Bilingual by 2030. I've noticed a lot of people believe things about it which are simply not true. Others have decided what they'd like their opinion on it to be without giving it a fair hearing: it's so tempting and easy to project one's already-extant beliefs about English being a harbinger of Big Bad Globalization onto it, without fully considering where it may have merit. 

I'm not here to tell you if it's a "good" or "bad" plan, although I can say that I started out highly cynical, but was gradually won over by dedicated professionals who saw a lot of good in it, and have been doing what I can to ensure it's implemented in a thoughtful and effective way. If my mind can be changed, I hope yours can too. 

"Taiwan wants to prioritize only English and Mandarin, that's why it's called 'Bilingual' by 2030"

The name "Bilingual by 2030" is certainly sub-optimal, and cringey tweets from Vice President William Ching-te Lai don't help correct the view that the plan sidelines and potentially threatens a renewed interest in local languages. I strongly suspect many negative opinions of the policy come from hearing the name and pulling a face. I agree: it sounds pretty bad. The NDC document (linked in the next section) re-iterates that Lai and others have expressed this English-Mandarin binary, however, it does not incorporate this view into the actual policy:

Side by side with implementation of the bilingual nation policy, equal importance will also be attached to the promotion of native-language culture. Taiwan in the future will be a nation of diverse ethnicities and languages.The bilingual policy will be parallel to the pluralistic development of mother tongues, and its implementation will not constrain native language education.

Having interacted with the NDC on this issue, I do believe they are a few steps ahead -- and a few notches more thoughtful -- than the government at large, but the intent is there to focus on improving language education in general, not "bilingualism". 

Will this attempt to be more pluralistic and promote both English and local languages and cultures be successful? I have no idea, but this is a more egalitarian, local-context-situated take on foreign language education than I've seen from any previous policy. Frankly, it's a step forward that they thought to include it at all. 

Will implementation be insufficient? Probably, and local language education is currently insufficient as well. But Bilingual by 2030 hasn't been implemented in any meaningful way yet, so it would be odd to blame it for an already-existing problem.

If this is the case, why is it labeled "Bilingual by 2030" rather than, say, "Multilingual Taiwan" (my preferred nomenclature)? Honestly, this is just thickheadedness. The plan is based on an initiative that began in Tainan when Lai was the mayor, so it's his 'baby', and to that end, it seems that the blame for this baby's unfortunate name lies with the father. I can't say much, but I happen to know that Lai was told the name was problematic by experts back when it was a city initiative; he didn't listen. 

The subtleties of this do matter: the writers of the actual policy are clearly trying to do the right thing and craft a useful policy out of a cringey focus on "bilingualism". That said, they most likely don't have the power to demand a better name, because that's how power works. Understanding this is key to useful advocacy. 

"Taiwan wants to make English an official language by 2030"

Other than a quick review of Lai's involvement in the policy's formation, the actual policy document addresses this one time:

With regard to promoting English as the nation’s second official language, this would be studied and discussed again after 2030, in light of the executive review of the results of the bilingual policy’s implementation.

This is most likely a polite way of saying that the government and NDC don't actually want to do this, but Lai thinks they should, so they're humoring him while putting off the actual question. I merely suspect this; I cannot confirm it. But I've been here long enough that I've hopefully gained some competence in translating "Taiwanese Governmentese" into something more comprehensible. 

Whether I'm right or wrong, it's right there in plain text: perhaps the issue of making English an "official language" will be taken up in the future, but it will not happen as part of Bilingual by 2030. 


"The plan is to make every citizen bilingual by 2030"

Nowhere in the actual policy does it say this. While it does list improving the English proficiency of Taiwanese citizens as a policy objective, it very wisely does not go so far as to say that the goal is for every citizen to be forced to learn English, or for everyone to be proficient in it to some degree. In terms of language education, it talks about improving the way languages are taught, without stipulating any specific outcomes. In terms of "improving proficiency", it focuses on government employees and front-line workers who interact with foreigners regularly (such as tourism and hospitality professionals). Frankly, that seems like a pretty smart focus: they're the people who would need English the most in a more international, multicultural Taiwan. 

Improving the overall English proficiency of Taiwanese labor is also included, but it's important to note that none of the details of this part of the plan would force anyone to actually improve or learn English: the idea is to make online work applications, advisory services and handbooks bilingual, and encourage companies to offer English classes to employees. I've taught Business English for many years, and I can say that your average trainer in this field is more concerned with providing an environment to practice and enhance existing language skills -- which is the most optimal way to help trainees actually improve, though it's less quantifiable -- not crack the whip, administer tests and pour homework on already-overworked learners.

Indeed, much of the plan involves improving English-language government services, including improved websites, application services, financial services, procurement contracts and a whole bunch of other boring crap that really needed to have been done a decade ago. Who can argue that all of those things require improvement?  

This all feeds into the actual goals of what the NDC has crafted: a plan to nudge Taiwan towards offering a more welcoming international environment, not enforcing some sort of linguistic imperialist nightmare hellscape in which not speaking English or Mandarin will earn you a paddlin'. 

"The changes in education simply won't work"

Not with that attitude they won't! 

Seriously, this is the area where people's concerns are the most valid. On one hand, my professional opinion is that the language learning methodology that Bilingual by 2030 promotes is sound. 

You might say that's just my opinion, but I literally have a Master's in this, as I took a deep look at Bilingual by 2030 as part of my dissertation which focused on intercultural communicative competence. What's more, my primary work right now is in teacher training. If there are two things I know extremely well, they are intercultural communication and teaching methodology in the language classroom. I'm so methods, I'm post-methods, baby! 

CLIL (content and language integrated learning -- careful scaffolding of the learning of subject matter in a foreign language) does have promising research behind it. It helps eliminate the issues inherent in low-content, low-context "general English" classes. When you see language learners failing to learn,  common causes include sub-optimal teaching as a result of washback from inappropriate testing methods, inauthenticity (learning that doesn't prioritize or promote real communication, and is thus rendered both useless and unengaging), and insufficient exposure (extended exposure plus interaction forms the backbone of the interactionist theory of language learning -- I wrote a paper on this, but won't bore you). 

Sadly, the Taiwanese education system is plagued by all three issues. CLIL might not solve the testing issue, but it does help bypass it: if you have to learn actual content in English and are tested on the content, it matters less if the exams for your language classes are inappropriate. It creates a more robust environment with more exposure and more real content in which you have to communicate authentically in order to learn. General language classes very often lack such content, either out of fear that it's "too hard", "too controversial" or "not necessary", in favor of grammar exercises, translating sentences and the occasional boring story about boring blonde kids doing boring things. 

In short, if the plan is implemented the way the NDC clearly wants it to be, it actually could work. The methodology and theory behind it is sound, thoughtful and modern. 

However, concerns about Bilingual by 2030's viability in classrooms are valid: there seems to be no effort to reform the examination system which plagues Taiwanese education like a relentless metastasized cancer. Focus on that instead of complaining about an approach that actually has a professional stamp of approval (and not just mine). 

"It does nothing to address the wealth and urban/rural divides"

This is a legitimate concern. The policy document proffers an insufficient solution:

When the government implemented bilingual policies in the past, limitations of teachers and funding made it difficult to apply them with uniformity nationwide. But now, emerging technologies and digital learning platforms can reduce the urban-rural divide, helping children in remote rural areas enjoy the same English learning resources as their peers in cities enjoy.

Yawn. Who phoned this section in? Because it's terrible. 

There is in fact a way to bridge these societal divides: training up local teachers to be not only effective CLIL and language teachers and reforming the testing system to give them the flexibility they need to teach properly, but to recruit the best among them to be trained up and mentored as trainers, able through sheer number to reach more school districts in more remote and underserved and marginalized areas. More than one person shares this goal: watch this blog for more, someday -- I hope. 

Will the Taiwanese government actually do this? I hope so, but as of now it still seems to be stuck in a native speakerist "must recruit foreigners" mode. I'm not against foreign teachers coming here in general, but this particular initiative certainly won't help. It will create animosity as local teachers see they are being paid less than these newcomers who don't know the local context and don't speak any local language, there won't be enough of them to reach rural and underserved schools, there's no guarantee they will actually be trained in CLIL (most likely not), and no clear outline has been set for what they will actually do once here. 

"It's 2030 is totally new and overly ambitious"

Not really. The push to "internationalize" and encourage "intercultural communication" through bolstering English classes has been at the core of the education initiatives of several administrations. At the turn of the century, English classes were introduced in elementary school, in Grade 5 and later Grade 3. Aims included “improving students’ basic communicative competence” and “addressing cross-cultural issues”. In 2015, the Ministry of Education issued new guidelines with more explicit intercultural aims, aiming to cultivate future professionals who can “effectively communicate and interact with people from different countries”. You can read all about this in Chou and Ching's Taiwan Education at the Crossroad and Lin and Byram (eds) New Approaches to English Language and Education in Taiwan, or if you know me, you can ask to borrow them. 

"The turn of the century" would have been the Chen administration, though his was certainly not the first government to announce such initiatives. 2015 was the Ma administration. In fact, Bilingual by 2030 is not particularly new: it's an iteration of ongoing government initiatives.

"Bilingual by 2030 is just another iteration of the same old government initiatives"

It's not really that, either. Although it turns out I still have institutional access, I just don't have the energy right now to go and find all of those old documents. However, from my memory, they mostly stated an intention to do so, but never got very far in terms of actually changing the way languages are taught. I don't know to what extent the architects of those plans engaged professional opinions, but it doesn't seem to have been sufficient make a difference. If they had been more successful, the major exams would have been reformed by now, but they still lack any sort of communicative element; in fact, there's no speaking section at all on the English portion of the university entrance exam. 

Bilingual by 2030 has some serious issues in actual implementation, and while there's a great deal of funding, it's unclear what will be done with much of it, although some of it I can say is well-spent. 

If anything can change the way language is taught in Taiwan, it's something like this. If you asked me as a language teaching professional to come up with a plan to improve such classes, it would look a lot like this. 

"Teachers are against Bilingual by 2030"

We don't know that; nobody seems to have asked them yet. Mostly, K-12 teachers report being willing to implement more modern, communication-based approaches, but feel they can't due to the pressures -- again -- of the exams. Anecdotally, I've interacted with a lot of teachers at the university level. Although they were mostly a self-selecting group, they seemed more enthusiastic than not. What's more, a good friend and fellow classmate who teaches in a Taiwanese junior high school reports general enthusiasm for the new plan among younger teachers. She added that the (mostly older) teachers who gripe about it are generally concerned with being encouraged to teach using new approaches which may require additional training, which is generally not a good reason to oppose new education policies. Most peers I've talked to in teacher training start out skeptical, as I did, but changed their minds after giving the plan a close read. The general consensus is that if implemented in a principled way, it has the potential to be a beneficial approach.

"We should make Taiwanese an official language instead!" 

First, a quick reminder that the goal of Bilingual by 2030 is not to make English an "official language" by 2030. 

Second, I strongly support bolstering Taiwanese language promotion, education and resources. I would love to see that and the other languages of Taiwan -- the many Indigenous languages and Hakka -- gain such recognition and popularity. There is an element of rediscovering local identity in this approach: as I noted in a podcast with Donovan Smith, there's an argument to be made that Mandarin, a colonial language imported from China and forced on Taiwan in some horrifically cruel ways, is about as relevant to Taiwanese identity as English, which is a part of Taiwanese history as well given the historic closeness of Taiwan and the US compared to other countries. 

I am sure there are people who will hate me for saying that, but there is indeed an argument to be made. In that context, a focus on local identity is crucial, and this is one smart area for advocacy.

However, that's an argument for promoting the use of local/mother languages, not against English per se. Not everyone has to learn English, just as not everyone has to learn Hakka or Atayal. It would be great if improved teaching methods could empower learners to choose the languages relevant to them and make it easier to learn them simply because they are taught more effectively, and the teaching methods proposed in Bilingual by 2030 are promising in their efficacy. 

In other words, this isn't Highlander. There can be more than one. Of course, language learning is not neutral: the tides and eddies of imperialism, colonialism and cultural supremacy vs. erasure are inherently tied to it. However, that's an after-effect of history, not the language itself. Taiwan also has the benefit of never having been colonized by an English-speaking nation, so what it means to learn English here is not quite the same as what it means in post-colonial English-speaking societies. In fact, if the primary colonial language is Mandarin, then how is English the bad guy in this context? It is in fact possible to do better. 

Or as a friend put it, he once thought of English as just another agent of colonialism and thus opposed it. then he realized it was simplistic and trite to just slap the same anti-Western label on every single thing. When he talked about feeling brutalized by language learning -- "like they cut your tongue" -- he was talking about Mandarin, not English. 

I know it's cool to default to hating the West, and there certainly are a lot of things to hate. But I'm not cool, so I feel confident in not hating this particular thing. We can have both the local and the global. Taiwan has accomplished more astonishing things than that; it can surely succeed if it wants to. 

"Taiwan doesn't need English as a foreign language"

Many individuals probably don't, no. Learners who are not motivated to learn it would either become motivated if the learning environment were to become more authentic and communicative, or they'd continue to lack interest, in which case they would not be forced to take CLIL courses -- and that's fine too. English is not currently required for the vast majority of jobs in Taiwan, and that probably wouldn't change much.

However, as a society, I'd argue Taiwan does in fact need English, a point I've noted before. Not being particularly interested in business, I remain neutral on "international competitiveness" in industry. It's fine I guess, but it just doesn't arouse any sort of internal passion. After all, I've spent my life being surprisingly well-paid for someone who so thoroughly repudiates the idea of a corporate job.

You can talk all you want about how South Korea and Japan do just fine without high English proficiency (though it seems to me their governments push it just as much as Taiwan). However, nobody doubts the existence of Japan and South Korea as countries. Taiwan has to fight every single day for even the most basic international recognition. 

To participate in that discourse, you need English. Without making a moral judgement, you just do -- I know firsthand that activists who have wanted to engage in such participation at one point felt held back by their self-perceived lack of skill in the language. Taiwan has the power, if it wants it, to appropriate English for its own ends, as a tool to fight for international recognition.

It wouldn't be the first country where learners thought to do so, either. From a student evaluation form in Palestine sometime before 2017: 

We need to learn how to resist by using the Western language in order to convey our message and our voice to the whole world.

Sound familiar?

Conclusion

Hate on Bilingual by 2030 if you want, but hate on it for the right reasons. If the alternative is the way language is (mostly) taught in Taiwan now, it's honestly a huge step forward. If you want to criticize it for its proposed teaching approach, don't. Or at least, don't complain to me. If you want to complain that the government should not spend resources improving access in English to vital information and websites, what is wrong with you? 

If you want to criticize it for not centering local languages enough, that's fine. But remember that this isn't an either/or situation. Use that energy to advocate for local language education and use, not against English. If you want to complain that it probably won't succeed, that's fine too, but perhaps look at the real issues with implementation: the lack of proposed reform of the major examinations, the focus on recruiting native speakers rather than training local talent, the lackluster focus on local languages despite the NDC's best intentions, and the half-assed approach to bridging the urban-rural divide. This is smarter than criticizing it because it burnishes your anti-Western cred. 

This will be much easier to do if we all let go of the myths that have been built around Bilingual by 2030 and stop wasting energy talking about non-issues. There are real problems to discuss, so I propose we get to it.

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. 

Safety Theater

The hallway outside our apartment created jarring echoes all week. Just before the holiday weekend, we saw a notice posted in the lobby that the government would be inspecting our building for fire safety so everything -- the usual shoe cabinets, umbrella stands and benches -- would have to be stowed outside as it's all technically against code. 

The building manager also told us it wasn't clear what day they'd come, so everyone's stuff would have to be kept inside until she gave the all-clear.

It stayed that way all weekend. Early this week, an announcement crackled over the PA that they'd be coming "tomorrow or Thursday, and they're very serious this time", with a reminder to wait for a signal that everything could go back outside. 

Obviously, the inspectors have been warning buildings in advance, to give everyone time to bring their hallways up to code. I gossiped with some neighbors and the building manager, exclaiming that "this is all a play, it's like a game, it's not real safety!" The doorwoman agreed but said it had gotten worse under Mayor Ko (柯文哲).

"Didn't the same thing also happen under Mayor Hau and Mayor Ma?"

"Yes, but Mayor Ko is stricter!" she spat back.

It's true that Ko does have a reputation for being more of a stickler on things like building inspections.  But he has good reason to be: it's all fun and games until a KTV burns down, killing five. 

That sounds glib, but the point is few take this seriously, even though it's not a joke. People do die.

Plus, she once exclaimed in my general direction that all Taiwanese are Chinese and Taiwan is a part of China when I walked out wearing a 非韓家園 t-shirt (an anti-Han Kuo-yu pun on the anti-nuclear movement) and has made clear her disdain for any politician who is not KMT -- not even Ko is good enough for her -- so that's just like...her opinion, man.

(Despite this we manage to have a good working relationship. I'm honestly not sure how.) 

I tried to point out that Ko can't be that bad, seeing as the inspectors are still calling her in advance, but she cut me off with further insistence that he's too strict and that's bad. I suppose that safety theater was bearable when the play wasn't this dramatic?

Some of the more theatrical aspects of this whole game are so preposterous that I'm surprised they're happening in real life. Brendan and I at least tried to put on a good show, not only moving our small cabinet inside, but also sweeping the area clean. Not all neighbors did this, so when the police arrived, they would have seen very obvious dusty squares where shoe cabinets had recently sat, with the dirt in such perfectly delineated spots that you'd think they weren't even trying to hide the fact that everything had been recently removed. I considered sweeping my neighbors' dust squares too because...c'mon guys, if we have to engage in this massive theatrical dance, can't we at least make an effort?

But I didn't, because that would only fix my floor. Other floors surely have dust squares, too. And this can't possibly be happening in my building alone.

Everyone's stuff is back in the hallway now, except our little chest of drawers. We hardly use the thing; what was the sense of breaking the law just for that? It's currently in our guest bedroom awaiting a clean-up before we give it away.

I am aware that law enforcement officers run the gamut of intelligence levels, from sharp as a knife to sharp as a spoon. This is true in every country. Surely, someone -- if not a knife, then at least a fork --has noticed these dust patches in any one of the buildings they have been inspecting reveal the game for what it is. But since they're calling in advance, my guess is that not noticing is not the reason why they're not reporting.

It's hard to say what the goal is here. Is Ko aware that his own employees are undermining his attempts at improving safety protocols, but understands that changing this mindset takes time? Or does he (or, more accurately, his staff) send them out oblivious to the fact that they're acting exactly as they did back when the KMT was in charge of Taipei and didn't care?

Should the law even exist? My own building is fairly tidy; nobody keeps piles of junk outside their door. A shoe cabinet probably won't make a difference in the event that emergency egress out of the building is necessary. Most people have them: I'd estimate that more people break the law than follow it. These laws feel like they're out of sync with how people actually live, and for that reason nobody obeys them. So why have them at all?

But not all buildings are well-kept, and there are people who do leave heaps of crap in their hallways. My own neighbor once kept a bicycle outside her door. One day I exited the elevator at my floor to hear her calling for help; the bike had fallen in front of the door and now she couldn't open it from the inside. She was trapped until somebody could move it for her. Maybe the laws aren't so silly after all. And although we don't know all the details yet, I'd be willing to bet that if lots of little safety precautions had been followed, the one big mistake by the driver of the truck that hit a train in Hualien, killing 50, might not have turned out the way it did.

So, I can't take a clear position on the whether the laws are reasonable or not. All I can say is, Taipei should make a choice: either have these laws and enforce them properly, or it should change the laws. 

Safety theater hides potential tragedies in plain sight and keeps no-one safe.