On Being Taiwanese

As a foreigner—we the 外國人—in Taiwan, I face a host of challenging

situations, difficulties and conundrums every day. No doubt language use is at the top
of my concerns, and the trial and effort of studying and attempting to use Chinese is a
daily concern. After years of study—I have been nothing if not diligent in my industry
—my Chinese is passable. I have sweated over my books and other materials for
hours at a time, struggled to speak the language, and labored over reading and writing
this devilishly intricate language (and this has always been my strong point with the
language). I communicate in the language every day now, and often construct
complete sentences and dialogs, which pleases me immensely. In spite of my
progress, however, I have to admit I am less than fluent (which is usually the sine qua
non for actually being able to steer your way in a new culture using a new language).
The differences separating Chinese from English are a true gulf. The language’s
parsing, calligraphy, nuance, orthography and syntax are at times mystifying; I simply
do not think in terms of characters that carry entire chunks of meaning (I like little
slips of writing—letters—to formulate meaning in an essentially linear fashion). The
constant repetition in speaking is cumbersome. The identical sounds are confounding
—foreigners studying here may know that Chinese people can hear a sentence that
reads, 媽媽騎馬馬慢媽媽罵馬—that is, “Māmā qímǎ mǎ màn māmā mà mǎ” (a
mother is scolding a mother riding a horse slowly)—and it can be understood as a
meaningful sentence; there is no corresponding “right, rite, wright, write, rite, might,
right” in English. Tonal differentiation is a major struggle (we have “stress” in
English, but it is a far cry from the four or five tones in Chinese). And I ponder what
looks to me like a veritable lack of any grammar (it all seems to be a mass of usages,
apothegms, and habitudes). Any foreigner/Westerner studying Chinese in Taiwan
knows exactly what I am talking about.
Additionally, there is the task of accommodating oneself to a new culture, in this
case a very Chinese and/or Confucian culture. Again the differences loom. Many
observers have commented on this in the past, often lobbing criticisms at Confucian
culture, which is considered outmoded, archaic, limiting of free thought and critical
inquiry, and politically disingenuous. Chinese Confucius Institutes worldwide,
seemingly innocuous cultural institutions and a “soft power” move by China,
represent “a serious threat to freedom of thought and speech in education” wrote the
BBC on December 22, 2014. Yutang Jin, an MSc student at Hertford College, wrote
in 2016 of the “discrimination and injustice that women face in Confucian societies
today.” Herbert Hanreich, an assistant professor in Taiwan, called Confucian filial
piety downright “immoral” in the Taipei Times on October 25, 2017.
I may not come down this hard, but the vagaries and dissimilarities between
Taiwanese and Western arts and culture are at times a bit awkward. In terms of art, it’s
up and down. Local photography and cinematography have shown promise, with
artists like Chi Po-lin (齊柏林), Ang Lee (李安) and a number of other directors
having had a significant impact in film. In terms of music, due to the art form’s
universal values and skill sets, I will not comment at length—there are plenty of good
Taiwanese musicians—but in a larger view I might look at the National Symphony
Orchestra, and their venue, the National Concert Hall, and see this as world class—
there’s a cultural connection. And I have found some appeal in Taiwanese popular
music—“The Moon Represents My Heart” by Teresa Teng is certainly a classic.
Taiwanese folk music—always closest to the hearts of local people—however, does
not seem to me to have reached true global status and recognition, compared say to
U.S. folk music. This may be a cultural disconnect with me. Putting aside the likes of
classical Chinese art in the National Palace Museum (a different category, and
obviously venerated worldwide), local arts like Taiwanese opera and puppetry have
never been to my taste, I find them too traditional, and I am perhaps again
disconnected from local culture in this way. Further, I find that Taiwan has no real
modern art movement of its own, and current works borrow heavily from Western
styles, thus removing much in the way of any “Taiwanese-ness.” Looking at the local
culture, night markets and temple affairs are pleasing in their ways, but tend toward
the tawdry. Taiwanese student life seems a good bit more flighty and lax then I recall
in the U.S. (more disconnects here). But have you noticed the way aged Taiwanese
people rise at 4:00 am and go to the parks to practice tai ji (太極), chant, bicycle and
exercise? I might not be there yet, but that looks good to me—there’s a cultural
connection!
 At another level, the somewhat nonchalant (many say careless) treatment of the
environment has been an ongoing problem in Taiwan. Business and vocational life
here have been quite successful, but have been accused of unscrupulous behavior.
Politics, meanwhile, seems a bit less than genuinely skilled and practiced. Love or
hate Donald Trump, he (and Obama, Bush and Clinton before him) knows the game in
ways that Tsai Ying-wen could never match.
In these terms, though I have done my best to fit in, interact and function within
the culture at large here in Taiwan, at times I am still at t a bit of a loss, and things are
rather “foreign” to me. In spite of this, however, some say I indeed seem to have
transformed myself into a Taiwanese entity after being here as long as I have—and I
too sometimes feel as much, if in a once-removed way. I am not sure that I have taken
the final step, though, and gaps remain. In the big picture, I am not truly there yet,
certainly not in terms of possessing any true identity outside the one noted on my U.S.
passport. My Taiwan Resident Certificate is nice, but it is less than the “real deal.” I
have discussed my pursuit of the “real deal”—Taiwan citizenship—in another forum.
I suspect just this may happen someday, when the Taiwan government opens its eyes
to the necessity and morality of dual citizenship. I will welcome that day—but not at
this time.
So I am back to being a 外國人 in Taiwan, and all that that entails—an outsider in
some respects, knocking on the door of Taiwanese life. Any disconnects aside, I try to
conform and harmonize in my interface and collaboration with the good people in this
land. This is rewarding in its own right, and on the whole my life here has been much
better than my life in the U.S. ever was. In a word, I absolutely love it here. In this
respect, I am the real deal, I am fully affianced and involved in life here. Is that all
that is required? Very possibly yes, for to love a place is to adopt it, to receive it, to
embrace it, to “be” it—even to the point of possessing its identity. You are not a
“foreigner” any longer, you are one of the people, as best you can be. Such a feeling
this nation and its populace have provided me. They have welcomed me, embraced
me, accepted me. For that I give thanks—and in the future, my friends, I will “be
Taiwanese” in every way that I can.