Showing posts with label living_in_Taiwan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label living_in_Taiwan. Show all posts

Wednesday, December 27, 2023

A Thin Comfort

Taiwan's eternal light


When I'm extremely stressed, I engage in a practice that is likely very common: curling up on my bed and covering myself completely in a blanket. Phone nearby but not within perfect reach, lights off. In the US, that blanket would probably be a thick afghan or quilt. In Taiwan it's usually some thin linen drape. It doesn't matter; I just need to be covered. I don't even take away the throw pillows on the bed. Yes, I'm the sort of person who keeps throw pillows on her bed. 

I've found myself curling up this way more often in the past few months, as I've dealt with a fair bout of career anxiety. It's not just that I'd be making a lot more money if I lived in a number of other countries, but that I'd likely get to take my work in the direction I truly want it to go. 

Since 2011, I've been more or less consistently enrolled in some sort of teacher training program. First CELTA, then Delta, then a Master's program, plus a few short courses here and there. That first CELTA course changed the direction of my life; I didn't just go from someone who was teaching English "as a job" to someone who wanted to lead classrooms of adults as a career. I also became a full-throated convert to the power of good teacher training

Obviously, I wanted to be a better teacher myself. As good as I could possibly be -- which, as it turns out, is not perfect. I mess up too. But I also wanted to help other teachers develop their skills. I felt I could make a bigger impact on the world, or at least the education world, by doing so. I haven't loved every teacher training course I've led, but the direction, in general, has always felt right. 

And yet I've realized over the past year or so that there are limitations to this career path in Taiwan. There simply are not enough teacher training opportunities. Those that exist often get outsourced to international firms based in places like the UK. This is a direct result of people who have the power to decide whether to take a training contract choosing not to take one, and the organization needing the training looking elsewhere. 

This is exactly the sort of thing I was hoping to avoid by taking the freelance route. I struggle a lot with the idea that decisions might be out of my hands. I can work with a team but I am not a natural follower. I wanted quite specifically to be in charge of what classes I take and when I'm free to take them. I never want to be told by anything other than my bank account that I can't take this or that trip.

Instead, I've found that I'm too far removed from those decision-makers to be heard, and it probably wouldn't matter if I was heard. After all, it's not as if they aren't aware that teacher training in Taiwan should be sourced as locally as possible, to people who know the local context. 

Please don't misunderstand: I'm grateful for every teacher training opportunity that comes my way. I find most of them meaningful, impactful, intellectually challenging to plan and execute and personally satisfying. As with a great deal of impactful work, whether it improves the world in some tiny way has become more important to me than whether or not I enjoyed leading it. And yet, I do generally enjoy them.

Friends have recommended I start my own local training business. I don't want to do that -- first, I'd be in direct competition with people who've been in the field longer, whom I like, respect and have perhaps even acted as mentors. Second, I want to be a teacher, not a business owner. Running a business is its own job and skill set; a job I don't want to do, and a skill set I lack and am not terribly interested in acquiring. Reading books about Taiwan or studying two unrelated languages at the same time -- one of them through Mandarin -- are more attractive than learning to balance books or engage in marketing. 

In other words, as a teacher (or teacher trainer) I have the time and energy to learn Armenian and Taiwanese. As a business owner, I'd spend that time figuring out how to make and keep my business profitable. No thanks! 

It is a thin comfort that I know I'm usually very good at my job, and I learn from whatever mistakes I make. It's not enough of a comfort, though, when I think about what I could be doing if I weren't committed to Taiwan.

I have found other career outlets that satisfy me. This is another thin comfort. I've been doing a lot of work in language learning content development and online materials design recently. It scratches the same itch of being meaningful, impactful (one hopes -- it's not live yet) and intellectually challenging. In my own training I found that leading other teachers and creating materials were two strengths. I've also been doing a lot more paid writing, some of which you'll hear about soon. 

These frustrations and their associated comforts have caused me to consider moving in a new direction, out of the classroom and into full time materials development. I haven't found the right job in Taiwan, and most jobs abroad are no longer fully remote, but it's an idea on the horizon if I can't make a full career of teacher training -- and it looks increasingly like I can't.

I had a choice: Taiwan or my career, and I chose Taiwan. Potentially leaving the classroom for something different feels like leaving a religion, but here we are. It bothers me quite a bit that my complaint isn't about pay exactly, or finding a specific full-time job, but about being able to explore a career direction at all. 

This leads me to my final thin comfort, which I alluded to in my last post about staying in Taiwan. It may seem tangential to this post, but in my mind, it isn't. To take that kind of personal and professional hit, there must be a damn good reason. It can't all be night markets and 711! 

As I explored in that last post, despite its problems, Taiwan's fundamentals are solid -- democracy, a push for equality and open-mindedness, crucial services like public transit and national health insurance. Society moves generally in the right direction, and that makes it worthwhile to stay. 

What I realized from writing that post, however, isn't just that Taiwan has a lot of great things going for it. It's that what Taiwan gets right are also benefits that Taiwanese citizens enjoy. They matter because they're not just good for me -- they impact everyone positively. 

So many of those "best countries for expats" type articles talk about superficial benefits that really only apply to white foreigners. You know, how much an expat can make relative to the cost of living, what great homes they can rent or buy on the cheap, job and life opportunities that locals mostly cannot access.

I hear the same from the occasional older foreigner in Taiwan, waxing nostalgic about the "good old days" when Taiwan was "exciting" or opportunities where "everywhere". Usually, they're talking about the late 1980s or perhaps early 1990s. 

Okay, but a lot of my Taiwanese friends were children or young teenagers then, and were still being told by their parents not to even have, let alone express, an opinion lest they end up in prison or worse. A student once told me he was warned by his family not to say too much or even speak Taiwanese outside the family, or a "white truck would come in the night." Yikes. 

Who gives a shit about excitement or opportunities for foreigners when that's the local situation?

Of course, many Taiwanese look back with maudlin candor on the Chiang Ching-kuo era. Taipei elected a whole mayor based on it, and that's bullshit. Such an opinion does not cancel out what my local friends have said they experienced.

That's what Taiwan offers -- a better society than the one it had. For everyone, not just expats. Would my life as a white American be "better" in these ways in most of Southeast Asia? Yes, absolutely. But it would be a superficial improvement; it would make only my life better. 

In Taiwan, perhaps I cannot always feel the impact of things like "democracy" and "same-sex marriage" directly on my own life. After all, I could probably have the career I want in, say, Vietnam -- but Vietnam is not a democracy and does not have marriage equality. I might make more as a corporate rat racer in the US, but much of the US no longer recognizes my bodily autonomy and in some states, it's straight-up illegal for some of my friends to exist. 

In fact, if I hear Westerners talking about a country that's great to live in because you can make so much money, or it's a lot of fun for them or they can score more women than they could back home, it's a good sign that I shouldn't live there -- I'm not interested in a fever dream for white people.

If long-term foreigners are talking about the problems they and the country face and how life isn't always perfect for them, then it likely means their lives are at least a bit more like those of locals. It will never fully be the same, but it means the advantages that country offers are probably accessible beyond expat enclaves.

The benefits Taiwan offers are good for society, and it's better for everyone if everyone benefits. Even if I can't vote, it's better for me, for society and for those I care about that my Taiwanese friends can. My opinion might not matter, but again, it's better for everyone that my Taiwanese friends can protest and not disappear.

That's not to say Taiwan is perfect, but again, the fundamentals are good. 

Is that worth what I consider a major career sacrifice thanks to one of Taiwan's many imperfections? Is that blanket sufficient to comfort one in times of distress? 

It has to be. It has to be.

Thursday, November 9, 2023

Why stay in Taiwan?

Untitled

It's the little things...or is it?


You probably don’t care about my life, but here’s the deal. I’ve had a somewhat tumultuous week professionally, although nothing that ended up being terribly deleterious. I don’t want to say too much about it, but I’ve been feeling frustrated about the limitations of teacher training opportunities in Taiwan for residents like me, despite how much we can help in the face of Taiwan’s push for internationalization.
 

I have no desire to discuss the details behind this; it’s insider beef that you really don’t need, and might be wrong of me (or at least harmful to me) to divulge. 

I've also been feeling more frustrated than usual about Taiwan's naturalization laws. Nothing has changed since the 2007 reforms, opening up a pathway for magical stardusted special and senior foreign professionals, basically saying most foreigners who call Taiwan home -- whether they're white collar like me or blue collar like most immigrants here -- are garbage. Not worth caring about. 

Yes, the road to dual nationality may be narrow now, but there's room for it to expand. But I fear it will happen when I'm too old for it to matter. I'm not sure exactly how I will grow old in Taiwan as planned, because I can't get a mortgage and don't have local family, but landlords don't like to rent to the elderly. What am I supposed to do when I'm 80? If the law changes when I'm 60, that's a little too late to fix the problem. 

There's something to be said for fighting for something so that the next generation can enjoy fairer access. And yet, recently I've been wondering if this is enough. Wondering why I bother. 


With all this in the background, I’ve been trying to blog about politics to get my mind off it. Nothing comes out right, though. I have a few half-finished posts that I might wrap up and publish anyway, or perhaps not. We’ll see. Maybe I just need to not with the politics right now. 

Instead, I thought I'd examine something else. I know perfectly well that I'm not actually going to leave Taiwan (which, to be honest, is part of the problem. Maybe I should be more open to doing so). So rather than stewing in my own angry juices over this, perhaps I should talk a bit about why I stay. 

People love to ask why I moved to Taiwan. That story isn't very interesting. Studying in India made me want to learn more about Asia in general. I spent a year in China and didn't love it. And yet, I still felt there was a lot for me to learn, and I like the general feel and pace of life in large Asian cities. So, I came to Taipei mostly out of curiosity. I certainly didn't know much about it. 

Why I stay, though? Maybe that's worth discussing. I've been here for 18 years now. The pay isn't that good. Career opportunities are middling at best. I do have a fantastic local network, but most of my close family live on the other side of the world. Nobody loves Taipei's weather. My apartment is nice, but apartments in Taiwan generally aren't. There's the ever-looming China threat (though I imitate local residents in living my life as though that's not a thing). 

And yet here I am. Still. I've been thinking about this for awhile -- it's easy to rattle off reasons to leave. Any article about the "ghost island" can do that. The more fruitful area to examine is why I stay.

I've identified five very generalized reasons why, despite its faults, Taiwan is the country I chose to call home. These are five things that I think are important for any country I might live in long-term, and Taiwan happens to excel at them.

For my own reflection as much as yours, here they are: 

1.) Generally good infrastructure, including (most especially) public transit

Not all of Taiwan has good public transportation, but Taipei does, and it's fairly easy to get to any other town you might want to visit. Getting around that town might be a challenge, but you can always get there. I live in Taipei, though, and this city has some of the best public transit in the world. In general, I appreciate infrastructure that works. That includes buses that run on time, a clean metro system, convenient trains.

Compare that to the US, where the only city that has public transit that comes close to meeting my standards is New York. That also happens to be a city where I couldn't possibly afford to live. I tried living in Washington DC for seven years without a car. People say transit there is good. I say it's a nightmare. 

Still, assuming I'd never move back to the US, I could enjoy good public transit in Japan, South Korea, Hong Kong, Singapore. If we're talking inter-city, even Vietnam. Europe, too, but there aren't really good jobs for me there. China, generally, has reasonable public transit. What could knock some of those countries off the list?

2.) An open and democratic government

Well, there goes Singapore, Vietnam and Hong Kong. China is an obvious no-go. I once considered moving to IstanbuI, but I can't get past the importance of a reasonable system of government. I might not have the right to vote, but it's important to me that my local friends do; I would find it very hard to exist as an admittedly privileged American in a country where I could send my ballot back every few years, but locals I knew wouldn't have access to human rights that I consider fundamental. 

For myself, well, I like to opinionate. It's important to me to live in a country where I can do so without fear of government retribution.

Beyond that, there's just something depressing about living in an unfree society. You may or may not have access to good journalism. Random bullshit things may be banned. Your friends can't say what they really think; you may not even know what they really think, depending on how severe the repression is. 

Being in Taiwan for two -- soon to be three -- presidential handovers, countless protests, a legislative occupation, and all manner of public debates? That may seem unimportant or ineffable to some, but it matters to me. Taiwan's democratic society is a big draw. 

South Korea and Japan are democracies too, though. Why not move to one of those?


3.) An acceptable level of gender equality


I'm not saying Taiwan doesn't have sexism and misogyny. Of course it does. The gender pay gap is still above 15%. But, compared to the rest of Asia, I daresay it's doing fairly well. 

Brendan has told me stories about Korea, where he would see job ads that openly offered men and women disparate pay for the same work. 


I know someone in Japan who once detailed many little ways in which women face discrimination; she once saw a pregnant woman stand up on the train for a salaryman! Discussing why that would happen, locals told her that the pregnant woman has an easier, more restful life while the salaryman is tired from hard work, so of course he should get the seat. I don't know that this happens frequently in Japan, but that it happened at all tells me that it may be a fine country to visit, but it's not a place where I think I'd be very happy living. 

Everything from work culture to beauty standards feels so much harsher in those countries. The fact that women make up such a small percentage of the workforce in Japan and are deeply underrepresented in politics are other strikes against it. I'll take the country that elected a woman twice, thanks. 

Korea is similar; the gender wage gap there is astounding (Japan is almost as bad). I've enjoyed visiting both countries. As a woman, I want to live somewhere with more equality. 

That brings me to my next point. 


4.) A high level of public safety

It's not just pay, work, politics and beauty standards. All three countries have very high levels of public safety, including for women. As an American, this matters to me. It wasn't fun growing up in a country where it wasn't safe to be outside alone at night. But Taiwan manages the high public safety with a whole lot less of the ridiculous discrimination.

This matters not just for me, but for my LGBTQ+ friends. South Korea, for instance, is not a very safe place for many people dear to me. Public safety isn't just about whether or not you're likely to get mugged or pick-pocketed. It is also deeply related to who you are. I wouldn't want to live in a country where I might be targeted because I'm a woman, or where my friends might be targeted for being gay, nonbinary or trans. 

This, of course, knocks many countries off the list -- including the United States. 

I considered adding "a high level of overall development" to this list, because so many of my points are oriented around that. Advanced economies are more likely to have good public transit and safety, higher levels of gender equality and functional democratic governments. 

But not always -- the United States fails on most of these counts. Plenty of countries that aren't rich do have democratic governments. Besides, I don't think anyone wants a middle class white lady to prattle on about how she wants to live in an advanced economy. In fact, it's not actually one of the key criteria.

Instead, my fifth point is more specific but is still related to overall development markers. 

5.) National! Health! Insurance!

As an American, I cannot express how much this matters to me. I spent the first half of my twenties kinda miserable because I needed to see some doctors, but couldn't afford any of them. My lack of access to affordable health care in the US is directly responsible for the back surgery I needed during my first year in Taiwan. 

This really matters! Health insurance alone is enough to make me forsake the US forever. 

That said, this point has been bugging me recently, because I'm in the middle of a tooth implant that isn't covered by Taiwan's NHI. All told, it will cost me about NT$87,000. The dentist has been clear that for me, it's a necessity (another one of my crowns is in danger if I don't get a tooth put in next to it). And yet, it's entirely out of pocket. 

I think NHI should cover it. After all, it's an absolute necessity for me unless I want to literally be toothless in a few years. 

But, all of that aside, I'm grateful that the many times I've needed to see a doctor in this country, that I could actually afford to do so. 

I'm still not feeling entirely all right about the state of my life in Taiwan these days. It hurts to want to commit to a place, without seeing a clear future there, especially in old age.

There is another reason I stay, but it's intensely personal: I truly believe in what Taiwan stands for. To me, Taiwan means standing up to a dictatorship that landed on your soil and tried to force you to submit, turning the country instead into a functioning and peaceful democracy. It means refusing to shatter under the constant threats from yet another dictatorship that wants to annex you by any means necessary. It means building one of the more advanced and liberal societies in Asia -- if not the most liberal -- on the back of a tragic and bitter history of colonialism and oppression.

That, to me, is worth fighting for. It's worth staying for. It's not on the list because it's not a specific thing Taiwan has, it's more of a narrative that Taiwan embodies.

It does help, however, to think through the reasons why I've stayed, and run through the possibilities of other countries where I might relocate. None quite hit the five criteria -- gender equality, health insurance, democracy, public transit and public safety -- that Taiwan does. Most countries can be exciting, interesting, historically noteworthy, or absolutely lovely. 

But I can't think of another one that actually meets these five benchmarks, all of which are crucial to me. Can you?

Saturday, September 23, 2023

Pear-shaped

IMG_7636

Something about this sculpture from Thailand being just a few body parts feels apropos


Content note: this post contains some descriptions of a health issue and its treatment. If such things make you uneasy, you may not want to read ahead. 


“In Taiwan this would have been resolved by now,” I huffed. “Fixed in less than a day. Ouch…ew!


Brendan mumbled in agreement but did not look; only parents of sick young children and trained medical professionals should have to witness the drama playing out on my right thumb. We were in Portland, Oregon, at the dining room table of our friend’s mother-in-law, and I was doing some very gross things with my miniature medical mis-en-place. 


During the Las Vegas segment of our Great West Coast Tour (to New Englanders like us, Vegas counts as “West Coast”) I developed what appeared to be a mild case of paronychia. An infection around the nail. By the day of my brother-in-law’s wedding it was clearly not resolving itself. I bandaged it for our trip to the Grand Canyon because it hurt to touch anything without warning. 


When we reached Portland, the side of my thumb had puffed from pink to a furious red. My basic travel medical kit didn’t have the means to deal with this; I needed antibiotics.


“I just really don’t want to deal with the American medical system,” I said, even though we had travel medical insurance. 


We flew to Portland to visit old college friends. Someone produced Epsom salts; I submerged my thumb as Brendan cut up a dinner salad, my friends and I complained about politics and we all kept an eye on the kids. 


When I lifted my thumb out of the hot Epsom mug, my thumb had puffed up to sci-fi proportions. My finger had quite literally gone pear-shaped. A little white bulb of pus had gathered under the skin next to the nail.


My friend’s recommended urgent care clinic didn’t seem to be covered by our travel insurance. I called the insurer for a recommendation and was given a code to use for another one; it didn’t work. The provider tried to help, but ultimately sent us back to the insurance company, who confirmed that it never actually works and we’d have to pay out of pocket and submit a claim. We weren’t looking at huge sums of money, but I didn’t really want to submit something after the fact when it might get rejected. We tried another in-network provider and set up an online appointment for the next day, but then once again found that they couldn’t actually locate our provider information. At that point I was desperate — I could barely type. 


The whole affair took an entire evening, just to find a provider and make an appointment.  


The online consultation was fairly straightforward: I clearly had a paronychia, and I needed antibiotics. The nurse practitioner prescribed some and recommended I either come in to have it lanced, or I do it myself at home. 


“What does it cost to come in?” I asked. 

“It starts at $99,” she said. On top of the hundred bucks I paid for the consultation. 

 

That’s how I found myself at a dining room table laying out alcohol wipes, cotton pads and needles on a bed of tissues. I sterilized a needle and gently lanced the white bit. It didn’t hurt, which was probably a bad sign. 

The pus came out in fat yellow drops, staining the cotton pads a freaky green color. The pharmacy wouldn’t open until 11am, giving me plenty of time to relieve as much pressure as possible on my poor pear-shaped thumb. The result felt weirdly hollow, like a drained blister, but deeper under the skin. 


With our friend’s husband working the next day, we couldn’t fit into her car with the two children’s car seats. So we took an Uber to CVS while she drove the kids to a nearby cafe with big couches, with plans to meet there once I’d procured the antibiotics. 


Total time spent: six days from when I would have seen a doctor in Taiwan to when I actually saw one in the US. As I write this, the infection has not completely cleared; I feel like I have a shrinking cystic zit under my thumb pad. 


Total money spent: $140 US dollars, including the online consultation, two Uber rides and antibiotics. That’s on top of an insurance premium for three weeks of coverage that cost four times what we pay in Taiwan each month for National Health Insurance, and their actually covering it is not yet assured. 


Here’s how it would have gone in Taiwan: the same day I realized the infection wasn’t resolving itself as expected, I would have likely seen a doctor within walking distance or a short ride away on public transportation. In a hurry, I might have taken taxis for a total of about US$10. I would have immediately been given antibiotics and the doctor likely would have done a better job lancing it than I had. 


There would have been no question of National Health Insurance covering it. That’s why it exists. The appointment and the antibiotics would have cost about US$5. 


In the US we were lucky to be staying with friends for most of our trip (which is, of course, how we could afford it). We thus had immediate access to basic medical supplies. However, there should have been no need to wait that long to decide medical attention was necessary — letting the infection get a little out of control — spend that much time finding a provider, spend that much money and then lance it myself. 


In Taiwan it would have been a non-issue.


The mundanity of all this is the point: I’m telling you this gross little story exactly because it’s so banal. My only personal experience with the American medical system in 18 years was, in fact, not terrible. I needed medical care and got it, and the cost was something I could afford. That’s frankly unusual, and I was extremely lucky. 


But here’s the thing — even a not-terrible, incredibly boring (yet pus-filled) outcome was still worse in the US than it would have been in Taiwan. It’s easy to point to medical horror stories in the US and compare them to the rest of the developed world: impossible bills, long emergency room waits, avoiding ambulances because you can’t afford them, drugs you break the bank to pay for, long appointment lead times. 


Comparing a fairly good US outcome to Taiwan and still seeing the US come up short? I think that says something. Even when the American medical system basically works, it can’t compete with a small island nation that only recently developed and democratized. You don’t need a horror story to prove this. What is so thoroughly wrong with the US that it can’t even treat a simple paronychia without undue expense and stress?


We were ultimately charged for the consultation, and now have to figure out whatever complicated procedure is required to submit a claim, which may or may not be rejected. 


This should not happen, and in Taiwan it would not happen.


The US delivered a thoroughly acceptable treatment for my messed-up hand, and it was still more expensive, time-consuming and complicated than the same thing would have been in Taiwan. Frankly, that looks really bad for the US. 

Monday, September 4, 2023

Renunciation


Squid in the air, still tied to something 


“Do you have a plan if things go sideways in Taiwan?” 

One of my oldest friends asks us this as he zips us to the BART station from his home in central Oakland. A pair of committed northeasterners settled permanently in Taipei, we’re properly visiting the West Coast for the first time as part of a trip for my brother-in-law’s wedding. 


It’s not the first time I’ve been asked this, and it will be far from the last. Most people assume we’ll leave if things get sketchy; this friend knows me well enough to know that’s not necessarily the case, and thus asks a more open-ended question. 


It’s hard to put this into words, though. I stumble around an insufficient lexicon, muttering about planning to stay — I’m not much of a fighter but I guess I could grow sweet potatoes — and reassuring him that if we were ever forced to leave, really truly forced, we have options. They're not very good options, but it remains that we have them.

It doesn’t need to be said that many in Taiwan would not. 


I slide sideways into a summary of my thought process over the past few years: you know how there are foreigners willing to fight for Ukraine? Well, Taiwan is my home, I’m willing to fight for it. Besides, if I don’t stand up for what’s right in the place I call home, can I claim to stand for anything at all? Certainly I can’t seriously talk about democracy and human rights if I won’t fight for them where I actually live. 


And yet, do I owe my life to a country that won’t give me a passport? That feels weird, too. 


There’s no end to this spirograph of questions, it just whips you around into some complicated, unending holding pattern. 


He’d asked earlier if we were citizens yet. I said no, we’re permanent residents (“like a green card, though we get privileges, not rights exactly, we can’t vote and its very hard to get approved for a mortgage or even a line of credit”). 


It’s not bad, I clarified. I didn’t want to seem ungrateful. But it still feels off — a Chinese-American whose grandparents were ROC citizens who never set foot in Taiwan and have only a tenuous relationship to Taiwanese history and none to Taiwanese culture is considered a dual national by default. We’ve invested most of our adult lives in Taiwan and are considered more foreign than that. I know, I know, not every country has birthright citizenship. I wouldn’t call it unfair exactly, except you know what? It feels unfair. 


“I actually have considered renouncing,” I say over coffee by Lake Merritt. “We don’t plan to move back, and even if we did, with my diabetes I don’t see how we could. I could not possibly afford my medication without a corporate-type job and I am deeply unsuited to exactly that.” 


The truth is, I can’t renounce. Brendan theoretically could; he was lucky enough to have been born in Canada and has that sweet sweet dual birthright citizenship. 


The reasons are simple: I’m too filial. What if my Dad needs help? My in-laws? Being allowed to visit for set periods but not work would be insufficient. I won’t give up my ability to potentially care for aging relatives; something you’d think the Taiwanese government would understand (but apparently doesn’t). 


What’s more, if China invaded and actually won, renouncers like us — well, me — would have no citizenship at all. I can’t think of much that would be as bad or worse than being a citizen of the PRC, but being stateless is quite undesirable. Even if I wanted to be a PRC citizen (I absolutely don’t), it’s doubtful I’d be allowed to do so. 


I did not say: this confluence of events has altered the course of my life in ways I could not have easily predicted. 

It's difficult to fully explain, so I avoid the discussion with anyone who seems to have overly binary thinking. 


I hadn’t known when I moved to Taiwan that I would want to stay. It certainly had not occurred to me that I’d care enough to consider fighting if China did ever start a war. But more than that, the slender exceptions that have opened for dual nationality have done nothing but throw into sharp focus how weird the whole situation is. 


Sat squarely in the middle of my thought process is this strait gait and narrow path, and how I might get on it. As an educator with an advanced degree who primarily works with Taiwanese teachers and their professional development, you’d think I’d qualify. I don’t. 


Educators not only have to be associate professors and prove some specific contribution to Taiwan, but also get their university to do the required paperwork to recommend them. Some succeed; I’ve heard stories of others who don’t simply because their university doesn’t care to support them. 


For awhile, I thought I’d just get my PhD and pursue that path. Getting accepted to a program wouldn’t be particularly hard — the director of my MEd program all but assured me I’d have a seat if I applied — but funding would be. 


Soon after, I had the opportunity to travel around Taiwan and talk to many university lecturers, professors and second language acquisition specialists. Almost all of them bore ill news: the only people doing anything remotely like what I do at the university level who also have tenure-track positions are actually professors of Linguistics or English Literature. If you have a background specifically in Education — not to mention Applied Foreign Languages — the best you’re likely to do is an annual contract, if not adjunct work. I met two exceptions; they prove the rule.


Forget that neither of those paths offer enough in terms of benefits and remuneration for the work required, or for me to give up my freelance career in which I never have to confront my deep-seated issues with authority. 


Neither of them are sufficient to qualify for dual nationality, so what exactly would be the point of doing a PhD if I want to stay in Taiwan? It wouldn’t get me the job I need to attain dual nationality, which under the current law I will never qualify for. It isn’t necessary for what I do now. I don't really want the jobs it could get me.

So why do it, putting in all that blood, sweat, toil, tears — not to mention money I don’t really have and don’t think I should have to spend? (To me, any PhD worth doing is a PhD someone else pays for.) 


I can’t think of a reason, so I haven’t applied. I likely never will. 


Who knew that deciding on Taiwan as our home would have repercussions not just regarding work and citizenship, but education? 


None of these issues has an endpoint. None of the questions has answers. It’s not quite tragic enough to merit sustained media coverage, not quite common enough to be a society-wide problem. It affects me and a small group of otherwise-privileged, mostly Western immigrants in Taiwan. It’s easy to be dismissive — you’d never have to fight, you’ll never be Taiwanese, you’re just here for your own benefit — and I won’t even say that these are entirely untrue. I wouldn’t have to fight, if I didn’t want to. I’ll never be culturally Taiwanese. As much as I want my being in Taiwan to be something good for Taiwan, living here does benefit me as well. It’s a tad specious to pretend none of it matters because a white lady like me will be alright no matter what, but it’s also not quite wrong. 

Yet wondering whether I’ll ever have access to something people with even less exposure to Taiwanese culture are entitled to, realizing that I can’t imagine a world where I ran away from Taiwan at the moment of her greatest crisis, and knowing that it will still never be enough no matter how impossible renunciation is for me? 

To stay in Taiwan, I've renounced quite a bit. Perhaps nothing tragic; can I really whine about career paths I did not take when I'm more or less happy in the one I've chosen? Who cares that I'll never be an academic simply because a reasonable version of that job, for me, does not exist here? I am salty about renouncing my chances for ever being a full citizen of the country I live in, though I'm not sure I have a right to be. Even though I couldn't really live in the US again, I did choose this. 


Whatever, y'know? All I can do is renounce the whole damn debate. I don't really care about anyone's silly opinion on whether or not I will or should fight in any potential Chinese invasion of Taiwan. It doesn't matter how I should feel, or what makes me one of the "good" immigrants, or whether I'm happy or grateful enough. I feel how I feel, I made the choices I made, I am where I am, and I don't have any answers beyond that.

Wednesday, July 19, 2023

The thought-terminating cliche of "Have you been?"

DSC03951

A random picture from my travels because yes, I probably have "been" -- but how much does that really matter?



It feels like the ultimate conversation ender, and I'll admit I've used it myself. When debating (well, Internet Shouting) with someone about, say, the brutality of the Chinese Communist Party or the status of Taiwan or just about geopolitical issue, it's both easy and satisfying to shoot back at a hostile interlocutor: "have you even been to China?"

Or India, or Venezuela, or Turkey, or whatever country's particular situation is being discussed. 

I'm certainly guilty of this, because, when it comes to the sorts of Geopolitical Internet Shouting Matches I tend to get into, I actually have been to just about any country I might get into a "discussion" about (again these aren't really discussions, at least, they're not carried out by people who are actually listening to each other). Yes, I've been known to relish the moment when Shouty Guy asks it of me. 

Have you ever been to Taiwan? Yes, for the past 17 years, and I'm here right now. 

All you Westerners living in Taiwan don't even know what China is like! Perhaps, but I used to live there and have returned more recently than you'd think for someone with my political views. 

You don't know the real China! It's not just Shanghai and Beijing! Okay, but I lived in Guizhou, so of course I'm aware of this; my experience outside the major cities is why my opinion of the Chinese government is so grim in the first place.

You act like you know what's going on in Xinjiang, but have you ever even been there? Yes. Admittedly it was awhile ago, but I did once travel overland between Urumqi, Kashgar, Karakul Lake and Hotan. I have probably spent more time and covered more ground in Xinjiang than just about anyone asking this. From the way Uyghur people felt about the government foisted upon them even back then, I absolutely believe they're being subjected to a cultural genocide now. 

On the other hand, anyone I'd ask the same question to has almost certainly not had such on-the-ground experience. It's not that people who've spent time in a place will automatically have more thoughtful or nuanced views -- I've met some real dunderheads who've spent decades in Taiwan and yet have gotten the whole country astonishingly wrong -- but one can usually tell from the actual language used. If it reads like they got their opinion from either United Front talking points or major international media, tempered not at all by personal experience, then you're usually talking to someone whose opinion is formed more by what they want that country to represent vis-a-vis their own worldview than anything else. You know, that China is great because they are claim to be socialist or communist, and just look at their high-speed rail network! It must be a paradise that validates everything I want to be true about how the USA is terrible and therefore China must be great! That sort of thing. 

There's a problem with the "have you been?" narrative, though. It's not that real-world personal experience doesn't matter -- it does. But it's also the worst kind of thought-terminating cliche. If you can throw down on who's spent more time somewhere, and that person "wins", then it's not really an argument at all, let alone a discussion. It's the geopolitical equivalent of "climate change isn't real because we had a really cold winter here last year" or "vaccines are dangerous because I know a kid who got a vaccine and then was diagnosed with autism!" It's anecdotal, empty-headed shouting.

I don't want to "win" an argument about the CCP because I've been to China and the other guy hasn't. I want to win it because I'm right! (If I am indeed right, which of course I think I usually am -- we all do. Human nature.) I don't want to win an argument about Taiwan because I've lived in Taiwan for 17 years. I want to win it because my observations about Taiwan are more accurate than the other guy's.

It's not that my experience in these countries doesn't matter, it's that it's not the only thing that matters, and perhaps not even the most important thing.

Because it's a thought-terminating cliche, it circumvents the much thornier issue of who is actually right, or at least closer to being right. I know more than one foreigner in Taiwan (hell, more than one Taiwanese person in Taiwan) who has beliefs about Taiwan that I find to be utterly asinine. For instance, I do know people here who believe that Taiwan's only path forward is through some kind of "One China" framework. That person might have spent years or even their entire life in Taiwan, and yet they'd be wrong compared to, say, someone who's never been here but believes (rightly) that Taiwan has the right to determine its own future and poll results consistently show that most Taiwanese do not consider themselves Chinese.

Let's take one of my favorite stupid Twitter arguments as an example. Some dipshit venture capitalist who's been in China for maybe a year posted about how great China was, citing driverless vehicles and some super-smart kid he met. He insisted the genocide in East Turkestan (Xinjiang) was highly questionable because it wouldn't be practical or good for the economy to erase Uyghur culture or disappear Uyghur people. Drew Pavlou -- a divisive activist who gets a lot of attention -- challenged this guy (to be clear, so did I). 

He shoots back at Pavlou some variation on "have you been to China?" 

Because, of course, Chad Brosephson McVenture-Capital was there at that moment (posting on Twitter through an illegal VPN without seeming to realize it was illegal, to boot), and Pavlou's never been to China. He couldn't go even if he wanted to, because he's gotten the Chinese government's attention. 

Here's the thing, though. Like him or not, Pavlou was right and the venture capitalist douchebro was wrong. It really didn't matter who'd spent time in China and who hadn't. We have sufficient documentation of the CCP's various and horrifying brutalities to know he's right, and the douchebro had...a few months of Rich Person Life in China, and an anecdote about a smart kid. 

As usual, I had a bit of a trump card on this guy, because he might've spent time in China but I've spent more, and probably seen a greater swath of the country. I absolutely speak better Mandarin and have most likely read more history. 

But again, I don't want to "win" because I speak better Mandarin than That Guy, either. I want to win because his anecdotes aren't helpful and his opinions ridiculous, based on exactly zero documented evidence.

I have seen that tactic play out -- oh so you've been to [Country] but do you speak the language? -- and I find it similarly unhelpful. Of course it helps to have communicative competence in the language of a country one is discussing. Certainly it can promote deeper understanding, and I respect it. But it's possible to be fluent in Mandarin yet wrong about China. It's not enough. I know people who speak terrible Mandarin or none at all who, nevertheless, have a more accurate view of the Taiwan-China situation than foreigners I know who speak beautifully and are married into local families, but have swallowed the TVBS deep-blue pill because it's what their in-laws watch.

"Have you been?" does help to root out the drive-by opinionators, the people who only care (or claim to care) about issues like Taiwan's sovereignty because it validates some other belief they have about the world: usually that the US, or capitalism, or the military industrial complex are good or evil or what-have-you. They've not only never been to Taiwan, never met a Taiwanese person and certainly don't speak Mandarin, but whether or not they actually care about Taiwan is debatable, if not outright doubtful. 

I'll never say that personal experience is useless, or that we shouldn't even consider whether someone has been to a place or speaks the language when evaluating whether or not their opinion has merit or deserves attention. As such, I'll probably never purge "have you been?" from my own lexicon. 

Certainly, because I've built a life and made a material commitment to Taiwan, I'm not terribly interested in the opinions of people in the US who think someone like me should have this or that perspective. If they want to move here, maybe I'll care (though honestly, I probably wouldn't), but if they want to preach from Washington DC or wherever about Taiwan, what it needs and what challenges it faces, well -- so what?

But I am going to challenge myself to use it less, and focus on the actual merits of someone's argument more. At the same time, I'll keep a closer eye on whether what I'm trying to say makes sense, or whether I'm leaning too hard on "well I've been to East Turkestan/China/ Taiwan/India/Armenia/Turkey/wherever, and you haven't! And if you have, I've spent more time than you, or have better language skills than you!"

Only by looking at the actual merits of an argument can we see that someone like -- say -- Drew Pavlou is actually correct about China, and Tyler McTechbro is wrong even though he's been.

It's not that actually having been to a place doesn't matter, but it's too simplistic, and we can do better.

Tuesday, May 23, 2023

An Ode To Bear Guy


This is Bear Guy's world. We just live in it.


I could write some hard-nosed political post about, oh I don't know, Liz Truss visiting Taiwan or potential vice-presidential candidates or the fact that I unfortunately think Hou You-yih is likely to win in 2024 or...something. But I don't want to. 

Instead, I want to talk about Bear Guy. 




This isn't even the sum total of my Bear Guy pictures. Somewhere I have one of Bear Guy holding a sign supporting Lee Ming-che in English and at least one from a marriage equality rally.


I don't know Bear Guy's identity. I'm even using "guy" in a fairly gender-neutral way: I don't know their gender, either. It might be more than one person -- there's also a tiger-themed Guy with the same type of homemade signs and specific goggles. But truly, I think they are one of the best things about Taiwan. 

For those who don't know, Bear Guy is a Taipei-based person who would show up to a wide array of generally progressive, pan-green protests and rallies in a distinctive yet slightly scruffy full bear costume. The costume didn't seem to indicate any specific political commentary; it wasn't Winnie the Pooh enough to poke fun at Xi Jinping (although other people showing up in Pooh costumes is not unheard of), and it wasn't the right color or style to be a Formosan black bear. 

Even on the hottest days they would wear the full outfit, faux fur and all. I could barely take the heat on the day of the Lee Ming-che protest years ago, or some of the protests in support of Hong Kong; Bear Guy seemed fine. Occasionally someone who appeared to be a friend or associate of Bear Guy would show up in a full Pink Panther costume, but that was not a given. They were also there for labor protests and marriage equality, though I don't think I ever saw them at an election rally. They seemed to stick to concepts, not candidates. Idealism, not political parties.

He's so ubiquitous, though, that I wondered if some fictional version of him would make an appearance in a protest scene in Wave Makers, the Netflix hit drama about Taiwanese political party workers. So far, nothing.



                     

Is Tiger Guy the same person as Bear Guy? I think so -- I've seen the yellow bear head on the tiger outfit before.


However, there's been an unfortunate dearth of Bear Guy in the public eye and in my life these past few years. There are still protests and rallies -- large ones like Pride and the typical Labor Day protests, as well as smaller ones for migrant workers' rights, weed legalization and a variety of other issues. When COVID hit, however, I began avoiding most large public gatherings. Besides, it feels like there just haven't been as many. I left Pride 2022 early as the rain was just too much and most of my friends also wanted to bail (I was also diabetic but didn't know it yet, and more tired than usual). I haven't seen Bear Guy in person or in photos since the back-to-back Black Lives Matter and pro-Hong Kong rallies of 2019. 

Why, exactly, do I hold Bear Guy in such high esteem? What makes them "one of the best things about Taiwan"? 

Well, whomever this person is, they clearly care enough about social issues to not only show up, but prepare and don a whole costume when doing so. They endure what must be a fair amount of discomfort for their own private reasons: perhaps they want to participate but don't want to be identified, and this is a fun way of ensuring their anonymity. Maybe they are indeed making a statement -- that who you are doesn't matter as long as you care enough to be present. Maybe this is just their weird sense of humor. 

But as far as I know, Bear Guy isn't trying to be famous. If they have a social media presence, I'm unaware of it (if you know of an Instagram account I can follow or something, I absolutely will, so let me know). They're just Bear Guy being Bear Guy. I love that, and I love to see how Taiwan so often defies stereotypes of Asian societies being staid, buttoned-down, no fun, with no sense of humor. "The nail that sticks out gets hammered down" and all. There are occasionally echoes of that in Taiwan -- some local bosses can be nightmares and difficult families are a global phenomenon). It's just not like that, or at least not totally: there is space in Taiwanese culture for Bear Guy to do their thing, and it's all good. 


                      


Besides, I understand that there are always eccentric folks showing up to protests around the world. And I can't possibly know what goes on in every other country. But I am unaware of any other civic culture in which public protests play a key role that has one individual who shows up in a funky costume to every single thing, to the point where people like me notice it and start keeping an eye out for them. Perhaps I'm wrong, but to me, the existence of Bear Guy is an "only in Taiwan" thing.

I also love that no one seems bothered about Bear Guy's identity. I, too, have no desire to (quite literally) unmask them. That's great too -- as Brendan once noted, "maybe people are just happy to let Bear Guy be Bear Guy." 

I couldn't agree more. Rock on, Bear Guy, and I hope to see you again soon.

Friday, January 27, 2023

The Fissure

                       taroko


When I first moved to Taiwan, I didn't have a lot of free time. Like most buxibans, my first workplace expected six-day work weeks. A coworker rightly described this sort of job as "not really being teachers, it's the education industry equivalent of working at The Gap." He wasn't wrong.

The only real upside was public holidays: on those preposterous work/school "make up days", we didn't have Saturday classes. Feeling a bit trapped in Taipei -- you can't really do much when you work six days a week -- I decided to use one of these to check out Taroko Gorge. 

I did this with the wisdom and forethought of a turnip. I used none of my intelligence in applying my experiences in China to my expectations for Taiwan. Namely, that one can turn up close to a destination and pay someone a small amount of money to just take you there. So, instead of getting off the train at Hualien and taking the bus through the gorge like any other young person on a budget, I hopped off at Xincheng because it's geographically much closer to Taroko. 

I found no transport and walked -- walked! -- the several kilometers to the park entrance. I even walked most of the Shakadang Trail. Realizing my mistake, I then grabbed the bus to Hualien and got a bed in a hostel, having seen almost none of the actual gorge. I did get a very nice view of Asia Cement's, um, cement garden. Local children laughed at me. I deserved it. 

Years later, I told students what I’d done. They laughed at me too. I still deserved it. 

“Never do this!” I said. 

“We never would,” one of them shot back. 

On my next trip, we hired a taxi. I wanted to go to the Qingshui cliffs in addition to Taroko, but he wouldn't take us. My Mandarin wasn't good enough yet to really communicate much. It rained, and I had a headache. On the third trip, I rented a car with friends and for whatever reason we ended up driving over the North Cross-Island Highway first (don't ask). It was gorgeous, but we were too tired the next day to truly appreciate the beauty of our actual destination. We picked out a random local hotel with terrible beds and thin walls; someone was having a great time spanking their boyfriend in the next room. Good for them, but not fun for us.

We drove back, in the rain, over the cliffs but it was getting late and we didn't really get to appreciate those, either. 

Years later, despite all that bad luck, I wanted to take my in-laws. They'd been to Taiwan a few times but never really gotten to see the country's natural beauty. So we bought tickets -- to Hualien this time -- on the Puyuma Express and I hired a private driver through KKDay who promised to include the cliffs. I asked local friends for a hotel recommendation, and booked Just Sleep. We had a marvelous time, and I was able to manage the family trip in Mandarin with no issue. I was able to replicate this travel itinerary with my sister years later. This time, our KKDay-booked driver was named Bread. Not Brad (I asked). He wanted the universe to fill his life with bread, he explained. 

This little walk through time is metaphorically related to what I want to say, but I'll let you decide on exactly how.

But here is where it begins: while my sister and I gazed up at those impossibly steep marble walls, I reflected on all the criticism I’ve heard recently about Taiwan.

The traffic is horrible. Raising a family in Taiwan’s drudgery-heavy work culture is so impossible that many people either aren’t doing it, or have moved abroad. Salaries are too low. The banking system has long been the subject of mockery. There is no real path to citizenship for most of us permanent folks

Friends complain (quite rightly) that “make-up days” for extra days off are ridiculous; Taiwanese people already have some of the longest working hours in the world — just give them the day off! Even my sister, who used to live here, said that she left initially because she felt she’d “outgrown” Taipei. What she seems to have meant was that there were no useful career opportunities, and that meant it was time to go.

Worst of all, I remember watching coverage of abuses against migrant workers in Qatar preceding the World Cup and couldn't help but think, the system we're all pointing fingers at there doesn't sound much different from what goes on in Taiwan. It's a glaring issue, and the main systematic problem that makes it impossible to say that Taiwan is a wholly wonderful country.

I considered all of the upcoming critical posts that I haven’t written yet. They’re pretty diverse — one discusses the new and absolutely hellish system for sending packages abroad. Another is more personal, about health issues I’ve been facing that are somewhat related to my reduced blogging output. 

Is Taiwan really that bad? I thought. Is it so horrible that people are pushing to get out, and nothing works as it should?

It’s difficult to accept this, even when the various criticisms are either correct, or debatable but not wrong per se. Traffic problems really don’t compare well to, say, Japan. The banking system is indeed archaic; I’m unlikely to ever be a homeowner because I’m seen as more of a flight risk than some rich Taiwanese asshole who actually would flee the country to avoid debt. Like I could do that! I’ll probably never be a citizen and am not satisfied with “change is slow” explanations. Salaries are low. Work culture is unacceptable. People do leave. Career opportunities are not particularly robust. Even as a teacher — the easiest career path for an English L1 user — I could make more in many other countries in Asia. I stay in Taiwan because I want to be in Taiwan. 

But then I look up again at all that beauty and have a hard time accepting that it really is that bad. Of course, I’m not Taiwanese and I’ll never know what it’s like to live here as a local. The closest I’ll ever get is an approximation as a person with a middle-class income (and no local support beyond the friends I’ve made). 

Despite issues surrounding citizenship and securing the basics of a normal middle class life — like, say, a mortgage — it’s hard to argue that Taiwan has been bad. I can’t imagine I ever would have become a teacher, let alone a teacher trainer, in the US. In Taiwan I’ve built a career I’m happy with, enjoyed a wonderful marriage, made good friends both local and foreign, and had the opportunity to travel extensively. 

Of course, as a foreigner, I can never say that’s the whole story. There’s surely some selection bias, but local friends and students have also expressed a love for Taiwan that’s impervious to criticism. Life is more affordable here than Singapore or Japan, they say. Some have lived in China for a stint, or spent extensive time there for business. It sucks, they say. Taiwan is so much better. No one harasses you for being Taiwanese or not wanting to be part of China. They ask how Americans cope with our garbage “health care system”. 

“We mostly don’t,” I say. “Basically either you’re lucky or you die too soon.”

They ask how we cope with Gun Culture. 

“We mostly don’t,” I repeat. “If you’re white you’re probably fine. Otherwise every day, every traffic stop, every public festival, is a gamble.” 

“Yikes,” they reply. They’re right. 

Compared to China’s authoritarianism, Japan’s sexism, Singapore’s cost of living, and America’s various dangers, unruly traffic just…doesn’t seem that bad? The banking system is annoying but not life-destroying. I don’t know what to say about low pay and horrendous work culture. But it’s not like other countries are problem-free. Most say they have no real desire to leave Taiwan. It’s not perfect but it’s a pretty good place to live, they insist. They don’t think it’s puzzling that I’d leave the US and decide to live here. 

That said, it’s not as though the criticisms are incorrect. Every last one makes a salient point. 

And yet, despite all this plus my own personal criticisms, I just can’t bring myself to spend all day slamming Taiwan. I visit other countries, including the country of my birth, and in most ways, Taiwan compares favorably. Occasionally I land in other cities that, in another life, I might have considered home. Istanbul was glorious (but as an Armenian, I’m just not sure how I’d feel about it long-term). I’m writing this from Mexico City. I could live here, but ultimately I know I won’t leave Taiwan. 

Why? Seriously, why, despite all the valid criticism? Well, I often get asked why I came to Taiwan, and I can’t answer that. I was curious, and not planning to live there forever. That changed, and I can answer why I chose to stay. 

My ideal home would have a few key points in its favor: it has to be a democracy with basic human rights enshrined in law (I understand that no country on earth makes these rights perfectly accessible). I tried living in a country that lacked this -- China -- and it turned out to be untenable.  Taiwan isn’t perfect in this regard (no country in the world is), but it's on a trajectory of progress.

I also want to feel comfortable as a woman. All countries struggle with endemic sexism, but compared to the rest of Asia, Taiwan offers pretty solid women's equality.

Health care is important too; I left the US in part because I didn't want to wake up one day and find out The Machine decided I was too poor and deserved to die.

I want to live in what might typically be called an advanced or developed country (I don’t think a politically correct way of expressing this exists). Maybe I’m a bit of a princess, but I do want to live somewhere where things generally work. 

And, of course, I want to live in a country that is at least making progress toward liberal ideals. I don't think any country has actually gotten there yet, but again, compared to the rest of Asia, Taiwan is doing alright.

Taiwan checks all those boxes. It’s not perfect, but it’s not the screaming shithole many portray it to be. And over the years, as my local competencies have improved, and my understanding of Taiwan increased, I feel far more affection for the country than dislike. That’s true even when I have sincere criticisms. 

Back in the early 20th century, my problematic fave described her first view of Taiwan: 

Formosa, that little-known island in the typhoon-infested South China Sea, so well called by its early Portuguese discoverers - as its name implies - "the beautiful". Indeed, it was the beauty of Formosa that first attracted me....I shall never forget the first glimpse that I caught of the island as I passed it...there it lay, in the light of the tropical sunrise, glowing and shimmering like a great emerald, with an apparent vividness of green that I had never seen before, even in the tropics. During the greater part of the day it remained in sight, apparently floating slowly past - an emerald on a turquoise bed…


Most likely, she was off the coast not far from the gorge I was standing in when I began to think about all of this. After all, is there a more beautiful sight of the Taiwanese coast than the Qingshui cliffs?

It’s preposterous to dismiss valid criticisms of a country because, hey, there are some beautiful views! At the same time, it’s exactly those views that can make one feel ever so small compared to the ebb and flow of history.

Considering the ways Taiwan rose from inheriting mostly disadvantages, told one authoritarian government to get bent, is now refusing to bend to another, and still managed to (more or less) get rich with (again, more or less) low wealth inequality, it's hard to declare that it's really so awful. 

I want to except human rights abuses against migrant workers here, as there is simply no excusing that. Everything else is as terrible as it is valid, but I have a hard time thinking of a country that doesn't have problems that are equally horrifying, or worse. Like any other country, Taiwan isn't perfect or terrible; it's messy and complicated and difficult to put into words. 

Of course I'd say all this: I chose Taiwan, and choose it every day I wake up in Taipei. I wasn't born here, and a big chunk of my life is steeped in white privilege. Theoretically, I could leave.

But then my local friends run businesses, cultivate interests, fall in love, get married and have children here. Plenty of people I know have left for a time to study or work, but I rarely meet people who want to build a whole new permanent life abroad. They seem more proud of Taiwan's success than they are interested in bashing it.

That doesn't mean there's no need to address the problems that do exist, just that Taiwan simply isn't an intractable garbage heap. 

In other words, maybe Taiwan isn't always great, but it isn't all bad, either.