My loyal readers are probably expecting a stream of snarky remarks about Kuo Kuan-ying (郭冠英), the self-described “high-class Mainlander” who got his comeuppance this week.
Kuo is the now former Government Information Office (GIO) representative in Toronto who set off a poop storm with his bigoted comments about ethnic Taiwanese.
These included calling us taibazi (台巴子, rednecks) and wokou (倭寇, Jap pirates) and calling Taiwan a “devil island.”
After days of mounting outrage, the GIO finally got its act together and fired him.
I could join the “pile on the bigot” party. But as a “high-class satirist” I’m going to take the high road.
Besides, there’s not much I can add. Kuo’s “look at me” chauvinism and amateurish provocations are funny enough on their own.
And as for the idea that his “freedom of speech” has been violated, that’s an argument beneath contempt.
Any clown knows if you sign up to represent Taiwan (and get a fat salary doing so), you can’t go shooting off your mouth like you’re Johnny Neihu or something.
I normally hate to agree with a Peanut-party member, but Taichung Mayor Jason Hu (胡志強) had it right: As a government employee abroad, “if you don’t wash for three days, people will think Taiwan stinks.”
The phrase “high-class Mainlander” popped into my head this week while watching a cable TV news interview with a female Chinese tourist — one of the thousands who arrived courtesy of Amway — chomping betel nut for the first time.
Taking time out from some raucous Aboriginal song-and-dance-and-headdress activities with her frenzied colleagues, she talked with her mouth so agape that you could see her little Dragon tonsils wriggling around the mashed-up bits of betel nut. And her sunglasses were so tacky that even the most taike of Yunlin County five-and-dimes would throw them on the “rejects” pile.
Which brings me to another point: What’s with all the Amway (China) trips? I mean, does this US direct-selling giant have a devious plan to unify the two sides of the Strait to gain Asian market share from Herbalife?
And wasn’t Amway banned from doing direct sales in China just a few years ago?
Now, suddenly, they’re taking more cruises than The Love Boat.
A Wall Street Journal story from March 12, 2003, cleared things up. The group entered China in 1995, but quickly ran afoul of authorities over social unrest caused by get-rich-quick schemes that blossomed in the 1990s.
Amway was labeled, Falun Gong-like, as just another “evil cult.”
“That system [Amway’s direct-sales system] came into question in 1998, when Chinese officials cracked down on pyramid schemes and tarred direct-sales companies with the same brush. Though companies like Amway say their model is vastly different — their revenue comes from sales of real products, among other differences — officials saw no distinction. The State Council … banned all forms of such sales in a harshly worded notice that accused some companies of promoting “evil cults, secret societies, and superstitious and lawless activities.”
But then, “Amway went into proactive-communications mode, initiating meetings with central government officials to discuss its plight.”
Apparently they met with the right people — and took them to the right KTVs. Amway had to tweak its sales model a bit, but the Chicoms essentially gave the now guanxi-savvy company the green light to resume business, so that by 2003 it had “bounced back.”
I don’t know about you, but I’ve had a dim view of the organization ever since my Second Auntie Feng from Changhua joined up in the early 1990s.
Every time I had to attend a Neihu family gathering — which in those days was all too often — Auntie Feng would corner me with an hour-long conversion pitch, waxing lyrical about the merits of Amway shampoo and toilet paper and describing the bountiful riches that awaited me if I would just attend their next meeting in a rented conference hall in Banciao (板橋) and start peddling her stuff to my friends, co-workers and random strangers on the street.
When dear old Auntie keeled over from a heart attack some years later (bless her direct-sold soul), she left the family with crippling debt and a dinglou full of unsold Amway merchandise. We couldn’t give the stuff away.
Back to the future: Chinese Premier Wen Jiabao (溫家寶) wants a berth on the next Amway boat to Taiwan. In fact, he’s all but said he’s willing to bend over and squeal like a pig — if that’s what it takes to come visit our dear “treasure island.”
Chicom-friendly rag the China Post had it from the horse’s mouth. According to the paper, Wen said: “‘Although I’m 67 years old, I would like to visit Taiwan if possible. I would like to go even if I can’t walk and I have to crawl.’”
Now, for a Chicom, Wen actually seems like a nice guy — in a kind of grandfatherly, “you’d never guess I’m an autocrat” kind of way.
Which is why I’d hate to see what would happen if he ventured into southern Taiwan.
Go too deep into Tainan County, and I’m afraid it would turn into something out of Deliverance — with Wen in the luckless Ned Beatty role and the shrieking sound of temple suona (嗩吶) instead of deep Georgia woods banjo-pickin’.
I mean, remember what happened to the last Chicom who made a pit stop in Tainan? He’s not gonna forget that old lady with the crutch anytime soon.
Got something to tell Johnny? Go on, get it off your chest. Write to dearjohnny@taipeitimes.com, but be sure to put “Dear Johnny” in the subject line or he’ll mark your bouquets and brickbats as spam.
On May 7, 1971, Henry Kissinger planned his first, ultra-secret mission to China and pondered whether it would be better to meet his Chinese interlocutors “in Pakistan where the Pakistanis would tape the meeting — or in China where the Chinese would do the taping.” After a flicker of thought, he decided to have the Chinese do all the tape recording, translating and transcribing. Fortuitously, historians have several thousand pages of verbatim texts of Dr. Kissinger’s negotiations with his Chinese counterparts. Paradoxically, behind the scenes, Chinese stenographers prepared verbatim English language typescripts faster than they could translate and type them
More than 30 years ago when I immigrated to the US, applied for citizenship and took the 100-question civics test, the one part of the naturalization process that left the deepest impression on me was one question on the N-400 form, which asked: “Have you ever been a member of, involved in or in any way associated with any communist or totalitarian party anywhere in the world?” Answering “yes” could lead to the rejection of your application. Some people might try their luck and lie, but if exposed, the consequences could be much worse — a person could be fined,
Xiaomi Corp founder Lei Jun (雷軍) on May 22 made a high-profile announcement, giving online viewers a sneak peek at the company’s first 3-nanometer mobile processor — the Xring O1 chip — and saying it is a breakthrough in China’s chip design history. Although Xiaomi might be capable of designing chips, it lacks the ability to manufacture them. No matter how beautifully planned the blueprints are, if they cannot be mass-produced, they are nothing more than drawings on paper. The truth is that China’s chipmaking efforts are still heavily reliant on the free world — particularly on Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing
Keelung Mayor George Hsieh (謝國樑) of the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) on Tuesday last week apologized over allegations that the former director of the city’s Civil Affairs Department had illegally accessed citizens’ data to assist the KMT in its campaign to recall Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) councilors. Given the public discontent with opposition lawmakers’ disruptive behavior in the legislature, passage of unconstitutional legislation and slashing of the central government’s budget, civic groups have launched a massive campaign to recall KMT lawmakers. The KMT has tried to fight back by initiating campaigns to recall DPP lawmakers, but the petition documents they
RSS