A far cry from responsibility
Chen Shih-meng’s (陳師孟) opinion piece (“Tsai must be clear on Chen’s right to fair trial,” May 29, page 8) claims that I am of the opinion that former president Chen Shui-bian (陳水扁) should follow the example of late South Korean president Roh Moo-hyun and commit suicide. This is a far cry from what I said.
In the interview referred to, I said that, “No one can demand that Chen should follow the example of Roh Moo-hyun and commit suicide, but he should at least apologize and return the money as suggested by former Academia Sinica president Lee Yuan-tseh (李遠哲). He should also follow Roh’s example of accepting responsibility instead of placing it on his officials and implicating others.”
LIN CHO-SHUI
Taipei
Racism is not cute
Why should Taiwanese expect the rest of the world to respect their country when they don’t respect it themselves?
In the face of claims so often made of the progressive nature of Taiwanese society being a compelling basis for the nation’s full-fledged international recognition often flies the actual treatment, by the local people, of their international guests.
Indeed, systemic abnormality is so close to the surface that it regularly erupts in the kind of embarrassing behavior that Rosanne Lin points out in her letter (Letters, May 29, page 8).
A great measure of respect consists in genuinely accepting others and thereby treating them without prejudice. It is hypocrisy when you say and even feel that you accept others — but then turn around and put on a special performance in your treatment of them.
When locals see my face, they immediately start speaking to me in English. This is a special performance that sends me the message, “I am exceedingly conscious that you are not one of us.”
Sorry, but I don’t need to be reminded every single day by everyone I meet that I’m different from Taiwanese. You’ve already succeeded gloriously in letting me know this.
In my erstwhile wish to be treated normally in Taiwan, I used to tell the locals I’d meet — in Taiwanese — that it was okay to speak to me in Mandarin. This however accomplished nothing better than eliciting squeals of “Nide Taiyu jiangde hen hao!” and so on, putting me right back at square one: being treated prejudicially, as someone who should not be expected to learn the local languages or appreciate the local cultures, roped off outside.
Part of the problem, I understand, is that Taiwanese have had the career and social importance of English impressed upon them so feverishly that anyone they see who looks like they might be a native English speaker immediately becomes seen as a channel of English, rather than as a human being to be treated as normally as anyone else.
But a much greater part of it precedes Taiwan’s English Age. It lies in a very deep, shared sense of “otherness” in the culture. This conception of the “other” is learned in the home from an early age, it lurks within, and it gives rise to behaviors ranging from fascination to fetishism to fear.
I had a heartbreaking experience in my relationship with Taiwan at the Muzha Zoo two years ago. A mother was pointing out and teaching the names of the animals to her two small children. Then she pointed to me and said “Waiguoren — say hello!”
What does it say about how much someone respects their country when she treats people from abroad like monkeys in a zoo?
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