I started reading “Nothing wrong with ‘Taiwanese’” (Aug. 8, page 8), an apparent response to my essay “An accurate term for ‘Taiwanese’” (Aug. 3, page 8), expecting to learn something useful. Regrettably though, instead of a constructive discussion, the author chose to go on the offensive, starting with catchy-sounding terms such as “flawed arguments,” and, in the end, failing to substantiate them.
What troubled me even more is that the “critical response” is filled with linguistic inaccuracies itself, at times also misrepresenting me. For example, nowhere in my essay did I stress a “special” similarity of Taiwanese Southern Min to the varieties of Southern Min used in China. (Although, given their linguistic history, what else should one expect?)
Many of the points mentioned by the author reveal sketchy familiarity with the languages of the world and their histories. For example, calling Icelandic “an Old Norse language” is a practice that does not exist (incidentally, I hold a degree in Icelandic linguistics). Their the quibbles about the term “Anglo-Saxon” are also hard to understand — this is a well known term.
One should not be too harsh here, perhaps, since the history of European languages apparently is not the author’s specialty. Nevertheless, assertions such as “many languages are named independently of their typological classification” reveals more fundamental problems, demonstrating that the author might even not be aware of the differences between “typological” and “genetic” classifications of languages and their relationship to language names, i.e., topics that are supposed to be covered in introductory linguistic courses. Blunders of this kind make the author’s speculations about “global language naming” (another concept that does not exist) look like empty prattle.
In spite of the author’s quibbles, it remains a fact that Taiwanese Hokkien is a branch of Southern Min, along with the fact that Taiwan is a multicultural and multilingual place — although its historical richness in languages and cultures has been in steady decline due to the dominance of several foreign arrivals, such as Southern Min (and, to some extent, Hakka), Dutch, Japanese and, eventually, Mandarin.
In this respect, I am truly surprised by the author’s claim that Southern Min is a “representative language of Taiwanese culture, arts, history and place names,” because, once again, all this is plainly wrong. The main language of Taiwan today is Mandarin (whether one likes it or not), which renders the comparison with Japan, Italy or Vietnam useless. The place names of Taiwan typically either follow traditional Chinese principles (cf. “Tai-pei” and “Tai-chung” vis-a-vis “Bei-jing” and “Nan-jing” in China) or are Sinicized variants of earlier Austronesian or, more rarely, Japanese names. For example, “Kaohsiung” is the Mandarin version of the earlier Japanese “Takao,” whereas multiple names of smaller towns and villages, such as “Xin-mei” and “Te-fu-ye” frequently are phonetic adaptations of native Austronesian terms (cf. “Sinvi” and “Tfuea”).
The often repeated claims about “Taiwanese culture and arts” are, regrettably, never followed by a definition of these terms. What is “Taiwanese culture,” and what exactly are “Taiwanese arts”? In my view, too often these terms have been used quite inappropriately to refer exclusively to the arts practiced by the Min and Hakka-speaking immigrants from China (and their descendants).
A single click on the computer mouse would reveal that the reality of “Taiwanese arts” and “Taiwanese culture” is far more complex. These terms would never be complete without including, first of all, the Austronesian peoples of Taiwan, and all the later arrivals, such as Dutch, Spanish, Japanese and others — all of whom have left their impression on the local arts and culture.
In all likelihood, the German journalist, adduced in the “response” as a most awkward “argument,” was exposed solely to the arts performed in Southern Min. Are we supposed to use a journalist’s impression, based on very limited exposure, as the basis for official language naming?
The author continues with adducing Hindi, Urdu, Serbian, Croatian and other languages as further “arguments,” exposing further lacunae in his linguistic background. The differences between language names such as “Urdu” vs “Hindi” or “Serbian” vs “Croatian” have a blood-soaked history, and have come into being via the respective parties’ unwillingness to engage in dialogue (regrettably similar to the attitude in the “response”). The primary cause of their existence has little to do with sciences, and the names remain a major problem in language classification and dialectology.
Something along these lines would also happen if Taiwanese Hokkien were abbreviated to “Taiwanese,” transforming a very clear issue into a dicey linguistic problem. Neither do the Scandinavian languages help much here — Swedish, Danish and Norwegian are called thus because of the respective country names. Unfortunately for my attacker, trying to find a country with the official name “Taiwan” would not be very fruitful.
One could go on and on, but I would find it regrettable if a topic that could be dealt with simply and professionally is shut up by the newspaper to prevent further useless arguments.
What can one take away from this discussion? First, the staggeringly unprofessional assault on my essay underscores the dire necessity to upgrade the linguistic literacy in Taiwan (an issue already mentioned in my original essay).
Also, the instruction of history might benefit from a major reformation, among other things, providing a proper place for the indigenous people of Taiwan. As for the adjective “Taiwanese,” its semantic association with “multiculturalism,” “multilingualism” and “inclusion” remain the most constructive, and much good could be derived from this.
The final point is that fruitful, constructive discussions also require an open mind, an ability to think “outside of the box” and mere human decency.
Aurelijus Vijunas is professor of phonetics and historical linguistics at National Kaohsiung Normal University.
Taiwanese pragmatism has long been praised when it comes to addressing Chinese attempts to erase Taiwan from the international stage. “Taipei” and the even more inaccurate and degrading “Chinese Taipei,” imposed titles required to participate in international events, are loathed by Taiwanese. That is why there was huge applause in Taiwan when Japanese public broadcaster NHK referred to the Taiwanese Olympic team as “Taiwan,” instead of “Chinese Taipei” during the opening ceremony of the Tokyo Olympics. What is standard protocol for most nations — calling a national team by the name their country is commonly known by — is impossible for
India is not China, and many of its residents fear it never will be. It is hard to imagine a future in which the subcontinent’s manufacturing dominates the world, its foreign investment shapes nations’ destinies, and the challenge of its economic system forces the West to reshape its own policies and principles. However, that is, apparently, what the US administration fears. Speaking in New Delhi last week, US Deputy Secretary of State Christopher Landau warned that “we will not make the same mistakes with India that we did with China 20 years ago.” Although he claimed the recently agreed framework
The Office of the US Trade Representative (USTR) on Wednesday last week announced it is launching investigations into 16 US trading partners, including Taiwan, under Section 301 of the Trade Act of 1974 to determine whether they have engaged in unfair trade practices, such as overproduction. A day later, the agency announced a separate Section 301 investigation into 60 economies based on the implementation of measures to prohibit the importation of goods produced with forced labor. Several of Taiwan’s main trading rivals — including China, Japan, South Korea and the EU — also made the US’ investigation list. The announcements come
Taiwan is not invited to the table. It never has been, but this year, with the Philippines holding the ASEAN chair, the question that matters is no longer who gets formally named, it is who becomes structurally indispensable. The “one China” formula continues to do its job. It sets the outer boundary of official diplomatic speech, and no one in the region has a serious interest in openly challenging it. However, beneath the surface, something is thickening. Trade corridors, digital infrastructure, artificial intelligence (AI) cooperation, supply chains, cross-border investment: The connective tissue between Taiwan and ASEAN is quietly and methodically growing