Francy phoned. “Hi, Yugan, what are you up to?”
“I'm cleaning my porch.”
Pause. “….. you're what?”
“I'm cleaning my porch. I've got water and detergent and a brush and I'm cleaning the porch.”
Long pause. “Yugan, are you all right?”
“Sure, I'm fine.”
“Tell me, Yugan, has something happened?”
“No, everything is fine.”
“You're sure you're fine?”
“I'm sure I'm fine.”
“And you're washing your porch?”
“That's right.”
I could hear Francy starting to sob. She calmed herself and said, ”Really, Yugan, if something has happened and you want to talk about it, I'm right here for you.”
“No, I'm fine, really. The porch was dirty, so I decided to clean it.”
Pause. “…. The porch was dirty so you decided to clean it?”
“That's right.”
“And you're fine, you haven't gotten sunstroke or heatstroke and everything is okay?” she asked cautiously.
“Absolutely.”
Francy pulled herself together. “Okay then, Yugan. Come by my office after you finish and I'll give you the keys so you can clean my balcony, too.”
Monday, June 21, 2004
sketch
The Hsintien Stream 新店溪 leaves the mountains at Chingtan/Green Pond 青潭 where it turns left, or east and flows into the Taipei plain at the edge of the city, at Pitan, Bluegreen Pond 碧潭. The north bank of Bluegreen Pond is flat, with the edge of mountains a short distance away. The south bank is hilly, with cliffs hidden in the lush vegetation.
At Bluegreen Pond, the stream widens to about fifty meters across. This is a favorite scenic and recreation spot for Taipei residents, so there is a row of shops on the north, or city, bank. This is where my pottery teacher is located. Friday I got there for class early, so I strolled upstream to the ferry, certainly the last manual (unmotorized) ferry in the Taipei area. A teenaged girl was pushing the oar to ferry across her sole passenger, a middle aged man who chatted with her as she pushed and twisted the oar; it simply can't be as easy as she made it look. Then she picked up an old lady and her grandchild and headed back, backing out and turning her twelve meter boat with a few efficient motions.
I could hear a drum. Tuesday is the Dragon Boat Festival. For thousands of years, boat races have been held on 端午節the fifth day of the fifth lunar month, and Bluegreen Pond has been the site of dragon boat races for decades. Two crews were practicing rowing their long boats; since this is just practice, the dragon heads have not been affixed on the boats. On Tuesday, before the races are held, the boats will be resplendent with dragon heads, and their eyes will be ceremoniously painted in. Yesterday was just practice, though. The rowers shouted cadence to the drum and their stokes as they whisked their boats through the evening mist rising off the river and flowing down from the south bank jungle.
The Hsintien Stream 新店溪 leaves the mountains at Chingtan/Green Pond 青潭 where it turns left, or east and flows into the Taipei plain at the edge of the city, at Pitan, Bluegreen Pond 碧潭. The north bank of Bluegreen Pond is flat, with the edge of mountains a short distance away. The south bank is hilly, with cliffs hidden in the lush vegetation.
At Bluegreen Pond, the stream widens to about fifty meters across. This is a favorite scenic and recreation spot for Taipei residents, so there is a row of shops on the north, or city, bank. This is where my pottery teacher is located. Friday I got there for class early, so I strolled upstream to the ferry, certainly the last manual (unmotorized) ferry in the Taipei area. A teenaged girl was pushing the oar to ferry across her sole passenger, a middle aged man who chatted with her as she pushed and twisted the oar; it simply can't be as easy as she made it look. Then she picked up an old lady and her grandchild and headed back, backing out and turning her twelve meter boat with a few efficient motions.
I could hear a drum. Tuesday is the Dragon Boat Festival. For thousands of years, boat races have been held on 端午節the fifth day of the fifth lunar month, and Bluegreen Pond has been the site of dragon boat races for decades. Two crews were practicing rowing their long boats; since this is just practice, the dragon heads have not been affixed on the boats. On Tuesday, before the races are held, the boats will be resplendent with dragon heads, and their eyes will be ceremoniously painted in. Yesterday was just practice, though. The rowers shouted cadence to the drum and their stokes as they whisked their boats through the evening mist rising off the river and flowing down from the south bank jungle.
Tuesday, June 15, 2004
昨晚興致勃勃地到中正紀念堂國家音樂廳去聽陳孟亨女士直笛演奏會。 應有盡有，Bach 、Telemann 、Vivaldi都到齊了。小提琴、中提琴、大提琴、鍵盤(時大鍵琴，偶管風琴)伴奏直笛。潦響美妙，渾厚扎實，只覺得場地太大: chamber music嘛!台上最穩的是大提琴。後來與巴洛克長笛演奏Telemann，也效Amsterdam Loeki Stardust Quartet，四個直笛吹 Bach 的 Fugue，心滿意足。
下半場就不同了。 先看四個小男生上台，準備電吉他、爵士鼓、鍵盤。他們穿白褲、蘋果綠無袖大領襯衫，土氣十足(鍵盤手還帶上墨鏡…)，陳女士穿著鑲亮片的禮服，在大管風琴前演奏起爵士樂，實在不倫不類。我想到爵士樂，不會想到電吉他，更不會想到直笛。觀眾面面相覷，再來是東張西望，繼以俏俏地往太平門逃脫。很可惜。
依我看，直笛還是吹巴洛克最適合。
下半場就不同了。 先看四個小男生上台，準備電吉他、爵士鼓、鍵盤。他們穿白褲、蘋果綠無袖大領襯衫，土氣十足(鍵盤手還帶上墨鏡…)，陳女士穿著鑲亮片的禮服，在大管風琴前演奏起爵士樂，實在不倫不類。我想到爵士樂，不會想到電吉他，更不會想到直笛。觀眾面面相覷，再來是東張西望，繼以俏俏地往太平門逃脫。很可惜。
依我看，直笛還是吹巴洛克最適合。
Saturday, June 12, 2004
I'm back from the family reunion. I was amazed with the openness and honesty with which everybody dealt with family issues. Made me feel honored to be a member of this nutty family.
But by Tuesday, when we had a big meal at Aunt Helen's, things were winding down. Uncle Ted and cousin Connie had gone back to the east coast, and Mom and Steph were leaving the next day. Shortly after dark (9 PM in northern Colorado), there was a terrific hail storm. And do you know why?
Hail, hail, the gang's all here!
But by Tuesday, when we had a big meal at Aunt Helen's, things were winding down. Uncle Ted and cousin Connie had gone back to the east coast, and Mom and Steph were leaving the next day. Shortly after dark (9 PM in northern Colorado), there was a terrific hail storm. And do you know why?
Hail, hail, the gang's all here!
Thursday, June 03, 2004
I've got a great idea. This evening I start out on a twelve hour flight across the Pacific. But what to do on such a long flight? I know! I'll spend the whole time practicing making fax machine noises! With all that practice, I should be pretty good by the time I get there, so that means I can entertain all the passengers around me on the fourteen hour flight back!
PS: please remember that I want to be cremated.
(supposing, that is, that the other passengers
leave enough of me to cremate)
PS: please remember that I want to be cremated.
(supposing, that is, that the other passengers
leave enough of me to cremate)
Wednesday, June 02, 2004
Saturday, May 29, 2004
Are cellists careless, forgetful, or just newsworthy? That article about the LA philharmonic: one of their cellists has a Stradivarius cello worth US3.5 million (!). So one day recently he went home, opened his front door, and left his 3.5 million dollar cello sitting on the porch (!!). Next thing he knew somebody was carrying it away on a bicycle.
A few days later a lady found it by a dumpster. She was going to ask her boyfriend to cut it up to make a CD shelf out of it, but fortunately, he recognized it as the cello everybody was looking for.
Can you imagine? A 3.5 million dollar CD shelf? No, I mean, can you imagine being so careless?
But a couple years ago Yoyo Ma left his cello in a taxi in New York. How can you do that? It's not like it was a piccolo and it slipped out of your pocket or something, a cello is a large instrument, something you'd think you'd notice if you left it in a taxi.
Of course it was a cheapo cello, only one million US, which may explain his negligence. But still, hey, you can get a LOT of recorders for one million NT, much less US!!
A few days later a lady found it by a dumpster. She was going to ask her boyfriend to cut it up to make a CD shelf out of it, but fortunately, he recognized it as the cello everybody was looking for.
Can you imagine? A 3.5 million dollar CD shelf? No, I mean, can you imagine being so careless?
But a couple years ago Yoyo Ma left his cello in a taxi in New York. How can you do that? It's not like it was a piccolo and it slipped out of your pocket or something, a cello is a large instrument, something you'd think you'd notice if you left it in a taxi.
Of course it was a cheapo cello, only one million US, which may explain his negligence. But still, hey, you can get a LOT of recorders for one million NT, much less US!!
Thursday, May 20, 2004
Wednesday, May 19, 2004
As punishment for my sin of not backing up my files, last week a virus destroyed my hard disk. If you have not heard from me, I am not ignoring you, my entire e-address book is gone with the wind, so you're going to have to write to me. My apologies.
My apologies? Hull, my sniveling tears.
I have firewalls and anti-virus, but the virus still got through. "A warning by me take," and remember to back up your files.
My apologies? Hull, my sniveling tears.
I have firewalls and anti-virus, but the virus still got through. "A warning by me take," and remember to back up your files.
Thursday, April 29, 2004
When I first came to Taiwan, I lived in the International House. The most popular American there was Nick, cheerful, handsome, easy going, everybody's friend. After dinner one evening, we were all gathered in the lounge as usual when Nick came in, the first time we saw him wearing shorts. His arrival was greeted with shocked gasps, because he was on crutches, and had only one leg. It turned out that some years before, he had been working in Hawaii. He was helping dislodge a fishing boat (ironically, from Taiwan) that had gotten stuck on a sandbar. A cable snapped and took off his left leg at the knee. Nick got an artificial leg and learned to use it so well that even I House people who went out dancing with him were not aware that he was all plastic from one knee down. This discovery made a stir, and then we forgot about it.
About a year later, after I had moved into an apartment on Hsinsheng with Roger and Jerome, somebody from the I House looked me up at school with the news that Bill's mother had sent him a football from the States so they were having a game on the Shih Ta field, want to come along? I detest spectator sports and competitive sports, but if you have a football and just enjoy playing the game, it's a lot of fun, so I closed my books and headed for the field. The whole I House crew was there, so we managed to put together two teams. We took off our jackets and played in our street clothes, very impromptu. None of us were serious players, so it was fun.
This was in about 1973. Foreigners were very scarce in Taiwan then. Before long we attracted a large crowd of kids who had never seen a dozen Americans together at the same time. Plus, we were running around playing this unintelligible game that to this day is never seen anywhere in Taiwan but on a television screen. The kids were fascinated, especially when they had the chance to go after an out of bounds ball, try to catch it as it bounced, and toss it back to us. Exotic goings-on, to be sure.
Then Doug passed the ball to Nick, who had to reach far for it. Just as he went way off balance and touched the ball, Dan came running up behind him and nudged him, so Nick fell hard. He fell so hard that he bounced and his leg came off and slipped out of his pants. The crowd of children held their breath for a moment, gave an earsplitting shriek of horror, and disappeared as fast as they could run. Within a few seconds, there was not a child to be seen. They were probably all huddling in their closets at home by the time Nick got his leg attached.
But the poor kids. Can you imagine this kid racing home screeching: Ma, Ma, I was watching the big-noses playing a game, and their legs come off!
Nonsense, stop your nonsense!!
No, really, I was at the Shih Ta field, and these foreign devils were playing a game with a pointed ball.
A pointed ball? What's the matter with you? Everybody knows a ball is round!
No, really, Ma, listen to me! They were playing a game with a pointed ball, and one of them fell, and his leg came off, it came right out of his pants, I saw it!
Stop that nonsense!
Ma, it's real!
Oh, heavens, put your jacket back on, I'm taking you to the sorcerer to have your frightened spirit called home. I have no idea what could have put such strange notions in your poor little head.
But Ma!!
Hush, hush, baby, let's go.
Probably caused psychological scars that persist to this day. Sure did put the damper on our game. It just sort of petered out after that, and I haven't played football since.
About a year later, after I had moved into an apartment on Hsinsheng with Roger and Jerome, somebody from the I House looked me up at school with the news that Bill's mother had sent him a football from the States so they were having a game on the Shih Ta field, want to come along? I detest spectator sports and competitive sports, but if you have a football and just enjoy playing the game, it's a lot of fun, so I closed my books and headed for the field. The whole I House crew was there, so we managed to put together two teams. We took off our jackets and played in our street clothes, very impromptu. None of us were serious players, so it was fun.
This was in about 1973. Foreigners were very scarce in Taiwan then. Before long we attracted a large crowd of kids who had never seen a dozen Americans together at the same time. Plus, we were running around playing this unintelligible game that to this day is never seen anywhere in Taiwan but on a television screen. The kids were fascinated, especially when they had the chance to go after an out of bounds ball, try to catch it as it bounced, and toss it back to us. Exotic goings-on, to be sure.
Then Doug passed the ball to Nick, who had to reach far for it. Just as he went way off balance and touched the ball, Dan came running up behind him and nudged him, so Nick fell hard. He fell so hard that he bounced and his leg came off and slipped out of his pants. The crowd of children held their breath for a moment, gave an earsplitting shriek of horror, and disappeared as fast as they could run. Within a few seconds, there was not a child to be seen. They were probably all huddling in their closets at home by the time Nick got his leg attached.
But the poor kids. Can you imagine this kid racing home screeching: Ma, Ma, I was watching the big-noses playing a game, and their legs come off!
Nonsense, stop your nonsense!!
No, really, I was at the Shih Ta field, and these foreign devils were playing a game with a pointed ball.
A pointed ball? What's the matter with you? Everybody knows a ball is round!
No, really, Ma, listen to me! They were playing a game with a pointed ball, and one of them fell, and his leg came off, it came right out of his pants, I saw it!
Stop that nonsense!
Ma, it's real!
Oh, heavens, put your jacket back on, I'm taking you to the sorcerer to have your frightened spirit called home. I have no idea what could have put such strange notions in your poor little head.
But Ma!!
Hush, hush, baby, let's go.
Probably caused psychological scars that persist to this day. Sure did put the damper on our game. It just sort of petered out after that, and I haven't played football since.
Friday, April 23, 2004
Earthday is over
今早上坡傳來我最恨的聲音: 鋸樹聲。 聽到木裂聲，往上看，一棵十公尺高的相思樹倒地。 是不是有人盜伐樹，上去看看。Patu拎著鍊鋸爬上一棵更大的相思樹開始鋸，那一棵相思樹很粗，我兩手抱不起來。 我問他為什麼要鋸，原來是鄉公所派他們來，因為這些樹擋路旁櫻的光線，所以砍了。
Silan 搖頭歎息說，”這棵相思樹是我祖父種的，那個時候我爸還小，少說也有六十年。”
Patu說，”沒辦法，鄉公所說遊客要看的是櫻花。”Patu無奈。這項工作很困難，且極危險。Patu 又要開工程車又要鋸樹，一天工資八百元。
很諷刺的是，大樹殞命是在地球日的第二天清晨。難道鄉公所不知道生物多樣性的重要嗎? 只有遊客要看的樹才容許成長，管它生態不生態。
Yata來了，跳腳大叫，”你們把我最好的桑樹砍了，這棵的桑椹最好吃，多少年來，一過完年，就是期待吃這棵的桑椹。”
Patu說，”沒辦法，鄉公所說遊客要看的是櫻花。”
現代人被廣告訓練的非常聽話。這季滿山梧桐開白花，誰人來賞？路側幾朶櫻，來的人群把路塞死。櫻花與梧桐難媲美，差在櫻有宣傳；現代人訓練有素，看到電視雜誌指出:”這是美，”便很溫馴地攜家帶眷，把著照相機，列隊在櫻樹裸枝前拍照，小心被來往車朝撞。梧桐白花、相思黃花，缺人為它宣傳:鋸啦！！
下次知道烏來櫻花開，一定要來看，因為我們為了讓你們看那幾朶櫻花所付出的代價不算輕。
今早上坡傳來我最恨的聲音: 鋸樹聲。 聽到木裂聲，往上看，一棵十公尺高的相思樹倒地。 是不是有人盜伐樹，上去看看。Patu拎著鍊鋸爬上一棵更大的相思樹開始鋸，那一棵相思樹很粗，我兩手抱不起來。 我問他為什麼要鋸，原來是鄉公所派他們來，因為這些樹擋路旁櫻的光線，所以砍了。
Silan 搖頭歎息說，”這棵相思樹是我祖父種的，那個時候我爸還小，少說也有六十年。”
Patu說，”沒辦法，鄉公所說遊客要看的是櫻花。”Patu無奈。這項工作很困難，且極危險。Patu 又要開工程車又要鋸樹，一天工資八百元。
很諷刺的是，大樹殞命是在地球日的第二天清晨。難道鄉公所不知道生物多樣性的重要嗎? 只有遊客要看的樹才容許成長，管它生態不生態。
Yata來了，跳腳大叫，”你們把我最好的桑樹砍了，這棵的桑椹最好吃，多少年來，一過完年，就是期待吃這棵的桑椹。”
Patu說，”沒辦法，鄉公所說遊客要看的是櫻花。”
現代人被廣告訓練的非常聽話。這季滿山梧桐開白花，誰人來賞？路側幾朶櫻，來的人群把路塞死。櫻花與梧桐難媲美，差在櫻有宣傳；現代人訓練有素，看到電視雜誌指出:”這是美，”便很溫馴地攜家帶眷，把著照相機，列隊在櫻樹裸枝前拍照，小心被來往車朝撞。梧桐白花、相思黃花，缺人為它宣傳:鋸啦！！
下次知道烏來櫻花開，一定要來看，因為我們為了讓你們看那幾朶櫻花所付出的代價不算輕。
Thursday, April 22, 2004
我要發了
老友阿雞從美國打電話來，說有一個賺大錢的點子…喪家出殯時喜歡擺場面，所以阿雞說，咱可以組個孝子孝女團，全部以美國人披麻帶孝，到臺灣中南部打天下，穩發無疑。
這個點子的確不錯，但有些不足之處。 第一，美國人嘛，到時候一定會笑，不夠肅穆，我們要的是孝子，不是笑子。 第二，美國人要價高，而且囉嗦，甚麼健保啦、休假啦，我說美國人太麻煩，不如招募東歐人來的實在:白俄、烏克蘭人那一類的。斯拉夫人看起來夠外國（就是這個問題，所以不考慮用泰國人、菲律賓人）。前蘇聯的遺民窮哈哈的，一天發幾個馬鈴薯、幾包香煙、一些零用錢，就感激不已，哪會想到甚麼健保休假？加上、臺灣中南部炎熱的氣候，他們受不了；每一個人量身訂製羊毛黑袍子～像海青～為孝團制服，跟隨靈車扶柩幾步，一個一個地中暑，倒下去口吐白沫，跟家屬朋友解釋為哀慟氣絕，你說效果有多好就有多好，紅包滿天飛。如果喪家加錢的話，孝團裡身材最好的孝女激動到撕裂自己的衣服（撕裂的情形依紅包而斟酌）。
這樣做，在中南部不可能不賺。
反正，下地獄是以後的事。
老友阿雞從美國打電話來，說有一個賺大錢的點子…喪家出殯時喜歡擺場面，所以阿雞說，咱可以組個孝子孝女團，全部以美國人披麻帶孝，到臺灣中南部打天下，穩發無疑。
這個點子的確不錯，但有些不足之處。 第一，美國人嘛，到時候一定會笑，不夠肅穆，我們要的是孝子，不是笑子。 第二，美國人要價高，而且囉嗦，甚麼健保啦、休假啦，我說美國人太麻煩，不如招募東歐人來的實在:白俄、烏克蘭人那一類的。斯拉夫人看起來夠外國（就是這個問題，所以不考慮用泰國人、菲律賓人）。前蘇聯的遺民窮哈哈的，一天發幾個馬鈴薯、幾包香煙、一些零用錢，就感激不已，哪會想到甚麼健保休假？加上、臺灣中南部炎熱的氣候，他們受不了；每一個人量身訂製羊毛黑袍子～像海青～為孝團制服，跟隨靈車扶柩幾步，一個一個地中暑，倒下去口吐白沫，跟家屬朋友解釋為哀慟氣絕，你說效果有多好就有多好，紅包滿天飛。如果喪家加錢的話，孝團裡身材最好的孝女激動到撕裂自己的衣服（撕裂的情形依紅包而斟酌）。
這樣做，在中南部不可能不賺。
反正，下地獄是以後的事。
Sunday, April 04, 2004
A historical note from my mother:
“I remember when Charles Lindbergh flew into Dodge City. Everybody was out where he was going to land and we mistook the first star for his plane, until it was obvious it was a star. The landing field ― no airport ― was a pasture and people lit it with their cars' headlights. We waited and waited and finally, he got there, got out, and was tall and lanky, greeted by the mayor, etc. ― he went away with them after being introduced to & greeted by the crowd and then we all went home, thrilled and exalted.”
That would have been sometime in the late 1920s.
“I remember when Charles Lindbergh flew into Dodge City. Everybody was out where he was going to land and we mistook the first star for his plane, until it was obvious it was a star. The landing field ― no airport ― was a pasture and people lit it with their cars' headlights. We waited and waited and finally, he got there, got out, and was tall and lanky, greeted by the mayor, etc. ― he went away with them after being introduced to & greeted by the crowd and then we all went home, thrilled and exalted.”
That would have been sometime in the late 1920s.
Friday, April 02, 2004
I wrote this about two years ago, about another election.
Yagi Hakaw
Were I running for local office and found my candidacy endorsed by my good friend Yagi Hakaw, I would rush with glistening forehead to thrust gobs of large denomination bills into his stubby hands, beseeching him to root for my rivals. Yagi's support is the kiss of death for a local candidate, a staggering blow, barely to be survived, for a candidate in a larger election.
On the one hand, Yagi has an uncanny ability to pick losers. You want to know who's going to lose the next election, ask Yagi who he's voting for. You want to find out how many votes his candidate got in the last election, look at the bottom of the election results, the very last place.
On the other hand, Yagi's means of showing support practically guarantees opposite results. During the years he was driving a Wulai-Taipei bus, he won votes for all the other parties along the entire 25 kilometer line by his continued, vociferous, forceful support of the Democratic Progressive Party.
Yagi is a wonderful friend, but simply cannot handle a position of the slightest authority. I attribute this to his first job. Freshly graduated from junior high, he was, as were so many Aborigine boys, taken off to sea. This was the first time he had ever left his village in the mountains of Taiwan. He worked a fishing boat for six years, six years on a boat far from the Tribe, far from the mountains, far out at sea on a boat the size of a bus. He isn't sure where his boat was, somewhere in the Pacific, probably stopping in South American ports, because he speaks some Spanish. He was bilked six years of hard labor. He was fed, but every penny of his pay was swindled by various dodges. He escaped wage slavery only by being drafted.
My theory is that the main authority figure, the captain, imprinted on Yagi's soul during these formative years. He handles every position of authority as a tyrannical fishing boat captain, far from shore, would deal with potentially mutinous Aborigines. If ever some passenger, wittingly or not, might drop one coin short in the cash box, Yagi would stop the bus and demand, long and loud, that this thief not try to take advantage of an Aborigine and bilk the bus company, and pay in full. Taiwan may be modern and commercial, but this is still China, and such direct confrontation is frowned upon.
As luck would have it, Yagi's route goes by a government old folks’ home. The old folks, retired civil servants and soldiers, love to ride the bus to the city to buy a head of lettuce, pester doctors, pick up medicine, get a breath of city air, and see the sights. Let some old codger clamber into the bus with less than gymnastic alacrity, and Yagi would immediately begin blistering the paint: “Can't you hurry!? You're going to drive me insane, I don't have a schedule? How long do you want me to wait for you?”
The bus company concocted an excuse to fire him. Perhaps the boss, a DPP backer, also wanted to save some votes for his party.
Loyalties on the edge of tribal and city life are confused. A couple years ago, the government passed legislation requiring all motorcycle riders to wear crash helmets. In Wulai this was taken to imply, 'unless we are riding around the village.' Then one day the Provincial Chief of Police paid a visit to Wulai. He hit the ceiling when he saw a girl driving a motorcycle without a crash helmet. Of course nobody told him that she was a Wulai police officer's little daughter, at nine years old already half way to legal age to get a motorcycle license. To enforce the law, an officer was chosen, an outsider fresh out of police academy. Soon people opened their mail boxes to find fines attached to photos of themselves, from the back, showing license plates and no helmets. Fury! A compromise was reached. The hapless officer was posted far away, but people were asked to remember their helmets, sometimes, and for god's sakes, when the high mucky-mucks come, don't let the grade-schoolers drive motorcycles.
The bus company requires that expired passes be confiscated. The police sent word to the drivers: Yayut lives in the city where her husband works, and she has about thirty rides left on last year's pass, so let it slide. This request provoked several injured responses: I have never punched her ticket before, why would I start with this year's? She is, after all, a Tayal, one of the Tribe, if our boss wants her ticket punched, let him come punch it himself.
Like many Aborigines, Yagi's first loyalty is to Tribe, not Party. Two old men (Han Chinese, flat-landers, not Aborigines)
got on his bus one time before an election, loudly proclaiming in the Minnan dialect that the DPP was sure to win and then the Taiwanese people would stand up, yes sir! Yagi drove silently for about ten minutes, and suddenly bellowed, “Then you 'Taiwanese' can all go back to your goddamned home in the Chinese mainland and leave us Aborigines in peace!!” The old timers slipped off the bus at the next stop.
The unfortunate fact is that Yagi actually has a very sweet side, no matter what people along the route believe. A friend has only to ask, and his help is unstinting. Somebody started peddling an old Aborigine dish, bamboo rice: an instant hit with the tourists who flock to Wulai to enjoy the mountains, the waterfall, and the hot springs. Business boomed. Yagi opened up a stand with his mother and wife, adding banana rice. They produced the best bamboo rice in the Tribe, hands down, no doubt. His rice was so delicious that he was getting all the business. The neighbors complained: you're making all the money, nobody's coming to our stands any more. The accommodating Yagi voluntarily closed down his stand in order not to reduce his neighbors' income.
Now his cousin is running for office. For his election headquarters, the cousin has taken over Yagi's house, downhill from me. This strategic choice shows Yagi's craftsmanship, because we are out on the edge of the village, far enough away that everybody can beg off dropping by the headquarters with the excuse that I wasn't going that way. For his election fight song, he has chosen Naluwan (the word is the Taiwan Aborigine equivalent of Aloha). It consists mostly of a piercing female voice singing one monotonous line over and over
My home is at Naluwaaaaaaaaan~
A song of very high irritation quotient, especially when you hear it repeated all afternoon. He has cranked up the speaker so the people in the village can hear it. They can probably hear it on the moon. Things do not bode well for Yagi's cousin.
Of course not all of Yagi's candidates lose. He backed the winner by default in the last presidential election, Chen Shuibian of the DPP. Yagi celebrated Inauguration Day with the rest of the Tribe's tiny DPP contingent by formally quitting the Party. Then he got roaring drunk. I could hear him howling and crying late into the night.
Postscript: The day after the election, I was shooting the breeze with Abus. To nobody's surprise, Yagi's cousin polled 40 votes out of the thousand votes in Wulai, landing solidly in last place, even behind the Lukai tribesman who for some reason thought he might win some votes. Are you kidding? Running for office in Tayal tribal land all dressed up in a Lukai outfit for your campaign photo?
I laughed that even the Lukai got more votes than Yagi's candidate. Abus, who takes things literally, bristled. “Me? If I ran for office, and Yagi showed up to support me, I'd get my head-hunting knife and chop him up!”
Great minds think alike.
Yagi Hakaw
Were I running for local office and found my candidacy endorsed by my good friend Yagi Hakaw, I would rush with glistening forehead to thrust gobs of large denomination bills into his stubby hands, beseeching him to root for my rivals. Yagi's support is the kiss of death for a local candidate, a staggering blow, barely to be survived, for a candidate in a larger election.
On the one hand, Yagi has an uncanny ability to pick losers. You want to know who's going to lose the next election, ask Yagi who he's voting for. You want to find out how many votes his candidate got in the last election, look at the bottom of the election results, the very last place.
On the other hand, Yagi's means of showing support practically guarantees opposite results. During the years he was driving a Wulai-Taipei bus, he won votes for all the other parties along the entire 25 kilometer line by his continued, vociferous, forceful support of the Democratic Progressive Party.
Yagi is a wonderful friend, but simply cannot handle a position of the slightest authority. I attribute this to his first job. Freshly graduated from junior high, he was, as were so many Aborigine boys, taken off to sea. This was the first time he had ever left his village in the mountains of Taiwan. He worked a fishing boat for six years, six years on a boat far from the Tribe, far from the mountains, far out at sea on a boat the size of a bus. He isn't sure where his boat was, somewhere in the Pacific, probably stopping in South American ports, because he speaks some Spanish. He was bilked six years of hard labor. He was fed, but every penny of his pay was swindled by various dodges. He escaped wage slavery only by being drafted.
My theory is that the main authority figure, the captain, imprinted on Yagi's soul during these formative years. He handles every position of authority as a tyrannical fishing boat captain, far from shore, would deal with potentially mutinous Aborigines. If ever some passenger, wittingly or not, might drop one coin short in the cash box, Yagi would stop the bus and demand, long and loud, that this thief not try to take advantage of an Aborigine and bilk the bus company, and pay in full. Taiwan may be modern and commercial, but this is still China, and such direct confrontation is frowned upon.
As luck would have it, Yagi's route goes by a government old folks’ home. The old folks, retired civil servants and soldiers, love to ride the bus to the city to buy a head of lettuce, pester doctors, pick up medicine, get a breath of city air, and see the sights. Let some old codger clamber into the bus with less than gymnastic alacrity, and Yagi would immediately begin blistering the paint: “Can't you hurry!? You're going to drive me insane, I don't have a schedule? How long do you want me to wait for you?”
The bus company concocted an excuse to fire him. Perhaps the boss, a DPP backer, also wanted to save some votes for his party.
Loyalties on the edge of tribal and city life are confused. A couple years ago, the government passed legislation requiring all motorcycle riders to wear crash helmets. In Wulai this was taken to imply, 'unless we are riding around the village.' Then one day the Provincial Chief of Police paid a visit to Wulai. He hit the ceiling when he saw a girl driving a motorcycle without a crash helmet. Of course nobody told him that she was a Wulai police officer's little daughter, at nine years old already half way to legal age to get a motorcycle license. To enforce the law, an officer was chosen, an outsider fresh out of police academy. Soon people opened their mail boxes to find fines attached to photos of themselves, from the back, showing license plates and no helmets. Fury! A compromise was reached. The hapless officer was posted far away, but people were asked to remember their helmets, sometimes, and for god's sakes, when the high mucky-mucks come, don't let the grade-schoolers drive motorcycles.
The bus company requires that expired passes be confiscated. The police sent word to the drivers: Yayut lives in the city where her husband works, and she has about thirty rides left on last year's pass, so let it slide. This request provoked several injured responses: I have never punched her ticket before, why would I start with this year's? She is, after all, a Tayal, one of the Tribe, if our boss wants her ticket punched, let him come punch it himself.
Like many Aborigines, Yagi's first loyalty is to Tribe, not Party. Two old men (Han Chinese, flat-landers, not Aborigines)
got on his bus one time before an election, loudly proclaiming in the Minnan dialect that the DPP was sure to win and then the Taiwanese people would stand up, yes sir! Yagi drove silently for about ten minutes, and suddenly bellowed, “Then you 'Taiwanese' can all go back to your goddamned home in the Chinese mainland and leave us Aborigines in peace!!” The old timers slipped off the bus at the next stop.
The unfortunate fact is that Yagi actually has a very sweet side, no matter what people along the route believe. A friend has only to ask, and his help is unstinting. Somebody started peddling an old Aborigine dish, bamboo rice: an instant hit with the tourists who flock to Wulai to enjoy the mountains, the waterfall, and the hot springs. Business boomed. Yagi opened up a stand with his mother and wife, adding banana rice. They produced the best bamboo rice in the Tribe, hands down, no doubt. His rice was so delicious that he was getting all the business. The neighbors complained: you're making all the money, nobody's coming to our stands any more. The accommodating Yagi voluntarily closed down his stand in order not to reduce his neighbors' income.
Now his cousin is running for office. For his election headquarters, the cousin has taken over Yagi's house, downhill from me. This strategic choice shows Yagi's craftsmanship, because we are out on the edge of the village, far enough away that everybody can beg off dropping by the headquarters with the excuse that I wasn't going that way. For his election fight song, he has chosen Naluwan (the word is the Taiwan Aborigine equivalent of Aloha). It consists mostly of a piercing female voice singing one monotonous line over and over
My home is at Naluwaaaaaaaaan~
A song of very high irritation quotient, especially when you hear it repeated all afternoon. He has cranked up the speaker so the people in the village can hear it. They can probably hear it on the moon. Things do not bode well for Yagi's cousin.
Of course not all of Yagi's candidates lose. He backed the winner by default in the last presidential election, Chen Shuibian of the DPP. Yagi celebrated Inauguration Day with the rest of the Tribe's tiny DPP contingent by formally quitting the Party. Then he got roaring drunk. I could hear him howling and crying late into the night.
Postscript: The day after the election, I was shooting the breeze with Abus. To nobody's surprise, Yagi's cousin polled 40 votes out of the thousand votes in Wulai, landing solidly in last place, even behind the Lukai tribesman who for some reason thought he might win some votes. Are you kidding? Running for office in Tayal tribal land all dressed up in a Lukai outfit for your campaign photo?
I laughed that even the Lukai got more votes than Yagi's candidate. Abus, who takes things literally, bristled. “Me? If I ran for office, and Yagi showed up to support me, I'd get my head-hunting knife and chop him up!”
Great minds think alike.
Saturday, March 27, 2004
Yesterday the protests escalated. The Election Committee was stormed and occupied. There was some violence, but nobody was injured. A big parade to protest the election was being held today. Nothing to do with me, I was going to the train station to meet a friend at 3.
On the way down to the bus stop, a neighbor gave me a ride, so I got an earlier bus in to the city, and arrived downtown before 2:30. I figured, I can walk the last two stops in 15 minutes normally, so rather than arrive early, I may as well go look at the parade, and sample the mood.
The mood was exuberant. Chungshan South Road was packed solid to East Gate. I made my way through the crowd pretty easily, although I was almost deafened by the freon horns people were blowing off. I was amused to hear that the crowd had appropriated the old DDP cheer, Stand up, People of Taiwan! and I was confused when I heard the cry, 徐信良萬歲! Long Life for Hsu Hsinliang! Huh? Hsu was one of the founders of the DDP, President Chen's party, the other guys. Later I found out that Hsu is so incensed by irregularities in this election that he has gone on a fast in protest, calling for a return to democracy.
People were in high spirits. Police were mingling among the crowd, very much at ease. (During the Street Movement when the DDP was building power, the police would never have dared to walk amongst the protestors.) An excellent sign in English: Don't make Democracy a deMOCKracy!
A man sang a beautiful, slow song in Minnanese. Another man gave a speech in English; I could recognize it was English because I discerned “of the” “and so” and a few other phrases. The rest was totally unintelligible to me. I wanted to go up and say, Hey, I offer courses in pronunciation, want to sign up? People cheered him anyway, but were palpably relieved when he switched into Chinese.
I made my way north with an eye on the time. A pretty solid mass of people at East Gate, but the lawn of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs was pretty vacant, so I set out across it, partly because you don't usually get a chance to tromp there. I immediately found out why the lawn was pretty vacant: apparently so many other people took advantage of this opportunity to tromp across the lawn that the grass had all been trampled into sticky mud. A little mud never stopped a barbarian down from the mountains, so I set off bravely, but soon found that this was really extra-gluey gooey gooey glutinous mud. Halfway across, one of my flip-flops flopped, snapping its strap. I succeeded in making it the rest of the way across; by this time, the people in the immediate vicinity had stopped listening to the speaker to see if I would make it across without falling flat on my back. Fortunately, I managed to stay upright, but decided to just take off my flip-flops.
Three policemen were lounging against a van, chatting. I asked one if it would be possible to cross north. He suggested that if I was in a hurry, I should go back to the subway stop and take the subway to the train station. So I did, weaving through the crowd as quickly as I could, carrying the remains of my flip-flops.
I reached our meeting point at 3:10, and showed my friend my muddy, broken flip-flops: "I just want to show these to you to prove that when I left my home, I was NOT barefoot, I was shod. However, they snapped in the mud in front of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, so before we go for tea, do you mind if we go around the corner and buy me a new pair?"
On the way down to the bus stop, a neighbor gave me a ride, so I got an earlier bus in to the city, and arrived downtown before 2:30. I figured, I can walk the last two stops in 15 minutes normally, so rather than arrive early, I may as well go look at the parade, and sample the mood.
The mood was exuberant. Chungshan South Road was packed solid to East Gate. I made my way through the crowd pretty easily, although I was almost deafened by the freon horns people were blowing off. I was amused to hear that the crowd had appropriated the old DDP cheer, Stand up, People of Taiwan! and I was confused when I heard the cry, 徐信良萬歲! Long Life for Hsu Hsinliang! Huh? Hsu was one of the founders of the DDP, President Chen's party, the other guys. Later I found out that Hsu is so incensed by irregularities in this election that he has gone on a fast in protest, calling for a return to democracy.
People were in high spirits. Police were mingling among the crowd, very much at ease. (During the Street Movement when the DDP was building power, the police would never have dared to walk amongst the protestors.) An excellent sign in English: Don't make Democracy a deMOCKracy!
A man sang a beautiful, slow song in Minnanese. Another man gave a speech in English; I could recognize it was English because I discerned “of the” “and so” and a few other phrases. The rest was totally unintelligible to me. I wanted to go up and say, Hey, I offer courses in pronunciation, want to sign up? People cheered him anyway, but were palpably relieved when he switched into Chinese.
I made my way north with an eye on the time. A pretty solid mass of people at East Gate, but the lawn of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs was pretty vacant, so I set out across it, partly because you don't usually get a chance to tromp there. I immediately found out why the lawn was pretty vacant: apparently so many other people took advantage of this opportunity to tromp across the lawn that the grass had all been trampled into sticky mud. A little mud never stopped a barbarian down from the mountains, so I set off bravely, but soon found that this was really extra-gluey gooey gooey glutinous mud. Halfway across, one of my flip-flops flopped, snapping its strap. I succeeded in making it the rest of the way across; by this time, the people in the immediate vicinity had stopped listening to the speaker to see if I would make it across without falling flat on my back. Fortunately, I managed to stay upright, but decided to just take off my flip-flops.
Three policemen were lounging against a van, chatting. I asked one if it would be possible to cross north. He suggested that if I was in a hurry, I should go back to the subway stop and take the subway to the train station. So I did, weaving through the crowd as quickly as I could, carrying the remains of my flip-flops.
I reached our meeting point at 3:10, and showed my friend my muddy, broken flip-flops: "I just want to show these to you to prove that when I left my home, I was NOT barefoot, I was shod. However, they snapped in the mud in front of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, so before we go for tea, do you mind if we go around the corner and buy me a new pair?"
Thursday, March 25, 2004
People ask me if I'm blue or green. Actually, I'm sort of pinkish brown, though come summer I'll be darker brown. (In college, people in my class called me an egg: white on the outside and yellow on the inside.) Oh, you mean political affiliation? I try to steer clear of politics. Chad and the Supreme Court give you Dubya? On quiet nights, you can hear Ben Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, and Andy Jackson moaning. Here in Taiwan, everything is too political. I feel freedom loving liberals everywhere should give all politicians, regardless of nationality or party, their due: inattention bordering on contempt. Doesn't anybody remember the old slogan? Power to the People! Since when did democracy become, power to the sly, the lawyers, and the fat cats?
The presidential election was held last Saturday, but it is hardly over. There is a matter about who actually won the election, and how. There have been accusations about sore losers, if you can't lose, don't play.
Sore losers are hardly new in Taiwan's elections. I'm too lazy to look up the dates, but the first time such poor sportsmanship came to my attention was about fifteen years ago, when the losing candidate in the mayoral race down south in Tainan called out the truckers to barricade the freeway. All traffic north and south was totally cut due to this sore loser's tantrum. I forget how long it lasted, you can look it up in the papers, but finally somebody assuaged the candidate's ego enough that he told the trucks to leave and permitted traffic to continue its normal flow. Hardly good sportsmanship, what?
Since then we have seen many such examples of sore losers, mostly among the green (the DDP, now ruling): when they win an election, it is the triumph of democracy, and when they lose an election, it's only because the blues (KMT) have cheated, so they hit the streets. And I do mean hit.
The DDP came to power on the streets, so before this election, they had an advertising campaign that I personally found disingenuous: they drilled in the message, go cast your vote (for us) and stay off the streets!! Don't march, don't protest, just give us your vote, because democracy is in the polls, not on the streets. Hardly the tune they sang way back when.
So recently the blues have been out, protesting certain oddities about this election. For example, friends in the armed forces have told me that surprise, surprise, military commands were quietly changed not long ago, so that if an alert of a certain stage is called, a certain proportion of servicemen cannot leave their bases. Most servicemen prefer the blue, so the ruling greens called a pretty high alert for election day, sealing all those votes far from the ballot boxes.
In this election were an unprecedented number of invalid ballots, and people are asking why. There was a high greater proportion of invalid ballots than ever before; so high that the invalid ballots outnumbered Chen Shuibian's winning margin by ten times. All you have to do is have someone surreptitiously smudge a ballot with a pen and it's invalid.
When you're talking about a margin of 29,500 votes out of 13 million, these things add up, and call for explanation.
Also, people have great doubts about the “assassination attempt, if it was an assassination attempt.” A growing scandal about campaign donations was drawing votes away from president Chen Shuibian in the week before the election, and then the day before the election there was this miraculous shooting. Amazing magical bullets, that could turn and stop: after turning 90 degrees to lightly scratching his tummy, one ended up sitting demurely in the president's coat pocket, probably all tuckered out by its acrobatic exertions in bringing in the sympathy vote.
There are allegations that the hospital (private Chimei Hospital, strong green supporters) to which the president was sent was prepared for the emergency days before it actually happened; that the Chimei hospital was not listed in the protocol of hospitals to which the president should be taken in case of emergency; that in any event, the alleged assassination attempt took place a dozen kilometers from Chimei hospital, so people wonder why they didn't take the president to National ChengKung University Medical Hospital, only two kilometers away.
People are unhappy. Crowds are protesting in front of the President's Office, which is just around the corner from Merica, where I teach. Wednesday (the 24th), I got to town early, so I decided to get off the subway a stop early and take a look.
I lived down in that area during the era of street demonstrations (by which the DDP built power). The only demonstration I missed entirely was 5/20 (more on that later), because I happened to be abroad. All of the other demonstrations I saw and heard; not by choice, but because I lived in the neighborhood for almost twenty years, and passed the Legislature on my way to work.
Those demonstrations were not happy affairs. You passed by as quickly as you could, averting your eyes for your own protection. The protestors would usually yell and scream insults at people passing by. On occasion they attacked passersby.
Lines of police in riot gear tensely waited to get assaulted (Taiwan is probably the only place in the world where demonstrators beat up the police, rather than the other way around).
Demonstrators would turn over trash cans, smash phone booths, spray paint everything in sight, vandalize business’ signs, litter everywhere, push over parked motorcycles, sometimes even turn over parked cars. You wanted to stay away from them when they started throwing rocks. Taipei's streets are well maintained, so you do not just pick up a rock. If you have a rock to throw, you have brought it with you, 'with malice aforethought.' Later it became popular to throw eggs. In one way that's an improvement, but I always felt sorry for the hens.
The one demonstration I missed was the May 20 (5/20) affair, when the greens rioted during the inauguration of Lee Tenghui. Sometime around 1990, I forget what year, look it up yourself. As I was not an eye-witness, allow me to cite one: hapless Eban was driving his bus by, doing his job, minding his own business, when the participants started throwing bricks at his bus. As if he had elected Lee Tenghui all by himself! Sore losers?
An experienced protest observer, I thought I would see how things were faring this week. The protest was totally unlike any of the earlier ones. They were confined to Katagalan Street between Park and Chungshan Streets. I approached from Chungshan South Road, which was lined with people waving flags and cheering the traffic on Chungshan. Police were directing traffic, which was flowing as well as could be expected. The police were dressed in their everyday uniforms, relaxed, and walking through the crowds unmolested. There were rows of tents for the people staying overnight, people passing out food and flags (I turned down both), rows and rows of people sitting and standing as they listened to the speakers.
A highly emotional young lady was giving a practically incoherent speech over the loudspeaker, but people cheered her anyway. She gave up after a few minutes, and a man came on: “We are here because we love Taiwan!” Cheers. “We are not here to make trouble.” Cheers. “We want democracy.” Cheers. “We will demonstrate peacefully, but we want our rights!” Cheers. And so forth. The crowd was very high spirited, but directed their energies into cheering and waving their flags. Overall, it was a very orderly crowd, and the general spirit was merry, not hateful.
My point in writing this is not to take sides or say who is right or who is wrong. I personally do not care that much which side wins: just stay out of my hair. What I would like to say, though, is that protests over election results are nothing new in Taiwan, and that this is the most genteel demonstration I have ever seen. May it continue in like manner.
Oh yes, and the name of that losing candidate years ago who, in his tantrum, had the freeway blocked? Chen Shuibian.
The presidential election was held last Saturday, but it is hardly over. There is a matter about who actually won the election, and how. There have been accusations about sore losers, if you can't lose, don't play.
Sore losers are hardly new in Taiwan's elections. I'm too lazy to look up the dates, but the first time such poor sportsmanship came to my attention was about fifteen years ago, when the losing candidate in the mayoral race down south in Tainan called out the truckers to barricade the freeway. All traffic north and south was totally cut due to this sore loser's tantrum. I forget how long it lasted, you can look it up in the papers, but finally somebody assuaged the candidate's ego enough that he told the trucks to leave and permitted traffic to continue its normal flow. Hardly good sportsmanship, what?
Since then we have seen many such examples of sore losers, mostly among the green (the DDP, now ruling): when they win an election, it is the triumph of democracy, and when they lose an election, it's only because the blues (KMT) have cheated, so they hit the streets. And I do mean hit.
The DDP came to power on the streets, so before this election, they had an advertising campaign that I personally found disingenuous: they drilled in the message, go cast your vote (for us) and stay off the streets!! Don't march, don't protest, just give us your vote, because democracy is in the polls, not on the streets. Hardly the tune they sang way back when.
So recently the blues have been out, protesting certain oddities about this election. For example, friends in the armed forces have told me that surprise, surprise, military commands were quietly changed not long ago, so that if an alert of a certain stage is called, a certain proportion of servicemen cannot leave their bases. Most servicemen prefer the blue, so the ruling greens called a pretty high alert for election day, sealing all those votes far from the ballot boxes.
In this election were an unprecedented number of invalid ballots, and people are asking why. There was a high greater proportion of invalid ballots than ever before; so high that the invalid ballots outnumbered Chen Shuibian's winning margin by ten times. All you have to do is have someone surreptitiously smudge a ballot with a pen and it's invalid.
When you're talking about a margin of 29,500 votes out of 13 million, these things add up, and call for explanation.
Also, people have great doubts about the “assassination attempt, if it was an assassination attempt.” A growing scandal about campaign donations was drawing votes away from president Chen Shuibian in the week before the election, and then the day before the election there was this miraculous shooting. Amazing magical bullets, that could turn and stop: after turning 90 degrees to lightly scratching his tummy, one ended up sitting demurely in the president's coat pocket, probably all tuckered out by its acrobatic exertions in bringing in the sympathy vote.
There are allegations that the hospital (private Chimei Hospital, strong green supporters) to which the president was sent was prepared for the emergency days before it actually happened; that the Chimei hospital was not listed in the protocol of hospitals to which the president should be taken in case of emergency; that in any event, the alleged assassination attempt took place a dozen kilometers from Chimei hospital, so people wonder why they didn't take the president to National ChengKung University Medical Hospital, only two kilometers away.
People are unhappy. Crowds are protesting in front of the President's Office, which is just around the corner from Merica, where I teach. Wednesday (the 24th), I got to town early, so I decided to get off the subway a stop early and take a look.
I lived down in that area during the era of street demonstrations (by which the DDP built power). The only demonstration I missed entirely was 5/20 (more on that later), because I happened to be abroad. All of the other demonstrations I saw and heard; not by choice, but because I lived in the neighborhood for almost twenty years, and passed the Legislature on my way to work.
Those demonstrations were not happy affairs. You passed by as quickly as you could, averting your eyes for your own protection. The protestors would usually yell and scream insults at people passing by. On occasion they attacked passersby.
Lines of police in riot gear tensely waited to get assaulted (Taiwan is probably the only place in the world where demonstrators beat up the police, rather than the other way around).
Demonstrators would turn over trash cans, smash phone booths, spray paint everything in sight, vandalize business’ signs, litter everywhere, push over parked motorcycles, sometimes even turn over parked cars. You wanted to stay away from them when they started throwing rocks. Taipei's streets are well maintained, so you do not just pick up a rock. If you have a rock to throw, you have brought it with you, 'with malice aforethought.' Later it became popular to throw eggs. In one way that's an improvement, but I always felt sorry for the hens.
The one demonstration I missed was the May 20 (5/20) affair, when the greens rioted during the inauguration of Lee Tenghui. Sometime around 1990, I forget what year, look it up yourself. As I was not an eye-witness, allow me to cite one: hapless Eban was driving his bus by, doing his job, minding his own business, when the participants started throwing bricks at his bus. As if he had elected Lee Tenghui all by himself! Sore losers?
An experienced protest observer, I thought I would see how things were faring this week. The protest was totally unlike any of the earlier ones. They were confined to Katagalan Street between Park and Chungshan Streets. I approached from Chungshan South Road, which was lined with people waving flags and cheering the traffic on Chungshan. Police were directing traffic, which was flowing as well as could be expected. The police were dressed in their everyday uniforms, relaxed, and walking through the crowds unmolested. There were rows of tents for the people staying overnight, people passing out food and flags (I turned down both), rows and rows of people sitting and standing as they listened to the speakers.
A highly emotional young lady was giving a practically incoherent speech over the loudspeaker, but people cheered her anyway. She gave up after a few minutes, and a man came on: “We are here because we love Taiwan!” Cheers. “We are not here to make trouble.” Cheers. “We want democracy.” Cheers. “We will demonstrate peacefully, but we want our rights!” Cheers. And so forth. The crowd was very high spirited, but directed their energies into cheering and waving their flags. Overall, it was a very orderly crowd, and the general spirit was merry, not hateful.
My point in writing this is not to take sides or say who is right or who is wrong. I personally do not care that much which side wins: just stay out of my hair. What I would like to say, though, is that protests over election results are nothing new in Taiwan, and that this is the most genteel demonstration I have ever seen. May it continue in like manner.
Oh yes, and the name of that losing candidate years ago who, in his tantrum, had the freeway blocked? Chen Shuibian.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
