In Tainan City, a bit the southeast of the famous Confucius temple, sits the larger of two shrines to Koxinga, a 17th-century trader, pirate and Ming loyalist military leader. Depending on who you talk to, in 1661 Koxinga retreated to Taiwan as the ascendant Qing Empire consolidated their rule, or defeated the Dutch colonizers in Tainan and conquered their land for China.

That larger shrine was refurbished in 1963 in a northern Chinese architectural style which is not native to Taiwan. The new design contains an interesting feature: a concrete gate, unpainted except for the 12-point sun, the symbol of the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT), sitting prominently at the top.

The implications couldn’t be clearer. In giving its party symbol – also present on the national flag – pride of place at the entrance to a Koxinga memorial, the KMT intended to draw a connection between the vision of Chiang Kai-shek and Koxinga’s initial conquest. Of course, depending on who you talk to, the KMT retreated to Taiwan in defeat in 1949 as the ascendant Communist Party consolidated its rule, or they gloriously ‘reclaimed’ Taiwan from the Japanese colonizers.I spent a while staring at that sun on one of my trips to Tainan in 2016. Below the gate, there is a small informational plaque stating that the city government considered removing it, but ultimately decided to let it remain as a testament to the history of the site.

Whether you like his historical legacy or not, Koxinga was a titan, altering the path of history and burning himself, like sunlight focused through a lens, on the historical record. He was a brilliant strategist with a colorful life and personality, garnering the respect (and fear) of his men, a leader prone to fits of madness.

So, when Lord of Formosa, a historical novel based closely on the events of Koxinga’s life as well as Dutch colonial rule came out, I was keen to not only read the book, but interview author Joyce Bergvelt.

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The interview transcript below has been edited lightly for clarity and length.

What drew you to the story of Koxinga and inspired you to write a historical novel about him in particular?


It wasn’t so much his story that I wanted to tell, but also that of the Dutch on Formosa. The two stories are inextricably entwined. It has always intrigued me that Koxinga’s lifetime coincided exactly with the time the Dutch colonized the island, so the decision to make his life story the main thread in the book came almost naturally.  


How did you go about finding a publisher for your book?


As the original, English manuscript was finished back in 2010, it was hard to find a British/U.S. publisher while living in Holland, not having any connections in the industry. At my agent’s advice, I then translated it into Dutch, and then managed to find a publisher who specialized in books on the Dutch colonies and historical novels (Uitgeverij Conserve). It was a perfect match.


My Dutch publisher wasn’t doing much with the English manuscript, so I took it upon myself to find a publisher. I was contacted by Michael Cannings at Camphor Press, an independent publisher specialized in books on Taiwan and China. Did I have a publisher yet? And so it goes. I was very lucky. Camphor Press has done an amazing job on the book. 


Will a Chinese-language version ever be published?


Prior to the book’s release, I was already in touch with a few Taiwan publishers who were all interested after reading the synopsis and a sample (Chinese) translation. However, there was a storm of publicity in Taiwan when the book came out, resulting in three other major publishing houses inquiring after the translation rights as well. It’s early days yet….but yes, it’s probably a matter of time.

The most important (non-fiction) book that was written on the Dutch period in recent years is Tonio Andrade’s Lost Colony (2011). Yet you don’t mention the book in your list of sources. Can you tell us why?


I finished my manuscript in 2010, so Lost Colony hadn’t been published yet, and wasn’t available to me at the time, but his first book How Taiwan Became Chinese (2007) was. However, when the Dutch translation of Lost Colony (De Val van Formosa) came out in 2015, I made use of the brilliant reconstructed maps to add more geographical detail to Taoyuan Bay. We also had permission to use the – if slightly adjusted – maps in Lord of Formosa. The Dutch version is listed as a source. 



Lost Colony tells the same story, but then in non-fiction, and the Dutch translation appeared around the same time Lord of Formosa was published. Did you find that the novel had to compete with Tonio Andrade’s book?


On the contrary: they actually seemed to reinforce each other. They are two very different books. Lost Colony is non-fiction, written by an academic historian from a broader, world history point of view, with a strong focus on the military history. 
Lord of Formosa, although closely based on events, is a fictionalized account of the events, told through the eyes of the [real] characters. What the two have in common, is that they both tell the same story.

[The Dutch version of Andrade’s book was] first planned to be released in May 2015, but was delayed until October of that year, in the same week as my book was set to appear. Quite odd, really.
 When we found out, the publishers got in touch, the translator (Tristan Mostert) contacted me, and for a while we actually contemplated joining forces for the book presentation. We didn’t do that in the end, but we did go to each other’s book launches. Since then we really cooperated together, sharing information, promoting each other’s books, referring to them in interviews, etc. People often buy Andrade’s book after they have read mine, and vice versa.

You have lived in Japan, Taiwan and China, the three places where the story of Lord of Formosa takes place. To what extent do you think this has helped you write this book?


To be honest, I don’t think I could have written this book if I hadn’t lived in these countries. 


You lived in Taiwan during the early eighties, under martial law. Did that affect you and your family in any way, and do you remember what that was like?


I remember it well, as I was eighteen/nineteen. I don’t think it truly affected us as expats, as long as we toed the line. I suspect that most expats in Taiwan weren’t aware of what was going on beneath the surface, and by this, I mean how the KMT government dealt with opposition or anyone critical of the president and his regime. 
One of the things that comes to mind is how the main roads were cleared of traffic and the traffic lights controlled whenever President Chiang Ching-kuo travelled through. That, and the ever-present military police at airports and other public places. 
There was also a rumor going around that the amahs who worked in the houses of the senior executives within the expat community (like my father: Philips Electronics was the biggest foreign investor in Taiwan at that time) were instructed to spy on their employers for the government. I wondered about that at the time, but looking back with what I know now, it wouldn’t surprise me. 



You spent a year in Beijing, China, for your studies. Can you tell us something about your time there? When was this?


I was there for the academic year ‘85/86 as a mandatory part of the degree course I was doing at Durham University (U.K.) in Chinese Studies. We lived on campus at Renmin (Peoples’) University. It was tough in the beginning, as the living conditions were fairly primitive. The heating system didn’t go on until November 15th, even if it was already freezing outside. Hot water was limited: there was a one-hour hot-water slot in the morning, and a two-hour slot in the evening. The only vegetables that were available to us in the winter were cabbage, carrots, and more cabbage, so we often went to the nearby Friendship Hotel if we could afford it. The women all had to bring a year’s supply of tampons, as these weren’t available there back then. And there was just one telephone for the eighty-odd people in the building. 


When the winter passed, things became easier, having become friends with many others in the building: Japanese, Russians, Americans, and the odd French or Scandinavian. Roommates became friends for life. And yes, we also made friends with the Chinese students, mostly through sports. I well remember the clear blue skies of winter [and] the spectacular thunderstorms of summer. Our Chinese improved in leaps and bounds, and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.  


Having lived in both Taiwan and China, what would you say are the similarities and differences between these countries?


For one, they (largely) share a culture, and an official language, Mandarin. The difference is that many conservative (Confucian) values were actively discouraged in the post-Mao China of the 1980’s, while in Taiwan, these have always been very much alive, and cherished. I can only speak for the China I knew back in those days, but people in the cities were rude, suspicious and unmotivated, while in Taiwan, I have always found the people to be hardworking, enterprising, friendly and welcoming towards foreigners. But I blame this on the system, not necessarily on the people. 


What is your personal opinion of Koxinga – what kind of person, man and leader was he?


I’m of the opinion that he was an intelligent, learned and cultured man who was curious as to how things worked outside China, but with the same superstitions as any other man of his time. He was a poet, a scholar, and a man who had a strong bond with his Japanese mother. But as things go, he changed. He had to, due to the expectations his father had of him, and he had to adjust to the war that was forced upon him and his family.

Wartime shaped him: he excelled in the martial arts and he eventually became a very capable military leader. The personal losses he suffered as well as his father’s ultimate betrayal changed him: it brought out a hard, even cruel side in him, compounded by the bouts of madness that he suffered as a result of the disease that affected him. That same hard side in him was likely to be one of the contributing factors that turned him into a successful military leader.

I think he was a man caught in the momentum of history: a country overrun by the Manchus, the fall of the great Ming dynasty. He didn’t go [to Formosa] out of some heroic ideal to expel the Dutch colonists who just happened to be there. He honestly believed that he would be able to get the Dutch to leave without a fight.


He had his women, yes, and he most likely forced himself upon unwilling servants [ed: he raped them]…yet this should be seen through the lens of the time – the seventeenth century – and from the perspective of a very patriarchal society in which women were regarded as inferior to men.    

What are your views on the Dutch and Koxinga, what they claimed, how and why they fought and how things turned out? (Basically, are you on a “side?”)


In some of the reviews on the book, the criticism I get is that it is not clear for readers who they should feel sympathy for, who they should ‘root’ for. I take this as a compliment, as this is exactly what I hoped to achieve: that the readers decide this for themselves.

I purposely didn’t take sides, because it just isn’t that simple. 
The Dutch colonized Formosa as the VOC (the Dutch East India Company) had the sovereign powers to wage war or colonize land if it were in the interest of commerce. The VOC was a commercial enterprise. Coyett, the last VOC governor of Formosa, had a job to do and found himself in a tough spot: he was pressured by the company to obtain free trade with China at all cost, while having to deal with the threat that Koxinga posed, as well as a local population that rebelled against the company. The council in the Netherlands didn’t have a clue what was happening in the East, the reports were always dated by about seven months at least, and in Batavia they were also removed from the scene.

At the same time I sympathize with Koxinga. He was fiercely loyal to the Ming and its emperor, and he became obsessively more so after his father’s defection to the enemy. But there he lost his sense of reality: he simply could not accept that the Ming Dynasty had truly come to an end, and that he was fighting for a lost cause. He, too, had a stubborn streak. 
He had no real desire to wage war on the Dutch, as the VOC had contributed considerably to the wealth of his family enterprise. It was the fact that they were already there, they were in his way.

So, to answer your question: I didn’t take sides while writing the book, and I won’t do so now.  



When reading the book, I felt that the older Koxinga got, the further we were pushed from his innermost thoughts, and he was discussed by external narrators rather than an inner monologue more and more. Was this intentional on your part? If so, why?


This wasn’t intentional, but I guess it’s a natural consequence of the story’s progression. The book consists of three parts. Part One primarily focuses on Koxinga’s life up to his early twenties. Part Two focuses more on the Dutch on Formosa, while Part Three brings both stories together. New characters are introduced in the second part, and the role that these others played (He Ting-bin, Frederic Coyett, Reverend Antonius Hambroek) became increasingly important. 



How did you decide what historical events to include and which to leave out (for example, leaving out Koxinga’s repeated use of high tides to pull off unlikely naval successes, or using fire-boats in unexpected ways, but including, say, the Chinese laborer rebellion that preceded Koxinga’s invasion by a few years)? 


I suppose I could have included [these examples], but I don’t remember if these details were available to me at the time of writing. Originally, I did include a lot more naval battles, skirmishes, endless negotiations, but I scrapped a good deal (about 150 pages’ worth!) for fear of making readers battle-weary. I wanted to focus more on the people instead. I chose to write the story from the human perspective: the drama, the tragedy on both sides.

Your book has a number of female characters and manages to bring out female voices in what is otherwise a very male story. Was this intentional? If so, how did you go about doing it, and how successfully do you think you achieved it?


Yes, this was intentional. Let’s be honest: Lord of Formosa tells the life story of a great military Chinese leader as main theme. Yet there were women in his life, and I have tried to bring this to the fore. His mother, the Japanese Matsu Tagawa, was a major character, especially in Part One. The other women had smaller parts, but they have a significant role nonetheless. There was Koxinga’s paternal grandmother, Lady Zheng, and Koxinga’s wife, Deng Cui-ying. On the Dutch side, Coyett had a wife, as did Reverend Antonius Hambroek. One of the reverend’s daughters plays quite an important part at the end. 
But it wouldn’t have made sense to give these women a bigger part in the book: not only because there was very little material available on them, but also because not all of them played active roles in the events. If I had chosen for the story to be told through their eyes, it would have become an entirely different book.

Was I successful? That’s up to the reader to decide. One of my (Dutch) agent’s suggestions was: “Turn it more into a women’s book.” I’m glad I didn’t follow that advice.


What are your views on how Taiwan’s history has impacted its evolution in terms of culture, ethnic identity, overall identity or even politics? (Any or all of these) And what do you think the future holds for Taiwan?  

I think it’s Taiwan’s geographical location that has determined its history. The size of the island, the distance between itself and the mainland, and that it was hundreds of miles removed from any other nation. That distance has given it a distinct, unique identity, which is only now slowly revealing itself after so many years of being run by the Chinese Nationalists. Because of its location, so conveniently halfway between Batavia (Jakarta) and Deshima (the Dutch trading post in Nagasaki, Japan), the Dutch claimed it as their own. And that same distance from the Chinese mainland is the reason that it fell back into isolation and state of neglect, even after the Chinese officially claimed it – for the first time – well after the Dutch left.

The Chinese weren’t interested in the island: it was for this reason it was ceded as “small change” to the Japanese in a deal in 1895. They regarded it as a backwater, a hinterland beyond its natural borders. And as a last resort to turn to for the Chinese Nationalist Army in 1949.


Koxinga radically erased all vestiges of the Dutch presence, but many Taiwanese still pride themselves in having Dutch blood running through their veins, as well as [indigenous Austronesian] roots. In that sense alone, history cannot be denied: Taiwan has a history of colonization interspersed with neglect, and more often than not, it had to fend for itself. It has made Taiwan what it is today.

China’s claim that Taiwan has ‘always been a part of China’ has no historical foundation whatsoever. 
What do I think the future holds for Taiwan? I wish I knew, but I cannot say. I can only hope that China learns to co-exist with Taiwan as its neighbor in a peaceful way, and that it will restrain itself. Perhaps this seventy-year-old stalemate can be resolved in a satisfactory way for all parties concerned within the next decade, once and for all.

For better or worse, Koxinga’s invasion is held up by many as a sign of Taiwan’s ‘historical’ ties to China. What do you think of this?


I think that’s an example of history taken out of context and rewritten in order to suit the interests of a new regime. And obviously it would be in the interests of China to propagate this. Koxinga was given heroic status by the KMT. Yet Koxinga and his men were not heroes who liberated Formosa from the Dutch, they just drove them away so that they could take over the island for themselves. And they didn’t even have the intention to stay, either: they planned to reconquer the mainland so that they could return to the Mother country. 


Besides, even prior to Koxinga’s coming to Taiwan, there had been an exodus of Chinese migrants who came to the island to flee from the invading Manchus. Many others went further south: to Singapore, Malaysia, Indonesia, the Philippines, resulting in large Chinese communities there, as well. So, you could easily say that these countries have ‘historical ties’ to China, just as Taiwan does.

In Taiwan and parts of China, Koxinga still holds a prime place in the historical narrative. What – if anything – do the Dutch think of their former colony and the loss of it (or their history of colonialism in Asia in general)? 


Quite honestly, this whole episode in Dutch colonial history is hardly known in the Netherlands. It’s barely mentioned in Dutch history textbooks. The fairly recent name change from Formosa to Taiwan probably didn’t help either.


Losing Formosa cost the VOC an absolute fortune at the time. The whole idea of losing it to the ‘army of rabble led by the son of a Chinese pirate’ was embarrassing, also because of their own neglect. It didn’t fit in with the notion of the successful, glorious Dutch Golden Age, and was best forgotten.

The thirty-eight years that the VOC spent on Formosa did not have much impact on Dutch history as a whole, although you could argue that, as a trading base, it played a vital, pivotal role in bringing goods such as porcelain, silks and tea from China to the Dutch Republic and Europe.
 The general consensus today among the Dutch on colonialism is that it is, and should be, a thing of the past. Yet countless Dutch families that lived in Indonesia for generations who were expelled after its independence, mixed-blood among them, still have strong roots there.

Just imagine that the Ming hadn’t fallen, or that Koxinga had not seen the need to go to Formosa. One would suppose that Formosa might still have been a Dutch colony until its independence after WWII, just as was the case with Indonesia. It’s an interesting thought.

How has the reception of the book been? Have there been any differences in how it’s been received among different groups of readers (say, those in the Netherlands, those reading in English in Taiwan, those in other countries?)


In Holland the book was well received, both by literary critics and readers alike, and it’s currently in its third print run. It was nominated for several awards and was longlisted for the Hebban Debut Prize 2016.
 The advantage of having a specialized publisher such as Camphor Press, is that they ensure that the book becomes available in the region. The English publication was very well received by the press in Taiwan; the reviews have been excellent, and there was a storm of publicity following its publication. 


The difference? The Dutch are both embarrassed and shocked to discover that ‘we’ once colonized Taiwan for nearly forty years, because most people here have absolutely no idea, historians among them. Some people are even annoyed. “Why didn’t I know any of this?!” 
They thank me for enlightening them and introducing them to this unknown period of our colonial history.


Following all the publicity, I have been overwhelmed by the positive reactions from Taiwan. The KMT government strongly discouraged Taiwanese from learning about their own history, making them learn Chinese history instead. Many people from Taiwan contacted me personally to thank me for writing this book, saying that it was about time someone wrote about their real history. I also get messages from people who were quite moved by the book, actually crying about the fact that they knew so very little about their own history, and that it took a foreigner to enlighten them.

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Bergvelt’s recounting of the ignorance many Dutch people have of their country’s history in Taiwan were in my mind not long ago. I’d mentioned that concrete sun perched atop a bulky gray gate at the entrance to Tainan’s Koxinga shrine to a Taiwanese friend. I had thought that most Taiwanese would be aware not only of the connection, but of this specific demarcation of it. After all, the attempt to establish a Koxinga-KMT narrative runs like a ley line through Taiwanese political history. I was wrong: this friend not only did not know the symbol was there, but didn’t believe me when I insisted it was. It took a journey through Google Maps to prove it, after which he just looked at me.

“I had no idea,” he said. “That’s horrible!” (He’s no fan of the KMT.)

“That’s why it’s important to know your history. You may not like it – it’s not always pleasant – but it happened, and people will try to twist it to fit their preferred narrative. That’s not history – it impacts us today, and you can only fight that if you really know the story.”

And then I recommended Lord of Formosa to him.

(Featured photo by Diego Ruschel, on Wikicommons)

 

World Cup fever is taking over and Taiwan has gone soccer crazy, football mad. It may be the world’s most popular sport; however, this level of hype in Taiwan is a rarity. And while the nation of baseball and basketball indulges in its brief love affair, football evangelists aim to capitalize.

Soccer stars Tim Chow and Xavier Chen, who played professionally for Ross County FC and KV Mechelen respectively, say that Taiwan’s football movement starts now from the grassroots. Chow was born an Everton season ticket holder, and Chen joined the Anderlecht youth academy at just eight years old. Despite growing up in a different continent, both players have represented Team Chinese Taipei on the pitch, and they share big ambitions for Taiwanese football.

I interviewed Tim Chow and Xavier Chen while they were visiting the EVA Air head office in Taoyuan to promote grassroots soccer, as well as a new documentary about the life and career of Xavier Chen, which is coming out soon.

Interview with Tim Chow and Xavier Chen

If Taiwan wants to compete with the world’s top footballing nations, what does it need to do right now?

“From what I’ve seen, I think that (competitiveness) is the biggest difference between European football and football here,” says Chow. “It’s that winning mentality. Football is a competitive sport and we play to win. It starts from the grassroots, and there needs to be a proper plan in place, or a pathway, all the way from grassroots to playing professionally. You start that winning mentality when they are just children.”

“You learn this at the beginning, from a very young age in professional football and the youth academy,” says Chen. “The competition between the players at just seven or eight years old—it has started already. If you want to succeed then you have to be very tough. It is very hard work; you see how many players start to play football at the age of seven or eight, and how many become football players. I think the percentage is really low.”

FIFA says that the earliest form of football (Cuju) was invented in 3rd century BC, in the place we now know as China. From your experience, does Chinese culture go hand-in-hand with football?

“I think, especially here in Taiwan, the focus on [academic] education is the most important thing,” says Chow. “And to be a professional footballer, or a sports star of any kind, is a little bit frowned upon. So, I’m not quite sure whether Chinese culture and being a professional footballer would go hand-in-hand. If in Chinese culture, we can adapt the same mindset that we have for education towards sports, then I’m sure they would be first class.”

“It is really exciting as well because of the fact that football is not really developed here in Taiwan,” says Chen. “Being at the start of everything, it is really exciting to still have the margin to build your own football culture. For example, in Europe football has been played for centuries, so it is really hard to change people’s mentality, but in Taiwan you have the chance to start from the beginning.”

If you were faced with a twelve-year-old Taiwanese kid who wanted to be a professional footballer, what would be your advice to them?

“It is a tough choice to make, but they don’t have to make it at that early an age,” says Chen. “I think if you want to succeed in becoming a professional footballer, you have to give yourself every chance to reach that level.”

Credit: Chinese Taipei Football Association

Towards promoting the culture of football in Taiwan

The wheels of Taiwan’s football movement are picking up momentum. There has been a spike in interest around football in Taiwan, because of the World Cup. In the past week, an article about the typeface design on the World Cup teams’ football kits went viral, re-published in popular magazines such as Shopping Design and La Vie.

Taiwan News reports that Taiwanese manufacturers are responsible for making some of the top World Cup teams’ apparel, including boots, shirts, and socks. Taiwanese sports textile OEM and ODM companies are on the cutting edge of manufacturing, but while Taiwan has the technology, the culture of football is another matter.

Perhaps the reason for why football is the world’s most popular sport is the fact that it can be played almost anywhere – on the beach, in the park, and in the streets. Space is an issue, especially in Taipei, but football is scalable. Five-a-side football, for example, played on indoor basketball courts, is booming in popularity, especially among female footballers. And, more hope is on the horizon thanks to the riverside parks in Taipei, which have been under development for the past decade in order to repurpose the flood plains for recreational activities.

If Taiwan wants to build on its emerging culture of football, then it needs to do things its own way and build on its own strengths at a grassroots level—on the basketball courts and in the riverside parks. “You have so much space for baseball and so much space for basketball,” says Chow. “Space is not the problem—I think we can find a way.”

(Feature image courtesy of the Chinese Taipei Football Association)

 

Freddy Lim (林昶佐) is a rockstar. He’s also a politician, elected to the national legislature to represent Wanhua and Zhongzheng Districts of Taipei City.

He performs with his band Chthonic in black leather, showing off his impressive ink. He wears a three-piece suit, tattoos hidden, to question the Ministry of Defense over missing names in a report. His long hair – with sides shaved – flips through the air as he headbangs on stage. He ties it back in a sleek ponytail to meet constituents and give speeches. He is a liberal death metal rocker elected to national office by citizens of a country thought of as traditional, conservative and Confucian. He is an unapologetic supporter of de jure independence for Taiwan, given power by an electorate that the international media depicts as overwhelmingly “supporting the status quo”. Through it all, he works as hard as two men, possibly three.

And now, he is the subject of Metal Politics Taiwan, a documentary of his first year in office by German filmmaker Marco Wilms, whose previous achievements include Art War (2014), a guerilla-filmed masterpiece following artists and musicians in Cairo during the height of the Arab Spring protests there. The film includes Wilms’ own narration, not just of how he came to be interested in Lim as one of the only (if not the only) metal frontman to hold elected office in the world, but also his impressions of Taiwan as a country and Lim as a person. The style of filming accentuates its subject matter: professionally done, yet with a gritty, down-to-earth aesthetic.

Metal Politics Taiwan basks in contradictions. Lim is not only a rockstar and a politician: he was a model student while causing “headaches” for his teachers. He works tirelessly as a musician and legislator, yet has a hip, informal office bedecked with images of David Bowie and the Dalai Lama – who Lim reveres as a personal spiritual leader –  that looks nothing like the stuffier quarters of other legislators. He is one of the most prominent progressive voices in Taiwan and was one of the founding members of the New Power Party, which grew out of the 2014 Sunflower movement, yet was not one of the initial Sunflower activists.

In a Q&A session after the first screening of the film on May 21st, Lim noted yet another contradiction: he had not originally wanted to be filmed, and even grew angry when the crew kept showing up. “You can’t just film my friends,” he remembers saying angrily at a pro-marriage equality rally while everyone was backstage (Lim spoke at the event). He hadn’t wanted Wilms to film his meeting with the Dalai Lama, either. Yet, upon seeing the screening of the film, he was visibly pleased with the final product, noting that he cried when he saw the moment that he told the Dalai Lama that he and his wife (Chthonic bassist Doris Yeh) were going to have a child.

In Metal Politics Taiwan, Taiwan as a nation is similarly depicted as embodying a score of contradictions. Taiwan’s democracy is one of the most vibrant and successful in Asia. Yet, as Lim notes in the film, the nation is still tethered to a name, constitution and political system imported by military occupiers from China and still boasts a memorial to dictator and mass murderer Chiang Kai-shek. Lim further remarks that Taiwan is on the forefront of the fight for freedom against authoritarianism (from the People’s Republic of China, which seeks to annex it). It is a sovereign nation that is unrecognized by the world.

Wilms further narrates his impressions of an orderly society, with queues that have clear rules followed by all residents and where disturbing “the collective” is seen as one of the worst things one can do, and drawing parallels to the former KMT dictatorship. This is a depiction which, from a subjective standpoint, I doubt many Taiwanese would agree with, or if they did, would trace its roots to the adoption of some Japanese social norms during the Japanese colonial era.

On the other hand, Metal Politics Taiwan remarks on Taiwan’s crumbling buildings, which stand in contrast to its status as a developed country, and shows the chaos and cacophony of the Qingshan Wang (青山王) temple festival – one of many such festivals held by temples across the country throughout the year. At such a festival, one constituent – a member of this “orderly” society – apologized for not having realized Lim was already his elected representative, saying he “drank too much” on voting day. The haphazard furniture barricades put up in the Legislative Yuan during the 2014 Sunflower occupation are shown, but it is noted that the student activists cleaned everything up when they ended the occupation. Lim himself would soon be elected to fight for a new Taiwan in that same Legislative Yuan just a few years later, riding on a wave of Sunflower support.

 

To borrow a tired cliche, this depiction of Taiwan as “a land of contrast” will be familiar to Taiwanese and visiting foreigners alike: a Confucian society that prizes “filial piety” where nevertheless social movements bring about real change and democracy can sometimes be seen at its messiest. This is not the real masterstroke of Metal Politics Taiwan: rather, it is marrying the idea of Freddy Lim, “Rockstar Politician” with the idea of “Taiwan” – land of orderly queues on the MRT, as well as a land where students might occupy a legislature and actually achieve something.

That is to say, it is exactly the sort of country that would elect a rockstar politician in the first place.

“He has a devil inside him,” quips Chthonic guitarist Jesse Black Liu late in the film. One might say the same of Taiwan. Citizens going from the office jobs of a developed economy to protest and shape their own democracy – from three-piece suit to protest t-shirts and bandanas. They work tirelessly (Taiwanese work some of the longest hours in the world on average), not just to earn a living, but to fight for recognition and to maintain its hard-won freedom in the face of angry tirades from authoritarian, expansionist China as the world blames it for “causing tensions.” Like Lim, Taiwan might just be “a rebel with a cause.”

As Lim himself says in the film, being a rockstar and a politician are two sides of the same coin. Chthonic’s music has always been political, Lim’s lyrics and personal message being one of fighting for what is right, and fighting for Taiwan. That he would take this activist zeal and apply it to working as an elected position in the legislature is hardly surprising.

The central question of the Q&A session after the film focused on how a film about a personality as interesting as Lim might be a vehicle of soft power for Taiwan. While there were disagreements on how successful such soft power has been to date, all concurred that it was vital for Taiwan to use it as a way to gain international visibility. If Taiwan truly is on the forefront of the fight against authoritarianism, “rebel with a cause” Freddy Lim – the Rockstar Politician – might just be the person to do that, taking Taiwan’s international image from just another “Chinese” place where people obey their leaders to a place that has a “devil inside it” in the best possible way.

Metal Politics Taiwan will screen again on Saturday, May 26th at 5pm.

 

This article was originally published in The Taiwan Gazette, by Aaron Wytze Wilson.

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The Taiwan Gazette recently sat down with Lin Fei-fan to discuss the impact of the Sunflower Movement, running for political office, and the future of Taiwan’s “Third Force” parties.

In 2014, Lin Fei-fan was the public face of the “Sunflower Movement,” a large-scale protest movement against the then-ruling Chinese Nationalist Party’s plan to pass a controversial free-trade agreement with China. Four years later, Lin is now studying abroad, and has largely avoided the limelight. The Taiwan Gazette sat down with Lin during his visit to the University of Toronto’s Asian Institute in March 2018.

Q: It’s been four years since 318 (The Sunflower Movement), there’s been a lot of changes in Taiwan politics, but a lot of things have also stayed the same. So what do you think are the lasting effects of 318 on today’s politics?

Fei-fan: In terms of politics, I think the biggest impact is how young people in Taiwan have changed their attitudes to become more proactive. Internationally, people now know that civil society is important in Taiwan, and it’s not just about the two biggest political parties. [He pauses for a moment.] My answer is quite vague.

Q: Why are you being vague? Are you not so sure about the impact?

Fei-fan: Because I am a little bit suspicious. Most of my friends have already entered politics and joined political parties. That’s a good thing. On the other hand, when people get into politics too soon, that’s also a problem. I would be quite critical of those people who are in a position to run for office, but they didn’t realize they’re only reproducing the whole political structure.

Q: What do you mean by reproducing the political structure?

I mean they become part of the system, but they don’t try very hard to change it. Especially those who are a part of the DPP, and who just follow the mandate of their faction, and higher ranking political leaders.

Q: Is there an expectation that they have to change it? It’s politics, people understand that it’s politics. Why do they have to change it?

Fei-fan: I mean, we don’t really need 5 or 10 candidates that are doing the same thing that the DPP is already doing. We need some people who can push some issues forward. I’ll be more critical of people who joined the DPP, than those people who joined third force parties.

Q: Why is that?

Fei-fan: On issues like LGBT rights, indigenous people’s rights, labor law reform, those people just kept silent. They’re just afraid of saying too much, and the party would not support them. So they don’t dare to challenge the establishment. That’s the issue. If the Sunflower Movement’s impact is to give these people a chance to run for office, I hope that they can go beyond this kind of barrier.

Q: The DPP really benefited from the Sunflower Movement. Do you feel the DPP is living up to the expectations young people had for them?

Fei-fan: No, I don’t think so. I think they’ve abandoned a lot of promises. I think they’ve changed their attitudes and become more conservative. Sometimes you can feel those people who are in the DPP don’t really care what young people think. They kind of exploited the Sunflower Movement.

Q: Young people played a very big role in the DPP victories of 2014 and 2016. Young people also played a role in electing the New Power Party’s Freddy Lim (林昶佐), Hung Tzu-yung (洪慈庸) and Huang Kuo-chang (黃國昌). Do you think that young people will still be a force in 2018 and 2020? Or are they frustrated with politics?

Fei-fan: It is really hard to say, I feel it’s a bit polarized. On one hand, I can see more people feel frustrated and depressed. But on the other hand, I saw another kind of attitude, people trying to be more proactive and trying to be more positive, so it is kind of polarized. I haven’t been able to catch up with what is happening right now in Taiwan, especially for people in my generation.

But I feel there are two kinds of attitudes toward politics or political parties. I mean, the people I know in the New Power Party are more proactive, and they have a lot of hope. They are quite optimistic about the future election. But on the other hand, people who have stayed in social movement campaigns, like those people who joined the anti-labor amendment law protests, those people are more depressed.

Q: What about yourself? Are you optimistic that third-force parties will have an opportunity in 2018 or 2020?

Fei-fan: hmm. [He pauses for a moment.] In the short term, the NPP will get a successful result in the election. But there should be a clearer political line. I think the NPP’s political line isn’t clear right now, and that might bring inner party struggle in the future. You can imagine the NPP’s five legislators already have a lot of different opinions on a lot of different issues, including conflict concerning the recent labor amendment reforms. You can already see a lot of inner party struggle about this. If those city council candidates don’t share a common political line, then in the future you can expect that they may be contradictory to each other on certain issues.

In terms of the Green Party and the Social Democratic Party, the problem is not only with funding, the problem might be that they can’t find an effective strategy. Should they stand with their base on social movements? Or should they move to a position closer to electoral politics?

Q: Do you feel a lot of pressure to run for office?

Fei-fan: Not now. It’s just not a priority I’m thinking about right now. Taiwan doesn’t need another young face right now. There are already a lot of young candidates. If I did join a political party right now, I wouldn’t do anything different from these young people. It would be very similar tactics and strategy.

In my generation, there’s not that many people doing work in international affairs. Especially people that were born out of Taiwan’s social movement campaigns. What I’m trying to do is more international relations stuff. That’s what I’m currently thinking.

Q: I’m going to propose an imaginary situation here. Huang Wei-cher (黃偉哲) of the DPP will likely win the Tainan mayoral race in 2018.

Fei-fan: In fact, he’s already won. (Tainan reliably supports DPP candidates in local and general elections.)

Q: That’s right. That also means there will be a by-election in 2019. Would you be tempted to run?

Fei-fan: No, I don’t think so.

Q: Let’s look at some of the news that is happening with China. Xi Jinping pushed through a constitutional amendment to scrap presidential terms, essentially becoming president-for-life. How do you think this will affect Taiwan?

Fei-fan: I think that would be a very dangerous thing for Taiwan, especially if you look at the recent organizational structural change. They just upgraded the status of the Taiwan Affairs Office, and placed it under the direct control of the vice-president of China, which would be Wang Qishan (王岐山), directing China’s policy towards Taiwan. It’s quite clear that Xi Jinping (习近平) is looking to greater control Taiwan affairs and also Hong Kong affairs. So it’s quite a dangerous thing. Trump also just recently signed the Taiwan Travel Act. So you can see the tensions rising now. But Taiwan is always very passive.

Q: Do you have any worries that some kind of conflict may happen in the near future?

Fei-fan: I think there might be a small conflict, like the M503 air route issue from a couple years ago. They’ll use these small conflicts to pursue their political ends.

Q: What do you hope for Taiwan during these tensions? Taiwan doesn’t have many options.

Fei-fan: Yes. So on one hand, we have to maintain our close relationship with the US and Japan, and some other countries. But on the other hand, we should put more efforts into making friends in progressive campaigns and political parties, like the Democrats in the U.S. or left-leaning political parties in Japan and Europe. We should let them understand what the situation is in Taiwan right now and let them know Taiwan’s progressive civil society has the ability to cooperate with them, including on ideological issues.

Q: How do you personally think things are going in U.S. administration right now? I’m sure you know about figures like John Bolton and others close to Trump are quite friendly to Taiwan. At the same time, Bolton is also seen as a dangerous figure. Do you see this is an opportunity for Taiwan?

Fei-fan: I am quite ambivalent about that. Because, on one hand, no one but Trump would ever accept Tsai Ing-wen’s phone call. But on the other hand, Taiwan doesn’t really have the choice to keep their distance from certain Republicans or dangerous figures. So that also provides an explanation for Tsai Ing-wen’s low-key policy for dealing with cross-strait relations, and Taiwan-US relations.

Q: So how do you feel about Tsai’s handling of cross-strait relations?

Fei-fan: I think so far, I won’t criticize her cross-strait relations policy. She’s not using any risky measures, and she’s also not trying to provoke China. On one hand, Tsai is maintaining a non-provocative attitude towards China. But in the meantime, she has been actively building ties with the US, which has mostly been kept away from the public. The Tsai-Trump phone call was not arranged by the Taiwan government, everyone knows that it wasn’t. The Taiwan Travel Act was also not a part of the Taiwanese government’s agenda. It’s not because of some unilateral action by Taiwan, but from the US side. So on those terms, Tsai has kept a pretty low-key approach. I think she played it well since she didn’t provoke China, and also didn’t offend the US. So I’m not going to criticize her foreign policy.

Q: But don’t you think her current policies move Taiwan further away from the road to independence?

Fei-fan: Yeah, this is another problem. For those people who are pro-independence, for us, we think she is not making any progress, and not being radical enough about this. We think this is the time for her to push this issue forward.

However, I thought about this a little more. As a Taiwan independence supporter who also holds progressive values, we can’t just simply look for a declaration of independence, we also have to support other important progressive values. I think Tsai is relatively conservative in terms of the way she is dealing with China and the US. But I’m not going to criticize Tsai for not radically pushing independence forward, or not pushing for a referendum for independence. I’m able to understand the political decisions that she has to make on cross-strait issues.

The important part is that she has to explain the reason why she changed her political direction to the general public. I think the reason why most of Taiwan’s pro-independence supporters are not satisfied with her political performance is because she hasn’t proposed any agenda in terms of independence, especially after the phone call with Trump and the passing of the Taiwan Travel Act. People want to know what will be next and how she is going to deal with the independence issue. Furthermore, because she’s a political leader coming from the DPP, what is her agenda for legitimization Taiwan’s sovereignty, or “normalizing” Taiwan’s status as a country? This uncertainty is what makes her pro-independence supporters the most dissatisfied.

Q: Do you think third-force parties like the NPP need to have a clear agenda for dealing with cross-strait issues, as well as a plan for Taiwan independence?

Fei-fan: I think they really do, because it is fact that the DPP has moved towards the centre of the political spectrum. It’s even to the extent that all the policies proposed by the DPP are moving closer to the right. I think if any of the third-force political parties want to emerge in Taiwan’s political arena, they have to have a very clear political agenda for promoting progressive values, and even for promoting Taiwan’s independence.

What I worry the most is that, as I have mentioned, the problem with the current path the NPP is on, there isn’t a clear consensus on many issues. This will be a big challenge for the NPP if they want to become a major party instead of a just third-force party. For example, how far to the left on the political spectrum would the NPP be willing to go, or how much support are they going to integrate into their agenda for supporting the independence movement?

Overall, I think for most third-force parties in Taiwan, whether it be the NPP, the SDP, or the Green Party, taking a path that sticks close to concerns of local people is important. If the public has a variety of political parties with different stances on progressive issues and independence, that’s a good thing.

Q: During 318, a favorite slogan of protesters was: “If the KMT doesn’t go down, Taiwan won’t be OK.” Is it still important to persist in this mission?

Fei-fan: I think there are multiple layers to that question that complicate the answer. I know that there’s a lot of elder “deep-green” supporters who believe the top priority is to defeat the KMT so they can’t survive as a political party anymore; we can deal with all other problems after this task is completed. Or to take it a step further, there shouldn’t be any internal conflict or criticism of the DPP until we deal with the political system put in place by the Republic of China, and Taiwan achieves independence.

I think these two interpretations are pretty far away from reality, and they are most likely to be incorporated into the slogan and agendas of radical pro-independence parties. I think these thoughts result from the confusion of what the system is within the Republic of China, because when you say you want to eradicate the KMT, to what extent could this aim be fully achieved? If the KMT still has political representation at the county and city level, or in the legislature, would you say that this aim is achieved? If you only focus on how to eradicate the legacy of colonization, you might have to ignore China as the main threat to Taiwan. So I think that the slogan we used before is no longer applicable today in 2018.

(Feature photo courtesy of Taiwan Gazette)

 

This is a translation from the original 台灣若成立原住民族大學，那就讀的原民生還會是「特殊身份學生」嗎？by Hung Tzu-hsuan (洪子萱), a Paiwan student at the National Taipei University of Education, and originally published by Mata Taiwan. Translation by Tim Smith.

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At the end of 2017 the Council of Indigenous Peoples and the National Dong Hwa University launched a feasibility study for a National Indigenous University. Dong Hwa University, long known for its focus on Austronesian indigenous studies, could take the lead in establishing the first nationally funded university with a focus on Taiwanese indigenous peoples. When this information first came to light, it immediately roused the attention and discussion of both Taiwan’s academic world and Taiwanese indigenous communities.

Some view it as a sign of the government’s commitment to transitional justice for the indigenous peoples, but others are worried that the curriculum would be difficult to implement. In any case, it could be said that this is a trailblazing example for indigenous education laws in Taiwan.

In fact, since Taiwan opened the door to experimental higher education last year, there have been increasingly more schools applying for the chance to act as test-labs. Two such examples are Pingtung’s Timur Elementary School, and Taitung’s Tuban Elementary School, focusing on serving the Paiwan people. Timur Elementary School’s experimental status with using Paiwan culture as the basis of its curriculum began in 2016, while Tuban Elementary implemented the nation’s first “Vusam Cultural Experimental Elementary School,” adding the tribe’s traditional life skills and group culture into the school’s curriculum.

Apart from these examples, there are schools in other tribal areas that are following these educational pioneer models with the goals of having kids study their own mother culture, and mesh tribal characteristics into elementary education.

Learning mother cultures in the city

Compared with the abundant cultural classes in rural schools, are schools in urban areas doing well to spur the cultural growth of indigenous children?

There are in fact many municipal elementary and middle schools that incorporate tribal language courses. But the majority of these courses simply gather the indigenous kids together to form a sort of cultural exchange club, or the school would only hire teachers for the tribes with the most kids, but neglect others from even smaller minorities.

Therefore, indigenous children living in the cities have no other way to access traditional tribal knowledge and culture, and it’s difficult to serve each tribe and language specifically.

In recent years, high schools and universities have established indigenous-focused courses or student associations, bringing tribal students together for regular tribal educational activities and providing an environment of belonging. This allows students to discover their roots and to have a group identity within the Han-dominant educational environment.

However, since urban areas are not as intimate as the countryside, opportunities for widespread participation in tribal religious rituals are rather hard to come by. When living for a long time within Han societies, it’s necessary to spend more time acclimating to differences in culture and customs. Because of this, the effectiveness of these educational activities is still very limited.

Indigenous university to play a role in language preservation

According to the 2009 UNESCO Atlas of the World’s Endangered Languages, Taiwan has several indigenous languages that are endangered. Thao, Kavalan, and a couple other languages with small populations of speakers are listed as “critically endangered,” the worst status before extinction. The Sakizaya and Bunun languages are respectively listed as “severely endangered” and “definitely endangered.” Even tribes with robust populations, such as the Paiwan, Amis, Atayal and others, have their languages deemed as “vulnerable.” Saving indigenous languages is of the highest priority.

Currently, the bottleneck in language teaching is the lack of instructors. Many indigenous language teachers are already in their 50’s or older. The educational system is bound to need more younger people in the coming years. An indigenous university can play a role in training instructors and developing curriculum materials for language instruction, by consolidating resources and manpower towards this task.

Affirmative action for indigenous students

The current educational policy guarantees many benefits for indigenous students, including additional points for entrance exam scores, guaranteed quota for acceptances, and scholarships or tuition waivers. All these affirmative action policies allow indigenous students to be relieved of many systemic burdens. However, this has also created a learning gap between indigenous students and their peers.

If an indigenous university is established, should the college-entrance threshold and various scholarships and aid be reformed? Following the current policy, nearly every student in an indigenous university would be able to earn tuition waivers and scholarships; as a result, the lack of tuition income would certainly be a massive burden.

Additionally, for indigenous students to learn to proactively compete for academic excellence, perhaps affirmative action should not be implemented to give them an advantage, but rather indigenous students would be treated as normal students as anyone else.

The policy of affirmative action is to compensate for indigenous students being the cultural minority suffering from systemic racism and lack of educational opportunities. But within an indigenous university, if all the indigenous students are competing on the same playing field, then there isn’t a need to supplement them as a special class, but treat all students equally

Conclusion

Since Taiwan’s democratization, leaders across the aisle have slowly implemented policies to improve indigenous cultural preservation and education, such as developing industry within indigenous regions or changes in education. Taiwan has come a long way to be more inclusive and appreciative of indigenous identities. These changes give tribal peoples great gratification and appreciation, and give us ample room to come back to our roots as well as raise up the traditions of our peoples.

The proposal for an indigenous university is an important milestone. We will certainly face many daunting challenges when it comes to course content design, as well as training educators to serve the diverse composition of the 16 recognized indigenous peoples of Taiwan. I am optimistic that the government and education bodies can come up with effective plans to open new opportunities for subsequent generations of our peoples.

(Feature photo of New Zealand’s Rotorua technical school Te Puia, which teaches traditional Maori craftsmanship, by Shiny Things, CC BY 2.0）

 

This is a translation from the original 咖啡品質好卻做不出品牌？屏東德文部落青年期待在地投入咖啡產業整合 by Vanessa Lai and originally published by Mata Taiwan. Translation by Tim Smith.

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The Paiwan tribe of Tjukuvulj is located in Pingtung County’s Sandimen township, a high altitude settlement in southern Taiwan. The people of Tjukuvulj has never migrated from the area, a rarity for indigenous peoples in Taiwan.

Tjukuvulj sits at an elevation of about 800 to 1,200 meters above sea level, with climate and soil qualities that are suitable for coffee cultivation. During the early period of Japanese-ruled Taiwan, Japanese planted Arabica coffee trees in the area. Many of these century-old trees are still living into the present day, and much like today’s Tjukuvulj tribe, have overcome the plight of colonial exploitation.

The tribe relies heavily on selling coffee directly to customers through cooperatives, plantations and other channels for tourism and development.

Branding and scale-up

Tu Tai-chen (杜岱蓁) is currently the travel guide for the tour group “Dugufule,” based on the name “Tjukuvulj” in the Paiwan language. During the coffee harvesting period between October and December, she brings her guests out to the plantations to harvest coffee cherries and experience the process of cleaning and hulling, second-stage coffee bean selection, roasting, and brewing.

Tjukuvulj coffee is well known for its high-quality, is often produced in rotation with crops from other seasons, and sold through the local farmer’s markets and online channels.

However, Tu admits that the coffee production in Tjukuvulj is still not a fully formed industry. The tribe’s coffee farmers are still growing and selling independently of one another, and the yields are not high enough yet to warrant hiring additional manpower for harvest. “In years prior, we could harvest about 400 to 500 kilos of coffee. A warming climate is affecting coffee growth, throwing the blossoming season into disarray. Nowadays, the yield only gets to about as high as 200 kilos,” says Tu.

Tu herself doesn’t face a lot of problems with her own supply of coffee beans; she can fall back on a handful of reliable coffee supplier for beans. However, she has a bigger expectation for the tribe’s coffee industry. “We don’t have a window for promoting and marketing to the outside. I think we need to form a corporation, or something similar to Taiwu township’s coffee factory.

She explains, “our tribal members hope that one day in the future, the Tjukuvulj can make coffee our main product, but our industry needs to organize. It needs to have its own brand. It absolutely must unify its standards and methods of production. It may be difficult for our older folks to ‘standardize,’ but there could be an opportunity for younger tribe members.” This is because tribal elders struggle with the division of labor for washing and sun-drying the beans. She believes that if someone can organize and standardize the entire production process, then Tjukuvulj coffee can be incorporated into a brand.

No short term solutions

Makutu Plantation Coffee’s Pao Chin-mao is also a member of the Dugufule team. Apart from selling coffee, he’s also running food and other drinks out of the kitchen of his own coffee shop. Well-selling food items include taro, millet, red quinoa and other seasonal staples of the tribe. They’re all cooked in electric rice cookers because he thinks it allows the consumer to know how they can cook it themselves if they buy the products to take back home. Rice cookers are an almost ubiquitous part of any Taiwanese home.

Pao also believes that in the long run, the joint-marketing of each coffee production area in Pingtung county is a possible trend. If these coffee growing areas can come together to form a large-scale group for marketing, it will help with promotion for those coffee growers who haven’t yet joined into cooperatives or production and marketing groups.

Unfortunately, small groups like Dugufule does not yet have the resources and manpower to organize into a large scale coffee production corporation. Tu is earnestly hoping that community development associations can help, but with many people working in big cities and a lack of interaction between individual communities, in the short term the young organizers can only do what they can. For the next step of the tribal coffee industry, more people and groups will need to be involved.

(Feature photo from Mata Taiwan)

 

On the tail of National Women’s Month, female-fronted Swedish death metal band Arch Enemy descended on Taiwan on April 1, for their 4th performance here. Women are a rare though rapidly rising populace in a male-dominated and often misogynist genre, where outfits like Cannibal Corpse sing about violent rape and murder, and band names like Anal Cunt and Goatwhore are accepted without a batted eye.

Arch Enemy, though, is known for their fierce live performances and uplifting lyrics, which often focus on strength and encouragement:

If you want the world
Use your mind
Take control
Feel the strength
Rise from within
If you really want it, the world is yours

(From Arch Enemy’s “The World Is Yours.”)

Their concert was opened by Taiwanese band Greedy Black Hole, which also features positive female vocalist Yvonne (香香). She is known as an advocate for gay rights and gender equality, and in their latest promotional photos she wears a rainbow armband. The humble vocalist is a known fan of the Arch Enemy, sporting their towel as they opened for Body on the Party at a show last year held at Jack’s Studio in Ximen.

Their music video F.E.A. deals explicitly with societal rejection faced by homosexuals. I spoke with them:

Female vocalists are a rarity in metal music, did Greedy Black Hole specifically seek out a female vocalist or was it coincidence? Do you think this helps or hinders the band?

Initially when we sought out a female vocalist it was because we were heavily influenced by Arch Enemy. We felt that pairing a female figure with heavy music would create a greater impact on the audience.

While it’s true there are fewer female musicians, in recent years their numbers have been increasing. We think this is a good thing, since it really enriches the realm of metal music.

As for whether it helps or hinders, I think it really depends on the person and not their gender. For us, it is definitely a boon because we are like a family and our interactions are all very peaceable.

In the song F.E.A. the lyrics deal explicitly with discrimination against people of different sexual orientations, as well the newest band picture features a rainbow band. What are the band’s views on this topic and is there anything you’d like to express?

We think that as long as you don’t hurt anyone else, everyone should have the right to pursue the life that they want.

As for the topic of LGBT individuals, they are often discriminated against and attacked from different angles. This is very unfair and unjust. So we wrote the song F.E.A. to support them and hope they will have the courage to pursue the life they want.

How was opening for Arch Enemy?

Actually we opened for them last time they came to Taiwan as well. At that time we were all extremely excited and very nervous since all of us are huge fans of the band. This time we were likewise excited but not as nervous; we just hoped that we would be able to perform well, so that all the fans that came to see Arch Enemy would be able to enjoy our music as well.

Arch Enemy kicked off in Singapore, followed by Taiwan, Hong Kong, and five shows in China before ending in Korea for this iteration of their Asia tour.

The band comes off a series of sold out shows in Australia and Europe, including Download Melbourne, and will continue with a continual touring throughout Europe including an appearance at Wacken, the world’s largest metal fest which has also hosted Taiwanese band Chthonic. Their Asia tour is organized by Rock Empire, the same company bringing James Blunt and previously brought Epica, a female fronted symphonic metal band, as well coordinating the release of Lacrimosa in Taiwan.

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This is the fourth time Arch Enemy has performed in Taiwan. How was it the first time compared to this time?

Michael Amott (guitar): I have to say it’s always been fun and interesting experience. We are lucky to have amazing fans and great promoter in Taiwan! Taiwanese and Asian culture in general is highly exotic for us as we are from the northern Western Hemisphere. Of course now are more used to it, so it is not a big culture shock as it maybe was the first time. We’ve been looking forward to this Asian tour for a while now!

Alissa, Taipei was named by PETA as the most vegan friendly city in Asia. Are there any foods or specialties you are keen on trying? (Perhaps stinky tofu or bubble tea?)

Alissa White-Gluz (vocal): I actually stumbled upon an adoption event for cats and dogs last time I was in Taipei, and immediately noticed lots of animal rights organizations nearby. I would love to try local vegan food, that’s one of my favourite things to do while traveling.

The opening band for Taiwan, Greedy Black Hole, feature a female vocalist. What are your thoughts regarding female metal performers in Asia and in the scene as a whole?

Amott: It’s great seeing more women in the Asian Metal scene, not only in the audience but also in the bands and on stage. I would like to think that we have inspired more women with Arch Enemy to be a part of this scene, and it’s good to have Greedy Black Hole to play opening act this time.

Metallica was forced to censor lyrics and refrain from cursing during their performance last year in China. Have you face similar issues before?

Amott: We’ve been going to China to perform shows for more than ten years, and we have not yet faced any problems with such issues. We’ve always enjoyed our concert experience in China, and we are like looking forward to playing cities like Guangzhou, Kunming and Chengdu for the first time on this tour, through the great effort of our Taiwan promoter.

What is your favorite part of touring Asia? How are all the countries different?

Amott: The people, the sights, the food…the Arch Enemy fans are very enthusiastic and supportive of our band, so it’s always an honour and a pleasure to perform for them. There are of course differences between the Asian countries, but when you play a show it’s all about the music, which is the big connection between us and and audience, so the shows always feel great.

Most of the stops on this tour are Sino-centric (HK, Singapore, China, Taiwan) was that a conscious decision?

Amott: I’m not sure why that is the case this time, that is more a question for the promoter of the tour. We are quite open to visiting any country in Asia as long as a show can be organized there.

(Feature photo from Arch Enemy)

In the past couple of months, I developed an unhealthy obsession with ceramic art. It began when I discovered one or two Instagram accounts, a Japanese artist called Yuta Segawa who makes miniature porcelain vases, and a British artist called Kat Evans who creates formless stoneware sculptures, which look like they come from the world of H.R. Giger. Ceramic art possesses an allure that is not to be taken lightly.

During the Lunar New Year break, I took a leap of faith and headed to Yingge, a town on the outskirts of Taipei, for a pottery class. While my first throw was not a great success, I did learn a lot from talking with the international artists in residence at Yingge Ceramics Academy. They have a small, red brick studio at the back of the sculpture park in New Taipei City Yingge Ceramics Museum, which is open to visitors of the museum.

The artists in residence program at Yingge Ceramics Academy began back in 2009. In total, the project has brought 77 ceramic artists to Yingge; each for a three month residency where they create artworks for the museum’s collection. The program facilitates cultural exchange within the Taiwanese ceramic art community, bringing international recognition to the museum and it’s academy.

I met with two of the current artists in residence, Janina Myronova and Kamonchanok Panuwed (May), for a fireside chat about their pottery experiences in Taiwan.

In October this year, Yingge Ceramics Museum plays host to the 2018 Congress of the International Academy of Ceramics, during the museum’s annual Taiwan Ceramics Biennale (Humanistic Return: The Spiritual Origin of Ceramic Art) that opens on September 7. Along with public discussions and talks, there will be several exhibitions around Yingge, all centered on the Congress’ theme (New Orientalia: Functionality, Spirituality, Diversity). Find out more at the website: http://new-taipei-city2018.aic-iac.org/en/about/

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Spirited Away to Taipei — Kamonchanok Panuwed

Kamonchanok Panuwed (May) is artist in residence at Yingge Ceramics Academy in the New Taipei City Yingge Ceramics Museum. Until April, you can visit the studio and see what she has created during her past few months in Taiwan. You can also check out May’s work at her Facebook page: www.facebook.com/MayandClayCeramicsStudio

Hi May, thank you for taking the time to talk with us. Has this residency enabled you to work in a different way to how you worked before?

Yes, I have a brand called May&Clay, which is all about my smaller ceramic pieces. During this residency, I have been able to work in a more sculptural way, and on a larger scale. I have really enjoyed it and I dreamt to do this for a long time.

Where did you learn to make ceramics?

I studied ceramic art at Kangen University, which is a two hour flight from Bangkok, in the northeast of Thailand. I graduated back in 2010. Now, I live in Kangen and I am part of a consignment store in Bangkok. I often go to Bangkok for exhibitions and I keep in touch with everyone through the store.

What is the ceramic scene like in Bangkok?

There are a lot of artists. Only three of my school mates continued to work in ceramics after graduation, but I also have other friends in the Bangkok ceramic scene.

Who are your idols and inspirations?

Vipu Srivilasa, a Thai ceramic artist based in Australia. Also the Russian surrealist, Sergei Isupov. I like animation by Studio Ghibli. I love all of his movies, especially Spirited Away. I have been to Jiufen [the village near Taipei, which is said to be the setting of Spirited Away] two times.

Is that why you came to Taiwan?

Actually this is my fourth time in Taiwan. I am really interested in the nature, and Taiwanese people. So I started from here; this is my first time to be an artist in residence.

Can you tell us about your work in Taiwan?

This collection is inspired by Taiwan’s nature and my surroundings. One of my sculptures is about the wind because this town [Yingge] is very windy. Another is about earthquakes. In Thailand we don’t have earthquakes. Yesterday there was a very strong one and they happen a lot.

How does the ceramic scene in Taiwan compare to the ceramic scene in Thailand?

The techniques are the same, but our cultures and traditions make us different. Here [in Taiwan] the teapot is important and they make very nice tea ware. I use a coiling technique and I met a Taiwanese ceramic artist called Lu Shu-Jen who uses a similar technique. She makes sculptures of her pet dogs at her mountainside studio near the sea.

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Pottery Dolls of Yingge — Janina Myronova

Janina Myronova is artist in residence at Yingge Ceramics Academy in the New Taipei City Yingge Ceramics Museum. Until April, you can visit the studio and see what she has created during her past few months in Taiwan. You can also check out Myronova’s work at her website: www.janinamyronova.com

Hi Janina, thank you for taking the time to talk with us. How did you get into ceramics?

My adventure with ceramics began in Ukraine. I was born in Donetsk, and I graduated from the department of Ceramic Art at the National Academy of Fine Arts in Lviv. I started [ceramics] when I was 15. Since 2002 until now, I have been making ceramics. Around six years ago I moved to Poland, where I studied my second masters degree at the Polish Eugeniusz Geppert Academy of Fine Arts in Wroclaw. Currently, I am studying for a PhD at the same academy in Poland.

Why are you doing the residency at Yingge Ceramics Museum?

I took part in the 2016 Taiwan Ceramics Biennale, then I heard that I could apply for this residency. I couldn’t do it in 2016 because of my studies, but now I am more flexible so I can take part in different residencies. I am starting with Taiwan then in September I will go to Korea for three months, to the Clay Art Gimhae Museum. In September and October, I will come back to Yingge for the Ceramics Biennale, and the 2018 Congress of the International Academy of Ceramics. I have been a member since 2017, and there will be a ceremony for new members. In the IAC, there is only one representative from Ukraine, and I am one of only four from Poland.

Has your residency in Taiwan been successful?

Yes. Before, I always went to ceramics symposiums. I have participated in around 30 different countries, such as Georgia, Egypt, Croatia, Lithuania, and Denmark. Now is my first time for residency. Symposiums are usually for just two weeks. You come mostly to talk with other artists about your work, but in two weeks you cannot make any works. Here I can really focus on the project, and three months is enough time to understand culture, prove your quality, and meet artists from Taiwan. I feel very welcomed here.

How do you make your sculptures?

There are different ways to make ceramics, for example casting or making with coils. I choose slab building because, for me, it is a quick technique and I enjoy the art of construction. It is a bit like making a cake. I prepare a big slab [of clay] and cut it into pieces of five or ten centimeters, and my sculptures grow from there. I like to control the shape by slab, so sometimes I have to cut and add one piece, or cut and make it smaller. I think my forms are made for this technique. They are hollow [not solid] because I like them to be light so I can carry them by myself.

Is all your work about the human figure?

Yes, all my sculptures are figures of people, or sometimes animals, the relationship between people and animals, but now people are my main inspiration. For example, in the project I have been making during this residency, I concentrated on children. I studied the children here [in Taiwan], how they look, and what they wear. Sometimes I feel like they are very unusual, wearing a warm coat with just slippers on a rainy day. Also their hairstyles; I like when the girls cut a very straight fringe, and tie their hair into mini pigtails. I tried to capture some of their special characteristics.

 

On May 24 of last year, Taiwan’s Constitutional Court ruled that same-sex couples have the right to marry, delivering a big legal win for the LGBT movement there. The ruling was the first of its kind in Asia.

But what does this ruling mean for LGBT Taiwanese who still must navigate their personal lives on a daily basis? What is it like to be queer in a society heavily influenced by traditional Asian culture?

Richard Yeh, a Taiwanese-American news producer at WNYC New York Public Radio took an up close and personal look at stories of LGBT individuals in Taiwan who advanced LGBT rights but still struggled with being accepted by their families, as well as coming out in contemporary Taiwan. Listen to his interviews below.

This podcast was made possible by the Bringing Home The World fellowship at the International Center For Journalists, and the music of Lim Giong (林強).

 

Tony Chen isn’t exactly sure how old he is.

If you’re following the Gregorian calendar, he’s 28. But in Taiwan, under the Chinese calendar, he’s actually 27. Or, maybe it’s 26.

Like Tony says, “it’s just complicated.” And really, it’s just like the businessman himself.

His culture has been torn between those two calendars, countries, schools and home lives ever since his birth. As the grandson of Chen Wen-jin, the founder of the major Taiwanese textile producer HerMin, Chen spent his childhood in both Taiwan and the United States, where he eventually attended Penn State in Pennsylvania as an undergrad.

But a few years after graduation, he found himself back in Tainan, Taiwan to help take over the family business with his mother and father, who are still at the helm of a leading textile producer here in Taiwan. Now, Chen is spearheading a new clothing company using HerMin textiles—his own project and ever-demanding task, called Weavism.

So his life back in Taiwan he says is, again, just complicated.

“I knew we had a factory, but I never really understood what the family business was like,” Chen said. “I think it’s pretty painful, you know? My parents spend 20 or 30 years in the textile business, and they both come from a chemistry background. They understand a lot more than I do.”

Narratives like Chen’s are familiar and keep surfacing as industry in Taiwan keeps evolving and as a new generation ages. Many companies, like HerMin, were founded in the 1970s and ‘80s during what is known as the Taiwan Miracle. This economic boom gave birth to local entrepreneurs who industrialized the country with technology, cheap labor and new capital.

“My grandparents told me the weave printing machine was a bill printing machine,” Chen said. “It was just cash, you know? This is like a cycle that always happens—people go to cheaper labor companies for textile sourcing. The reason for Taiwan booming is we had cheap labor.”

As many of these founding entrepreneurs aged, their children took over the factories and their grandchildren were sent abroad to attend universities in the West, just like Chen. With a more international perspective, and perhaps a better knack for business, many of these third-generation Taiwanese have started to return with experiences so unlike their grandparents, and yet similar tasks lying ahead as owners of sometimes large factories and businesses.

When Chen arrived back in Asia, he wanted to get involved in a way that would further HerMin’s innovation as a textile brand. The market had shifted, and Taiwan certainly wasn’t holding a monopoly in cheap labor or products any more.

According to the Taiwan Textile Foundation, production value, employees and manufacturers have all decreased in the last 10 years. A report done by the foundation found the industry has (not shockingly) grown from “labor intensive to technical intensive and finally to capital intensive.”

So far, that is what has made HerMin so successful, said Weavism’s Fabric and Apparel Project and Marketing Advisor Courtney Cruzan.

“Primarily, most of the larger companies focus on using polyester synthetic functional fibers,” she said. “Whereas HerMin textiles was founded on using high grade cotton blends. They’ve stayed true to high-end woven natural fibers.”

Cruzan, a longtime-employee with HerMin, has been tasked with introducing the world to Weavism, which she describes as “northern European or Japanese high-end streetwear.”

“The majority of consumers, especially of Americans, they might not even know where Taiwan is, let alone there is so much creativity and technology that comes out of it,” Cruzan said.

Many other Taiwan-centric textile companies are moving in an eco-friendly direction because there is room for it in the industry—a change from their roots in cheap products and even cheaper labor.

HerMin’s claim to fame is its use of the Umorfil textile which uses collagen peptide extracted from fish scales, a waste product from processing fish for sale. The scales are purchased from local fisheries and then turned into a fiber used in these textiles.

Weavism uses this in many of its garments, which at first glance feature minimal designs with some flairs like high collars on coats lined with Umorfil, asymmetrical women’s tops and unisex pieces that introduce street-like undertones. The prices, on average, are around NT$2,000, or about $60 USD.

“That’s really what the goal is,” she said. “To elevate the perception to, ‘What is a Taiwan brand? And what does that mean? What does that look like?’ [Chen] in a unique position to develop an international flair and his own style.”

Chen says now that he’s the founder of the clothing brand and still a project manager for HerMin, he is trying to learn how to move both companies forward, which includes expanding internationally.

“Too many factories think [Weavism is] too complicated, stylish, functional,” he said. “It can’t appeal to everyone in Taiwan, you will only hit a very small target audience. So that’s why it has better potential to expand to other countries because it’s unique and different.”

Weavism currently has stores open in Taipei and Tainan, but the next goal for Cruzan is to share the products with other startup founders back in the U.S. She is currently living in the Bay Area in order to collaborate with others in California.

Cruzan says eliminating fast fashion, creating sustainable fabrics and introducing functional garments is not just a goal of the company, but also a personal goal.

“Now, we’re more about, ‘How do we use the technology that we’re developing in Asia, and how do we get Taipei and California to then work together to generate these benefits for humanity overall?’” she said.

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Weavism is on sale in the United States through Etsy.
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(Feature photo courtesy of Weavism)