The SARS

It was drizzling and dark when I approached the Golden Lotus. A surreal flower suspended in bloom, perched on a pole in the middle of a square close to downtown Macau. The petals were chunky, lifeless and sterile, especially in the glow of the artificial lighting.

The square was deserted, and I was alone. For a few moments, I stood silently under the yellow floodlight before the gift from the State Council of the People’s Republic of China to the people and government of Macau. Ironically, earlier in the day I had posed before the “Forever Blooming Bauhinia”, which is the Reunification Monument marking the return of neighbouring Hong Kong to the People’s Republic.

These golden flowers are gifts of great significance for and from the Motherland. They are memorials and a tribute to the glorious reunification of the Motherland with its long-lost territories of Hong Kong and Macau, which had been given away in humiliating treaties with European powers years ago. In 1997 and 1999 respectively, members of the armed forces of the People’s Liberation Army marched through the two former colonies, and the five yellow stars flew for the first time alongside the flags of the new Hong Kong and Macau, which become Special Administrative Regions (SARs—no relation to the severe acute respiratory syndrome) of the People’s Republic.

The return of these two territories were made under the principle of “One Country, Two Systems”. Thus, under Hong Kong’s constitutional document, the Basic Law, China solemnly promises that “the socialist system and policies shall not be practised in the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, and the previous capitalist system and way of life shall remain unchanged for 50 years”. In other words, the existing political, legal and economic structures and democratic protections in both former colonies will remain untouched. Previous treaty commitments made by former colonial powers, such as those governing protections of fundamental human rights and civil liberties which are not applicable to China and its vast population, would continue to be the law of the land in the SARs. The “One Country, Two Systems” formula is the same one that China has been using (alongside the thousand plus targeted missiles) in attempts to entice the people of Taiwan to “return” to the Motherland.

True, Hong Kong and Macau remain the two isolated places in vast China to enjoy freedoms of expression, assembly and genuine rule of law. Nowhere else in China can Falun Gong practitioners openly spread flyers that denounce the Chinese Communist Party and show posters that reveal the atrocities committed by the regime’s machinery of oppression and propaganda. Nowhere else are the events of Tiananmen 1989 more deeply remembered and mourned annually on June 4 than in Hong Kong Park.

Yet, a decade or so from the momentous return to the 'Motherland', Hong Kong has become a tax-free shopping mall for the nouveau riche from the Mainland, while Macau is quickly becoming an adult playground to satisfy the insatiable Chinese urge for gambling. The Chief Executives of both territories are effectively handpicked by business and political elites with close ties to Beijing, and promises of universal suffrage remain to be realised. How can such a system, in which an overbearing authoritarian regime constantly looms and pulls the strings in the background, ever be acceptable, let alone applicable, to the people of Taiwan, who for the past few decades fought for and gained unprecedented freedoms in a budding democratic society?

The drizzle continued, and the palm trees swayed gently in the wind. I looked around, and saw that I had overstayed my welcome and was being watched. At the corners of the square surrounding the Golden Lotus were booths, white and compact with shuttered windows and pairs of eyes staring out from them. A random man walked past me in plain clothing, yet there was a coiled wire coming out of his ear. He said nothing, and I said nothing, but I quickly moved away, ever wary of the eyes that followed me into the distance.

No, I did not have paint or eggs in my bag which I intended to throw at the Golden Lotus to deface this glorious golden gift from the Motherland. And no, I did not wish to disrupt the upcoming celebrations of the tenth anniversary of the return to the Motherland. I was not even wearing my prized T-Shirt bearing a Tibetan monk standing face to face with a soldier of the People’s Liberation Army.

I am but a simple student with a white space monkey and a kitsch fridge magnet with the portrait of Chairman Mao in my bag.

Welcome to Korea

Who would have thought that within the first one and a half hour of arriving in Korea I would be walking around in public completely naked? Certainly not something I had anticipated doing after an 18 hour trek across the Pacific Ocean and Japan Sea.

Yet I finally feel clean again. All that grease in my hair cleansed after that long shower and soothing soak in the sauna. All the worries and anxieties seemed to melt and flow away. All that discomfort and pain I felt in my backside and legs, especially during those maddening final few tens of minutes and seconds before touching down at Incheon, seemed to be diluted by the clear, hot water.

I closed my eyes, and cleared my mind. Why get upset about the terrible cantine-style and children’s-sized ‘food’ they serve on United Airlines? What does it matter if I had to dish out US14 for a simple udon soup at Narita Airport? Can I do anything about the fact that the current whereabouts of my suit and case (read suit-case) is still a mystery due to the incompetent handling by United ground staff? And what can I do about the fact that my credit card suddenly decided not to work any more, or that I have been wearing the same clothes (and yes, underwear) for the past two days?

Sitting there in that clear pool, at close to midnight, some fifty hours after I set out from Montreal, I could not but smile at the ridiculousness of it all. Five cities and airports, four different planes, three different airlines, and a hell lot of air miles later, I finally made it. I could have wept at the exhaustion and strain on my mental and physical health, but I could have just as easily kissed the ground a-la-pope as soon as I stepped off the plane. Such ridiculousness that could not have ever happened had I not come on this trip. The excitement of flying in gigantic metal birds, the anticipation of encountering strange new cultural experiences and anecdotes, thrown in together with the bumpy turbulences, hindrances, setbacks and disappointments of journeying to foreign lands.

Yes, there is this strange sensation of having flown so far to be here, right now, sitting in this darkened lounge with a dozen Korean strangers all dozing away, while in the background some melodramatic Korean soap runs.

You travel, you learn, you watch, you experience. And at times, you laugh at the ridiculous and bizarre things that get thrown your way. Like today.

Green Island Serenade

There is a song made popular in 1950s Taiwan called “Green Island Serenade” (綠島小夜曲). It describes the longing of a lover for his girl far, far away…

“This green island like a boat,
Rocking, rocking in the moonlit night
Girl, you are also floating, floating in the sea of my heart.
Let the sound of my song follow that slight wind,
Blow open your window drapes.
Let my heartfelt emotions follow that flow of water,
Endlessly pouring my heart out to you.
The long shadow of the coconut tree
Cannot hide my tender regards.
This radiant and beautiful moon light illuminates my heart,
The night of this green island is already so heavy and silent.
Girl, why are you still silent without words?”
(translation mine)

But just as easily, “Green Island Serenade” could been interpreted as a song to capture the longing of the hundreds of political prisoners who were once imprisoned on this tiny island off of Taiwan’s eastern seaboard.

They were imprisoned for daring to oppose the Nationalist Chinese dictatorship that established itself on Taiwan after the Japanese colonialists left in 1945. They were imprisoned for championing the rights of local Taiwanese people, who were oppressed, silenced and stripped of their property, land and jobs. Some were imprisoned for speaking out for the promise of an independent Taiwan—the same promise that was once made by the United Nations, yet buried by the complexities of the Cold War and warming Sino-US relations. For almost four decades, the Nationalist Chinese government imposed the longest martial law ever, and put all opponents in prison or to death. And Green Island, as beautiful, as luring, as much a tropical paradise as it is today, was perhaps the worst place one could be sent away to.

First came the “New Life Correction Centre” established in the 1950s, which was nothing more than a camp where high profile political prisoners were interned and sentenced to hard labour. Many of the roads, and even the airport, on Green Island owe their construction to the hard work of these prisoners. Later, in the 1970s, the “Oasis Villa” was established. Despite the name, the “Villa” was an euphemism for the “Green Island Reform and Re-education Prison”, intended to house those offenders ‘convicted’ of engaging in ‘rebellion’ against the government. Many of these ‘rebels’ were in fact democracy activists, and most would go on to serve in public office with the dawning of democracy from the late 1980s. Most prominent among the prisoners is the feminist scholar and pro-independence activist Annette Shiou-lian Lu, who was imprisoned for 12 years, and later went on to serve as the country’s Vice President between 2000 and 2008.

Today, the former maximum security prison is open to visitors. Faded writings on the walls recall a past of indoctrination and pro-China propaganda, while the empty cells (though much renovated) echoes with the emptiness in which the prisoners counted away the passing minutes and seconds of their youths. On a wall of the Human Rights Park, in the shadow of the gentle waves, hundreds of names are engraved, each with the inmate’s date of entry and release, or death. On another wall, more but not all of the names of the thousands upon thousands of Taiwanese people who suffered, who were tortured or killed by the Nationalist Chinese government.

I did not know the names. I did not know their stories, or the injustices that were done to them and to their families. Yet, each character, each date, each name engraved on the wall came alive in a haunting, heart-wrenching way, and reached deep down inside to choke me of my breath and tears.

I met a middle aged man, who stood silently before the walls. His eyes were red and moist. He spoke to me, and asked me to take a picture of him pointing to one of the many names. “This is my uncle,” the man said solemnly. I said nothing, and nodded in acknowledgment. In that momentary silence, it was as if he and I understood one another’s pain and love for this island and the fate of its people. After walking on for a few more metres and spotting a name high on top of the list, he pointed again and said, “This is my friend.”

Later, I learned that he was with a group of Taiwanese-American physicians who were on their bi-annual tour of Taiwan. Out of fear of persecution, prominent Taiwanese intellectuals, professors, doctors, and lawyers fled the island after the Nationalist Chinese government took over. Many of these Taiwanese people were blacklisted, unable to return to see their home and families until the lifting of martial law in 1987. Most found their way to the United States and/or Canada, becoming accomplished people in exile, yet continuing to support their long lost home and people through donations and a powerful lobby in the US. Even abroad, spies and secret agents of the Nationalist Chinese government gave Taiwanese in exile no rest (the recent movie “Formosa Betrayed” has a good portrayal of this, and Taiwan’s current president Ma Ying-jeou is one such spy who worked for the (then) authoritarian government). Perhaps, if it were not for the commitment of these overseas Taiwanese, and their efforts to secure the passage of the Taiwan Relations Act in the US Congress, Taiwan would have long been overwhelmed by the Chinese Communists.

“God bless you,” the middle aged man said as he left, “And God bless Taiwan”. I nodded, and lifted my thumb up to him. Outside, the stuffy confines and green metal bars of the prison, the sun was slowly setting. The sun had already set for many who gave up their lives for a struggle for a country and people they cared for and loved. The tranquil Pacific waved and waned, ebbed and flowed, spanning the distance between the island of Taiwan and this isolated little green island in the distance. The wind blew across time, across the soft, soft sand.

“In that era,

How many mothers

Wept through the nights

For their children imprisoned on this island?”