Taiwanese Can Change Their Minds

     The people of Taiwan, by which I mean the Taiwanese, have a deep commitment to the quality of life, so long as they are not distracted by the modern world or waylaid by corporate capitalism's throw-away society. The people of Taiwan want to do what is right. The origin of this spirit is in dispute, but we all know where it did not come from. 
     A better example of this Taiwanese righteousness cannot be demonstrated more than through my wife who, with graciousness, can stand up to anyone for what is right, and not lose a beat.  For twenty-five years, her fairness has graced me.
     When complete strangers show flexibility adhering to what is right, that is remarkable. It seems like many an adult in Asia could not care less about propriety so long as their face is saved and outcome is profitable. That a friendliness exists towards strangers on the street is what Taiwanese are famous for, but first you have to crack the shell of disillusionment they grew to insulate themselves from the betrayals of their American and Chinese saviors from World War II. 
     There are four examples I would like to draw on to describe the ability of Taiwanese to reform and adjust themselves, contrary to the stereotype of being otherwise endowed: a lady customer in a department store and three men; two scooter drivers, and one a pedestrian. 
     Humble flexibility to apologize and mend one's ways occurred while standing in the elevator bank of the Chung-Yo Department Store one early weekday afternoon. My wife stood not more than two feet from me discussing what we would have for lunch when a young woman in her 30's, well-dressed and heeled, came out of the street to hurry through the entrance and then between us swiftly to her elevator that had just arrived. Cynical we were in condemning the couth of she who transgressed and we spoke of her unabashedly, in English, after we three were going up.
     "I am so sorry," she said turning slightly with only a sincere hurt look on her tastefully made-up face. 
     "You are absolutely right; I shouldn't have done what I did. Please accept my apology," she almost begged. 
     The embarrassment was put on me, speaking rudely in an elevator as if she weren't there or wouldn't understand. How crude of me.  She was apologized to. In Taiwanese culture one can owe up to oneself; stiff dogmatism must have emigrated from elsewhere. 
     Another time, I was riding on the back of my wife's scooter when a young man rear-ended us at a stop light. The classic fender-bender occurred when my wife stopped short at a traffic light that was about to turn red. With drivers jumping the gun on the cross street, it was a wise move, but the tail-gating Taiwanese man expected her to go though as he followed. We were all okay with no damage but we got off our scooters to begin an argument. 
     "It is your fault for stopping short; why didn't you go through?" She was in her right to stop at the red and he was wrong for driving too fast and close behind. He was expecting to run the red light in tandem with her. 

     My wife, never to back down when she thinks she is right, answered him back, warned him about verbally assaulting her, and went to call 119 on her cell phone; the call didn't go through, anyway. The threat might have been the turning point, or perhaps it was his seeing me take a photo of his licence plate number, but he softened his tone and started to see things our way. All my wife wanted was an apology from him for tail-gating us and then blaming us for his error. The young man reconsidered his stance, realized it was indeed his fault, and apologized in English and Mandarin. 
     We were glad we avoided the disaster and went on our ways. He needn't have been so defensive. Perhaps it was that she was a woman he felt he could bully. Perhaps he stopped because I was a male Caucasian twice his size and age. I think he stopped arguing because he realized he was wrong and was sincerely regretful. Taiwanese can change their minds given the chance to think things over. 

     The pedestrian, a lanky six-foot man in his fifties,  was met on the streets of Feng-Yuan where I had gotten lost riding my bicycle. I wasn't sure which way the train station was and he was passing by. I asked for his indulgence in answering my question but he continued passing by. When he was a few feet away, I said loudly in Mandarin, "Thank you," sarcastically, not expecting him to hear. He heard. He stopped. He turned. He doubled back. He stared at me. I asked him the travel question. He broke into a smile and, with hand signals, explained how I could reach the train station I was looking for. I thanked him, sincerely. 
     It was then that I realized I was again the recipient of Taiwanese hospitality. How easy it was to crack the shell of disregard when the content of the character is not hard-boiled; natural Taiwanese friendliness came oozing out. 
     The last example of Taiwanese mind-changing capacity, and the man who inspired this article, was met by me as I sat on my usual bench along the western banks of the Han River near Tan-Zih. He was a scooter driver who, for convenience, chose to ride down the bicycle path, as others often do, instead of staying on the road alongside the sidewalk. He parked the scooter behind me, exhaust fumes flying in my face, and dismounted with a plastic bag in his hand which he then dumped into a public litter basket beside the bench on the grassy mall. 

     "Why are you throwing your house refuse out here?" I asked in Mandarin. "This is a public receptacle," I went on in a slightly angry tone. I had had enough of sitting through the wafting stench of trash in the Taiwan sun and batting the flies that mistook my body as bait to lilt upon. The can would be overflowing with trash within the week with no pick-up for a month. 
     "It is a can for my trash," the forty-year old working man replied, engine on, still wearing his helmet, a smile on his at my incredulity. He asked how I knew Mandarin so well and if I were a teacher. I told him I wasn't in the mood for a chat and he should save his household trash  for the truck making its daily rounds. Residents of Taichung hear Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" blaring through speakers and know the garbage truck is coming up the street.  It is time for us to answer the call and beat it to the roadside for pick-up.
     I though he had taken offense to my words; my muscles tightened preparing for an attack as I would if I was so bold to complain to a stranger on the streets of Brooklyn. He turned, walked back to his scooter and I though he was getting his weapon. It was not to happen. Instead, he turned off the scooter engine, removed his helmet, and returned to the scene of the filthy crime. He removed his bag, emptied the content of soda cans onto the ground, and commenced to crushing the aluminum containers. 
      His moment of destiny, his epiphanic experience of sudden intuitive understanding had arrived. He spoke. "Do you like Taiwan?"
     "I love Taichung," I said. "I think this is a beautiful place."
     "So do I," he said as he placed the crushed cans together and fished out another bag from the litter can. He realized that we both loved living in Taiwan; his absentminded pollution would be the end to all we loved. He squatted categorized each recyclable on the ground and we chatted. 
     It made me feel ashamed that I had not thought of recycling the trash can myself! It would have solved my problem and benefited others who chose to enjoy the scenery from the riverside bench. I will buy a broom for my next hiatus. 
     Our conversation, our reward for being caring humans who could be reasoned with, brought us into each other's lives. We asked about each other's doings and I reminded him to sanitize his hands the first chance he got.  
     To the jaded ex-pats and greedy hordes who have grown like mold to exploit the pristine landscape of Taiwan, you too will have a chance one day to change the road you are on. Meanwhile, return Taiwan to itself, its characteristic care for nature and hospitality to strangers, to remember what Taiwan is all about.
     Like the town folk and farmers  on the island, so nice to invaders who they had no idea would slaughter them, steal their land, and deaden their sensibilities. The nature of the Taiwanese people, close to the primal source, has a chance to grow back, warmed by sun and nourished by the tropical rain, to give birth to a better Taiwan from the shell of the same old same old. Can you change your minds, too?