In 1703, a fair-skinned, golden-haired young man arrived in London, and announced himself to be a native of the island of Formosa, or modern-day Taiwan. Adopting the name of George Psalmanazar (c. 1680-1763), the man was the author of an elaborate hoax that beguiled the British public and baffled Royal Society experts. For three years, Psalmanazar was accepted as a Formosan aristocrat, an eater of twigs and raw meat from the capital city of Xternetsa, his fair skin accounted for by the fact that Formosan aristocrats lived in subterranean caves, their complexion protected from the glare of sunlight. Psalmanazar’s popular but false ethnographic study, An Historical and Geographical Description of Formosa, An Island Subject to the Emperor of Japan (1704), described in great and fantastical detail Formosan customs such as weddings, funerals and religious rites, supplemented with maps and engravings.
On the one hand, Psalmanazar depicted the fictional Formosans as a skilful and industrious people, capable of art such as porcelain ware. On the other hand, he catered to popular conceptions of the savage Other, and described cannibalistic rituals and sacrifices of infants to an ox-shaped god. One of the most remarkable facets of Description of Formosa was the imaginary Formosan language, invented by Psalmanazar, using an elaborate system of alphabets that showcased his linguistic ingenuity (in spite of the fact that he had no knowledge of any Asian languages). Psalamanazar was eventually forced to reveal his deception in 1706. Biographical details about his life remain scarce, though scholars speculate that he was originally from France, and had previously posed as a native of Japan.
Books have been written about Psalmanazar’s exploits, and the relation between his false representation (of himself and of Formosa) and the complex mapping of Asia in the European imagination. Psalmanazar’s story demonstrates that there is a great deal of mythmaking when it comes to imagining other cultures and other languages; we are no less guilty of this in the age of globalization. I would like to jump from eighteenth-century Formosa to present-day Taiwan, which now engages – ironically – in its own practice of mythmaking.
I worked at a Taiwanese university for 1.5 years (as Assistant Professor in English), motivated mostly by the bleak state of the academic job market. Though ethnically Chinese, I have spent my life in English-speaking countries, and completed my postgraduate studies in English literature at prestigious Russell Group institutions in England (the UK equivalent of Ivy League). A few months after my PhD was submitted, an opportunity arose in Taiwan; I took it, hesitantly at first, but later more enthusiastically, spurred on by articles exploring the benefits of working and teaching in Asia. However, my experience was far from ideal.
At a time when the academic job market in the Anglo-American world motivates new graduates to seek employment outside their usual geographic or cultural boundary, I feel it is important to present a more sobering view of working in Asia. There are always potential difficulties with working in a different culture, but what concern me here are the difficulties that result from racial politics. Upon my initial arrival in Taiwan, I was fully prepared to try my best at Chinese, while lecturing and writing mainly in English. However, during my first week at work, I was told that I would have to teach fully in Chinese, because, in short, I am ethnically Asian and therefore cannot be trusted to teach accurate English to the students (though English is my primary language, and I have always lived in English-speaking countries, not to mention the three degrees in English literature). The mixed cultural background that I had supposed to be an asset was instead a major obstacle in my professional development in Taiwan.
I failed to persuade my superiors that my reading knowledge of Chinese did not extend far beyond restaurant menus; that I am not able to write academic prose in Chinese; or that an Asian person does not automatically speak English with an Asian accent. Those statements rang hollow because they destabilized the existing ideology in Taiwan, which insists that native proficiency in English is possible only for those of Anglo-American or European descent – or to put it more crudely, those who are white-skinned. (In Taiwan, I found there is rarely acknowledgement of the fact that English is but one of the twenty-four official languages spoken in Europe, and that most people of European descent do not consider English their mother tongue).
With a mixture of shock and indignation, I lectured using Google Translate projected onto a big screen; when I accidentally used English words for which I could not find the Chinese equivalent, I would be scolded by the departmental administrator (who had asked students to report such instances of slippage to him; and the administrative staff at the university held tremendous power). I was also derided for my inability to understand much of the complex Chinese used in meetings; at one point I was publicly labelled ‘an embarrassment to the department’, and that was considered polite. I got along well with my European colleagues, and had no problems with them, though it made me uncomfortable to learn that they were given the opportunity to teach fully in English, and were not expected to complete any administrative tasks. The picture is complicated by the fact that some Taiwanese colleagues lectured partially in English, but they were educated at the National Taiwan University, the top institution in the country, and were therefore judged differently; my degrees from top UK universities did not seem to make a difference.
To equate skin color with linguistic or literary capability is to assert racist ideology. It also presents an instance of mythmaking. As Psalmanazar’s forgery proved, the boundary between fiction and truth is easily blurred at times. If Psalmanazar’s account appears shot through with eighteenth-century misconceptions about the East, then the Taiwanese construction of the ideal English speaker is equally laden with prejudice and intolerance, upholding spurious claims about authenticity.
For 1.5 years, I spoke broken Chinese from Monday to Friday, faced verbal abuse from administrative staff, and experienced Taiwan as a place that fluctuated wildly between civility and cruelty – Psalmanazar was ironically accurate in his suggestion of that binarism. My Chinese improved, though my English deteriorated and my knowledge of English language and literature was continually questioned. Eventually, I resigned. The racial issue was not the only reason for my resignation – there were plenty of other problems such as sexual politics, lack of resources, pedagogical difficulties, unfair evaluation processes etc., but I won’t go into those. It was not easy giving up a tenure-track position with good benefits, but in the end, I could not shake the sense that all the years I had spent studying English literature had boiled down to nothing – or rather, nothing but my skin color.
While this is a personal experience, it is by no means confined to the personal context. According to Annie Chen, founder of Teachers Against Discrimination in Taiwan (TADIT), non-Caucasians frequently face racial discrimination in their job hunts, particularly in the education sector. The discussion board hosted by TADIT is filled with stories of the victimization endured by non-Caucasians, who are usually offered lower pay than their Caucasian co-workers (regardless of education or experience), or turned down for jobs due to the assumption that their language ability would be below standard. The ESL (or EFL) education market in Asia is notorious for hiring based on skin color (frequently, though not always) without checking credentials; this has resulted in many under-qualified instructors gaining steady work in the education sector (usually in tutorial schools). While Taiwanese hospitality is a commonly observed fact, it is sometimes not extended to those who do not fit into crudely formed preconceptions about race and identity. Discrimination is, of course, a complex issue, extending far beyond Taiwan, and non-Caucasians are not the only ones who face potential victimization. The equation of skin color with language proficiency is also implicated in the complex politics of Asian identity and self-representation. Moreover, discrimination raises broader questions about the limits of cross-cultural interaction, and the fight for equality is an on-going struggle in the progress towards global inhabitation.
As the job market becomes international, nomadic scholars might encounter such racial issues more and more. The fictions perpetuated by racial prejudice obfuscate certain truths – that language skills have nothing to do with skin color or ethnicity; that there are cosmopolitan citizens of the world who speak multiple languages and know multiple cultures; that racial discrimination is a corrosive form of social violence that disseminate falsehoods as outrageous as those of Psalmanazar’s Formosa. Any sense of cohesion we might hope to build as a world relies, in part, on the recognition of these truths.
NB: A revised version of this post will be submitted to the Chronicle of Higher Education