Taiwanese

Chinese and Taiwanese. Some say we are one in the same. Some say we are separated by a strait. Some say we have been separated since the Qing Dynasty. Some say we only consist of 1949 rebels from China. First the Dutch, then the Portuguese, then the Japanese, then the Chinese. We have never belonged to ourselves, why should we now? Aren’t we just the race of the most recent trespassers? Don’t we all look the same? Don’t we speak the same language? Then clearly we must be the same race. Except Taiwanese don’t forget. They don’t forget White Terror, living under martial law, the 2/28 massacre, Chiang Kai-shek, the KMT snipers. They don’t forget being forbidden to speak Taiwanese in school and the difficulty of never remembering it. They don’t forget the grandma selling cigarettes on the side of the road because there were no legal, decent-paying jobs left for natives, yet was bullied by police for working, for trying to survive. They don’t forget being jailed for being economically successful or for having an education or having books burned or having children, women, and men disappear as Chiang Kai-shek and Madame Chiang relaxed in their daily baths in milk and mysteriously misplaced foreign direct investment and tax dollars into offshore Swiss bank accounts. They don’t forget the eldest of nine who studied eight hours a day in order to earn a full scholarship to the best college in the nation and then worked his way up the corporate ladder as his bank’s Chief Financial Officer was jailed. They don’t forget hearing gunshots and soldiers ransack the house while hiding beneath the kitchen sink cabinet, or watching their uncles get shot.

Fine, we’re the same. Just one question: Would you aim 1500 missiles at yourself?