My name is MinTze Wu, and I am from Taiwan.
Let me say it three more times. Taiwan, Taiwan, 台灣.
Her name used to cause a shudder, better uttered in a hushed voice. A mere decades ago, saying it could land you in a prison. But let’s not dive into complex modern history, rather just my own story. Thirty-two years ago, when I first came to the U.S., I still had to point to my fellow high school students the tiny dot, shrunk to almost non-existence on the map; an island on the other side of the Pacific ocean, too close to China. Her name is Taiwan, or as it’s known affectionately, Formosa, meaning “a beautiful island” in Portuguese.
Let me paint a picture for you, just right outside the house where I grew up. Scooters start roaming the streets at dawn, and at 7 o’clock everything wakes up. Students in various uniforms indicating different schools are the main scene, for there are eight schools within a half-mile radius. That’s two elementary schools, two junior high schools, two high schools, one vocational school and one university.
You can practically grow up and have a whole life within four blocks, with everything you’d ever need: hair salon, bakeries, lots of restaurants and eateries, grocery and liquor stores, stationary and eyeglasses shops, tea houses and countless cafes, a swimming pool and a baseball stadium, playgrounds at every corner, three 7-Elevens.
But of course, that is not everything and not all I needed. In 1991, I left Taiwan with a violin and a suitcase, and no idea how big the world was beyond those four blocks. No idea that I would be on the other side of the ocean, watching as my homeland grew its democracy, grew its first elected president in 1996 and, 30 years later, grew its first female president in 2016, and in 2019 grew to be the first Asian country to legalize same-sex marriage.
The issue between Taiwan and China is a three-quarter-century old mess. The 1996 election took place amidst the missile threat, and other threats of varying degree and urgency continues throughout Taiwan’s everyday life. It has not changed for 75 years. What changed was that the world has learned a whole lot more about Taiwan, about its dominating semiconductor production, its incredible roster of leading artists and designers, its unwavering commitment to democracy, freedom and human rights, its awkward substitution name “Chinese Taipei” during Olympic Games, its yummy bubble teas, its friendliness and its almost naive people. As my husband, Jem, loves to say, “Taiwan is the midwest of the far east.”
Beginning in 2012, our family got to live in Taiwan for five wonderful years. With our girls, who were then 2.5 years and 6 months old, we got to experience and navigate my homeland all over again. Taiwan feels at the same time small and mighty, with a certain fearlessness.
It’s not easy. Everyday could feel like an existential crisis, that you can never let your guard down because your nextdoor neighbor, China, has his fist up at all times. But it also feels like the safest place on earth to live, where you can walk on the street alone at any time of the day or night, you can send the kids on bus by themselves, strict gun-control, the best universal health care, and you can expect to walk into someone’s house and be fed. You do feel the sense of freedom as a human being ready to thrive and blossom on that soil.
And I think that is why I can say that Taiwan is both fragile and strong, like a mother, as we 24 million Taiwanese people refer to our country: our mama Taiwan.
These lyrics come from an iconic folk musician, a Hakka singer-songwriter and social activist Lin Sheng-Xiang. This song, “Planting Trees,” is from the soil of Taiwan, a tribute to her spirit.
Planting Trees
Plant them for those who have left the village
Plant them for roads that are too wide
Plant them for feeling you can’t go home again
Plant them for those who have stayed behind
Plant them for childhoods full of grief
Plant them for feeling that you can’t leave
Plant them so the bugs can escape with their lives
Plant them so the birds can rest after they fly
Plant them so the sun can grow dancing shadows
Plant them so the river can take the shade
Plant them so the rain can rest its feet
Plant them so that we’ll hear mountain songs in the southern breeze
MinTze Wu is a mother, a violinist of many passions and a performing artist of uninhabited possibilities. She founded Sounds of Lyons and BenFeng Music Productions and is now the executive and artistic director for VOICES. Tune in for VOICES Radio Hour, a collaboration with Circa 71 Production, on KDNK this Friday, July 14, at 6pm. Visit www.voicesrfv.org to listen to archives.