Monthly Archives: August 2019

Society & Culture

The Problem With Asian Christians

It might surprise you to learn that I never set out to be controversial, disparaging, or offensive in my blog. I run through each article trying to insure no one would be insulted. It is genuinely perturbing when my writing causes some readers to become indignant. This article is different. I know some will find it insulting, but I still want to post it. It’s on a subject that, because of my jobs, has had an outsized affect on my expat life. Christians. Specifically Asians—living in Asia—who have personally felt the need to convert to Christianity.

Just for context, I’m definitely not an atheist. I can be kind of agnostic sometimes, but generally believe in something greater than myself. Personally my religious beliefs and  observances tend to be a poorly thought out hodgepodge of Buddhism, Christianity, and religious Taoism. I have no problem with religion. I think it offers hope, peace, and psychological support for many. That’s beautiful. Nor do I have a specific issue with Christianity. I’m a big admirer of Jesus, but some of his fans—not so much.

I began my expat journey almost twenty-five years ago teaching in a cram school on Korea’s coast. The school’s owner, my direct boss, Mr. Lee, was an ardent catholic. As I was newly arrived from Canada, that seemed natural to me, and I didn’t think much about it.

As I got to know him, I came to recognize some of his shortcomings as a boss. The biggest problem for us employees was that he was bereft of a moral center. He was being medicated for a psychological condition. I’m not sure if being conscienceless was a symptom of his condition. He did lots of amoral things. A small example was offering a job to a person in Canada, who then booked and bought a ticket to Korea, to be reimbursed later. Before he arrived, Mr. Lee found another candidate he preferred. The poor Canadian found himself out the price of the ticket, jobless, and broke in a foreign country. The only thing that saved him was that the other teachers stood up to Mr. Lee and insisted he honor his word.

Stuff like that happened continually. I was the one who mostly had to deal with Mr. Lee, since I was the senior teacher. He confessed once that he couldn’t distinguish right from wrong, and had difficulty putting himself in other’s shoes. He further stated that was why he liked Catholicism. I didn’t entirely understand his meaning, but filed the information away.

A couple years later I found myself in Taipei teaching English at a Christian organization when Mr. Lee’s words came slamming back. My boss there was a carbon copy of Mr. Lee. He was a vocal Christian much given to pontificating on Christianity and our Christian mission, but when you scratched the surface he was morally defective. This time I wasn’t the senior teacher, but he did keep me astride of some of his meetings with our boss. The boss clearly struggled to distinguish good from bad. I dealt with a lot of Taiwanese Christians at that job, most of them were wonderful people, but a seemingly higher than normal percentage lacked a moral center.

Also, hard-right ultraconservative evangelical groups have found fertile soil for recruitment in Taiwan [see: Gloria Hu]. These groups, such as International House of Prayer (IHOP) and the Bread of Life Christian Church, are hate groups, or at least share many of their characteristics. Of course, the rise of these groups is not solely a Taiwanese phenomena, but the speed of their rise here reinforces my biases, and hints at moral turpitude among a significant portion of Taiwan’s Christian community.

Which brings me to my hypothesis: If you’re born into a religion it means nothing; but, if you choose one, it says something about your personality. If you’re born into a Christian family, and you continue to follow that religion, it doesn’t provide insight into your personality. You’re just following your family tradition. So, if you’re Asian and you’re born into a Christian family, none of this applies to you. However, a noticeable portion of Asian Christians arrive in that religion because they recognize a personal flaw and they need Christianity’s clearly stated Manichean distinctions between good and evil—Thou shalt not….

Buddhism and Taoism do not provide such a clear list of does and don’ts. Both have a moral code that followers are encouraged to adhere to, but it’s presentation is fuzzy. A lot of it is about finding the true nature of something, someone, or yourself and then allowing that something, someone, or yourself to follow its true nature. Or, seeking to accept the nature of your existence. [Please forgive my extreme, and somewhat inaccurate oversimplification, I’m trying to make a point about Christians, not discuss Eastern religion].

If you’re born unable to distinguish good from evil, but aspire to goodness, Buddhism and Taoism can be indecipherable for the novice [high-context religions]. Whereas, at the very front of the bible there’s The Ten Commandments [low-context religion]. It is easy to see the appeal of Christianity for people lacking a moral compass. Christianity doesn’t change these people. Unfortunately, inability to empathize isn’t a religious failing, it’s a character failing.

These are my personal experiences,  you may have had a completely different experience of Christians in Asia. I hope you have. With my jobs I’ve rubbed elbows with an unusual number of Asian Christians. It hasn’t been an entirely positive experience, and has left me a little wary of Christians here.

Culture Shock

The Benefits of Being Misunderstood

One of the first benefits to the expat lifestyle I discerned was being misunderstood. It doesn’t sound like an advantage, but it has its moments.

I wasn’t here too long before I discovered how much more appealing I am to the opposite sex when they don’t quite understand me. It worked a charm on my social life. I was used to Canadian women examining every word I said fifteen different ways, if a Foucaultian deconstruction didn’t yield results, then it was time for a psycholinguistic or cognitive-linguistic approach. I’m not that deep, and often didn’t fair well in these analyses.

Taiwanese women may have wanted to subject me to that level of interpretation, but they lacked the cultural and linguistic skills. I found it refreshing. My first Taiwanese girlfriend didn’t speak much English, so we relied on my Chinese. Anything I said was pretty basic, and didn’t support much scrutiny. Other women I dated had better English, but not good enough to pretend to find hidden meaning in every word. If my words or actions could be interpreted a couple ways, I got the benefit of the doubt [the opposite to Canada]. Dating is easier when you’re not understood.

It’s good expats weren’t widely understood, because the expat community 20-25 years ago was overwhelmingly male. If you’ve ever been in very isolated male-dominated working and living environments—rig-worker, lumber camp, the navy, etc.—you know that it tends to be unhealthily male—straight-forward, rude, and coarse. Taiwan’s expat community was no exception.

At that time, I’d only been here a year or two, and was hanging out with other newbies. People used English as a tool of obfuscation while working out their culture shock and assimilation issues. The struggle to learn and adapt sometimes took the form of offensive commentary on Taiwanese culture and people, frequently murmured in public, with Taiwanese around, but hidden behind English. Most these expats were decent, broadminded, and culturally sensitive people who have adapted and become productive members of Taiwan. They wouldn’t have wanted to make any Taiwanese uncomfortable, but being an expat is hard, and it isn’t always pretty. They assumed they were speaking behind a cloak of incomprehensibility.

I didn’t hang out with an abnormally rude batch of foreigners. There were many different expats from diverse backgrounds, but this dyspeptic foreigner’s disease afflicted most at some point. It’s universal. I’ve helped several Taiwanese who have moved to the West deal with culture shock and assimilation. They behave the same—classic immigrant stuff.

The other type of private conversation commonly held in English, in public, was commentary on the surrounding pulchritude. It was like taking a men’s locker room and dumping it in the middle of a Taipei street. Again people assumed they were concealed behind English. As I said, the expat community at the time was a sausagefest, so there wasn’t much self-censorship. This has changed, there are more foreign women coming and staying in Taiwan. It has had a salubrious effect on the level of discourse among foreigners. [See: Sex and the Expat Woman]. Also, a rise in general English levels, at least in Taipei, has curbed public rudeness among expats.

I must admit to still assuming an environment of incomprehension and saying things I shouldn’t. I’m not rude towards Taiwanese people, culture, or women, but I do publicly say things not intended for universal consumption. My remarks aren’t terrible, just personal, nothing you’d want broadcast to an entire coffee shop. (I have a clarion voice that cuts through classroom noise and carries to any room’s far corners. I can’t seem to control it). Usually I’m with a Taiwanese person, and they give me a look to remind me that the people around us might understand.

I’ve noticed that many long term expats have no bone in their tongue. My generation of expats, and earlier, spent years living in a verbal free-fire zone, where anything went. It is hard to put that gibbering monkey back in the can, especially as concurrently the aging process drives you to not care. Inappropriateness, thy name is aged expat.

Expat Life

Expat Friendships

I was meant to be in Macau today. Typhoon Lekima kiboshed that. My flight was canceled, and I couldn’t get there. So, here I sit brokenhearted, paid my airfare, but am stuck farting around Taipei. It makes me extremely sad, not because I’m missing out on gambling, or whoring, but because I was flying to Macau to meet a friend and chat.

I can only speak for myself, but I find the expat lifestyle difficult for maintaining friendships. I’m naturally a little introverted. I prefer one or two good friends to a bunch of acquaintances. I favor deep meaningful conversation with one over passing the time of day with many. The expat lifestyle is wonderful for developing a lot of acquaintances, less awesome for maintaining deep and meaningful friendships.

People whirl into the country, and twirl out just as quickly. As a newly arrived expat, I was surrounded by very transient people, who considered staying in Taiwan more than a couple months an accomplishment. Most lacked a clear plan for two weeks into the future. As you might expect, many would disappear virtually overnight, on to the next country or back home. They were unstable. Great for partying with. Wonderful if you wanted a “Hey Bud, how’s it hanging?” relationship. There were a lot of those people around. Nice people. Not wanting more than to scratch the interpersonal surface was natural. They were passing through, and it wasn’t worth the effort. I think my experiences are pretty typical.

As you become a longer-term expat, you develop acquaintances that are more stable. But still, expat friends leave. It is just an undeniable aspect of the lifestyle. Even among long-term residents, some quit Taiwan. They might’ve been here for 10 or more years, and then suddenly they’re saying, “Yeah, that’s it. I’m leaving.”

In a couple of decades here I have developed a couple of very deep friendships with other expats. The kind of friendship where you can talk deeply about anything. That type a relationship is pretty special among expats. Two of the best of those have left. Leaving a definite hole in my life.

Don’t get me wrong, I have a wife, and I have other companions still in Taiwan. But, some of my most special confidants have moved on. That’s why I was heading to Macau. I was going to meet one of those very good friends. The plan was simply to drink and converse the entire weekend. I’ve been known to fly halfway around the world for good conversation.