This morning, the GF and I went to 228 Park to join the Black Lives Matter protest there. It was a curious affair. Every foreigner in Taiwan (excluding migrant workers) seemed to be there – the crowd was about 90% non-Taiwanese, and I suspect many of those who appeared Taiwanese were Americans of Taiwanese origin. At first there was nothing to be seen or heard, then we spotted a man – a white guy with dreads – beating on a drum. He seemed to be the sort of fellow who would be at a protest so we went in that direction and on turning a corner spotted a few hundred people clustered around the entrance to the museum.
There were many placards, most of them in English, a few in English and Chinese. It was very hot and humid, which dampened enthusiasm somewhat, but it was clear that this was not a protest but a way for Americans, far away, to stand for something. It was nothing to do with Taiwan, even though there was a speaker from an indigenous rights group; it was framed in terms of Black Lives Matter in the US and while there was some mention of other local issues in Taiwan (such as the treatment of migrant workers or of African students), they were, again, framed through the lense of the American situation. Once I realised what the protest was, it was easier to accept it. Aside from the indigenous woman who spoke there were a few speakers; a woman read out a really dire poem about umbrellas, and a young man performed a rap which was not good but rather sweet. All the speakers (not the performers) were translated into the other language – only the indigenous woman spoke in Mandarin. There were fewer masks in a crowded space than I have seen in months, though it was so hot I thought my sin would stick to the mask.
Two of the signs I found quite curious, and luckily managed to get a good photo. I think they are quite common ones in these protests but they struck me as they encapsulate something the GF and I have discussed, about the feeling of being harangued today’s movements give, and the almost ritual component of demanding that one educate and improve oneself, and on the other side, a ritual cringe and acceptance. It is something I find rather distasteful and not particularly likely to yield positive results, but perhaps this is another way in which the winds have blown past me.
I am a bit worried about the posturing nature of protest these days. My worry is that this nature is a large part of why change does not happen. In the UK – I am delighted that the statue of Colston the slave trader was removed and flung unceremoniously into a canal; there is real power to that gesture. But a movement around removing statues or taking episodes of Fawlty Towers offline, which is all-or-nothing doesn’t win over those one needs to have on one’s side, seems to me to risk celebrating small wins and forgetting the bigger ones. In the UK – Grenfell Tower and the Windrush scandal are far more profound examples of how this country treats minorities, and the way Roma and Travellers are treated is an ongoing disgrace. But I worry that those systemic and hard-to-pin-down concerns will be eclipsed. Also, I have the example of the Women’s Marches with their pussy hats in front of me. There was a wave of marches across the US a few years ago, and they were based on symbols, but those symbols sufficed and nothing was achieved. When Brett Kavanagh was nominated to join the Supreme Court, those millions did not take to the street and he is on the Supreme Court now, while Trump is still president and the foundations of American institutions are eaten away.
But I am not one for joining in on a protest, so maybe this is my bah humbug side. When the Berlin Wall fell, I would have been standing ten metres away shaking my head, perhaps.