Sun, Oct 16, 2022 page8

• Taiwan now a land without smiles

  • By Sven Kesselberg
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  In the spring of 2019, a large part of the world had an awakening. Long-held illusions about the rise of communist China started to crumble when peaceful protests in Hong Kong against an amendment of its extradition law were violently suppressed by then-Hong Kong chief executive Carrie Lam’s (林鄭月娥) puppet government.

  Images and videos showing the brutality of its police force spread around the globe. For a brief moment, the world’s attention shifted toward East Asia: Chinese President Xi Jinping’s (習近平) China had shown its true colors, with millions of witnesses capturing every moment. Gone were the days when the militia could just sack and destroy film rolls documenting the government’s most brutal crimes. Unfortunately, Hong Kong was eventually lost, and any semblance of freedom of speech and expression was gradually banned.

  During the same period, another place not too far away from Hong Kong started to attract an unusual amount of attention: Taiwan, a democratic country that still goes by the official name of the Republic of China, a reminder of its politically turbulent past that has not seen complete closure.

  Since its democratization in the 1990s, Taiwan started to emancipate itself from the concept of being inherently “Chinese,” but it still acts as the main antagonist in Beijing’s anachronistic worldview.

  Taiwan, of course, stayed Taiwan. Images of flag-waving ultranationalists in smoggy Chinese cities contrasted with those of smiling and lightly clad Taiwanese dancing during its Christopher Street Day gay Pride celebrations and local festivals.

  Gay marriage had just become legal under President Tsai Ing-wen (蔡英文), who was up for re-election the following year. At the time, barely anyone hedged doubts that her rival, the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) candidate, former Kaohsiung mayor Han Kuo-yu (韓國瑜), could potentially threaten her second term. Tsai, a reserved former academic and outspoken cat lover, only had to wait and smile.

  Around the world, countries introduced draconian measures to stop the spread of COVID-19. Major cities were sent into lockdown, freedom of movement was restricted and schools, workplaces, stores and venues were closed.

  However, Taiwan stood out. Having observed the situation in China early on, it remained one of the only places where people could continue with their daily lives.

  This came at a cost: In March 2020, Taiwan banned international travel and subsequently enforced rigorous quarantine measures. The face of one man in particular was broadcast around the clock on television: then-minister of health and welfare Chen Shih-chung (陳時中).

  The symbolic role of surgical masks during the early months of the pandemic cannot be overstated. After bulk buyers from China had bought most of the world’s stock to trade them locally, they became a scarcity, fueled by the WHO’s official guidelines on how to combat COVID-19. Taiwan was still able to produce them in large quantities, with colorful designs becoming especially popular. This matched Taiwan’s image as a peaceful, diverse and democratic country.

  Last year rolled around. Most of the world still had not recovered from either the spread of the virus, nor from the political measures initiated to combat it. Then in late April last year, it finally entered Taiwan.

  Although China-style lockdowns were not imposed, entry restrictions that had already been in place for more than a year showed no signs of abating. The Central Epidemic Command Center (CECC) imposed a system of QR codes, which became mandatory to scan when entering any public place, to trace people’s movements. Anyone suspected of having had contact with an infected person was sent to a quarantine facility or hospital.

  Public workers in hazmat suits began to spray chemical agents to “disinfect” places and structures of an almost entirely airborne virus.

  Similar to other parts of the world, large-scale vaccination campaigns were rolled out — despite efforts by China to isolate Taiwan’s access — and a huge percentage of the population got shots within a few weeks.

  Although no incentives were offered to encourage people to get vaccinated, Taiwanese were genuinely frightened of the virus, especially during the spread of the particularly deadly Delta variant of SARS-CoV-2.

  At that time, wearing surgical masks was not merely “recommended,” but enforced anywhere outside of private homes. Colors had long since disappeared, with plain white masks prevailing over any kind of design displaying creativity or fun.

  In effect, the only time people could see one another’s faces was at home, often with a television screen somewhere in the background showing Chen, who had become the most visible person in Taiwan, as he announced the daily infection numbers.

  Slowly, the rest of the world started to accept reality and realize that there was no alternative to coexisting with COVID-19. Vaccination campaigns had proven successful, and death rates in industrialized nations were brought down to a fraction of what they were during peak times. The comparatively mild Omicron variant became dominant. As a result, restrictions of movement, entry bans, mask mandates and measures to ensure social distancing were gradually dropped across the globe.

  Jump to today. The world is concerned about Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, and many countries are facing a harsh winter due to scarcity of gas, imports of which were discontinued in the wake of sanctions on Russia.

  Chen has left office to focus on his mayoral campaign in Taipei. The entry ban for tourists has finally been lifted, and quarantine has been replaced with seven days of “self-initiated epidemic prevention.”

  However, the mask mandate has persisted. Families still dabble in the water on public beaches wearing masks. Patrons in restaurants hastily reapply their masks after finishing their food. Parents scold their children for removing their masks when they cry in public.

  What all of this is doing to people’s minds, especially those of young children and adolescents, remains largely unexplored in a society that has never fully grasped the concept of mental health.

  Warning signs were habitually brushed aside, with the culprit almost always being identified as COVID-19, never the government’s measures. According to official statistics, 7,241 Taiwanese committed suicide in 2020 and last year, compared with a little above 11,000 reported deaths from COVID-19, as of Sept. 30.

  The mask mandate in Taiwan is not the “minor inconvenience” it is still considered. It is a restriction on a basic freedom — without scientific or social necessity — that is potentially ruining people’s lives and endangering the mental development of an entire generation. All this in a country with one of the lowest birthrates in the world.

  The sad dilemma Taiwan cannot find its way out of is that both major political camps have somehow convinced themselves that there is no need to change anything, at the expense of more than 23 million people who happen to live here.

  Mandatory outdoor masking in Taiwan must come to an end. Its implications, dangers and sheer senselessness must no longer be ignored, neither by the public, nor by the political sphere outside of the CECC.

  Taiwan’s smiles must be allowed to come back.

  Sven Kesselberg is a Swiss national living and working in Taiwan.
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