To be or not to be Taiwanese : an analysis of Taiwanese identity as reflected in public cultural performance

To Be or Not To Be Taiwanese

An Analysis of Taiwanese Identity as Reflected in Public Cultural

Performance.

Emily Phillipa Jupitus

10664688

Masters in Cultural and Social Anthropology

GSSS

Supervisor: Yolanda van Ede

2

and 3

reader: I. Stengs,

L. Douw

Dedicated to Professor Lee, a great fountain of knowledge on all things, who acted not only as my interpreter, but also as the best tour guide I have ever had.

I learnt so much from you. Thank you for everything.

The following academic piece delves into the anthropological realms of nationalism and performance, picking apart how a certain type of identity is represented through a certain type of performance, and pointing out the relevance of this knowledge to wider world debates. It is based on fieldwork conducted over the corse of three months in Taipei, the capital city of the island of Taiwan. Taiwan’s contested and variable history makes it ideal for studies regarding identity. Its island status made Taiwan an ideal spoil of war between the Chinese and the Japanese, who both made attempts to nationalise the population. Even now Taiwan’s status is, at best, ambiguous, sometimes being recognised as an individual country, other times thought of as simply another province of China.

In 1987 martial law, which had been in place for 38 years in Taiwan, was finally lifted. Since then there has been a boom in movements regarding Taiwan’s status, particularly in the realms of nationalism. An elite of cultural nationalists emerged, whose main goal was for all the people of Taiwan to identify themselves with a particular identity. The purpose of my fieldwork was to investigate and analyse the extent to which cultural nationalists had achieved this goal; finding out whether and how Taiwanese people reflected the identity which these nationalists had built and promoted throughout the 90s.

I approached this by looking at cultural performances, defined in this paper as co-ordinated public activities, in which participants exhibit aspects of their culture to themselves and to others. This decision was based on research into the anthropology of performance, particularly Turner’s work on the power of performance in society. This paper looks at four cultural performances, each very different in type and style, and analyses to what extent they reflect the identity built by Taiwanese cultural nationalists in the 90s. To aid this analysis, I isolate three main traits of the identity built by Taiwanese cultural nationalists. These were (1) cultural uniqueness, (2) distinction from China, and (3) globalisation.

In the following paper I therefore address the question, how do everyday Taiwanese people reflect the identity built by Taiwanese cultural nationalists through public cultural performance? I achieve this by bringing together my observations from the field, showing where and to what extent the aspects of the built identity crop up in a parade, an opera, a national memorial service and a festival. I conclude by using this data to draw wider conclusions about the success of cultural nationalism in Taiwan, and what this could mean for the wider global world in which we live today.

ACT I

Scene I - Prologue ... 1

Scene II - Introduction. ... 2

Scene III - Theoretical Background ... 6

Scene IV - Methodology ... 12

Scene V - Outline ... 13

ACT II

Scene I - Tzu-Ho Gong Parade ... 14

Scene II - Taiwanese Opera ... 21

Scene III - 2-28 Memorial Service ... 28

Scene IV - Taipei Lantern Festival ... 36

ACT III

Scene I - Conclusion ... 45

ACT I, SCENE I - Prologue

Thinking back, it all started at Shilin.

It was a clear, cold night in January. My senses were awash with new sensations as I squeezed my way through streets, packed to the brim and bursting with activity. I could not only hear, but also

feel the tumult around me, as hundreds of mouths conversed together in a tremendous, unintelligible

murmur. Periodically, throughout the throng, were little centres of action, as street vendors displayed and created their wares. The little structures sizzled and hissed, smoked and steamed; with colour and with scent they drew in the hungry and the curious. Drinks, snacks and treats were not only sold, but displayed; arranged and chosen for aesthetic, for beauty, in such a way as I had never seen before. The smells were such that they were almost visible, sweet, sour, sharp, stinky, smokey... an endless variety of scents cloaked the air and every step brought new ones into range.

This was Shilin Night Market, the most famous and popular of night markets in Taipei. At first I was sure this was a special occasion, a one-off or yearly event, some kind of food festival celebrating special Taiwanese street food. My informant laughed at my amazement and disbelief when she told me that night markets were a daily event in Taipei; something that although one would not go to every night, one could go to every night.

As this was in the very early stages of my fieldwork, I was still favouring the grand, unspecified concepts and key words from my proposal, such as identity, culture and performance. Fieldwork was teaching me, quite quickly, that these concepts which one learns to discuss in the classroom are demonstrably hard to objectively spot in the infinite variety of human experiences. My mind was racing, trying to connect themes of food and festivity with identity formation, with Taiwanese independence, with performance, things I had read up on and were determinedly fascinated by. It was still running along this vein as my informant and I bought a kind of Taiwanese hot-dog style snack (apparently specific to Shilin) and squeezed our way through the hubbub to find a less crowded street.

We settled, perched on an empty bike rack, down a much darker and quieter street, to eat our snacks, drink our bubble tea, and talk together the way people do. Perhaps knowing that my interest lay in the differentiation between Taiwan and China, my informant turned the discussion to politics,

and proceeded to tell me about the current situation in Taiwan as she knew it. She told me of the Blue and the Green Parties, the main parties fighting for power. The parties were mainly differentiated in their attitudes towards China and Taiwan, the Blue Party generally being pro- unification, and the Green Party pro-independence. She told me that the situation was complex, but that her and most of her student friends generally leaned towards the Green Party.

After this hiatus, we returned to the night market. Now as we wandered the streets, weaving between the food vendors, the mini-game stands, and the late night shops, I wondered how the conversation I had just had with my informant connected with the bustling, public experience I was now weaving through. Is the question of Taiwan and China one purely for the realm of politics, or does it find expression in the daily lives on the people living in Taipei and their connections to certain identities? If the state is involved in a discussion so intertwined with identity, namely unification versus independence, does nationalism play a role? If identity is a communal sense of belonging, as it would be if one were to favour nationalist arguments, should one look for it in communal occasions? And if one is looking for a Taiwanese identity, the communal occasions surely should be those which are thought to exude a sense of Taiwanese-ness.

This vague amalgamation of ideas needed solid clarification. They were brought together in a crystallising moment, but immediately drifted apart once the moment passed and I tried to pin down exactly what I meant on paper. This vague question of identity, of performance, and of everyday experience, required grounding in existing anthropological ideas, terms needed to be clear, boundaries set, or I was doomed to end up with more of a mess than a thesis.

ACT I, SCENE II - Introduction

I had long ago decided to focus my research in the rich and colourful anthropological area of performance. Cultural performances in particular are widely recognised in anthropological literature as public expressions of identity which, among other things, can be religious, ethnic or nationalistic in character. The term cultural performance is defined by Logan as “a ritualized, coordinated, public activity in which participants view their culture as encapsulated in... discrete performances which they could exhibit to visitors and to themselves" (Logan 1978, 46). The development and implications of this concept will be further elaborated in the following theoretical section, but it was the role of cultural performances as conscious performances of culture by those involved that drew

my attention. They are therefore fantastic windows through which to look in order to find observable expressions of ‘identity’, which is a rather difficult concept to objectively see otherwise, since one needs to look for it in empirical data and observable behaviours.

While we are on the subject it is important to clarify exactly what ‘it’ is. ‘Identity’ is well known in anthropology for its ineffectiveness as an analytical category, due to the immense range of meanings and areas it can encompass. This specific problem of terminology is covered in great detail by Cooper and Brubaker who point out that ‘identity’ “tends to mean too much (when understood in a strong sense), too little (when understood in a weak sense), or nothing at all (because of its sheer ambiguity)” (Brubaker & Cooper 2000, 1). I therefore decided to focus on a very specific expression of identity, that built cultural nationalists in post-authoritarian Taiwan. To fully explain my reasoning for this, I need to briefly go into Taiwan’s history in regards to its relationship with China.

Taiwan is an anomaly in the countries of the world in regards to its recognition as such. After a long history of possession, oppression and ambiguous status regarding larger powers, this (comparatively) small island is difficult to clearly define in terms of, among other things, cultural identity. Between 1895 and 1945 Taiwan belonged to Japan, and many attempts were made to colonise the Taiwanese people in an attempt to make them Japanese citizens. This process was interrupted with the surrender of Taiwan to the Republic of China (ROC). Shortly after this, the ROC government had to relocate to Taiwan after the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) took control over the mainland. Taipei became the capital of the ROC led mainly by the Chinese Nationalist Kuomintang (KMT) Party. The KMT attempted to build Taiwan into ‘true’ China, through the enforcement of martial law which allowed them to suppress certain aspects of ‘Taiwanese’ culture, in favour of ‘Chinese’ culture. Since the lifting of martial law in 1987, this control has lapsed significantly allowing for the emergence and development of a variety of institutions, movements, celebrations, and policies geared towards a more distinct and independent Taiwan.

One movement which has grown significantly since the lifting of Martial law, but which had already taken root beforehand, is the Taiwanese nationalist movement. Taiwanese nationalism, like many others, holds as one of its core principles that the culture of Taiwan is distinct and unique. This is often used in a political sphere to claim the right to be an independent, sovereign, and bounded nation. There are two main divergences of nationalism, namely; political nationalism,

which holds as its main goal the establishment of Taiwan as a sovereign independent nation, and cultural nationalism, which holds as its main goal the installation of a unified, national, ‘Taiwanese’ identity into its subjects. The two are often interconnected, and sometimes use each other as authentication of their own goals. Although both have deep facets of interest, and although political nationalism will occasionally intersect with it, my main concern throughout this thesis will be cultural nationalism and, in particular, the identity which cultural nationalists have been attempting to construct.

Constructed or invented identities are not so far-fetched as they may seem. The worldwide spread of nationalism has made this perfectly clear. Groups of people who would never meet or even be aware of each other, who had probably nothing in common, were suddenly associated with each other on the basis of cultural similarities. Although European nationalists often argued that these cultural similarities had existed far back into history, a primordialism implying that the nation was a ‘natural’ thing, nationalism in other areas of the world has proven this assumption grossly false. In the case of Taiwan, its haphazard history has made it difficult for nationalists to unite people on the basis of what they have ‘always done’ since there is little agreement in historical memory. The ‘new’ Taiwanese identity which has been built by cultural nationalists is therefore built on other principles, and is argued to be an identity for future generations, allowing them to move on from their past.

The ‘principles’ which make up the identity constructed by Taiwanese cultural nationalists are many and vary across the different nationalists who promote them. However, there are three key principles which crop up multiple times in the subject literature, to which I ascribe major importance. These are: (1) distinction from China, (2) cultural uniqueness and (3) globalisation. Many Taiwanese cultural nationalists are responding to the KMT authoritarian rule that had been further enforced through martial law. As mentioned above, during this period of time, many steps were taken to reduce the prevalence of distinctive Taiwanese traits in favour of fostering a Chinese cultural identification. An example was the banning of the use of Taiwanese vernacular language in favour of standardised Chinese. In response, there have been many cultural nationalist movements centred around the ‘preservation’ and ‘revival’ of Taiwanese languages, including the main vernacular and certain ethnic variations. Alongside this are examples of changes in school curriculums to study ‘Taiwanese’ history or geography as opposed to the previously enforced ‘Chinese’ history and geography. These pointed steps away from China and Chinese culture are one

of the ‘principles’ of the new Taiwanese identity built by Taiwanese cultural nationalists. The second of these principles that I shall be considering is a focus on the cultural uniqueness of Taiwan. This is simply the belief that Taiwan has a culture made up of practices, modes of thought, and collective understanding, that is distinctive from all others. One example of its observable execution is the introduction of new cultural festivals across Taiwan. They are cultural in theme, tending to invent and/or celebrate practices which are considered unique, to Taiwan. The final principle considered of major importance to Taiwanese identity according to cultural nationalists, is globalisation. This point is perhaps the most important in wider current debates. It has been often argued that globalisation has been and will be the end of nationalism, and so countries that experience globalisation are also experiencing a decline in nationalist identity. However, Taiwan is a very clear exception to this, with cultural nationalists emphasising that it is a global and modern country, and thus building globalisation into the very fabric of Taiwanese-ness.

There will be further development of these principles in the main body of this text; for now, since we have made a start on the ‘what’ of my research, I wish to consider the ‘who’. The previous paragraph was concerned primarily with ‘cultural nationalists’. These are often members of the cultural elite who tend to be humanist intellectuals such as writers, artists, historians and folklorists. However, the ‘nation’ includes everybody, elite and non-elite alike. If the cultural nationalists are to be recognised as successful in their attempts to create a ‘nation’ with a shared cultural, national identity, then the principles mentioned above must be recognisably taken up and practiced by those perceived as belonging to the Taiwanese nation. In short, the national identity must be expressed by everyday Taiwanese people as they live out their daily lives as Taiwanese citizens. For my research to have real application, I believe that it must concern itself with everyday life and everyday people not only intellectuals or elites working in a socio-cultural-political sphere. Finally I would briefly like to clarify my use of the term ‘everyday’ which I intend to mean more in the sense of ‘ordinary’ than something which occurs every day.

I have brought together all the above elements into a clear, concise research question, which the following work is based towards answering. I shall be addressing how everyday Taiwanese people express the identity built by Taiwanese cultural nationalists through public cultural performance. Before I can begin to answer this question in the terms of my own research and findings, I need to structure it within a theoretical framework. I shall therefore address the main themes of this question, namely nationalism and performance, before further elaborating on how they relate and

filter down to the specific concepts of cultural nationalism and cultural performance, in the context of Taiwan and the Taiwanese situation.

ACT I, SCENE III - Theoretical Background

Nationalism is a cultural phenomenon of major importance in all the social sciences, anthropology included. It is an ideology which exists globally, although it varies dramatically in form (Eriksen 2010). Although it was once restricted to the realm of politics, the 1990s heralded an explosion of interest in nationalism in many other fields, following Ernest Gellner’s influential work on the subject (Breuilly 2006). Gellner’s main insight was that nationalism is a modern concept, based on an ideal of traditionalism, without being traditional in itself. Nations are not pre-existing, despite the ideology which promotes them as such, but are created by nationalism. He also argued that nationalism is a product of modernity and not the other way around, a very radical thought at the time (Gellner 1983). His argument is supported by Eriksen, who states that nationalism needs certain aspects of modernity in order to emerge, such as the emergence of ‘abstract communities’ no longer organised by kinship, and modern systems of communication (Eriksen 2010).

As unconnected as the latter may seem to nationalism, ‘print capitalism’ as Anderson (1991) puts it, was essential to creating nations since “the members of even the smallest nation will never know most of their fellow-members, meet them, or even hear of them, yet in the minds of each lives the image of their communion” (Anderson 1991, 5). Gellner’s nationalism in theory required that all members of a certain group believed that they were all connected, that they shared a certain something justifying their belonging to a bounded conceptual ‘nation’. This ‘something’ could be many things. A shared history, belonging to a certain state, a shared ethnicity or religion, these and many others make up communities. One extremely powerful unifying factor is culture, a perceived shared system of doing, thinking and being which can also accommodate the previously mentioned unifying traits within it. Through the invention of the newspaper and modern media methods, culture could be shared widely and effectively with people one would never have known, but could now be confident were there and living in a similar fashion. Once shared, this culture becomes the basis for such ‘nations’ to acquire certain privileges. Gellner poses that nationalism movements use cultural distinctions to justify and motivate the goal of political autonomy. Eriksen agrees, writing that “in anthropology, nationalism is usually defined as an ideology which holds that cultural boundaries should correspond to political boundaries” (Gellner 1983, Eriksen 2006, 289). Nation-

states are thus states that are perceived to be bounded groups which share a culture and which have acquired the independence they deserve.

However, a nation-state is not a single entity. Gellner points out that it is, at least, divided into two core entities, the nation and the state. The relationship between these two entities are complex and often (though not always) intertwined. The state, according to Gellner, is “that institution or set of institutions specifically concerned with the enforcement of order” (Gellner 1983, 4). The nation is trickier, trying to clearly define it comes with many difficulties. Gellner pinpointed modern society’s normative idea of nation by specifying two main ways in which “two men” are recognised as belonging to the same nation: (1) “if they share the same culture” and (2) if they “recognize each other as belonging to the same nation” (Gellner 1983, 6-7). A nation is therefore highly fluid, potentially very unstable , and nearly impossible to clearly bound. The state, however, likes clearly bounded units. If it wishes to impose order, it needs clear jurisdiction and recognised power, particularly in a globalising world in which recognition must be both internal and external. States therefore take steps to officialise national belonging, which can be seen through examples such as the issuing of passports, citizenship tests, national insurance numbers etc. However, national identification is not based only in bureaucracy, something even the state recognises. One example of the state trying to strengthen people’s personal identifications with a nation, are national celebrations such as festivals, parades, holidays etc. This shows a recognition of the multifaceted system of nationalism.

A-chin Hsiau, an assistant research fellow at the institute of Taiwan History, has written a text which addresses the multifaceted nature of nationalism, claiming that studies conducted on nationalism can be divided into two main branches, political nationalism and cultural nationalism. This division directs interest towards Taiwan, since unlike most nationalism movements, Taiwan is not only a latecomer, but began its movement in the realms of political nationalism, with cultural nationalism finding foot later (Hsiau 2000). He claims that as such, most of the current studies on Taiwanese nationalism focus on the political aspects, whereas he wishes to fill the gap in academia, which should be filled with studies concerning Taiwanese cultural nationalism. Hsiau defines cultural nationalism as the attempt by humanist intellectuals to create a foundation for Taiwanese identity based primarily on the “cultural uniqueness” of the population. Although this is similar to the ideology of political nationalism, Hsiau differentiates between this and cultural nationalism in terms of their main goals. Political nationalism’s main goal in Taiwan is autonomy, whereas for

cultural nationalists, autonomy is merely one effective means of achieving their goal of “instilling a distinctive culture in those who are regarded as members of the nation” (Hsiau 2000, 15). He also differentiates on the basis of the main actors for each side, several times mentioning ‘humanist intellectuals’ in the context of cultural nationalism, and assigning politicians and state officials to the realm of political nationalism.

This clear distinction makes it easier to specify the realm of my own research, which will be concerned with cultural nationalism and cultural nationalists. As stated, with regards to Taiwan, this area is less developed in current academic studies than political nationalism, and thus my research is helping to fill a hole in our understanding of the Taiwanese situation. As mentioned above, cultural nationalists are concerned with “instilling a distinctive culture in those who are regarded as members of the nation” (Hsiau 2000, 15). Along with culture, Taiwanese cultural nationalists have also been greatly concerned with matters of identity, which they agree cannot simply be tied into behaviours which come about from the rules of the state, but is “a matter of consciousness which rests on internalizing a particular way of life” (Hsiau 2000, 15). Therefore, Taiwanese cultural nationalists are concerned with the preservation, rediscovery, and sometimes even creation of a Taiwanese national culture, followed by the instillment of this culture in the population with the greater aim that this becomes internalised into a unified national identity, which can further be recognised as ‘Taiwanese’. This ‘identity’ they are trying to construct is variable, but if one can trust the literature, one finds a few core traits which crop up repeatedly, and could thus be argued to have major standing in this new national identity. These are (1) uniqueness, a perception of their own behaviours and culture as unique in the world, (2) distinctiveness from China, a perception of themselves as Taiwanese rests semi-heavily on their ability to break free from the lingering influences of China, and (3) globalisation and internationalisation, the perception of themselves as unique and distinct enough to be major players in the global world, and thus a clearly bounded and independent nation. Of these three points, the relevance of the first two have already cropped up in the discussion of nationalism as a whole, and of Taiwan’s historical and political situation. Globalisation is, however, a relatively recent addition to my research and is also connected to Taiwanese nationalism in a way which differs from the rest of the world.

Globalisation has resulted in, what Sahlins (1993) calls, a “worldwide movement of cultural self consciousness” (Yang 2011, 317). In this globalising and nationalising world there is pressure to distinguish oneself as much as possible, and people have turned inwards to take a good look at

themselves. However, globalisation has oft been heralded as the end of nationalism. Previous studies have stated that nationalism and nationalist sentiments are undercut by globalisation, and that neither can survive once the effects of it, such as the global exchange of money, culture, and people, penetrate a nation. However, Horng-luen Wang, a sociologist at the Academia Sinica in Taipei, has written a text which states that Taiwan is a huge exception to this rule, and that globalisation has in fact aided Taiwanese nationalism, and become a major part of the ideal Taiwanese culture and identity promoted by political and cultural nationalists alike. Wang posits that globalisation is one of the major forces shaping Taiwanese identity, alongside the independence versus unification debate (Wang 2000, 94). One example he gives of how globalisation and internationalisation has shaped Taiwanese identity, is through flows of people. He shows how Taiwanese people are increasingly travelling across national boundaries, and how “transnational experiences... are of particular importance in the shaping and transforming of one’s national identity” (Wang 2000, 96). It is here we see an example of how distant political battles, abstract notions, and the arguments of elites achieve expression in real everyday experiences and thus become truly significant to the people of the nation. The example is that of the Taiwanese passport, and the greater significance it has for the Taiwanese people. It was only after international travel became a more common occurrence, that Taiwan’s ambiguous and often unrecognised status became well known. Not only that, but it rooted the experience in physical feelings and powerful emotions. Wang points out, that while “the grandiose idea of the nation may remain abstract and remote... the humiliating experience of bearing an unrecognised ROC passport has made the nation a very ‘personal’ matter for individual citizens” (Wang 2000, 98). The role of shared emotion in solidifying identity and centralising practices in culture is further confirmed in Anru Lee’s study on the MRT in Taipei, who states that “shared experience... has shaped a common practice that is now considered as a central part of the city’s culture” (Lee 2007, 34). Eriksen too writes that institutions which “have firm roots in the immediate experiences of people” can “more easily contribute to the production of shared meanings” (Eriksen 1993, 11). A final point of wisdom from Wang on the subject of globalisation, is that most of the cultural elites who take part in the construction of a Taiwanese identity, have had transnational experiences, and consider globalisation to be of major importance to Taiwanese culture and identity. I therefore encompassed globalisation into my research. If it is considered such a core trait by Taiwanese cultural nationalists, I wish to discover if it is being significantly expressed by those perceived as belonging to the Taiwanese nation.

As mentioned in the introduction to this piece, I long ago decided to ground my research in the anthropology of performance. I feel, however, that I need to clarify some things that link performance with the research themes of nationalism, identity, and globalisation. It is well known that certain kinds of performance are effective in encouraging associations with a certain identity, state, group or movement. Indeed both states, and groups resisting against states, have been known to use performance to their own ends. For example ,states often arrange official festivals or feasts in celebration of the ideal and desired nation. If people participate personally in celebration of a nation, they are more likely to affiliate a personal connection with it. However, performance can also be used to make people question and reject the state, an example being satirical material in western stand-up comedy. In relation to the specific example of Taiwan, Hsiau tells us that “Taiwanese cultural nationalism has developed not only in the fields of literature, language and history, but has also made its appearance in other domains of cultural activity, such as the fine arts” (Hsiau 2000, 2). Performance forms are also an important aspect in globalisation, particularly with regards to the emergence of ‘cultural’ and ‘festival’ tourism. Performance forms, particularly unique ones, have become a source of revenue and resources in the global world. They are also a hot topic in older discussions on authenticity, and more recent ones on ‘cultural appropriation’ and domination, where the damaging effects of tourists and increased tourism are weighed against the their benefits. Performance is therefore linked in a multitude of ways to my question of Taiwanese identity, and its role as a potential window for viewing everyday expression of national identity shall be elaborated on below.

‘The Anthropology of Performance’ by Victor Turner, in particular his chapter entitled ‘Images and Reflections’ (1987), is a good starting point for theoretical discussions concerning the meaning and function of performance. This source in particular discusses some theoretical themes I would like to address with regards to the performance aspect of this thesis, such as reflexivity, and performance as an active process. The theoretical argument stands that performance genres in the majority of cultures can not only act as ‘mirrors’ or reflections of society, its values and themes, but are also reflexive. They allow both the actors and audience to reflect on their own lives and culture, allowing them to critique or evaluate their social situation. Indeed Turner writes that cultural performances “may themselves be active agencies of change, representing the eye by which culture sees itself and the drawing board on which creative actors sketch out what they believe to be more apt or interesting “designs for living.”” (Turner 1987, 24). Turner here develops an understanding of

performance as an active process, and also to emphasises that it is a powerful agent in social change.

Like ‘identity’, ‘performance’ needs to be narrowed down and specified. in line with my argument to cultural performance. According to Logan a cultural performance is “a ritualized, coordinated, public activity in which participants view their culture as encapsulated in... discrete performances which they could exhibit to visitors and to themselves" (Logan 1978, 46). Logan examines the Palio, a cultural performance in Italy, and how it constructs identity, both by symbolically distinguishing the Sienese, an ethnic sub-group in Italy, from the larger sphere of Italian culture, and through the emphasis of belonging in a distinct type of social group within Siena. Her text highlights that a cultural performance can construct and reinforce a sense of unity against a larger power which adds further weight to the linkage between cultural nationalism and cultural performance. If cultural performances have the ability to both distinguish and unify in Italy, perhaps they have done the same in Taiwan. The Taiwanese situation is, indeed, even more extreme than the Sienese, with Taiwanese nationalists striving to create, and instil in the population, a new nationalist identity. Surely if such a change was taking route in the nation, it would find expression through cultural performances.

Cultural performances are created by people and what they choose to include, maintain, create or revive result from, fluctuations in the historical, political and social context. A cultural performance is an expression of situation in a particular historical/social/political context of time and place, a demonstration “to themselves and outside observers [of] the cultural aspects of their identity” (Logan 1978, 45). Taiwan is an island with a complex history and, even now, an ambiguous status in the global world. Throughout living memory it has been thrown about in colonial and territory battles between various powers, and is now the site of a battle for identity and autonomy. Taiwan’s release from martial law in 1987 resulted in an array of both ‘new’ and ‘revived’ traditions and festivals, which borrow many cultural materials from elsewhere to create or enhance performances. An example is the Bunun who created a dance in order to adhere to certain expectations of ‘indigenous’ people: “The newly composed dance was made by putting together bits and pieces of cheer squad dancing and the dances of other indigenous groups, such as the Amis” (Yang 2011, 316). This ties in with arguments dictating that Taiwan is creating a ‘nationalism of the future’, a new nationalism based on new practices and performances, due to its lack of a clear historical memory or shared cultural practices (Eriksen 1993).

ACT I, SCENE IV - Methodology

The majority of my fieldwork was conducted through observation. This was due to the restriction of the language barrier, which prevented too much reliance on casual conversation and interviewing techniques. I tried out several different types of observational method at the performances and festivals I attended. By far my favourite was to take photographs of the event, while only occasionally supplementing these with hand-written notes in one of my small, brown, pocket notebooks. This method allowed me to simultaneously watch and record what was occurring during the event, which is not possible when one is constantly looking down at a notebook. Having photographs is also useful for me in particular; I am a great lover of photos and find that they help trigger more detailed memories.

The second largest bank of empirical material comes from casual conversations held with a very small handful of informants. As I mentioned above, the language barrier was quite restricting. In the end I had regular access to only about three English speaking informants, with sporadic access to another two, and a handful of one off interactions with persons I refer to as ‘convenience informants’. Much of my casual conversation data comes from ‘Professor L’ a retired professor I was introduced to in my second month, who took it upon himself to assist me with my fieldwork and my general understanding of Taiwanese culture. Due to social regulations governing politeness, the information from casual conversations is mostly recorded in paraphrased form, written up after the event, rather than recorded exactly on the spot. Other conversational data comes mainly from (1) Professor C, my initial contact and gatekeeper; (2) Ching, one of Professor C’s students whom helped me in the early days of fieldwork, and (3) Robert, a student from the Czech Republic whom I met while attending a parade. I also had access to my host family, who kindly took me with them on a few family days out, communicating with me happily, though with some difficulty, via basic English and google translate apps.

The material collected from formal interviews is limited in multiple ways. Although in some ways they are more accurate, having been recorded on a dictaphone, and coming from main participators in festival and performance events, they also have the disadvantage of having been roughly translated, and being both short in length and small in number. It should be reiterated therefore, that the majority of my information comes from observational methods and casual conversation. Professor L acted as a direct interpreter during these interviews, translating the questions and

answers back and forth between myself and the interviewees. The transcriptions, and therefore all quotes used from the interviews, result from this direct translation method. By this I mean there was no extra translation after the interview itself.

A final bank of empirical material comes from media analysis. I collected and made note of many written sources such as advertisements and tourist pamphlets, as well as some data collected from the television and internet. Again I was restricted in how deep the analysis could go within these sources, however, as you will see they could often provide valuable insight into factors, for example the intended audience of the event. Once again, some help in the translation of some of these sources was provided by all my informants at different stages throughout the fieldwork.

ACT I, SCENE V - Outline

In the following chapters I shall be analytically engaging with four types of cultural performance which I experienced during three months of fieldwork in Taipei city. These were a parade, a staged performance, a memorial ceremony, and a festival. Each chapter begins with an anecdote from my fieldwork, which I hope will help you connect and engage with the data. I then address three main points from each event, using them to show how each cultural performance in isolation could be argued to contain expressions of the Taiwanese cultural nationalist built identity. After describing each event to this end, I shall round up by explaining how these cultural performances together suggest that Taiwanese cultural nationalists have been successful in instilling their identity in everyday people and, thus, could be said to have strengthened the sense of unity in the Taiwanese nation.

ACT II, SCENE I - Tzu-Ho Gong Parade

I stand in a crowded street. On all sides I am surrounded by people, all of us wrapped up against the cold, and immersed in the thick, smokey atmosphere which has enveloped the entire vicinity. As I stand there, Mazu appears before me. Borne on the shoulders of men, removed from her crimson covered palanquin, she is waiting to return home. She is clad in the golden robes and elaborate crown which is typical of the deities of Taiwan, although before today I had never seen one out of their temple seats. Her black, lacquered face is suddenly bathed in crimson light, as a man lights up a hand flare. Red light reveals a pile of firecrackers, laying between Mazu and the temple, a string of them extending out from the pile to a man crouched low, trying to light it. Men in high visibility jackets and caps move the crowd back a little, men holding up Mazu all point with their free arm, talking and suggesting and ordering, the man crouching by the firecrackers moves away, as the man with the flare comes to the rescue, putting all cigarette lighters to shame. It is jumbled and chaotic, but a kind of organised chaos which ensures that even if things do not run smoothly, they will still, with absolute certainty, run.

The firecrackers catch. For twelve seconds my senses are bombarded with hundreds of mini explosions, so loud I can literally feel them reverberating through my body. Sudden waves of heat erase all memory of the cold February night, and flashes of burning light temporarily blind me. Even when it is over, a new billowing of acrid smoke has emerged, like a demon from the little red casings, rising up and blinding us all. Through this concentrated space of lingering acridity, Mazu is borne forwards, and to strident chants from an overly loud tannoy system, and cheers from the excited and involved crowd, she is carried through the temple doors and vanishes in a cloud of incense. The night continues in a haze. One by one the last of the parade groups return, walking, dancing, circling and marching through the main gate and up to the temple doors to perform their piece one last time. Parts of it are almost circus like, with acrobats and fire eaters, with elaborate costumes and bright characters, with lions, dragons and giant generals all approaching the neon lit temple doors to dance, to fight, to march. All this is happening under the colourful explosions of far-too-close-for-comfort firework displays, and only as the last of the generals takes its last steps away from the temple doors, does the overwhelming noise begin to die down.

The crowd disperses, they have watched the performances, they have prayed to the gods, they have burnt incense and paid their regards, made offerings of money, and have crawled under Mazu’s

palanquin for luck and prosperity. As one elderly Taiwanese lady told us earlier in the day, this event was a party for the gods, it had was Tzu-Ho Gong’s turn to host. Visitors came from all the surrounding temples, but now the party’s over, the visitors go home, and the rest clean up. Everyone has a role, somewhere to be, or someone to be with. This leaves me, standing in an emptying street, dazed and alone, the only one left with nowhere to be.

* * * * *

When I first met Professor C, contact and gatekeeper for my fieldwork venture, and told her about my interest in parades she informed me of a particularly vibrant one which was held every year by Tzu-Ho Gong temple in Qiyan. It is held in celebration of the Goddess Mazu, the main deity of the temple. In fact, while I thought for some time it was simply a parade, I later found out that the word used to describe it in Taiwanese was actually closer to the word ‘pilgrimage’. Since watching the event myself, I believe one could say that it is a pilgrimage in essence, since the role of the event is both for an aspect of Mazu from Tzu-Ho Gong to visit other temples in the area, and for the other temples to then in turn, visit Tzu-Ho Gong. It therefore somewhat covers the dictionary definition, as a ‘religious journey’. However, the pilgrimage certainly has many parade elements to it. The dictionary definition of a parade is a ‘public procession, especially one celebrating a special day or event and including marching bands and floats’; Tzu-Ho Gong’s Mazu pilgrimage was certainly public, was definitely a procession, and included aspects akin to both marching bands and floats.

To fully understand this pilgrimage and the conclusions I intend to draw based on it, one needs at least a basic understanding of Mazu. Mazu is a religious deity who appears in both Taoism and Buddhism. These two religions possess a wide variety of figures and deities, and are well known for their rich collections of stories and characters. In Taiwan these two religions have become intrinsically linked with each other and with folk religions, sharing many deities, characters, stories and devotees across them. This complex combination of beliefs and practices is sometimes referred to as Taiwan’s “common” religion, as it is too difficult to clearly divide them up otherwise. Whenever I use the term in this thesis, I am therefore holding true to this meaning. Mazu, a deity who arguably appears in some form or another in many world religions, is particularly popular in Southeast China and Taiwan. As with many Chinese deities Mazu was previously a mortal human, in this case a Chinese woman born in 960 AD in Putian, and who died in 987 AD in Fujian (Chang 2012, 298). Although being associated with the sea, and often said to protect fishermen and sailors, her name means ‘Mother-Goddess’ and in Taiwan she is worshiped

by ordinary people, not just those praying for luck at sea. In the past, Mazu was used as a symbol of “approved Chinese civilisation” and as a way to “sinicize minority people in China’s frontier area” (Chang 2012, 308). However, nowadays she is a symbol of Taiwan, a deity who’s popularity on the island helps distinguish it from mainland China.

Mazu worship has been increasing in appeal since the 1990s, seemingly alongside the development of Taiwanese nationalism. It has arisen to the level of “island-wide cult” and the connections between “Taiwanese identity and belief in the island’s patron goddess Mazu have been solidified” (Shih 2012, 308). The word ‘cult’ is appropriate since, despite the figure Mazu’s connections to the ‘official’ religions Buddhism and Taoism, she is in fact associated with folk religion (Chang 2012, 307). Although the practice of folk religions is technically illegal in China, this law is not enforced with regards to Mazu, either in Taiwan nor in the Southeast provinces of mainland China. This is because PRC officials realised that “cultural and religious unification might result in political unification” and thus Mazu is accepted in the hope that the connections between her and China will make Taiwan more open to unification (Chang 2012, 307). This potential outcome is also supported by the fact that Taiwanese Mazu temples are considered more ‘efficacious’ if they have a physical connection to China or, ideally, to the Isle of Mei in the Fujian province, where Mazu is said to have passed away and been deified (Chang 2012, 300). If Mazu is so integral to Taiwanese identity, and yet both her and her ling (efficacious power) are directly linked to China and temples in Chinese territory, it could easily be inferred that Taiwanese identity can never be free from the influences of China.

Although an academic individual may come to this conclusion when examining these facts, the Taiwanese people themselves seem to be far less fatalistic. I inquired several times throughout my fieldwork whether the connections with China made Mazu worship any less ‘Taiwanese’, and was always met with the kind of laughter that suggests you have asked something silly. Indeed, the entirety of western religion is based on a man who hailed from Israel, yet precious few British or American Christians would say their identity was inescapably linked to the middle east. Fang-Long Shih gives a fantastic example of how Mazu has been taken by the people and reinvented into a symbol against the state, and against the arguing political elites (Shih 2012). With the division of political parties in Taiwan into the Green, pro-independent and Blue, pro-unification, it is easy to become too swept up in this single argument, as though which state achieves power is the be-all and end-all of identity and nationalism. In fact many feel they have no real power in these debates, and are sick of party politics which undermines the real desires of the population (Shih 2012). For many Taiwanese, Mazu has become a symbol of the nation in the Gellner sense of the entity which is not

the state. Indeed Chang ends her article with the succinct phrase “Today, Mazu represents the people, not the state” (Chang 2012, 309). She has become a way of achieving a type of power Shih calls religious power, in those whom had marginal status and no political power, i.e. the everyday Taiwanese person. In summary, Mazu’s modern connections with the Taiwanese people and her associations with Taiwanese identity make her very important for my research. This also means that the Tzu-Ho Gong parade, as a parade which celebrates Mazu, is a potential well of inferences and information which will lend further development to my discussion.

Having established that Mazu is an important figure in Taiwanese identity, I shall now explore the ways in which the Tzu-Ho Gong parade/pilgrimage itself, as an example of cultural performance, links her with identity and nationalism in Taiwan.

When asked, the directors of Tzu-Ho Gong confirmed that the “date of the parade is the birthday of Mazu”. During the interview they told me that the main purpose is to protect all the people within Mazu’s jurisdiction, and indeed repeated mentions of “protection” cropped up regularly throughout the interview. The most important moments of the whole event, I was told, are the removal and subsequent replacement of one of the Mazu statues from and to her seat in the temple, “We have to make a ritual to let the goddess return to her seat, very important.” These quotes show that Mazu is indeed of major consideration, at least to the official, formal aspects of the parade. My personal observations of the parade also suggest that the audience members were well aware of Mazu’s key role, and had her in mind through the celebrations. One such observation was that the crowd which had gathered outside the temple, mostly remained there, not following the parade until Mazu’s palanquin emerged, and only then did they join the procession. Also at the very end of the night, as Mazu’s palanquin returned to Tzu-Ho Gong temple, many people queued up, for some time, to crawl underneath it to receive Mazu’s blessing and continued protection. Whole families did this together, young children, old grandparents, guided down and up by helpful volunteers, and even babies were carried awkwardly under the low structure. Not only the directors and temple workers, but also the attendants and audience of the parade were clearly all aware of Mazu’s role. Not only this, but even the small businesses which lay along the parade route were often aware. They lay out small tables with offerings to Mazu, and also offered free snacks or drinks to the volunteers of the parade. Professor L told me that there is the general feeling that helping the workers of the pilgrimage, as messengers of Mazu, by giving them food, snacks etc, bestowed some fortune from the Goddess. So even people of the community who did not directly attend the parade were still aware of Mazu’s role and took a token part in the proceedings.

The Tzu-ho Gong event’s status as a pilgrimage also draws in another linkage of association; that which lies between pilgrimage and identity. It is “widely observed” in anthropology “that pilgrimages promote social and cultural integration among different groups that may otherwise lack a focus for common identity” (Shih 2012, 307). This sense of community integration as a result (some may even say ‘aim’) of pilgrimage is also felt across studies of eastern religious practices. C.K Yang in his text Religion in Chinese Society, when commenting on the pilgrimage celebration of a deified general in China, notes that participants are placed, as a result of the pilgrimage, “into another context of existence” in which “local inhabitants were impressed with a distinct sense of community consciousness” (Yang 1961, 89). These quotes start to sound reminiscent of the previous discussions on nationalism, as an ideology which brings people together under a shared sense of identity and uniting them as a nation. This comparison is further solidified with a quote from Turner who, when discussing pilgrimages as social processes, states that they “had similar effects in bonding together, however transiently... large numbers of men and women who would otherwise never have come into contact” (Turner 1974, 178). Nationalism, as a type of ‘imagined community’ (Anderson 1991), ideologically brings together a particular group of people who do not necessarily have any more or less in common than anyone else in the world. Pilgrimages, as described above, physically bring groups like this together, uniting them through the shared experience of the pilgrimage. Pilgrimages and, as I shall argue later, all types of cultural performance, become a physical, experiential, and empirical basis for concepts of cultural nationalism to take root. Indeed, as mentioned before with the example of the passport, abstract and remote notions are not as effective in the formation of identities as direct and personal experiences and emotions (Wang 2000).

The Tzu-Ho Gong parade is therefore both a pilgrimage, physically bringing Taiwanese people together through shared experiences, and a celebration of a contemporary symbol for Taiwanese identity. It also has religious connotations, which have also been recognised in nationalism studies as a powerful basis for identity. Religion is one of the unifying social structures which can be used as a basis of ‘imagined communities’ and therefore also as the basis for the imagination of a shared national identity. This event is therefore arguably an expression of Taiwanese national identity by the Taiwanese people. Although it could be argued that this kind of event brings people together to form a ‘religious’ rather than a ‘national’ identity, I have a few points which make me doubt this conclusion. Firstly, Mazu worship and indeed the worship of many of the deities in Taiwan, extends beyond the religious confines of the temple, into daily and family life. Even those members of Taiwanese society who do not associate with the common

religion, being either atheist or of another religious faith, are often connected to temples and their deities through their communities. Nearly everyone in Taiwan is familiar with many of the stories which lay behind the common religion, a little like how most English people are familiar with the story of Jesus Christ even if they are not Christian. In England, however, churches are not nearly always at the centre of communities, like temples are in Taiwan. I met many people during my fieldwork who were either unsure of their beliefs or did not believe outright in the existence of these deities, but whom nonetheless identified with a community that did.

In this final section of this chapter I would like to finalise and solidify connections between the Tzu-Ho Gong Mazu parade and cultural nationalism. Firstly, despite the focus so far on the Mazu event as a pilgrimage, it should be remembered that it is also a parade. The event had many of the common parade features, a public outdoor procession, ‘marching’ or mobile musicians and ‘floats’, a type of large mobile stage, often atop or part of a converted vehicle, covered in decoration to fit a certain theme. The words ‘pilgrimage’ and ‘parade’ were also used to describe the event during my interview with the directors, as well as the event being called both in equal measures when other informants spoke to me about the event. The terms were clearly not mutually exclusive. Parades, as a form of ‘spectacle’ have long been recognised as playing a role in how national identities are formed. Parades, as well as other forms of ‘spectacle’ such as festivals, feasts and carnivals, are considered to be particularly potent in both solidifying and challenging peoples national connections. Addo in her text on Anthropology and spectacle writes that “carnival enables people to viscerally feel that they belong to a distinct social and political entity”, and also records some accounts of where carnival has been “examined as a site for shifting politics of nationalisms” (Addo 2009, 226 220). Parades are also recognised to have this kind of effect, Beeman writes “Parades... occur at regular intervals and are frequently deeply meaningful for a society” (Beeman 1993, 380). The Tzu-Ho Gong Mazu parade is, I believe, deeply meaningful for Taiwanese society. It is both a ‘traditional’ event, connecting with a traditional deity figure and celebrating through traditional performance forms such as the lion and dragon dances, but also has some relevance in modern changes in society. Mazu’s newly formed status as a symbol for the people, particularly a symbol for the nation against the state (Chang 2012) gives this parade new associations and relevance for the people, solidifying connections with a newly forming nation, in the modern political world.

One thing that was pointed out to me multiple times during my many visits to temples and temple based events in Taiwan was that one can never truly separate religion and politics. This seems particularly true in Taiwan, where the politics of temples and the resulting temple social

network was so complex that even Taiwanese anthropologists studying them for their whole lives never compiled the whole story. As well as temple politics, there were many examples of regular political politics bleeding into temple and religious life. In the context of this chapter, the clearest form of politics bleeding into the parade, was the role of a government official in pulling Mazu’s palanquin out of the temple. This event I feel is leant further significance by the general losing interest of everyday Taiwanese people in ‘party politics’ as a result of the confusion that is often bread by the ‘Blue’ versus ‘Green’ Party. When everyday people feel marginalised, and powerless to affect this great political elephant in the room, they regularly turn to religion, to their temples, and often to Mazu (Shih 2012). The government official was an electoral candidate for the position of Prime Minister. There was great excitement over his role in this part of the parade, and Professor L had to pull me through a swarm of photographers to get a good look. The fact that Professor L was so determined that I should see this particular part of the parade, immediately indicated that this was an event of significance. Professor L told me, as we watched, that this was likely a method used to gain favour and support from the local people for his election. He also pointed out how sincere and serious the man looked as he stood by the palanquin. Although I initially took this for some sort of religious piety, Professor L told me that he suspected it was actually boredom. The candidate was a Doctor, who studied abroad, and Professor L suspected he did not really believe in Mazu. This suggests to me a further separation between nation and state, a separation that is recognised by state officials, and this type of involvement is an attempt for some level of reconciliation (even if it is only for votes). The people unite as a nation, but the nation feels separate to the state due to the alienating party politics, the nation retreats into religion, takes Mazu as an unofficial symbol, the state, recognising its need for the support of the nation, tries to maintain and strengthen the link between religion and the state and thus, between the nation and the state. The nation has a national identity of its own, separate from political nationalism, and separate from the state.

How does this identity relate to the one built by Taiwanese cultural nationalists? Well as mentioned in the previous paragraph, the identity the nation has claimed is separate from the state. Although they may be linked they are also divisible. The identity here studied is built on multiple factors which can be associated as ‘cultural’, shared systems of behaviour and identification. It is also linked to Taiwan and to Taiwanese cultural nationalism by its perceived ‘unique’ qualities. Tzu- Ho Gong is an example of this in a number of ways. One way, is that Mazu, though she exists in Chinese folklore as well, is only recognised as a deity in a few areas in the Southeast of the mainland, and in Taiwan. Although their worship of Mazu may not be unique, her prominence is. Mazu is the ‘patron goddess’ of Taiwan, and has been increasing in popularity since the 90s. I

personally feel this may also have geo-social reasoning, since she is the Goddess of the Sea and Taiwan is an island nation very aware that it is an island nation. Another way a degree of cultural uniqueness was expressed by this event, unlike many other public events in Taiwan, the announcements, prayers and general language of the parade was in Taiwanese, the local vernacular and not Chinese Mandarin. This shows that the event was presumed not to have much of a foreign audience, that it was an event for Taiwanese people.

The links we have examined here are complex, and lie betwixt and between Mazu, Taiwan, spectacle, identity, nationalism, culture, religion and many other themes, which all drift apart and together in a complex dance which is hard for one anthropologist to ever effectively pin down. However, I hope I have demonstrated with this chapter that the Tzu-Ho Gong Mazu parade is an example of a cultural performance, perceived as efficiently unique, and which thus embodies and expresses an aspect of the identity built by Taiwanese cultural nationalists, showing at least some diffusion of this concept in everyday Taiwanese life.

ACT II, SCENE II - Taiwanese Opera

Seven o’clock on a Tuesday evening. The faint orange glow of fading street lamps light the familiar route to Qiyan temple which had, only the day before, been awash with colour, noise and celebration as the Goddess Mazu celebrated her birthday. Now the route is quiet, dark and empty, with only a few remnants from the celebrations; the sodden red skins of firecrackers trodden into the pavement, the odd golden glittery tassel fallen from a costume and, of course, the brown spit stains from betel-nut chewers.

I quicken my pace; the cold is pressing in and I fear I will be late. I have been told of a ceremony at Qiyan temple to select next year’s “incense leader”; the person who will have power and financial responsibility over next year’s celebrations. I am not particularly excited; compared to the colour and excitement of the last couple of days, a selection ceremony sounds rather muted and dull. I instantly reproach myself, an anthropologist should find interest in all kinds of rituals and ceremonies not just the elaborate and exciting ones. I spy the familiar neon glow up ahead, illuminating the temple’s elaborately carved entrance. As I approach, however, my attention is instantly stolen away.

In the road that runs between the temple’s main gates and main doors stands a stage. The curtain, a deep blue, is lowered, and the air buzzes with the anticipation which always accompanies a lowered curtain. The stage itself is brightly decorated with red pillars, green and gold Chinese dragon cut outs, a banner at the top baring the name of the troupe in hand painted in Chinese characters, and a printed promotional banner at the bottom, baring printed information about the troupe and an official looking photo of the main member in costume. Despite the lowered curtain there is a few feet of stage visible, on which some large amps are quietly playing some chiming music, loud enough to attract attention, quiet enough to allow chatter. Under a dark green tarpaulin, sheltering from the drizzle, an audience of older Taiwanese people mill around some arranged seating, talking, mingling, shifting and chatting.

I am drawn further forward, further in to this event, by the excitement, by the noise, by the inarguable fact that there is going to be a performance soon, and by the notion that it is clearly my duty, as an aspiring anthropologist on her first experience of fieldwork, to make the most of this spontaneous opportunity. I am well rewarded for this notion as the music, before a low murmur, turns up to near deafening volume and the awaited performance begins.

* * * * *

The performance I so eagerly awaited turned out to be a wonderful example of Taiwanese Opera, a fantastic display including elements of drama, dance, singing, music, technology and rhetoric. The costumes were extremely elaborate; brightly coloured, stitched with sequins, embroidered with gold and silver, to the point where the characters positively shone on stage. The movements were deliberate and emphasised; grand motions, strong stances, lengthy choreographed fight scenes, all of which contributed to a visually intriguing display. Aurally there was also a lot going on. Onstage amps were hooked onto instruments which were played live in the wings of the stage. The music, which was played during climactic fight scenes, emotional confessions, and plot reveals, was done so at an almost uncomfortably loud volume, sometimes making my very insides vibrate. The storyline behind this performance was difficult to infer from observation alone. Some things were fathomable (a fight scene was very self-explanatory) but it was incredibly difficult to gather the details of who people were and why they were sad, angry or happy, since this required an understanding of Taiwanese, the language of the Opera. However, this restriction did not deter my

analysis of the event as a whole, and I made a few key observations which I shall to discuss in further detail below.

My involvement in this process was as an audience member, although clearly not as an ordinary one. My Czech companion/interpreter and I were not only the youngest, but also the only non-Taiwanese present at the event, which drew a certain level of attention our way. Our status as foreigners brought both advantages and disadvantages, for although we lacked the deep level of cultural understanding required to truly interpret the event, others were not only willing, but eager to volunteer information that they may not have thought necessary had we appeared as locals. This is a common paradox in anthropology, recognised by Clifford Geertz in his seminal work on what he terms ‘Thick Description’. In his text he notes, “we are not actors, we do not have direct access, but only that small part of it which our informants can lead us into understanding” (Geertz 1973, 20). In the context of this fieldwork, this means although I would have missed many important details one would have had to be brought up in the particular social and cultural environment to notice, I also had the advantage of ‘fresh eyes’, meaning I was less likely to take certain things for granted.

I found it of interest that we were approached multiple times and spoken to in Mandarin Chinese, which my Czech companion interpreted for my benefit, by members of the audience. We were informed that the performance was put on for Mazu’s enjoyment as a continuation of her birthday celebrations put on by the temple the day before. The elderly man who informed us of this particular detail did so very animatedly, accompanying his description with gesturing and hand motions. We were also told that, as visitors, we should stay and watch the whole performance, as it was an important piece of Taiwanese culture. When we asked why it was important, we were told that it was a performance very singular to Taiwan, that we would not see this kind of thing anywhere else, and that we would most definitely enjoy it. What is of particular import for my analysis is that this information was volunteered without us asking for it. We were approached and given this information by members of the audience with a sense of eagerness, of excitement at our presence. We were also asked many questions ourselves, about where we were from, what we were doing, how we were enjoying Taiwan, to the point where I felt perhaps I was the one being analysed.

These interactions reveal many points of interest, but despite this, I shall focus my argument on one thing in particular. That is that there exists a perception of this type of performance