Written by Donna Wang Su.
Image credit: author.
As a Taiwanese American, any mention or media of Taiwan within the United States generally piques my interest, regardless of the context. Wendy Cheng’s historically significant nonfiction work, Island X, resonated with me on a profound personal level due to its incorporation of interviews and narratives that contribute to the collective Taiwanese American historical record. Moreover, it delves into themes that I have grappled with throughout my life, where I have frequently felt like an outsider, struggling to find my place in a world where I was perceived as “too Asian for the United States,” particularly in the Midwest, but not “Taiwanese enough” for Taiwan.
Being the eldest of my siblings and the firstborn in the United States from two immigrants from Taiwan, this book resonated with me as it explores the experiences of Taiwanese students studying in the United States during the Cold War era (1960s-1980s). My father, who hails from Pingtung, Taiwan, arrived in the United States in the 1970s to pursue his Ph.D. at Northwestern University after obtaining his engineering bachelor’s degree from National Taiwan University. During my upbringing, he shared the challenges he faced, including the fact that he only acquired his first pair of shoes during high school, as well as the resilience of my grandparents. When I was born prematurely in the summer of 1981, it marked the only gap in my father’s education as he diligently visited the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU) daily on his bicycle to deliver my mother’s precious pumped breast milk, which she lovingly referred to as “liquid gold,” ensuring that I received the necessary nutrients. Reading Cheng’s account of the life and passing of Chen Wen-Chen, particularly their return to Taiwan for a family visit (Cheng, p.148), sent shivers down my spine. It was during “a tumultuous period of heightened political insecurity for the KMT, following the 1979 derecognition of Taiwan by the United States and the subsequent fallout from the Kaohsiung Incident of December 1979” (Cheng, p.149). I couldn’t help but ponder how easily my parents and I could have been in a similar situation, as we also returned to Taiwan around the same time so that I could be introduced to the rest of my extended family as an infant.
Despite the prevalent model minority stereotype that permeated my upbringing, I was constantly admonished to keep a low profile, avoid drawing attention to myself, “save face,” and accept hardships as a natural part of life. We were taught to “eat bitterness” in order to attain a loftier perspective. However, I vividly recall an incident in kindergarten when my father returned home visibly upset after being passed over for a management position because he was told that “Asians don’t make good leaders.” Several months later, he made the difficult decision to return to Taiwan while my mother remained in the Chicagoland area to raise my younger sister and me. For the next several years, we only saw my father a few times a year, either when he returned for the Lunar New Year holiday or during our summer vacations when we made the trek across the ocean to visit family in Taiwan. Throughout my childhood, he eventually returned back to the United States for a couple of years but continued to return back to Taiwan for years at a time. His loyalty and love for his motherland, Taiwan, was evident in the work that he did.
For me, it has always been more important to identify with Taiwan and be “Taiwanese” rather than “Chinese.” Some of my fondest memories are from visiting Taiwan during the hot and humid summers. I vividly remember remarking on how we would visit temples, and I was familiar with certain Buddhist phrases and prayers during our time in Taiwan. In contrast, in the United States, I attended Catholic school and regularly attended weekly mass. My mother clarified that “Catholicism is our American religion, but Buddhism is our Taiwanese culture.” Later, our family relocated from Illinois to southern California, where I spent seven years assimilating to a completely different type of Asian American culture. During my undergraduate years at the University of California, Santa Barbara, I was part of the founding group for alpha Kappa Delta Phi, the largest international Asian-interest sorority. Even after graduation, I remained involved on a national level, serving for fourteen years on the alumnae association board and, ultimately, the board of directors. I fondly recall taking an introductory Asian American history class in college, where I was immediately captivated by the realization that these were our stories. I later took more classes, curious to learn about this part of American history that wasn’t in my textbooks growing up but also taking additional courses such as Asian American Journalism taught by K.W. Lee or a series of playwriting productions by Professor Ambi Hasha.
Moving back to the Midwest in 2002 was a conscious choice that was a mix of both financial and cultural. I later married another Taiwanese American who immigrated here when he was just under two years old with his family. We moved to Evanston, Illinois, in the hopes that we could raise our family in this town renowned for its liberal views. I continued to stay involved in the community, focused on being a voice for the APIDA (Asian Pacific Islander Desi American) community in addition to building unity and collaboration. I served on various boards, committees, and minority nonprofit organizations. However, when the COVID-19 pandemic unprecedentedly took over our world, both of my children faced their own anti-Asian sentiments and had stories to share. And this time, we speak out.
Just like Jocelyn Chung wrote regarding the Taiwanese American church mass shooting in 2022, “We refuse to be erased.” We continue to share about the microaggressions that turned into physical acts against us, whether it was filing police reports, sharing out on our social media platforms, writing op-eds, or speaking at anti-racism events. The first time that I posted about having a drink thrown at me and being yelled at to “Go back to China”, I was immediately contacted by my Taiwanese elders to take down my post. I believe that we need to speak up and that vulnerability is a strength. The response to that initial post included comments such as “I didn’t know that Asians faced racism” or “This happened here? In our town??” The message that I want to share with my own children is that it’s okay to not be okay and that there will be struggles in life but they are not alone. As a minority in the United States, it is important to find your village and allyship, especially with other minorities. To live in fear with the “kill one to warn a hundred” is not a way to live where you see the few punished to serve as a warning to all.
As a single parent with two teenagers, I am engaged in the complex task of raising them while they navigate their evolving identities along with their mental and emotional health. As I continue to provide guidance and support to my third-generation Taiwanese American teenagers, one of the events they eagerly anticipate each summer is attending the Taiwanese American Foundation (TAF) camp. For them, this annual camp has been instrumental in fostering a sense of community with other children. Families from all over the United States will send their children to TAF and as my kids return, they talk about topics ranging from identity, cultural awareness, and connection with both Taiwanese culture and history. At the TAF Parents’ Weekend last year, I had the privilege of conversing with HoChie Tsai, the founder of TaiwaneseAmerican.org and a former president and board member of TAF. Our discussion centred around the significance of this next generation building camaraderie and meaningful connections. Chih-ming Wang‘s words on the “maodun” (mixed, complex, and unsettled) feelings of Taiwanese American identity resonated deeply with me. Wang emphasizes that such an identity seeks to “articulate something new” while remaining “historically bound to both Taiwan and America.” (Cheng, p.173) The significance of anonymity in the book Island X is not lost on me, as it reflects the fear of retaliation or unwanted attention that many interviewees experienced. Even in writing this, I am hesitant to share too much more about my own parents. Rather than resorting to shame or perpetuating the concealment of past crimes, Cheng’s work sheds light on specific realities and establishes connections to contemporary Taiwanese American relations. The past serves as a source of lessons and adaptation to change. However, if the past is concealed, it becomes easier for us to repeat past mistakes and allow history to repeat itself.
Donna Wang Su (she/her/Ms) is an Associate Director in Graduate Admissions & Financial Aid at Northwestern University, Medill School of Journalism, Media, and Integrated Marketing Communications in Evanston, Illinois. She has been with Northwestern University since 2006 in a variety of different roles, all connected through a financial and technology thread. Prior to higher education, she worked in corporate finance after graduating from the University of California, Santa Barbara. While working full-time, she earned a Master’s in Public Policy & Administration and graduate certificates in business leadership, higher education, and diversity, equity, and inclusion. She is currently an executive doctoral student at the University of Pennsylvania in Higher Education Management, focusing her research on AI and its ethical use in higher education, especially in admissions and affirmative action. As an adjunct lecturer, Donna teaches “Startup Finance for the Gig Economy” and serves as a guest speaker/panelist for financial education and technology in classes, conferences or publications. In her free time, Donna serves as an elected school board member for the Evanston/Skokie District 65, board of directors for the Evanston Asian, South Asian, Pacific Islander American community nonprofit. She also enjoys running, basketball, traveling with her two teenage kids and enjoys the occasional bourbon tasting.
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This article was published as part of a special issue on ‘Student Migrants, Campus Spies and Island X‘.
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