Back in 2020, Pedro was bored.
A young freelance camera operator, he spent the pandemic lockdowns confined in his hometown in South America. Like most of us, he attempted to figure out what to do with his unexpectedly plentiful free time. And that’s how Taiwan came into his life.
Pedro came upon Taiwan’s scholarship program for students of Mandarin. What an idea! Although he would have to pay for the plane fare out of his own pocket, learning such an exotic language and travelling to a distant Asian island he had never heard of before seemed like a wonderful adventure.
Not given an option
I met Pedro soon after his 9-month stay in Taiwan, and he couldn’t stop talking about it in the most glowing terms. He had loved everything about Taipei and the friendly locals he met; he had also loved learning Mandarin and actually picked it up faster than most students, to the point that he was reasonably fluent in basic conversation. In his telling, Taiwan was an incredibly beautiful and amazing place, and everyone should pay a visit to see for themselves.
Sadly, after his scholarship expired, he couldn’t apply for a new one if he wanted to return to Taiwan and continue his language studies. Scholarships last for six months (he was lucky that he had prolonged his stay to nine), and he certainly couldn’t afford to come back without one.
The other usual paths to temporary or permanent residence were off limits to him. Coming back as an English teacher was a no-go, as he didn’t speak the language. Getting a work contract with his still limited Mandarin skills was unrealistic. And marrying a Taiwanese woman, though quite an alluring idea, was easier said than done.
He felt frustrated but wasn’t about to let his Asian adventure come to an abrupt end through no fault of his own, just because of — in his understanding — pesky government regulations and bureaucratic rigidity. Taiwan was great and he loved every minute he spent there, but Asia is a big continent with many fascinating places to see, things to do and people to meet. Surely there were other opportunities to enrich his experience as an eager young traveler. After all, Taiwan didn’t give him any other option.
Like a fish slipping off a friendly hook
Being uninterested in — or unaware of, who knows — geopolitical shenanigans, Pedro looked for the next best thing an enthusiastic Mandarin learner could do. And it wasn’t hard to find. Not hard at all, in fact.
China beckoned. He could apply for a longer-duration scholarship there, perhaps. So, he did and he got it. Maybe he could start making videos about China and become an influencer, with fewer hassles about his visa and the threat of being kicked out of the country every three months if he didn’t fulfill the many stringent requirements to renew it.
Maybe that meant making raving videos about China and talking less about his lovely time in Taiwan. So be it.
A few months later, he opened a social media account, where he shows off his Mandarin language prowess. Pedro now has more than 200,000 followers, who watch dozens of videos of him talking to people in shops and on the street, visiting interesting places and sampling delicious food.
But he’s not in Taiwan anymore. Now, what he shows is China.
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It is not my place to say what Taiwan and its bureaucratic apparatus could have done to keep that young, talented foreigner on their side of the Strait. What I observed, however, is that at some point Taiwan had Pedro resolutely on board, and then lost him, like a happily caught fish slipping off a (friendly) hook.
And perhaps this is something Taiwan should think about changing. There are many Pedros, and Marias, out there. Better not lose them through lack of foresight, don’t you agree?
