Review: This is Not an Embassy

“If you had the chance to design your country’s embassy in Switzerland, what would you want it to look like?”

“Inside this embassy, which flag would we hang, and which song would we play to represent our country?”

The first question may not be moot for people in most countries because every country, as long as it is regarded as a country, has embassies in other countries. As for the second question, it doesn’t require much effort to answer because most countries have an officially recognized flag and national anthem.

However, for Taiwan, these two questions would evoke complex emotions and sharp debate. In reality, it is also a moot point. While Taiwanese citizens can travel to 172 countries around the world without needing a visa (or can obtain visas upon arrival or through electronic visas) with their Republic of China passport, most countries do not recognize the Republic of China as a sovereign state. Therefore, apart from the remaining 12 diplomatic allies, we cannot establish embassies in other countries.

Yet these two questions were indeed raised and earnestly discussed. Not in the realm of actual diplomatic settings or within the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the R.O.C., but on the stage in Switzerland.

In the play “This is Not an Embassy,” three actors from Taiwan must confront a task that is both a dream and an impossibility: creating their own embassy. However, what should this embassy be named, which country should it represent, and which flag should it fly? These are the questions the characters in “This is Not an Embassy” must discuss, debate, and even fight about. Behind all of this lies a fundamental question: What kind of country is Taiwan? What should we even call it? Taiwan, the Republic of China, or something else altogether? What about the “national anthem,” which is really just the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT)’s party anthem? Through the confessions and dialogues of these three individuals, “This is Not an Embassy” attempts to present to the world the complexity of Taiwan’s identity and national positioning brought about by a painful period in Taiwan’s history.

Let’s face it; it was only until recently, with the disruptions caused by the pandemic and the U.S.-China trade war in the semiconductor supply chain, as well as China’s increasing impatience with willful annexation and eagerness to flex its military muscles, most people around the world can’t distinguish between Taiwan and Thailand. This is natural, just as many Taiwanese people can’t tell Australia and Austria apart. But if you want to understand why Taiwan today has a name that the majority of Taiwanese people dislike, and why China is so eager to “unify” (Chinese rhetoric for “invade”) Taiwan, “This is Not an Embassy” is a very good starting point. Moreover, as a Taiwanese person, I find it quite honest, without simplification or distortion, maintaining a certain impartiality. It’s just a pity that in reality, the Taiwan issue may not allow the space for the impartiality that exists only in theory or in drama. Some Taiwanese viewers may even feel angry about the play if it does not not give enough weight to the versions of story she or he treasures more, just as one of the main characters worries.

The soul of “This is Not an Embassy” lies in its three characters (the only characters in the entire play), whose selection reflects the director’s deep understanding of the demographic composition of Taiwanese society. However, strictly speaking, they are not ‘actors’; they do not perform. In fact, they simply portray themselves, using their own words and gestures to tell their stories.

The first to appear is Chiayo Kuo, a 32-year-old Taiwanese woman born and raised in Taiwan. She was educated at the business school of the best university in Taiwan. However, after graduation, instead of entering the lucrative finance or electronics industry, she went to Kosovo, a country unfamiliar to most Taiwanese people. She stayed there for ten months, launching the “domain-for-Kosovo” movement to help Kosovo to secure its own internet domain, while hoping to make Taiwan known for more Kosovans. Last year, the Digital Diplomacy Association she founded published a booklet documenting how the Ukrainian government, civil society, and private enterprises integrated the country’s digital resources after the Russian invasion to fight for international discourse power, combat misinformation, and provide necessary emergency information to disaster victims. She believes that Taiwan should take Ukraine as a model. Faced with China’s territorial ambitions towards Taiwan, Taiwan needs to be fully prepared.

The other protagonist is David Wu, a 72-year-old retired diplomat who devoted 37 years to the diplomatic service of the R.O.C.. He was stationed in Thailand, Vietnam, South Africa, and served as an ambassador to Belize. Like most of his generation in Taiwan, he grew up in an era of poverty, but later achieved remarkable success through hard work. For him, the story of the R.O.C. is a story of economic miracles. As a seasoned diplomat, he experienced the difficult times of the “R.O.C.’s withdrawal from the United Nations” (actually the expulsion of the “Chiang Kai-shek regime” from the U.N.) and the severance of diplomatic ties between the R.O.C. and the United States, realizinging the challenges of the R.O.C.’s survival in the international arena. David Wu’s Chinese name is “Jianguo”(建國), which means “to establish a nation.”

David Wu firmly believes that Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek and his son Chiang Ching-kuo are admirable leaders for defending the R.O.C. and safeguarding Taiwan from annexation by the Communist Party. However, Kuo has a big problem with this view.

The younger generation of Taiwan, like Kuo, has become disillusioned with the ideology of the Chiang dynasty and the KMT, which they propagated through authoritarian education. They cannot comprehend why statues of Chiang Kai-shek, a dictator who lost the vast majority of the R.O.C.’s original territory in China, and imprisoned or even executed political dissidents during his rule, still stand on Taiwan’s campuses today. Despite their staunch anti-Communism, which the younger generation may appreciate due to their aversion to China, they cannot accept the insistence of the Chiangs on the name “China.” This has prevented Taiwan from being recognized by the world under its own name, let alone participating in international organizations. If given a choice, they would prefer to establish an embassy in another country bearing the name “Taiwan” and featuring a new national anthem that represents the voices of the Taiwanese people.

In addition to Chiayo Kuo and David Wu, “This is Not an Embassy” also features a third protagonist, Debby Wang. At just 27 years old, she represents a new generation of Taiwan. Coming from a wealthy family, her father is the founder of Possmei, the world’s largest supplier of ingredients for bubble tea. Debby spends half of her time away from Taiwan. With tattoos, a job as a jazz performer, and life experiences traveling across the globe, she doesn’t fit the typical Taiwanese stereotype. Despite that, like most of her age, she is angry about the exclusion and oppression Taiwan suffers on the international stage. She boldly raises a question that every Taiwanese asks themselves and the world everyday: “Taiwan is the 21st largest economy. Don’t you think it’s absurd that Taiwan is not considered a country by Switzerland? Don’t they think one of the most advanced democracies in Asia should be part of the UN?”

On the other hand, she also notices that it’s not easy to have calm and rational conversations about these issues in Taiwanese society. Openly discussing her political views may disrupt the harmonious atmosphere in the workplace. Therefore, she says that while she won’t hide her thoughts, neither will she speak up.

These three characters naturally cannot represent all Taiwanese people, but they can be the crystal ball that reflects the several major perspectives of Taiwanese society’s views on China and their self-identity. The older generation, who still have a fondness for authoritarian leaders, may still identify with the R.O.C. and may even anticipate unification with China someday, due to the party-state education they recieved or a genuine admiration for Chinese culture. The younger generation, on the other hand, exhibits increasingly strong local consciousness. However, there is also a group of young people who, while hoping to identify with Taiwan and wishing for more international space for Taiwan, feel weary of the endless debates and are unsure which political party can be trusted.

It’s easy to imagine that they would have multifaceted debates on how to establish and design an embassy, with even the question of what to name the embassy being a point of contention. While David Wu holds deep sentimental attachment to the current flag of the R.O.C with its blue sky, white sun, and a full-blown red earth, younger generations like Chiayo have proposed various designs for future flags of “Taiwan,” such as one featuring a giant whale in the ocean as a spiritual symbol of Taiwan, or another inspired by the badminton courts where Taiwanese athletes often shine brightly in international competitions. As for the national anthem, the current version is disliked by many due to its first line acknowledging the special status of the Kuomintang and its political platforms as the dominant ideology of this country.

One scene with symbolic significance that I particularly enjoyed was when decorating the embassy, David Wu was once thrilled by a gift of a Tri-colour camel from the Tang Dynasty he received, thinking it would be a great embodiment of the beautiful Chinese art.  However, Chiayo disagreed, pointing out its lack of relevance to Taiwan. Instead, she suggested a media art piece by Lin Shih Pao, crafted from ten thousand used iPhones collected worldwide to promote sustainability. Interestingly, despite the UN’s interest in purchasing his work, they couldn’t do so because of Lin’s Taiwanese nationality.

However, despite their differing expectations for the embassy, the three protagonists all agree that “we” should have an embassy of our own. Particularly noteworthy is that, despite their ongoing debates, we can still see that a spirit of “agreeing to disagree” is upheld by all of them. This spirit of freedom and tolerance precisely exemplifies why Taiwan can be a democratic nation that accommodates people from diverse backgrounds and identities, and it is also the reason why Taiwan is fundamentally different from China.

Thanks to the Swiss director Stefan Kaegi, who provided these Taiwanese actors with an opportunity to fulfill their dreams, even though all they had was a temporary appearance in a fictional theater as an embassy that still remains unrecognized by other countries. Stefan Kaegi is one of the founding members of Rimini Protokoll, a group based in Berlin known for its distinctive approach of abandoning professional actors and instead exploring stories through individuals from various fields in the real world.

As a Taiwanese, I couldn’t help but notice that Stefan Kaegi not only accurately grasped the political and cultural context within Taiwanese society, but also made “This is Not an Embassy” distinctly Taiwanese in its visual and auditory presentation. From the jarring earthquake warnings to the noise of shaking bubble tea machines, from the elderly practicing amateurish Tai Chi in the park to the gracefully performed Chinese-style dance, from the military bases and weapons on Kinmen Island just a few kilometers away from mainland China to the sweet voice of the patriotic singer Teresa Teng, who was endorsed by the Kuomintang during the authoritarian era, and the cheerful yet sometimes melancholic Taiwanese pop songs that were banned by the government for being too joyful or too sad… Every element that appears on stage reflects some aspect of everyday life for Taiwanese people.

For those living in Taiwan, this is an intimate and authentic drama. For those still unfamiliar with Taiwan, this play offers an opportunity to understand that Taiwan is not just the frontline of the new Cold War or “the most dangerous place on Earth.” It is the homeland of 23 million people who live peacefully and rationally, pursuing the humblest of wishes in the eyes of other countries around the world.

(Feature photo by Claudia Ndebele on National Theater & Concert Hall)