tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-166317652024-03-26T17:26:59.846+08:00The Bala Daily - 巴樂日報Trials and travails of a Taiwanese-American kid in TaiwanUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger36125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16631765.post-82418856241854814312012-08-23T01:10:00.001+08:002012-08-23T01:10:40.152+08:00懇親日: Visitation Day, Part 1<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Head squaddie (班頭), you taking the bus to the train station when they let us out on Visitation Day? Also, want a bento box when you get back? Mess hall is closed the day we come back.</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">"Yeah, but I'm taking the high speed rail back. Lunch box please."</span></blockquote>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I made a note of his choices in my small pocket notebook that I'd purchased at the PX on Induction Day. Given the general ban on smart phones and PDAs, we'd all reverted back to pen and paper.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Damn, that's close to a quarter of your pay this month... okay, Squaddie 3, how 'bout you?"</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">"Didn't I tell you before that I'll be hailing a taxi myself, Squaddie 2?"</span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Sorry, new orders from above say that when we leave on Visitation Day, its either with our parents, or on the bus to the train station."</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">"Fine, I'll take the bus."</span></span></blockquote>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I scribbled this down in my notebook. As the second tallest recruit in our squad, it had fallen on me to handle all the miscellaneous tasks our Head Squaddie didn't have time to handle on top of his normal duties of keeping track where everyone was. My tiny pocket notebook was filling up fast.</div>
<div>
<br />
Visitation Day (懇親日) marks the halfway point during basic training. On Visitation Day, family and friends are invited on base to see how their loved ones are dealing with their new lives in the military. For us recruits, Visitation Day represented a reprieve from the usual training regimen, our first contact with the outside world since induction, and more importantly: our first leave. The whole event plays an almost mythical role in the cultural perception of military service in Taiwan.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /><iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/hCwsXdvCzlA" width="420"></iframe>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>What's he crying about? He's gonna be on leave in less than 4 hours.</i></div>
<br />
<br />
"Listen up! All of you will be recieving new BDUs for Visitation Day. Also, you will take turns manning the check-in desk for relatives coming on base as follows..."<br />
<br />
With PR concerns in play, our superiors were taking no chances. All relatives coming on base were to check into a desk manned by two professionally staffed new recruits who would match their names with the presubmitted list, while being courtious and professional.<br />
<br />
Sort of a tall order for a class comprised mainly of 19 year old kids just out of high school. Being the best educated amongst the group, I was thrown to manning the check-in desk for most of the morning. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16631765.post-73589710868904122482012-08-03T21:57:00.000+08:002012-08-04T01:36:45.509+08:00未進彈!Off target!<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio-Ockrhyphenhyphen2QqqriqeM-Yhu-AfOu5Y5d6tDPiDQnlCfgIh52FmupUeIS6kYcOfa2Ou3bnkIvr2K9tpGj7hoguM4fi5q9QXsY5ShTHDCz33nwv9JLpzyN3hUO8FB_15oo0LLaV-1/s1600/439px-MkII_07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio-Ockrhyphenhyphen2QqqriqeM-Yhu-AfOu5Y5d6tDPiDQnlCfgIh52FmupUeIS6kYcOfa2Ou3bnkIvr2K9tpGj7hoguM4fi5q9QXsY5ShTHDCz33nwv9JLpzyN3hUO8FB_15oo0LLaV-1/s320/439px-MkII_07.jpg" width="234" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mk_2_grenade" target="_blank">Mk. 2 grenade</a> (Image: Wikimedia Commons)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
"SIR! New Recruit 030 reporting at the grenade range for my first grenade training exercise, SIR!"</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
(「報告長官,新兵030於手榴彈投擲場進行第一次投擲!」) </blockquote>
<br />
I stood at the staring point of a short runway of about 10 meters in full combat gear, staring down what looked like a typical long jump course, a dummy <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mk_2_grenade" target="_blank">Mark 2 grenade</a> clutched in my right hand. Typical except for the fact that instead of a sandpit, the track terminated with a thick white line drawn on the ground, beyond which was were two straight lines radiating outwards. Various lines at 20, 25, 30, and 40 meters were marked beyond. Two drill sergeants sat behind a folding desk placed at the thick white line.<br />
<br />
I charged forwards suppressing a wild yell.<br />
<br />
"Damn, that white line line is coming up fast" I thought.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"Remember"</span>, I recalled my drill sergeant saying before the exercise, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"a hand grenade is much heavier than a baseball. DO NOT THROW IT LIKE A BASEBALL! We once had a new recruit who tried to do that and we still remember the sound of his elbow fracturing as he hurled..."</span><br />
<br />
Bearing this in mind, I tried to hurl my dummy grenade as gingerly as I could overhand, fearful of the crack from my <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Humerus" target="_blank">humerus</a> splitting into a million pieces.<br />
<br />
The grenade went sailing over the white line.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Oh yeah, I'm supposed to hit the ground now, right?</blockquote>
<br />
I dropped to the dirt with my head propped up between my two elbows.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"Off target!" (「未進彈!」)</span>, the sergeant observing the entire fiasco yelled through his bullhorn, as my grenade landed about 15 meters from the white line where I was sprawled on the ground. Well within the blast radius of about 25 meters.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #783f04;">"Twenty pushups, then to the disqualified group!"</span>, our company CO yelled, from where he was observing the entire spectacle off to the side.<br />
<br />
Hand grenade hurling is one of those tests that every new recruit is tested on at the end of basic training. To qualify, you must successfully hurl a dummy hand grenade at least 25 meters from a running start, and have it land between two gradually radiating lines that at the most, are about a meter wide.<br />
<br />
This is also the test that most new recruits fail. I took my place in the group of failures. A drill sergeant glared at us.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"Alright, line up here and try to go through the moves of grenade hurling from this line when I order you to."</span></blockquote>
Lined up with a dozen other new recruits, I stood at the starting line facing a foam mat about 30 meters away that marked the finish line.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"GO!"</span></blockquote>
<br />
I charged forwards as fast as a I could. Here comes the line... I twisted and hurled, before dropping on the mat.<br />
<br />
The sergeant stood over me, shaking his head.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"You are completely uncoordinated. You've got the power, but not the control. Go do the Mario dance until I tell you to stop."</span></blockquote>
<br />
I proceeded to run back and forth in front of the company twisting my hips, and jumping around with my fists in the air, as if I was doing some weird hybrid of the salsa dance while <a href="http://www.onlinesupermario.com/" target="_blank">stomping pixelated turtles</a>.<br />
<br />
This was supposed to promote coordination.<br />
<br />
Another colleague of mine, a big guy, who had been a drum player in an indie rock band before being drafted did an impressive approximation of an Olympics discus thrower... only to have the dummy grenade fall about 5 meters in front of him.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"What the hell was that? From now on you throw underhanded!" </span></blockquote>
<br />
After the rest of the company had their first round, we tried a second round at the grenade range.<br />
<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
"SIR! New Recruit 030 reporting at the grenade range for my second grenade training exercise, SIR!"</div>
</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
(「報告長官,新兵030於手榴彈投擲場進行第二次投擲!」)</div>
</blockquote>
<br />
Okay, run... twist your hips, here comes the line, THROW!!!<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"GAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"</blockquote>
<br />
I threw the grenade like I was trying to make a pass from center field to home plate. Drill Sergeant warnings be dammed.<br />
<br />
I hit the dirt. Again. And waited for the observing sergeant's assessment.<br />
<br />
<br />
My grenade landed about 30 meters away, about 10 meters to the left of the two designed lines<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"OUT OF BOUNDS!"</span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #783f04;">"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU? THE SERGEANT MAJOR CAN HURL 40 METERS AND SHE'S A GIRL!"</span></blockquote>
<br />
Walking back to the disqualified line, we subjected ourselves to our CO's latest improvement scheme... flinging dumbbells over our shoulders.<br />
<br />
(<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #783f04;">"AND KEEP AT IT"</span>, he yelled through his megaphone, after yet another morning at the grenade range)<br />
<br />
My indie band friend warmed up for his second try, taking off down the track like an Olympic sprinter on fire, swinging his arm so fast I could have sworn it would have been dislocated on lesser men...<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"ARRRRGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!"</blockquote>
<br />
He flung the grenade mightily. We all stared downrange expecting to see company records broken....<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"HEADS UP!!!"</span>, the spotter yelled.<br />
<br />
We all ducked instinctively. The grenade fell about 20 meters <i>behind</i> where he had released it.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #783f04;">"GODDAMNIT! MY NCO'S ARE IDIOTS!"</span>, our CO yelled, bringing his foot down so hard on the plastic milk crate he was resting it on that it buckled. The rest of us were treated to the spectacle of the CO trying to kick off the milk crate now attached to his leg, while utilizing vocabulary not approved by the Ministry of National Defense.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16631765.post-69833211701225793062012-04-23T20:46:00.001+08:002012-04-23T20:49:34.246+08:00營站: The PX<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpB46LqJIMo7bcF4I4-IPHvLmmwqnr7WP8Yf25hxspCCu-k6rV-oB-4q39HFF4ecIuB-7LECupxqtu-T44f-lStbQIowmiqddFcWz0_ExL6CzDO64jL9Fi4UHmbQUm7n5eTOeE/s1600/DSCF4528.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpB46LqJIMo7bcF4I4-IPHvLmmwqnr7WP8Yf25hxspCCu-k6rV-oB-4q39HFF4ecIuB-7LECupxqtu-T44f-lStbQIowmiqddFcWz0_ExL6CzDO64jL9Fi4UHmbQUm7n5eTOeE/s320/DSCF4528.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"You all did well at the range today, so the the CO has authorized a visit to the PX <i>after</i> you've cleaned up your personal items."</span></blockquote>
<br />
Our squad leader has barely finished before the barracks was filled with excited chatter.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"About time!"<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #073763;">"Man, I've been running low on junk food-"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #783f04;">"Screw junk food, I've been reduced to stealing your toothpaste every evening-"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">"Hey, lend me NT$100 - I spent all my change in the vending machines out back-"</span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13; font-size: large;">"ARE YOU ALL FINISHED TALKING?"</span></blockquote>
The noise level dropped by half.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">"Aw, not this agai-"</span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"You in the back. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">DO YOU HAVE SOMETHING YOU'D LIKE TO SHARE WITH THE REST OF US?</span>"</span></blockquote>
<br />
Dead silence.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"You have been here for close to a week now. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">AND YOU STILL DON'T KNOW HOW TO COME TO ATTENTION?</span>"</span></blockquote>
<br />
We rapidly shuffled back in front of our bunks, mostly covered with our BDUs and half-removed gear.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"You have 5 minutes to neatly put away your items in their assigned places. Feel free to talk as loud as you want as long as you don't mind me calling off the whole PX visit. Carry on."</span></blockquote>
<br />
We went back to arranging things as quickly as we could, shushing each other in the process.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #990000;">"Hey, lend me NT$500 -"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">"<i>SHUT UP!</i>"</span></blockquote>
<br />
5 minutes later we were neatly lined up outside the barracks. I can't recall the last time I'd seen everyone assemble that quickly and quietly.<br />
<br />
After a quick headcount, our squad leaders marched us off between the lines of barracks towards the PX.<br />
<br />
The PX (營站) was a medium sized building near the edge of base, containing a small Mom and Pop commissary; as well as one of the major convenience store chains that are practically an institution in and of themselves in Taiwan. Some aluminum picnic tables were placed in the courtyard. The commissary sold various snacks, drinks, smokes, and personal accessories - all tax free. The convenience store was more or less identical to those on the outside, though lacking in alcoholic beverages. I've also noticed that convenience store clerks on military bases throughout Taiwan tend to be young, female, and (by our admittedly deprived standards) cute.<br />
<br />
As far as we were concerned, it was all a little slice of heaven.<br />
<br />
The PX was normally off limits to new recruits. We'd been there once on our first day to purchase a few basic accessories including toiletries, a can of boot polish, a shoe brush, a soapbox (for inspection use only - most of us used the quicker shower gel thanks to our 2 minute combat showers), some elastic blousers, a sewing kit, a small notebook, and a foam pad to line the insides of our helmets.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"You will assemble in front of the PX in 20 minutes"</span>, our squad leader said. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"Until then, your time is your own."</span> He walked off, lighting a cigarette.<br />
<br />
<br />
We all rushed inside, hurriedly filling our shopping baskets with practically anything that caught our fancy. I picked up a can of cough drops: despite the best efforts of our superiors, the common cold was spreading rampant in the barracks, and 2/3's of us were afflicted with a nasty cough.<br />
<br />
Several recruits stocked up on instant noodles, which many preferred to the mess hall food. I didn't really understand that - mess hall food isn't gourmet, but it is at least Real Food, and relatively fresh. The smokers amongst us also took the opportunity to replenish their personal cigarette stashes. Military policy is a bit schizophrenic when it comes to smoking: the barracks walls are plastered with anti-smoking posters, and incoming troops are required to sign forms committing them to quitting. The forms were passed out by a drill sergeant smoking a cigarette. Like everything else, the cigarettes in the PX were tax-free, and many troops stocked up on extra smokes to bring off base with them. I'd estimate that something close to half of the troops in the units I've served with were smokers.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQraCWRZRhvLdNL3MVsFJ1x0lcEbhnO6T8fyLbLanFyjJo-mGKuWx_EN3woZyCZtofg022h858WteEgCT3cs4m5yfm369F2XGun6Zc47FAN_nOJTa_t7A0xrysRF__3eDPB2UN/s1600/DSCF4537.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQraCWRZRhvLdNL3MVsFJ1x0lcEbhnO6T8fyLbLanFyjJo-mGKuWx_EN3woZyCZtofg022h858WteEgCT3cs4m5yfm369F2XGun6Zc47FAN_nOJTa_t7A0xrysRF__3eDPB2UN/s320/DSCF4537.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Shoe brush, NT$19, Made in Taiwan.</i></div>
<br />
Rushing back outside, we enjoyed what time we had left drinking our soft drinks and munching on our snacks. I sat at the same table as our squad leaders, who for the moment, had let their drill sergeant facade drop. Both were draftee corporals, and were considered to be some of the more human elements in our chain of command, as long as you weren't too dense.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"By the way squad leader, I forgot to thank you for letting me sneak a shower the third night after lights out."</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"No problem. I noticed you were being pulled out of the squad for a bunch of different general details during wash time that night."</span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"So, do you come here often, squad leader?"</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"Not as much as I'd like. Its the only spot on base where I can kick back for a moment. After you guys leave, I've only got 1 month of my conscription left."</span></blockquote>
<br />
Free time on base is rare, and fleeting when it does happen. All too soon, we were in formation marching back to the barracks for evening inspection.<br />
<br />
I don't think I've ever had a soda or a candy bar that's tasted as good as they did during those rare visits to the PX.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16631765.post-78691646507105013312012-04-17T18:43:00.001+08:002012-04-24T18:27:47.640+08:00單兵戰鬥教練: Individual Combat Training<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGTqCieomBn7EPQLQ6L_4m33UK8YSonumiTB9mDezpBhxK09HAhfhGl2O-VKVOXE0UtTNZy3VEmT75LtzCNHCG2SR5UbEBFDMdoWuDg78-Xo0oWpQcwb6uylspgyIuj4Se3Lu-/s1600/DSCF4058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGTqCieomBn7EPQLQ6L_4m33UK8YSonumiTB9mDezpBhxK09HAhfhGl2O-VKVOXE0UtTNZy3VEmT75LtzCNHCG2SR5UbEBFDMdoWuDg78-Xo0oWpQcwb6uylspgyIuj4Se3Lu-/s320/DSCF4058.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Fireteam leader! Please cover me so I can prepare for the upcoming assault!"</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
(「報告伍長,請伍長以火力掩護我,以便我完成攻擊前準備!」)</blockquote>
Our squad knelt on the grass of the combat course in full combat gear, grouped into fire teams of three. Standing in front of us, our squad leader raised his megaphone:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"I expect ALL of you to speak up during individual combat training. Continue!"<br />"Very well, I will cover you."<br />(「好,我以火力掩護你!」)</span></blockquote>
<div>
We started down at the sheet of paper we'd been given with complete outline and SOP for this exercise, which has delighted and annoyed generations of new recruits. We'd spent nap time carefully laminating our sheets with clear tape so they would survive being dragged through the dirt with us. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This is Individual Combat Training (單兵戰鬥教練 or 單戰 for short) - intended to provide an experience for new recruits approximating combat. More or less.</div>
<div>
<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
"Adjacent troops, please cover me!", we shouted. Then answering our own requests: "Very well, I will cover you!"<br />
<br />
Or we would if we weren't so focused on memorizing the lines printed on our cheat sheets under "1. PRE-ATTACK PREPARATIONS".<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Weapons on safe. Retreating behind cover and assuming low squat..."<br />
(「關保險,以潛行迅速退至掩蔽物後方三至五步之後採戰鬥蹲姿...」)</blockquote>
</div>
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"Well, move back behind those mounds and squat!"</span>, the drill sergeant yelled. Retreating behind the mounds of dirt, we continued reciting our lines, pointing at the individual items on the list:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"... checking weapons and equipment. First checking weapon from the top down: flash suppressor, forward sight, hand guard, bolt carrier and receiver assembly, trigger assembly, stock. Checking ammunition and replacing if less than 5 rounds remain."<br />
( 「...檢查武器裝具,首先檢查武器,由上而下檢查: 防火帽、準星、護木、槍機總成、扳機總成、槍托、檢查子彈,不足五發予以更換或補足。」)</blockquote>
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #073763;">"5 rounds?"</span>, one of my squadmates whispered, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #073763;">"I wouldn't play Counterstrike with only 5 rounds."</span><br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Checking equipment from the top down, from left to right, front to back..."<br />
(「檢查裝具,由上而下,由左而右,由前而後...」)</blockquote>
<br />
<i>Like I'd have time to regurgitate this in a tactical situation</i>, I thought.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Checking left boot laces, left blousers, right boot laces, right blouses, ammo pouches, gun belt, bayonet scabbard, canteen, entrenchment tools, gas mask, grenade pouch. Checking whether helmet is securely fastened. Checking whether camouflage matches with current operational environment (Swipe hand across face)-"<br />
(「檢查左鞋帶、左綁腿、右鞋帶、右綁腿、彈袋、S腰袋、刺刀銷、水壺、土工器具、防護面具、手榴彈袋、檢查鋼盔扣是否扣實。檢查偽裝是否與現地相符 (手往臉上畫)」)</blockquote>
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"DON'T READ THE PART IN PARENTHESES, JUST DO IT!"</span>, came the shout from the loudspeakers. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #073763;">"God"</span>, the recruit beside me muttered, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #073763;">"I thought I was done with memorizing bullshit after I finished high school"</span>.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwJANzKI2jqrXB_K4uE84qvNmF_Zd07DtM1bnKzQL8AeEWZLKa0nT1U7Yb-TFBnUd2MdDl8lPsc8Qi-noJ5LX8i4cAHi5L-oQZvc-WIRfKH7oj7vbZmJrSlI2RecIj1GnDwBqw/s1600/DSCF4513.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwJANzKI2jqrXB_K4uE84qvNmF_Zd07DtM1bnKzQL8AeEWZLKa0nT1U7Yb-TFBnUd2MdDl8lPsc8Qi-noJ5LX8i4cAHi5L-oQZvc-WIRfKH7oj7vbZmJrSlI2RecIj1GnDwBqw/s320/DSCF4513.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Preach on brother.</i></div>
<br />
We then tested whether everything was securely fastened in a memorable fashion: wearing our ten extra pounds of gear and holding our rifles erect under the scorching southern Taiwan sun, we jumped in place turning in 6 semi-circles, landing back in a squat, counting out each semi-circle as we went:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>*jump*</i> "1 of 1..."</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"Higher!"</span><br />
<i></i></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>*jump*</i> "2 of 1..."<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;"></span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"Is that the best you can do?" </span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>*jump*</i> "1 of 2..."</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"Whose trench-digger fell off?"</span><br />
<i></i></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>*groan* *jump*</i> "2 of 2..."<br />
<i></i></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>My ankles hurt.</i><br />
<i></i></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>*gasp* *jump*</i> "1 of 3..."<br />
<i></i></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Oh god I can't feel my toes.</i><br />
<i></i></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>*arrrrrrrrg* *jump*</i> "2 of 3!"</blockquote>
<br />
We knelt on the ground leaning on our rifles, gasping for breath. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"Well, continue!"</span>, the drill sergeant said.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Move low and take cover. Disengaging safety. Reporting, fire team leader: pre-attack preparations complete. Ready to attack when ordered!"<br />
(「以潛行迅速進入掩蔽物後方,開保險。好,報告伍長,單兵已完成攻擊前準備,待命攻擊。」)</blockquote>
Anyone who's seen the Taiwan educational system knows the drill: Memorize to Pass (背多分). In our case, this meant memorizing the entire SOP.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Individual Combat Training consists of ten segments comprising pre-attack preparations, gas attack, moving under fire, crossing various obstacles including stockades, trenches, barbed wire, and culminating an imaginary assault on a PLA (Chinese People's Liberation Army) stronghold. Once you get over the fact that you're required to memorize the requisite lines from what is essentially a prepared script, it is actually somewhat exhilarating crawling under barbed wire, running around in zig-zags, and diving for cover.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
At one time, according to our superiors, the entire course would be run complete with dummy explosive charges, pyrotechnics, and a fake opposing force. These days thanks to budget cuts and overprotective parents, we just have to use our imaginations.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic7JzXkPD8vvOmzq7vRZLqdbvPUDp_5z0fVVbl7lNUBDO2Bq_7Q3x05yvFylcgZNYyHUQHn5jhLzXapcF7QlL4qiRlkxX-n2E2hOfa87JEH6viW842abejP0UYMkbx2ECJIbVW/s1600/DSCF4059.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic7JzXkPD8vvOmzq7vRZLqdbvPUDp_5z0fVVbl7lNUBDO2Bq_7Q3x05yvFylcgZNYyHUQHn5jhLzXapcF7QlL4qiRlkxX-n2E2hOfa87JEH6viW842abejP0UYMkbx2ECJIbVW/s400/DSCF4059.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Things I should not shoot at.</i></div>
<br />
The entire sequence ends with the surrender of the imaginary PLA forces after being subject to the following lines recited by everyone, and sounding as if they haven't been updated since 1979:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Greetings communist compatriots! You are surrounded! Any further resistance is futile. Drop your weapons and come with us. Our government is forgiving and will guarantee your safety."<br />
(「親愛的共軍弟兄們,你們已經被包圍了,不要再做無謂的抵抗了。放下武器,起義歸來吧。我們的政府是寬大為懷的,絕對保障你們的生命安全。」)</blockquote>
Sgt. H was one of our superiors whose leadership skills I actually admired. Whereas some of the younger drill sergeants preferred to go around blasting the new recruits indiscriminately, Sgt. H adopted a solemn, but firm attitude, commanding the respect of the recruits under him. In another universe, he might have been a successful high school teacher.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"Look"</span>, he said during an all too brief rest period. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"You know and I know that in real life, nothing ever goes according to script. Some of you have complained that you aren't going to run onto the battlefield regurgitating lines, which is true. If you ever do get the opportunity to use any of what you've been practicing, then it means the worst has already happened and Taiwan has already been overrun. In that case, it will be up to you to pick and choose from the moves that you're now practicing to put together some coherent resistance."</span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #073763;">"Come on Sarge"</span>, one of the recruits said expressing a popular sentiment, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #073763;">"There won't be a war. And if there were, we're screwed anyhow."</span><br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"You are members of the ROC military. I don't care whether you identify or not, but as long as you are members of the military you will obey all orders until you are discharged. Until you are a civilian again, you don't have the right to say no."</span></blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;"><br /></span><br />
We would run the Individual Combat course many more times, in preparation for the final exam, and spend countless hours memorizing our lines. They say that militaries are a microcosm of the societies that they serve. Insofar as this is the land of cram schools and rote memorization, I can say they're right when it comes to this.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16631765.post-6853238102937841352012-04-14T01:54:00.002+08:002012-04-19T11:18:06.605+08:00莒光課 Chukuang Class<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn2ldXI-Mep72Rkap7SzRiRId1PWkaYuVSUfcII2_gjPzIo96fQTmn1gBsMMkKTbsMzJOkaHBRSBgnlenTQkxZxAMTeQa-Tp5FtqZi-aSqNR4kXva_ZUOkV57ySeFq2XIrm_NQ/s1600/DSCF4511.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn2ldXI-Mep72Rkap7SzRiRId1PWkaYuVSUfcII2_gjPzIo96fQTmn1gBsMMkKTbsMzJOkaHBRSBgnlenTQkxZxAMTeQa-Tp5FtqZi-aSqNR4kXva_ZUOkV57ySeFq2XIrm_NQ/s320/DSCF4511.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="224" /></a></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Hey neighbor, have you considered bathing?"</blockquote>
<br />
We lay head to foot on our bunks in the barracks for the usual after lunch nap after a long morning of drill, firearms training, and our first attempts at what our superiors referred to as "combat training". Namely running around in zig-zags with our rifles, hitting the deck, then crawling. Those Spanish-speaking countries are on to something with <i>siesta</i>.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">"You don't exactly smell all that great yourself, Captain America."</span></blockquote>
<br />
With a couple dozen of us stuffed into the same poorly ventilated space in 30℃ weather, the barracks now smelled like the fine cheese aisle of a fancy grocery store, or alternatively, not unlike the stinky tofu vendor at your local night market.<br />
<br />
As for me, my U.S. background had led to my most recent nickname. One that would eventually evolve into American Superman (美國超人), after I ended up as one of the last airmen standing during a pushup duel.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">*BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!!*</span></blockquote>
<br />
Another whistle sounded. Everyone groaned. The loudspeaker crackled to life.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"Attention all new recruits in _ Company. It is now 1330 hours. At 1335, assemble in the Chungshan Room carrying your stools, writing boards, and canteens. That is all."</span></blockquote>
<br />
Every company-level military unit in Taiwan has a meeting space designated as the Chungshan Room (中山室, named after the first ROC president <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sun_Yat-sen" target="_blank">Sun Yat-sen</a>). This can range from a single classroom-sized space, to a large lecture hall. The room contains a number of LCD TVs, and is decorated with flags, (heavily airbrushed) pictures of Sun Yat-sen and the current president. Various slogans round out the mix. In these post-martial law days, the slogans read 力行民主憲政 ("Faithfully exercise constitutional democracy") and 堅定愛國信念 ("Solidify patriotic ideals") - ideas that are unlikely to offend either side of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Political_status_of_Taiwan" target="_blank">mainstream political spectrum in modern day Taiwan</a>.<br />
<br />
After hastily folding away our blankets, plumping our pillows, and hastily slipping into our boots and BDUs. We slowly made our way up to the Chungshan Room in a ragged line, walking inside one by one.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"Just try being the next person to slam the screen door"</span>, one of the drill sergeants snarled at the line of groggy, disoriented recruits.<br />
<br />
Mostly, the Chungshan Room in our company was used for equipment distribution and firearms maintenance. After training classes everyday, the designated Firearms Squad had to grudgingly disassemble and clean every single rifle that was ever taken out of the armory - you haven't seen surreal till you've seen a bunch of conscripts polishing T65K2's to the beat of the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_l-r7_f0CVs" target="_blank">Doraemon theme song</a>.<br />
<br />
We arranged our stools into columns corresponding to our squads. The first member of each squad, the "Head Squaddie" (班頭) did a quick head count, before reporting back to POA, who stood in the front of the room.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Squad _ reporting, 12 out of 12 present, sir!"</blockquote>
POA turned on the two LCD TVs at the front of the room, tuning them to CTS. We were treated to the usual afternoon soap opera involving a remake involving Ching dynasty princess living the Forbidden City. The storyline was the same as previous iterations dated back to when I was in middle school, but the actress starring the princess in question now spoke in an annoyingly high pitched, cutsy tone that grated on the ears.<br />
<br />
On the other hand, the princesses' foreign tutor, played by a Caucasian actor, now actually played a significant role beyond comic relief, and actually kicked butt from time to time. Progress!<br />
<br />
Outside, these things wouldn't have even been considered worth watching by any of us. But after spending days stuck in basic training cut off from the outside world, anything was welcome.<br />
<br />
After a few ads for health supplements and shovelware online games that we would eventually become very accustomed to, we arrived at the feature presentation and raison d'etre for the entire exercise...<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/V6zbFcyFd0A" width="420"></iframe><br />
<br />
In Taiwan, we don't have a dedicated military broadcasting network like the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_Forces_Network" target="_blank">American Forces Network</a> (AFN). Instead, the military makes use of CTS from 1400-1500 on Thursdays for a TV program called Chukuang Garden (莒光園地), produced by the military's Political Warfare Bureau (政戰處). <a href="http://gpwd.mnd.gov.tw/onweb.jsp?webno=3333333306" target="_blank">Chukuang Garden</a> is an ostensibly educational program designed especially for the troops. Viewing is required every Thursday afternoon, everywhere.<br />
<br />
As far as we were concerned, it is an excellent one hour where we could doze off in a relatively comfortable room.<br />
<br />
Chukuang Garden appears to be a relic from the times where there was a political officer attached to each company level unit exercising the same level of power as the CO, and the slogan of the ROC military was "Duty, Honor, Country, Ideology, Leader" (責任,榮譽,國家,主義,領袖).<br />
<br />
For the record, the modern day slogan of the ROC military is "Duty, Honor, Country". The last two items were removed along with the vestiges of the KMT party-state, and the end of widespread Chang Kai-shek worship, during the Chen administration. The military brass may be a decade or two behind the rest of Taiwanese society, but I'll give them this - they went along with civilian control of the military back when more conservative voices were calling for a coup.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"Shut up and listen. The next person to doze off gets to stand for the duration of the program, or until he finds the next sleeper!"</span></blockquote>
The program is broken down into a few basic segments. A brief news segment, consisting primarily of shots showing units that the President or Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff visited over the past week (all mostly showing them <a href="http://kimjongillookingatthings.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">looking at things</a>), as well as any awards or commendations bestowed over the past week. Occasionally, this was followed by an editorial segment where a talking head friendly to the current administration would speak at length about current policies with a military spin (<i>"Although cross-strait relations are at a dentate, all personnel should remain vigilant as Beijing's hostile policies towards us have not changed"</i>).<br />
<br />
The content that followed usually contained a historical segment, either relating to the history of the ROC military on Mainland China (pre-1949), or after the relocation to Taiwan (post-1949). Although the former might as well have happened on another planet as far as todays troops are concerned, there was a fair amount of interest in the content of the latter, which included various Cold War operations that most people in modern day Taiwan have never heard of (The 1950 stand of the ROCNS Tuojiang against 20 something PLA Navy combatants is one of those long lost tales that most people have forgotten, as well as the ROCAF <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_Bat_Squadron" target="_blank">Black Bat</a> and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_Cat_Squadron" target="_blank">Black Cat</a> Squadrons' spy plane flights over the PRC).<br />
<br />
This was usually followed by a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GJagDZE4490" target="_blank">short drama-like skit</a> produced by the Special Services group (藝工團, e.g.: where actors go when they're conscripted), highlighting issues ranging from suicide prevention (remember, call 1985 if you have problems) to counterintelligence (all PRC spies speak with exaggerated accents repeatedly dropping the term: "motherland").<br />
<br />
<br />
Occasionally, this is replaced by edited dubbed version of Discovery Channel's "Future Weapons", prefaced by an ROC military officer describing a similar, but inferior system that we operated (<i>"But remember, in the end, its up to the troops operating the weapons systems"</i>)<br />
<br />
If this seems superficial, remember that given the bullshit that troops have to put up with everyday, the fact of the matter is: "<i>This job generally sucks</i>". Low pay, long duty hours, inflexible superiors, infrequent leave, and lousy social status.<br />
<br />
<i>The job sucks, but someone has to do it.</i><br />
<br />
Every military force has to appeal to something in the troops greater than the promise of a steady paycheck and 20 year pension.<br />
<br />
For me, it meant making sure the overall objective was accomplished, doing no less than my other squadmates (and frequently more). On most days, this takes a sense of caring about something greater than yourself (your squad mates). On really bad days, it takes a vague sense of something greater than your squad (the unit, the military, or the country) - I say vague because you really don't have much time to think. You just do things impulsively because they vaguely seemed to need doing.<br />
<br />
And then you bitch about it afterwards.<br />
<br />
There is a popular version of the Chukuang Garden theme song written by a conscript Marine. It might as well be the anthem of all draftees at one point or another:<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/1oehUlCoUR4" width="420"></iframe><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<blockquote>
昏天黑地 </blockquote>
<blockquote>
My head is spinning </blockquote>
<blockquote>
上班下班 </blockquote>
<blockquote>
On duty, off duty</blockquote>
<blockquote>
身懷絕技,我每天加班 </blockquote>
<blockquote>
I can do everything, always working overtime</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
腦袋空空,神遊四海 </blockquote>
<blockquote>
My brain is empty, my mind wanders the seven seas</blockquote>
<blockquote>
一身是汗,將迷彩汗衫穿到發臭沒人愛 </blockquote>
<blockquote>
I'm sweaty, my BDUs stink, and no one loves me </blockquote>
<blockquote>
人生不該是洞拐 </blockquote>
<blockquote>
Life shouldn't begin at 0700 </blockquote>
<blockquote>
我們學會塗改假單</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
We've learned to alter our leave passes</blockquote>
<blockquote>
允文允武 </blockquote>
<blockquote>
We do everything</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
健康不在 </blockquote>
<blockquote>
Our health is in tatters</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
我們時薪八塊半! </blockquote>
<blockquote>
We make NT$8.5 per hour!</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
時薪八塊半! </blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i>(chorus)</i> NT$8.5 per hour!</blockquote>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16631765.post-57748214655031286492012-04-09T19:50:00.000+08:002012-04-09T21:53:42.616+08:00大兵手記: G.I. Diary<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQNK7DUjjCbVvr71nYzLMloVx5oeDKKUJ02Q4nc5iL9gI6yQUfEdaDdsujTtUvEooGNqkrieB80Lbc6IjB7zRiMGKyaIob2S0b933OVnTEnd0_2YzCbSTXFS0lIzpjvFJ_9orL/s1600/DSCF4506.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQNK7DUjjCbVvr71nYzLMloVx5oeDKKUJ02Q4nc5iL9gI6yQUfEdaDdsujTtUvEooGNqkrieB80Lbc6IjB7zRiMGKyaIob2S0b933OVnTEnd0_2YzCbSTXFS0lIzpjvFJ_9orL/s320/DSCF4506.JPG" width="258" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
2140 hours. We stood at attention lined up in front of our bunks. Behind us, we had each deployed our bedding and mosquito netting - the edges of the latter neatly tucked under our mattresses forming a rectangular mini-tent on each bunk. A whistle blew, and the leaders of the four squads quartered in our barracks marched in for the pre-lights out inspection.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
After a long day of training and other miscellaneous work, all of us hated these barracks musters (大寢集合) - which our squad leaders typically used to lend extra weight to their orders, or general speeches of encouragement.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"Your behavior today was was pathetic. If you think things are strict now then you'd all better start shaping up, unless you want to see how much worse it can get. Also, Chukuang Class (莒光課) is tomorrow at 1400 in the Chungshan Room (中山室). Has anyone not been issued a G.I. Diary (大兵手記)?"</span></blockquote>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
I vaguely recalled a small spiral bound logbook with annoyingly cute artwork that we had all been issued fairly early on, and had since ignored and stashed away somewhere in my locker.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"You will submit your G.I. Diaries to your squad leaders before lights out tonight for review of this week's entry."</span></blockquote>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<i><b>But we haven't written a thing yet!</b></i> Everyone thought in unison.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Our squad leader was telepathic in the way that most competent NCOs tend to be.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"You have until 2150 to submit your diaries with this week's entry. Everyone is to be in bed by then. Dismissed!"</span></blockquote>
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In the ensuing mad scramble, we dashed for our lockers searching frantically for our diaries (buried beneath mounds of random equipment and clothing) and pens. I managed to uncover my empty G.I. Diary, and hastily began scrawling my first entry, using the door of my locker as a writing surface.</div>
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The G.I. Diary (formerly known as the 莒光作文簿) is a particular feature of the ROC military, that brings to mind similar mandatory student diaries from grade school in Taiwan. In fact, all enlisted personnel are issued such a diary, and are expected to make weekly entries, which are then reviewed by their superiors, who write responses in red ink.<br />
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The weekly entries consist of two parts: A one page report on that week's required reading from the military Political Warfare Bureau's official magazine <a href="http://gpwd.mnd.gov.tw/onweb.jsp?webno=3333333350" target="_blank">"The Struggle" (「奮鬥」)</a>, and one page written on personal thoughts, experiences, and developments over the past week. </div>
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<i>"The Struggle" - Incidentally, the name also applies to the Political Warfare Bureau's attempts to understand what the troops actually care about.</i></div>
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In practice, the required reading (mostly upbeat inspirational Chicken Soup for the Overworked Under Appreciated Enlisted Soul-type passages, or presidential speeches) was roundly ignored, with most troops electing to copy the original articles word for word with ludicrous spacing until the required one page length was met. I initially came up with the usual expected upbeat "I totally agree" responses, but in the interest of creative writing, eventually started incorporating surreal or sarcastic interpretations, along the lines of a Monty Python sketch. My superiors didn't care either way.</div>
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The second part - the weekly personal diary, leaves much more wiggle room. I mostly tended to write generically upbeat accounts on wholly unimportant topics, to which my superiors responded with generically upbeat words of encouragement. </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"This is my third day since induction. Compared to when I was getting off the bus three days ago, it seems that the pressure just keeps building, along with the volume of our superiors' voices. Everything has a time limit, and every action must be approved by my chain of command. Even though I'm still not used to it, after three days I've begun to get an idea of how things are done in the military. In order to command a company of 100+ troops, every action must be delegated from the top down. Every individual is a tiny component in the overall system that is the company, and must be managed in a systematic manner. I still have much to learn, but after knowing the above, I am confident that I can gradually adjust."</span> </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"> "I am sure that you will get used to things in short order."<br />-- 2nd Lieutenant H, Platoon Commander </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">"I am certain that you'll be able to catch up to your leadership's footsteps over the course of these 37 days."<br />-- Sergeant 1st Class H</span></blockquote>
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The diary does serve a practical purpose as a conduit for grievances, suggestions or comments, as well as a way for superiors to gauge the emotional state of the troops under their command. Any entries suggesting suicidal tendencies or interpersonal conflicts usually elicited rapid intervention from our NCOs or <a href="http://baladaily.blogspot.com/2011/11/poa.html" target="_blank">POA</a>. Nonetheless, having to come up with filler material each week rapidly becomes tedious. On bad days, I'd be the first to tell you that the whole thing is a pointless exercise.<br />
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The G.I. Diaries aren't private, however. In fact, thanks to the autobiography and civilian life photos we were required to include within, it is quite popular for troops to exchange diaries to read up on mutual backgrounds, for gauging how we all looked before having our hair shaved off, who had the hottest girlfriend, as well as where we'd been. The photos of me backpacking through snowy mountain scenes in the US elicited considerable interest.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">"It is 2149. You have 1 minute to turn in your G.I. Diaries and hit the sack!"</span></blockquote>
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Scrawling down my last line of tortured logic, I handed in my G.I. Diary with seconds left to spare, and clambered into my bunk, stubbing my toe in the process as the lights went out. The barracks went dark, punctuated by the rustling of covers and muffled curses of recruits attempting to climb into their bunks. </div>
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A faint glow emanated from a bunk at the far end of the barracks, as someone switched on a hidden cell phone - major contraband. This was followed 30 seconds later by loud noises of disapproval, as one of the drill sergeants made his presence known. The owner of the cell phone, a recruit who had been dubbed "Girly Man" (「娘炮」) by his squad mates, sobbed out loud with all the conviction of a child who had just been told that his pet dog died:</div>
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Insensitive though it may be, hidden under our mosquito nets, the rest of us spent our last waking hours that day laughing into our pillows.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16631765.post-862325480883535802011-11-23T16:44:00.001+08:002012-02-03T16:23:00.811+08:00全線預備! Ready down the line! - Part 2<i><b>Continued from <a href="http://baladaily.blogspot.com/2011/11/ready-down-line-part-1.html"> Part 1</a>.</b></i><br />
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<a href="http://youtu.be/3HggScWh-ew?t=46s">"<font class="Apple-style-span" color="#783f04" face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Morale sound off!</font>" (「精神答數!」)</a>, the officer of the day yelled. We chanted out the cadence based on Chiang Kai-shek's list of qualities a good soldier should have, interspersed with shouts of "<font class="Apple-style-span" color="#783f04" face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">LOUDER</font>!" (「大聲!」) from our drill sergeants...</p>
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「雄壯!」 (<i>Honorable</i>)</p>
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「威武!」 (<i>Majestic</i>)</p>
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「嚴肅!」 (<i>Solemn</i>)</p>
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「剛直!」 (<i>Upright</i>)</p>
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「安靜!」 (<i>Silent</i> - somewhat ironic since we were hollering at the top of our lungs)</p>
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「堅強!」 (<i>Enduring</i>)</p>
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「確實!」 (<i>Precise</i>)</p>
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「速決!」 (<i>Expeditious</i>) </p>
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「沈著!」 (<i>Taciturn</i>)</p>
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「忍耐!」 (<i>Persevering</i>)</p>
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「機警!」 (<i>Vigilant</i>)</p>
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「勇敢!」 (<i>Courageous</i>)</p>
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It was a beautiful day in southern Taiwan. We marched down the road from base, passing through orchards of mango, guava, and bananas. Finally, we stopped at the calibration range beside the road, surrounded by trees, with paper targets pasted to wooden stands behind which was a large earthen barrier. Forming into waves of 12, we lined up behind our designated targets. Clearing our rifles as we had been instructed, we held our unloaded rifles upright in both hands with firing bolts locked. </p>
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Our battalion CO, a lieutenant colonel, raised his bullhorn:</p>
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<font class="Apple-style-span" color="#274e13">"<font class="Apple-style-span" face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Attention! Commencing live fire target practice in 5 minutes. All nonessential personnel clear the target area.</font>"</font></p>
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<font class="Apple-style-span" color="#783f04">"<font class="Apple-style-span" face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Remember</font>"</font>, our drill sergeant told us as he handed out foam earplugs, <font class="Apple-style-span" color="#783f04">"<font class="Apple-style-span" face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif"><a href="http://baladaily.blogspot.com/2011/11/and-where-are-you-from.html">we've been through the procedure dozens of times already</a>. When called you will proceed to your firing alley. Do not load until instructed. You will fire two volleys of 3 shots each. After firing you will examine the target with the sergeant next to you. The recruit behind you will paste a new paper shooting target after you finish examining the results of your second volley. You will then take your used paper target, clear your rifle again, hand your bulletproof vest to the next recruit in line, and proceed to the analysis area off to the side. Also, the shock waves will be more intense as they bounce off the ground, so you can get away with using just a single earplug in your left ear.</font>"</font></p>
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A warning siren sounded. The battalion CO began issuing orders:</p>
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<font class="Apple-style-span" color="#274e13">"<font class="Apple-style-span" face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Shooters proceed to firing points!</font>"</font> (「射手上把台!」)</p>
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I marched up to my firing point along with the rest of my wave of recruits and stood at attention, rifle held upright in both hands.</p>
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<font class="Apple-style-span" color="#274e13">"<font class="Apple-style-span" face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Prepare for target practice in lying position!</font>"</font> (「臥射預備!」)</p>
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"Preparing for target practice in lying position!", we yelled, taking a step to the left and dropping onto the ground.</p>
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<font class="Apple-style-span" color="#274e13">"<font class="Apple-style-span" face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Load three bullets, release bolt!</font>"</font> (「三發子彈,送上槍機!」)</p>
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"Loading three bullets, releasing bolt!", I yelled while inserting the filled magazine (<i>oooh, heavy</i>) the sergeant provided and pushing the bolt release catch on the side of our rifles. The drill sergeant next to me knocked the back of my helmet.</p>
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<font class="Apple-style-span" color="#783f04">"<font class="Apple-style-span" face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">What is this, a confidence building session? Shut up and just perform the moves.</font>" </font></p>
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<font class="Apple-style-span" color="#274e13">"<font class="Apple-style-span" face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Ready on the left!</font>"</font> (「左線預備!」)</p>
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I flipped the selector switch from <b>S</b> to <b>1</b> (single shot), and tried sighting the target. </p>
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<font class="Apple-style-span" color="#274e13">"<font class="Apple-style-span" face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Ready on the right!</font>"</font> (「右線預備!」)</p>
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I sucked in a deep breath and tried to keep my hands steady as I extended my finger over the trigger.</p>
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<font class="Apple-style-span" color="#274e13">"<font class="Apple-style-span" face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Ready along the line!</font>"</font> (「全線預備!」)</p>
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I slowly curled my finger backwards, the trigger gave easily enough as I slowly pulled. <i>Odd, when is it going to-</i></p>
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<font class="Apple-style-span" size="6"><b>POP!</b></font></p>
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My ears were momentarily overloaded as the rifle recoiled backwards. Up close, the sound was more of a very loud sharp popping noise, rather than the bang that I had been expecting.</p>
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<i>Two more shots to go.</i></p>
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<font class="Apple-style-span" size="6"><b>POP!</b></font></p>
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<b><font class="Apple-style-span" size="6">POP!</font></b></p>
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By the third shot, both my ears were ringing. I could barely hear the sergeant next to me as the cease fire order was issued. We all safety-ed our rifles, placed them down, then walked towards our targets as a range safety officer stood waving a red warning flag.</p>
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<p>
<br></p>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"<font class="Apple-style-span" color="#783f04" face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Not bad. Your shots came pretty close to where they should be at this distance, and they're clustered closely together, so it looks like your aim hasn't shifted too much between shots.</font>"</blockquote>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<p>
<br></p>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<p>
Between the recoil, the loud pops, and the increasing blurriness in my right eye, I eventually settled in an odd sense of zen like calm as I fired off the second volley. </p>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<p>
<br></p>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<p>
I was jerked back into reality by the sergeant next to me slapping my helmet. </p>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<p>
<br></p>
</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<p>
<font class="Apple-style-span" color="#783f04" face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">"You're empty, you can stop pulling the trigger now."</font></p>
</blockquote>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<p>
<br></p>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<p>
We rose, picked up our rifles, did a left face, and walked off the firing points to the sides where we cleared our rifles. Carrying our target papers, we tried to listen as a sergeant came up with suggestions on how improve our shooting technique, while the rest of the company took their turns. There was a minor incident where one recruit apparently couldn't tell the difference between the <b>1</b> and the <b>A</b> on his selector switch, and ended up with the dubious honor of being the only person in our company who ever fired a rifle on full auto. </p>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<p>
<br></p>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<p>
I noticed absent-mindedly how the shots sounded less like pops, and more like dull thuds from a distance. <i>High frequency acoustic waves are probably damped more easily than low frequency waves</i>, the physicist in me thought.</p>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<p>
<br></p>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<p>
Everything else went by in a blur. In no time at all, it seemed, we were marching back to base through a light rain, our rifles tucked under our ponchos.</p>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<p>
<br></p>
</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<p>
<font class="Apple-style-span" color="#783f04" face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">"Keep marching. The CO has ordered the kitchen to make ginger soup for lunch today."</font></p>
</blockquote>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<p>
<br></p>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<p>
Ginger soup (薑湯) is a bit of a tradition in the ROC military whenever cold weather (by Taiwan standards) or getting drenched in the rain is involved. The procedure for making it is fairly simple, as our drill sergeants relayed it: take the oldest, most gnarled chunk of ginger root you can find. Whack it a few times with the blunt side of a heavy cleaver, then throw it into a pot of boiling water. Boil down till the liquid is reduced by about half. Saturate the final liquid with as much rock sugar as physically possible. The resulting concoction burns all the way down, and is a folk remedy for the common cold.</p>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<p>
<br></p>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<p>
As lunchtime drew near, those of us in the mess squad marched down to the mess hall with the usual baskets of trays and utensils, as well as the large pots of food from the kitchen. A couple of us hauled down two large pots filled with the steaming hot ginger soup to be served to the company.</p>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<p>
<br></p>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<p>
Unfortunately, news of the ginger soup was not successfully relayed to everyone in the mess squad. One overtly enthusiastic recruit promptly poured both pots out as food waste before they could be served.</p>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<p>
<br></p>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<p>
The CO was not pleased, to say the least.</p>
</div>
</object>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16631765.post-58583917418885750872011-11-22T07:48:00.001+08:002011-11-24T02:43:12.942+08:00全線預備! Ready down the line! - Part 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3muaijDZBOZCsnSlHfdUj3AGEbwQkVgLYTZkTG3l3x6izYIStXwXg3mhX7wwR1i7fK8BUwx0hmle_byLiCjO-BAf1hAdTQf730Fz8FuIlqXh4XTgIs9i0vAYiEL4d9oqjG5-O/s1600/DSCF3614.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3muaijDZBOZCsnSlHfdUj3AGEbwQkVgLYTZkTG3l3x6izYIStXwXg3mhX7wwR1i7fK8BUwx0hmle_byLiCjO-BAf1hAdTQf730Fz8FuIlqXh4XTgIs9i0vAYiEL4d9oqjG5-O/s320/DSCF3614.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: center;">
<i>You can repair almost anything with blousing rubbers (綁腿).</i></blockquote>
<br />
In Taiwan military parlance, certain individuals are referred to as "heavenly soldiers" (天兵, pronounced: <i>tien bing</i>), as in "Good heavens, where did this idiot come from?" This is often used as an adjective: "When did the head of 1st squad get so heavenly?" (「一班的班頭什麼時候變那麼天啊?」)<br />
<br />
And they say that Asians don't get sarcasm...<br />
<br />
By our fourth day of real training, the heavenly soldiers (technically we were all airmen, but the Chinese term doesn't distinguish between service branches) in our company were fairly well known to everyone. Like <i>Dwa Koh </i>(大軀, Taiwanese for <i>Fatty</i>) over in 1st squad who managed to break 3 folding stools by sitting on them: real heavenly. Or that small vegetarian kid who tried whistling at a female sergeant major in the mess hall the other day: if he were any more heavenly they'd be paying him with ghost money.<br />
<br />
We weren't entirely convinced that they really were that dense. It was widely suspected that many knew full well what they were doing, but choose to act idiotically either out of personal amusement, or as a practical way of escaping extra duties after the drill sergeants classified them as unreliable idiots. They also provided the very useful function of deflecting the unwanted attention of our superiors from the rest of us.<br />
<br />
It is always useful to have a few heavenly soldiers in your company to act as decoys for the ire of your superiors.<br />
<br />
Our first day of live fire target practice came within a week of the start of our training. Up till then, we had endured countless drills on basic targeting, T65-K2 rifle maintenance, and the <a href="http://baladaily.blogspot.com/2011/11/and-where-are-you-from.html">target practice SOP</a>. The previous night, our CO had warned us that we would depart for the 25 meter calibration range first thing in the morning. "<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #274e13;">I strongly suggest that you sleep in your BDUs, and have everything ready to go once you wake up in the morning</span>", he said.<br />
<br />
The wake up call came as usual at 0530, though most of us had been up by 0510, folding our blankets and mosquito nets, arranging our bunks, and doing everything we could to prepare short of stepping onto the barracks floor (strictly forbidden before 0530). At the moment the wake up call sounded, I hit the floor, slipped into my boots, <a href="http://www.ehow.com/how_4894241_use-military-boot-blousers.html">bloused my pant legs</a>, and began the process of donning all the gear that we'd been issued since induction, mentally checking off the items as I strapped them on ...<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>M-1 helmet... check.</i></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Gas mask in carrying pouch strapped to shoulder and waist... check.</i></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Utility belt (now containing my canteen, two ammo pouches with four empty magazines, bayonet in scabbard, and a pouch with a copy of the ROC Army Basic Infantry Manual)... check.</i></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>ID badge with colored dot denoting the proper day of week... check.</i></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><br />Shovel jammed into the space between my belt and back... check.</i></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Rain poncho stuffed behind the shovel... check. </i></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Folding chair hooked onto my belt over the canteen and infantry manual... check.</i></blockquote>
<br />
There was a loud crash, followed by cursing as the recruit we would dub Brother Elevator (電梯哥) fell out of his second level bunk, while folding his blanket. I moved on to the list of things to check before leaving the barracks...<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><br />Locker properly arranged in order of BDUs and workout uniform, with arms neatly tied behind... check.</i></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Everything else thrown into the bottom of the locker and neatly covered with a towel draped from blousing rubbers hooked exactly 20 notches from the bottom... check.</i></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>No easily visible trash on the floor... check.</i></blockquote>
<i><br /></i><br />
I joined the cascade of recruits dashing out of the barracks to muster on the company assembly grounds outside before the deadline at 0540.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6aa84f;">Hey, you did remember to shut the upper windows right?</span>"</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"What? I thought you did that!"</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6aa84f;">No, I thought you did.</span>"</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">幹!</span>" (F__K!)</blockquote>
<br />
I dashed back inside the barracks past the last of the recruits charging in the opposite direction, clambered onto the top bunks, and slammed the upper windows closed in our squad's section. I then attempted to leap down gracefully onto the floor.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, the handle of my shovel caught on the top bunk, and I ended up landing on my side and rolling like a paratrooper hitting the ground, eventually coming to a stop at the feet of my squad leader.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #783f04; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Get off the floor and get outside with everyone else!"</span></blockquote>
<br />
I dashed out the door just as the officer of the day started to take roll. One recruit from 1st squad was standing in front of the company with three fingers pointed in front of his face on one hand, and two on the other - he had apparently been shifting his weight from one leg to another, colloquially known as a 3/7-ths stance (<a href="http://www.google.com/search?q=%E4%B8%89%E4%B8%83%E6%AD%A5&hl=en&client=safari&rls=en&prmd=imvns&source=lnms&tbm=isch&ei=j5vLTrbUMoqkmQX57P3HDQ&sa=X&oi=mode_link&ct=mode&cd=2&ved=0CAwQ_AUoAQ&biw=1126&bih=594">三七步</a>).<br />
<br />
Swallowing a deep breath, I ran in front of the officer of the day, did an about right, and pulled off the snappiest salute I could manage...<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Reporting sir, New Recruit ___ requests to join formation." (「報告值星官,新兵___請示入列!」)</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #783f04; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Why are you late?"</span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Reporting sir, I was closing the windows in the barracks."</blockquote>
<br />
He glared at me for what looked like an eternity, as the rest of the company stared on in silence. I prayed that he was in a good mood.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #783f04; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Join ranks. And don't forget to close the windows in the future."</span></blockquote>
<br />
Relieved at having dodged this bullet, I joined formation. Our rifles were issued after a quick breakfast of stewed pork in steamed buns (<a href="http://zh.wikipedia.org/zh-tw/%E5%89%B2%E5%8C%85">割包</a>). Slinging the guns over our shoulders, we marched off base towards the range.<br />
<br />
<i><b>Continued on <a href="http://baladaily.blogspot.com/2011/11/ready-down-line-part-2.html">Part 2</a>.</b></i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16631765.post-46577745692321046422011-11-13T03:28:00.001+08:002011-11-14T04:18:06.019+08:00POA<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ_zqqkgaOn6ZoYngXQjDFvdDjB6b3nrytDJZmczlphZn7fCWmZKo5oTNVDMmrLIUJzgnuGkYRxJJfSZkFyN_FXX87b1HhHwsiWgV__AJQipFJayUTmD2D-N2_91eqUGkuxu-W/s1600/DSCF3564.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ_zqqkgaOn6ZoYngXQjDFvdDjB6b3nrytDJZmczlphZn7fCWmZKo5oTNVDMmrLIUJzgnuGkYRxJJfSZkFyN_FXX87b1HhHwsiWgV__AJQipFJayUTmD2D-N2_91eqUGkuxu-W/s320/DSCF3564.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6aa84f;">"Hey, why isn't G doing dishes with the rest of us?"</span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Didn't you hear? He said he injured his leg or something, so he's in POA's office for further observation. He's temporarily excused from mess squad duties."</blockquote>
<br />
In Taiwan, every company level military unit has a resident psychologist / counselor. The counselor, almost always a junior officer, provides chaplain-like functions, personnel decisions based upon aptitude testing, morale boosting activities, and provides a sympathetic ear to the junior enlisted troops. In most units, the counselor acts as the good cop to the CO's (commanding officer) bad cop.<br />
<br />
The counselor's official title is 輔導長 (lead counselor). In practice, he/she is almost universally referred to as "POA" (<i>noun</i>, pronounced "poe-eh"). I used to think that POA was an acronym for something. Turns out, like many slang terms in Taiwan, its an English transliteration of the Taiwanese nickname for the counselor: 輔仔.<br />
<br />
I have seen good officers and lousy officers. However, my experience with the POA's at all my units has been universally positive. It is a thankless position - often dealing with draftees with various real or imagined physical or psychological disorders. I haven't yet met a POA who didn't at some point go the extra mile for the troops under their charge, many of whom in no way deserved the level of courtesy that POA showed them.<br />
<br />
Our POA was a young female 1st Lieutenant, whom most people would describe as "kind of cute". As far as the new recruits in our company, deprived of cell phones, outside company, and subject to round-the-clock military discipline, were concerned, she might as well have been a supermodel. POA was almost always working overtime dealing with the various criseses associated with new conscripts - more than one of whom admitted faking some condition just to spend time excused from training, and in her presence.<br />
<br />
Although as conscripts none of us were interested in a military career, most of us (either through pride, ego, or loyalty to our fellow recruits) had decided to see the whole thing through by this point. Nonetheless, the ROC military does leave a way out for individuals with pre-existing or acquired physical or psychological conditions. This is referred to as <a href="http://www.ntpc.gov.tw/web/SelfPageSetup?command=display&pageID=20278">驗退</a> (medical discharge after examination), and is attainable only after a lengthy process of appeal and examination by a military doctor.<br />
<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Hey, why is G still gone? He's been in POA's office for two days now."</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6aa84f;">"Didn't you hear? POA sent him off to the military hospital in Kaohsiung along with the rest of the sick bus this morning so he could get his leg X-rayed."</span></blockquote>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Although receiving such an early discharge was often the subject of jokes between us ("Hey, run over my foot with the wheelbarrow so I can apply for a medical discharge"), few actually considered intentionally pursuing it. For a few however, getting out early via a medical discharge was an appealing prospect.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6aa84f;">"Hey, did you hear about what happened to G at the hospital today?"</span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"No. And why isn't he back here by now? I had to handle his cleaning duties on top of mine today."</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6aa84f;">"They say he went nuts at the hospital. Suddenly started ranting, foaming at the mouth, and peeing all over the floor. Said he wanted to kill himself."</span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"WTF? He was perfectly normal when he left."</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6aa84f;">"The docs there want to hold him in the psych ward for a week or so for further observation."</span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"That asshole... so we have to do his work for him now, while he gets to lounge around in bed all day?"</blockquote>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
G would eventually return to the mess squad two weeks later, the doctors having decided that his "mental breakdown" was a farce. His efforts were not all for naught however, as he did recieve a consolation prize: his leg was enough to earn him a "full stop" (全休) to most physical training. Along with individuals with similar classification, he was still required to serve his full service term, but would be exempt from nearly all PT and field training. To balance this out, the squad formed by such individuals ended up being assigned to handle various menial tasks to free up other recruits. As a result, those of us in the mess squad finally got to participate in morning PT with the rest of the company.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
As a conscript, slacking off, or "drifting" (飄) as its referred to colloquially is a time honored tradition. However, the biggest corollary to this is <b><i>Thou Shalt Not Inconvenience Thy Fellow Conscripts Through Thy Slacking Off</i>.</b> Individuals repeatedly violating this find themselves rapidly ostracized from the rest of the group, as their assigned workload would have to be picked up by someone else. Consequently, individuals acquiring full stop or medical discharge status are viewed with suspicion by fellow troops and officers alike. Individuals known to have done so fraudulently are held in very low esteem by everyone. G's reputation amongst the rest of the recruits would never fully recover.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Despite this, there was always a steady trickle of individuals who would attempt to follow the same path (there are <a href="http://ck101.com/viewthread.php?tid=1458209">tons</a> of <a href="http://www.coolaler.com/showthread.php?t=156268">discussions</a> <a href="http://5i01.com/topicdetail.php?f=37&t=1594894&p=1">online</a> on how to do this). I would often run into them while delivering their meal trays to POA's office at mealtime, where they sat lounging around.</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<br />"So, what's your story?"</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">"I sprained my ankle during field exercises."</span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Oh, sorry to hear that. Get well soon."</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">"Oh no. I plan to stay crippled for as long as I can so I can keep skipping PT."</span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Oh. Well, best of luck not getting well soon."</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #a64d79;">"Thanks. So, what happened today after I left?" </span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote>
"Oh, the usual. Sorry, got to head back to the mess hall, still more work to be done there."</blockquote>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16631765.post-9045097953910078632011-11-10T19:18:00.004+08:002011-11-10T19:47:32.093+08:00你是哪裡人? "And where are you from?"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGT9PruwbzMGqoXYdXLl79b82i6Xutj1XwVztcgdED55UJCMtzXjdrmwSqQjsPJ1oHFfRxlnlFKglaoA6_lwJ-fXpy_DMB84wIrgNw2trx1MFT9I_utH_pPZaR8el9D3H8Skg8/s1600/DSCF3521.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGT9PruwbzMGqoXYdXLl79b82i6Xutj1XwVztcgdED55UJCMtzXjdrmwSqQjsPJ1oHFfRxlnlFKglaoA6_lwJ-fXpy_DMB84wIrgNw2trx1MFT9I_utH_pPZaR8el9D3H8Skg8/s400/DSCF3521.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"... and to be honest, as section leader, my first impression of your class has been very very poor."</span></blockquote>
<br />
As one of the most senior NCOs in our training company, we typically addressed the staff sergeant (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Staff_Sergeant#United_States">E-6</a>) by his position, as is common in the ROC armed forces: section leader (組長). Word was, he'd been in the Army for 12 years. He stared at us with a look that seemed to mix disdain with general apathy - his usual attitude toward us new recruits. This had a tendency of changing on select occasions. Our first introduction to him was in the mess hall when one of the mess squads from an adjacent company failed to don surgical masks while dishing out chow. The explosion of profanity and clang of trays being thrown frisbee-style across the room could be heard throughout the building.<br />
<br />
Now, we were gathered around him in a semicircle, sweating in full combat gear, for our first real introduction to using our T-65K2 assault rifles for their intended purpose... namely, passing our final qualification exam at the end of basic training.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Your objective will be to land 4 out of 6 rounds within the designated target area at 175 meters during your final exam (監測) at the end of basic training. In a few days, you will have your first target practice outing, firing at calibration targets at a distance of 25 meters - a piece of cake."</span></blockquote>
<br />
He paused for dramatic effect...<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"We will now practice for your first outing using simulated targets at 25 meters. You may rest your unloaded rifles on sandbags while in the lying position that you will be assuming at the firing range. You will follow a precise procedure at the range that we will practice now...</span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Listen up. After the first round is fired your IQs will go from 60 to 30. After the second round, they'll go negative."</span></blockquote>
<br />
We lined up behind half a dozen sandbags placed on the ground, next to several foam mats. Wooden targets resembling an inverted U were placed some distance away.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Now I hope you've been reading the material we've issued you to carry around in your pockets. What trajectory does a bullet take upon leaving the muzzle of your rifle?"</span></blockquote>
<br />
*Long pause*<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Are you all mutes or something?"</span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6aa84f;">Reporting sergeant! A parabolic trajectory!</span>" (「報告組長,拋物線!」), a rather brave (and obese) recruit yelled.</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"And where are you from?"</span> (「你是哪裡人?」)</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6aa84f;">Reporting sergeant, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Taipei_City">New Taipei City</a>!</span>" (「報告組長,新北市!」)</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What, are you from everywhere in New Taipei?</span>" (「怎樣,全新北都是你家喔?」)</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6aa84f;">Reporting sergeant, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tamsui_District">Tamsui</a>!</span>"(「報告組長,淡水!」)</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tamsui? Looks like you've been eating too much <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A-gei">A-gei</a></span> (a Tamsui specialty dish consisting of noodles wrapped in tofu)" (「淡水?我看你是啊給吃太多。」)</blockquote>
<br />
Sarge proceeded to go down the line, asking everyone where they were from, and coming up with a specific insult corresponding to each.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Now listen up. Since your bullets will not be flying in a straight line, at 25 meters your bullets should fall about 2.4 centimeters below the target if your aim is true."</span></blockquote>
<br />
We then proceeded to act out the standard operating procedure for target practice:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Prepare for target practice in lying position!</span>" (「臥射預備!」)</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6aa84f;">Preparing for target practice in lying position!</span>", we yelled, taking a step to the left and dropping onto the mats, while resting the stocks of our rifles on the sandbags pointed towards the target.</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Load three bullets, release bolt!</span>" (「三發子彈,送上槍機!」)</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6aa84f;">Loading three bullets, releasing bolt!</span>", we yelled while inserting an empty magazine and pushing the bolt release catch on the side of our rifles. </blockquote>
<br />
The bolt snapped forward with a satisfying metallic <i>clack</i>, which would have chambered a bullet from the magazine, had there actually been any. If you've ever seen an action movie where a character slaps the side of his rifle after inserting a new magazine, this is what he was doing. We were expressly forbidden from slapping our rifles (<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000;">Too much potential for weapons damage</span></i>, our company commander had said).<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ready on the left!</span>" (「左線預備!」)</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6aa84f;">Disengaging safety</span>" (「開保險!」)</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ready on the right!</span>" (「右線預備!」)</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6aa84f;">Taking a deep breath!</span>" (「深呼吸!」)</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ready along the line!</span>" (「全線預備!」)</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6aa84f;">Opening fire!</span>" (「開始射擊!」)</blockquote>
<br />
A series of clicks echoed along the line as everyone pulled their triggers.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"You should press the stock of your rifles to your chest during target practice, since your aim will tend to shift when pulling the trigger. We will practice by placing NT$1 coins </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">(about the size of a US penny)</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> on the barrels of your rifles. If you are holding your rifles steady, the coin should not fall off when you pull the trigger.</span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You will continue this exercise until you have pulled the trigger 20 consecutive times without the coin falling off the barrel."</span></blockquote>
<br />
<br />
We proceeded to do just that. Sweating in my steel helmet and long sleeved BDUs in the tropical heat and humidity, I yanked the charging lever of my rifle backwards to cock the firing pin. Another recruit placed placed an NT$1 coin on the barrel. I inhaled and held my breath, and carefully lined up the sights on my rifle, before gently squeezing the trigger using the second joint of my index finger as we were instructed...<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Click</i>.</blockquote>
<br />
By luck, or by skill, the coin stayed put. Maybe I'd get the hang of this after all.<br />
<br />
I repeated the process meticulously, sweat starting to pool up under the lining of my helmet. Taiwan still uses the classic <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/M1_Helmet">US M1-style steel helmet</a> in basic training and other roles where looks or budgets are at a premium (eg. the honor guard). While being heavier and providing less protection than the newer Kevlar versions, it is unmistakably more stylish in a Saving Private Ryan-sort of way.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Click.</i></blockquote>
<br />
And again.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Click.</i></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Click.</i><br />
<i></i></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Click.</i></blockquote>
<br />
By now, sweat was running down my face, the rim of my helmet was sliding down over my eyes, and I was struggling to keep my eyes open through the stinging sweat and the increasing blurriness from keeping my right eye open. (<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Remember, you only have about 15 seconds of effective vision when sighting your target</span></i>, sarge had warned.)<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Click</i>.<br />
<i></i></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Click</i>.<br />
<i></i></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Click</i>. <i>CLINK!</i></blockquote>
<br />
The unmistakable sound of the coin falling off my rifle barrel jolted me out of whatever zen state I was previously in.<br />
<br />
It may sound trivial, but by the end of the hour, no one had managed to go for 20 consecutive shots without the coins falling off their rifle barrels to sounds of frustrated cursing.<br />
<br />
It eventually dawned on us that like so many other things in basic training, we were being set up to fail.<br />
<br />
<blockquote>
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That was pathetic</span>", Sarge said at the end of the session.</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote>
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6aa84f;">I'm.... I'm sorry sergeant!</span>" (「報...報告組長,對不起!」), one recruit ventured.</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote>
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7f6000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Don't apologize to me, apologize to the country!</span>" (「現在不是對不起我,是對不起國家!」)</blockquote>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16631765.post-3065687015239483202011-10-30T01:35:00.000+08:002011-11-03T01:54:53.522+08:00驗槍開始! Commence firearms inspection!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim3nK8U1DW7MzFCdrmvvoCs4-Ud70o5L1VALSNCzUo1AyPt_CE-E5eIJwoTjAW67SuuI3LTEcv-n0A_9SFuXCRNpz80KRTv_f1A0pXpkmrZr4-uMYMHjRxw3qXZWBPF7rN0MeQ/s1600/TwT65.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim3nK8U1DW7MzFCdrmvvoCs4-Ud70o5L1VALSNCzUo1AyPt_CE-E5eIJwoTjAW67SuuI3LTEcv-n0A_9SFuXCRNpz80KRTv_f1A0pXpkmrZr4-uMYMHjRxw3qXZWBPF7rN0MeQ/s400/TwT65.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>The longer of my two guns. (Original image: <a href="http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:TwT65.JPG">Wikimedia Commons</a>)</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #783f04; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"All new recruits, proceed to check out your firearms."</span></blockquote>
Our first real exposure to firearms came on our second day of training. Proceeding single file, we checked out our rifles, as well as a bayonet and scabbard (which doubled as a combat knife - or would have had it actually been sharpened), and two ammo pouches to add to our ever growing utility belts, each containing two empty magazines. The recruits in the firearms squad thrust all of these into our hands, before we all rushed back to the parade grounds.<br />
<br />
As with the mess squad that I'd been assigned to, another squad of new recruits had been designated as the firearms squad - responsible for the upkeep, regular maintenance, and storage of the company's firearms. Although we would all eventually become versed in the basics of firearms maintenance by way of on the job training, the existence of the firearms squad (as well as the mess squad, equipment squad, and political warfare squad) was one of the consequences of the shortened one month basic training period - too many tasks to handle, with too little time and too few personnel. The preferred solution being to parcel out specific tasks to specific squads of new recruits.<br />
<br />
Private firearms ownership is generally illegal in Taiwan, although most kids have had some prior exposure to the whole concept via computer games, movies, and military ed classes in high school and college. As for me, having spent most of my life in the US, I appreciated the option of owning a firearm, and appreciated even more the fact that I never felt the need to actually exercise it. Nonetheless, I'm no gun nut, and had only the vaguest idea of how to handle a modern firearm ("Insert magazine. Point muzzle away from self. Pull trigger.")<br />
<br />
We were issued the <a href="http://world.guns.ru/assault/taiw/t65-t6-t91-e.html">T-65K2 assault rifle</a>. Functionally and visually, it is similar to the U.S. M-16 assault rifle used in Vietnam, although the T-65K2 is also capable of firing in full auto. While some units now use the newer <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/T91_assault_rifle">T-91</a> (similar to the U.S. M-4), the T-65K2 remains the mainstay of most reservist and non-direct combat military units in Taiwan.<br />
<br />
Lined up on the parade grounds with our rifles in our hands, and our bayonets on our belts, you could feel the anticipation as the captain raised his bullhorn, ordering a vocal tally of the rifles in the company. This had to be done by each recruit belting out his number in incremental order and kneeling down after reporting. This procedure would be repeated every time firearms were issued and returned to ensure that all issued weapons were accounted for.<br />
<br />
After the requisite three or four repetitions it took us to get this right, we learned our first SOP with the T-65K2: <a href="http://www.atlaspost.com/landmark-689725.htm">group firearms inspection</a>, intended to ensure that the firing chamber was clear.<br />
<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Commence firearms inspection!"</span> (驗槍開始!), the captain yelled.</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Kneeling down for firearms inspection!" (驗槍蹲下!), we shouted, holding our rifles with the butts down on the ground.</blockquote>
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
Naturally, the basic training version of this was unnecessarily elaborate, and required full group synchronization and recitation. We spent an hour trying to get this right.<br />
<br />
Our superiors took great pleasure in ordering us to hold our rifles aloft pointed skyward while in a half kneeling position using only our left hand for extended periods of time, ostensibly to check whether there were any foreign objects in the chamber (「通視槍膛!」). Unloaded, the T-65K2 weighs 3.31 kilograms. After 10 seconds in this position, it might as well be 3.31 tons. Arms were shaking up and down the line, interspersed with yelling from the drill sergeants directed at recruits whose rifles were deemed to be less than near vertical.<br />
<br />
Lesson: The Army can turn anything into a hazing ritual.<br />
<br />
The SOP ends with the synchronized testing of the triggers of the now confirmed empty rifles:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #660000; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fire! Fire again!</span>" (擊發!再擊發!)</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/yt_BaVyKHso" width="420"></iframe></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Sloppy rendition of the firearms inspection SOP, sans firearms.</i></div>
<br />
It is worth noting that firearms are euphemisms for certain male body parts in many cultures, and Taiwan is no exception. The unofficial lyrics of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q8Q4ZTJ7bTw">one popular military marching song</a> goes "I have two guns. One is longer than the other..." (「我有兩支槍,長短不一樣...」).<br />
<br />
That evening, a group of new recruits decided to perform a group recital of the firearms inspection SOP in the company showers, complete with requisite sound effects. They had barely gotten to the part about test firing when a gaggle of drill sergeants burst in demanding the identities of those involved. When no answer was forthcoming, everyone in the showers was hauled off to the company office pending further investigation.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16631765.post-58457940685152146582011-10-24T21:17:00.088+08:002011-10-26T22:15:58.119+08:00取水壺! Retrieve canteens!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKeSwvrx1MqNiwJ2ArLJxmZFIDcFty8EHJBgoCAZ5PCaNFlA_ApBag_WlImzVP7LkPx3sx0pwiuCNeOypDyW_SFzDbaM0QmqZIEfP6LSYViapg9l1XUBr6C3Y9zWlH4kyYcmlb/s1600/DSCF3500.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 280px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKeSwvrx1MqNiwJ2ArLJxmZFIDcFty8EHJBgoCAZ5PCaNFlA_ApBag_WlImzVP7LkPx3sx0pwiuCNeOypDyW_SFzDbaM0QmqZIEfP6LSYViapg9l1XUBr6C3Y9zWlH4kyYcmlb/s400/DSCF3500.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667794567033609858" /></a><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0); ">"God, why do they keep giving us lukewarm seawater to drink?"</span></blockquote><blockquote><div><br /></div><div>"Well, the drill sergeants add hydration salts to all our drinking water, and you remember the captain's little speech about only drinking warm water to keep us from catching colds..."</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#33cc00;">"Yeah? Well its 30 degrees Celsius out right now. And if he's so worried, why the vending machines?"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#33cc00;"><br /></span></div><div>"Well, if you want to risk getting cold water from the talking drinking fountain next to the company office <a href="http://www.lcwater.com.tw/products_detail.asp?le=english&fid=26&pid=107">that vocally thanks you for perusing cold water</a>, then be my guest."</div></blockquote><div></div><div><br /></div><div>The dozen or so of us in the mess squad sat beneath the trees lining the outdoors company dishwashing area for a much needed break. The mountain of pots, pans, and trays from breakfast finally scrubbed, organized, and hauled back to their storage areas, and the bins of food waste and hogwash hauled off to the garbage dumpsters. On the other side of the building, the rest of our training company was assembling for our first real day of basic training after their half hour post-breakfast break. </div><div><br /></div><div>Although we would soon join the rest of the company, our squad leaders had allowed us a short breather. Most of my squad mates took the opportunity to smoke cigarettes, or buy cold beverages from the two vending machines. Taiwanese kids are fond of soft drinks, a passion that turns to a full blown addiction when exposed to the rigid control, long contraband list, and high stress of basic training. Not to mention the only other beverage option being the warm, salty drinking water in our canteens. The vending machines were replenished every couple of days, but were almost always sold out within a few hours of being resupplied. The vending machines and the drinks they sold, however humble, were a rare connection to the outside world that we happily availed ourselves to whenever possible. Consequently, vending machine use was also one of the privileges our superiors repeatedly threatened to take away in the event of bad behavior.</div><div><br /></div><div>Our brief respite (all rest times are too short as far as the troops are concerned) over, we hurriedly donned our BDUs, helmets, and utility belts (with canteen hooked on). Folding stools in hand, we hastily rejoined the rest of the company outside already standing in formation, with the captain commanding our company standing in front, ready to address the troops.</div><div><br /></div><div>After the requisite pre-assembly pleasantries from the squad leaders (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;color:#666600;">"DID I AUTHORIZE YOU TO SCRATCH YOUR EARS? I SAID STAND AT ATTENTION!"</span>), we formed up into three platoons, each consisting of three companies. Megaphone in hand, the captain spoke and those of us positioned at the flanks of the formation strained to hear what he had to say.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:78%;color:#663333;"></span></div><blockquote><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;color:#663333;">"Today we begin your first real day of training. We will begin with basic drill commands teaching you how march in formation without looking like a mob of delinquents. Platoon 1 will proceed to... Platoon 2 will proceed to the front of the building for ... Platoon 3 will..."</span></div><div><br /></div><div>"What did he just say?"</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#33cc00;">"Uh, I can't make out what he's saying. Where are we supposed to-"</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:78%;color:#663333;">"... any questions? Now move to your assigned positions!"</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#33cc00;">"What? Where are we supposed to go?"</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#66ff99;">"Did you hear?"</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#33cc00;">"No, I-"</span></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#666600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"QUIT TALKING AND START MOVING!"</span>, </span>one of the squad leaders yelled.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Where are we supposed to-"</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;color:#666600;">"DO YOU HAVE FORESKIN GROWING ON YOUR EARS? MOVE!"</span></div><div></div></blockquote><div><br /></div><div>And thus came our first exposure to what would become a common occurrence throughout basic training - communications failures. The ad hoc solution to this boils down to: "Follow the guy next to you. (And hope that he knows what he's doing)"</div><div><br /></div><div>Each day in basic training is broken down into class periods, punctuated by short 5 minute breaks, as well as lunch around 1130, followed by a nap till 1300, more classes till dinner time at 1730, then evening classes till around 2100. The day ends with evening roll call, then a brief period of shower/free time until lights out at 2200.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Drill_commands">Basic drill</a> (基本教練) consists of the basic commands for assembling, marching in formation, and saluting. Classes in basic drill are a continuous occurrence throughout basic training, and are typically noted for being long, and rather dull repetitions of marching, about face, left / right face, followed by more marching. Actions considered deviant or otherwise unsatisfactory typically result in further repetition. </div><div><br /></div><div>As far as the Army is concerned, obsessive compulsive disorder is a plus in these matters, and I've long since lost track of the number of times everyone in our platoon was ordered to redo our last move because a single individual didn't have their fingers lined up with their pant seams while at attention / rotated in the wrong direction / moved the wrong foot. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#666600;"></span></div><blockquote><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#666600;">"QUIT KICKING UP YOUR HEELS WHEN DOING AN ABOUT FACE! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, A HONG KONG COP?" (「向後轉幹嘛甩腿?你以為你是香港警察喔?」)</span></div><div></div></blockquote><div><br /></div><div>After an hour of this under the hot tropical sun and steamy humidity of southern Taiwan wearing our steel helmets and long sleeved heavy cotton/polyester BDUs, you can understand why the threat of more basic drill practice is often employed as a punishment in basic training and beyond.</div><div><br /></div><div>After performing yet another formation march around the company parade grounds, one of the drill sergeants blew his whistle for the platoon to assemble. Facing us, he produced a small folded card that would accompany us during our entire time in basic training.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;color:#666600;"><blockquote>"This is the Hydration Card (飲水記錄卡) that you have each been issued. You will always carry this card with you, and will record the amount of water that you will be ordered to drink from your canteens at specified times throughout the day. On my command you will repeat and execute the following orders to drink 300 c.c.s of water."</blockquote></span></div><div><br /></div><div>We stared at each other in resigned silence: <i>Great, another SOP to memorize</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#666600;"></span></div><blockquote><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;color:#666600;">"Retrieve canteens!"</span> (「取水壺!」)</div><div><br /></div><div>"Retrieve canteens!", we repeated.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;color:#666600;">"LOUDER! And hold the canteens in front of your faces with both hands!"</span></div><div><br /></div><div>"Retrieve canteens!", we repeated again, holding our canteens before our faces as if we were making an offering of our salty metallic tasting canteen water to the gods.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;color:#666600;">"Open lids!"</span>(「打開瓶蓋!」)</div><div><br /></div><div>"Open lids!", we shouted, unscrewing the lids with our right hands.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;color:#666600;">"Post drill hydration..."</span> (「操課後飲水...」) He paused, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;color:#666600;">"Say the amount!"</span></div><div><br /></div><div>"300 c.c.s!", we yelled, as if our lives depended on it.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;color:#666600;">"Drink!"</span>(「喝水!」)</div></blockquote><div></div><div><br /></div><div>As he watched us chugging down the contents of our canteens, the drill sergeant pointed again to our Hydration Cards - a fairly new development prompted by too many past cases of new recruits passing out from heat stroke.</div><div><br /></div><div><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#666600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"After hydrating, you will record the prescribed amount of water on your card at the matching time slot. The first member of your squad will collect your hydration cards every night before lights out, and turn them in to your squad leaders for review. Anyone who fails to do so will be severely punished</span>. </span>(This would be the cause of many a last minute pre-lights out scramble)<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#666600;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b>I do not care if you actually drink that amount, but you will record it on your card</b>. At the top slot for each day you will record your weight and body temperature. Since there are close to 150 of you, you will record whatever you feel is correct, if you actually feel like you have a fever, then notify me and we'll deal with it then."</span></span></blockquote></div><div><br /></div><div>The latter order was later amended to "Any value between 36 - 37.5 degrees Celsius" after some genius put down a body temperature of 28 degrees Celsius.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;color:#666600;"><blockquote>"Finally, at the end of the day, you will draw a circle at the top of your card if you made a successful bowl movement, or an X if you did not. If you go for 3 days without passing stool, tell your squad leader. I have a nice little pill here guaranteed to cure what ails you."</blockquote></span></div><div><br /></div><div>This happened more often than you might think. Between the hectic daily schedule and constant pressure, its easy to go for an extended period of time without clearing your bowels.</div><div></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16631765.post-79717556928923475782011-07-14T21:56:00.001+08:002011-07-14T22:00:13.755+08:00"現在時間0530...": "The current time is 0530 hours..."<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz8X3ox3gDN6dZVUoI2pzOXp3-PH64rGfIUyly2T2hEZDTm8-z2qs0z84_cX8eNKQy845siE4sxnNyGsHFRiajfPyj1nI6l9qSAnj8qJUelrfBGCjGPyP4P-sDrlZoVfFc5t4U/s1600/DSCF3277.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 319px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz8X3ox3gDN6dZVUoI2pzOXp3-PH64rGfIUyly2T2hEZDTm8-z2qs0z84_cX8eNKQy845siE4sxnNyGsHFRiajfPyj1nI6l9qSAnj8qJUelrfBGCjGPyP4P-sDrlZoVfFc5t4U/s400/DSCF3277.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5629204854698467282" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><i></i></div><blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Naturally, the pocket notebooks have to be emblazoned with the characters for "success".</i></div><div></div></blockquote><div><br /></div><div>I was awakened early the next morning by my still sleeping bunkmate kicking me in the face through the mosquito netting that lined our respective beds (our drill instructors had arranged us so that adjacent new recruits slept head to foot, in order to keep us from breathing in each others faces as we slept). A few seconds later, my wristwatch alarm that I had set for 5AM went off, followed by several others from the surrounding bunks. Slowly, we awoke one by one, sitting up groggily staring at the scene around us. <i>Oh yeah, I'm here now</i>.<i> Official wake up time is 5:30 isn't it? Better get to work before that rolls around.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Reaching for the heavy white blanket that I'd somehow kicked off during the night, I started to fold it in the method prescribed by retired military people I'd talked to before coming in. <i>Fold in half along the long edge, quarter folds at the front and back, then fold everything in half again to create a nice rectangular package. Tug corners to smooth out the wrinkles. Tuck in the corners of the folds with your finger or a toothbrush handle to create nice sharp edges. Use of water to create sharp corners is optional. Done.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>As I contemplated whether I should handle my mosquito netting the same way, the loudspeakers crackled to life:</div><div><br /></div><div>"The current time is 0530 hours. All new recruits out of bed."</div><div><br /></div><div>A gaggle of drill instructors marched down the center aisle of our barracks. "This is day 2 of your adjustment period" one of them announced. "We will now demonstrate how you will be required to fold and arrange your bedding." He glanced at my meticulously folded block of oversized tofu. "Unfold that, you did it wrong."</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Fold in thirds along the long edge, then fold in thirds the other way, leaving enough space between the folds so the whole thing stands up as a rectangular block. Tug out the wrinkles and tuck in the corners to form nice right angles. Water and toothbrush handle not necessary. Handle the mosquito netting the old way (bunkmate assistance required). Place folded mosquito netting atop pillow placed on edge of mattress. Place the folded blanket behind that. Done.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>The loudspeaker blared again: "The current time is now 0545 hours. All new recruits assemble outside on the company assembly grounds in gym outfits. You have 1 minute. Move."</div><div><br /></div><div>The fifty some odd new recruits in the same barracks as me dashed towards the exit in a mass frenzy punctuated by swearing, and the occasional bang from someone falling out of a top bunk in what is known colloquially as "taking the elevator" (坐電梯). This was followed by running around in panicked circles on the basketball court outside as we tried to find our designated positions in one of the 9 half remembered squads from the previous day.</div><div><br /></div><div>"ATTENTION!" The sergeant of the day yelled into a bullhorn.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Attention!" came the ragged cry from a few people. <i>Oh shit, we were supposed to repeat that, weren't we?</i></div><div><br /></div><div>"WHEN I CALL YOU TO ATTENTION, YOU WILL REPEAT THE WORD AND STOP MOVING! ATTENTION!!"</div><div><br /></div><div>"ATTENTION!", we yelled.</div><div><br /></div><div>"It has been over 3 minutes and you still aren't properly assembled. Did you bump your heads and forget about everything from yesterday? Figure out the recruit at the head of your squad (班頭) and line up after him by number. Now go back into your barracks and reassemble when I give the order! You have 10 seconds to get out of my sight!"</div><div><br /></div><div>I'll spare you the details of what happened next, but I'm sure you can imagine the controlled chaos that transpired. About 5 minutes later we were finally assembled back outside in our designated order.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Mess squad, break formation!", one of the sergeants yelled. "Everyone else, assemble in horizontal formation!"</div><div><br /></div><div>As the dozen or so of us in the mess squad were led away by our squad leaders, hauling stainless steel baskets full of trays and utensils, I turned back and saw the rest of our company positioning themselves for pushups. The night before, our squad leaders had told us that given our extra work load as mess squad, we would be given certain privileges as compensation. Apparently, being exempt from this morning's physical training (PT) was one of them. I was actually somewhat disappointed, having done some previous preparation before starting basic.</div><div><br /></div><div>My disappointment at not participating in PT was short-lived. We soon arrived at the ground level exit to the battalion kitchen where the cooks (also soldiers) were already rolling out breakfast.</div><div><br /></div><div>"The dumb-waiter is down again today" our squad leader announced. "You will carry the food for our company downstairs to the mess hall by hand. Be careful not to drop anything, and watch out for the stairs, they're slippery. Last class we had a recruit end up with 2nd degree burns all over after he slipped while hauling a cauldron of soup."</div><div><br /></div><div>Two by two, we carried giant stainless steel cauldrons filled with rice porridge, scalding hot tea, and the other breakfast side dishes down the ramp from the kitchen, around the building, and down the steep flight of stairs to the basement mess hall. I soon realized why the mess squad would be frequently excused from PT... we already got plenty of upper body exercise hauling food and utensils for 100+ new recruits as well as their officers and NCOs three times a day.</div><div><br /></div><div>After setting the utensils for the officers and NCOs, as well as the communal pots of beverages and rice at the table for each squad, we hurriedly slurped up what breakfast we could, while the projection TV at the end of the mess hall was turned on to broadcast <a href="http://www.ttv.com.tw/">Taiwan Television</a> (our only source of outside information while on base). Watered down soy / rice milk or scalding hot tea was the norm beverage-wise. This was followed by scrambled eggs mixed with corn or diced ham, pickles, and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wheat_gluten_(food)">fried gluten</a> (麵筋). The rice porridge was occasionally mixed with egg or canned corn (I've never seen anyone add either one of these to rice porridge outside the military). No need for the usual required mechanical eating movements here that everyone else had to abide by - another fringe benefit of being in the mess squad.</div><div><br /></div><div>"The company is here, ASSUME YOUR POSITIONS!", someone yelled.</div><div><br /></div><div>Four of us wearing white aprons, caps, and sleeve covers charged towards the pots of food, which had been placed in the hallway leading into the mess hall. Troops from the other companies in our brigade sharing the mess hall charged with similar tasks ran to their respective stations, as lines of tray bearing recruits appeared.</div><div><br /></div><div>Unsure of what we were expected to do, we ladled food onto the trays of the new recruits marching in as best we could.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Watch your portion sizes", one of our squad leaders said, "if you run out, then everyone else goes hungry."</div><div><br /></div><div>Eventually, we would get better at estimating portion sizes. But during our first outing, the first recruits to arrive while the pots appeared to be full ended up with larger portions. Recruits arriving in the middle ended up with less, as we experienced a "Holy shit, where does this line end?"-moment; while recruits near the end ended up with their trays overflowing with surplus food as we realized we'd been too conservative with the portions as the end of the line came into sight.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Sorry. We're new at this too, in case you didn't notice.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>All too soon, the new recruits finished breakfast, and the company filed out of the mess hall to wash their own trays. The mess squad was responsible for washing the communal pots, as well as the utensils for the officers and NCOs. As well as mopping the mess hall floor and wiping the tables. And hauling the food waste out to the rubbish pile for resale as pig feed.</div><div><br /></div><div>By the time we managed to finish all this, the usual after-breakfast break time that the other recruits were enjoying was over.</div><div><br /></div><div>The rest of the three day adjustment period passed in much the same way. Mundane administrative chores punctuated by the early departure of those of us in the mess squad near mealtimes. We worked on our thick stacks of forms in between group and individual photo shoots, chest x-rays, cleaning, and optional blood donation. Almost everyone volunteered to donate blood simply to spend half an hour in the air conditioned bloodmobile sipping the juice boxes offered to donors.</div><div><br /></div><div>"No rush", one of the new recruits sitting next to me told the civilian nurse drawing our blood, who nodded knowingly.</div><div><br /></div><div>On the morning of the fourth day, our real training began. </div><div><br /></div><div>Our company assembled in formation on the parade ground in full BDUs (which we had slept in the night before) along with the new recruits from the rest of the brigade to take the formal oath, followed by a long address from a brigadier general who had dropped by especially for the occasion.</div><div><br /></div><div>The rest of the mess squad and I watched this from the sidelines, as we hauled the day's breakfast down to the mess hall yet again. For us, there was no oath, no formal pep talk from the commanding general. When the rest of the company finally trooped down into the mess hall half an hour later, the tables were set, and we were at our designated positions wearing the white caps and aprons.</div><div><br /></div><div>A few of my fellow mess squad troops congratulated each other on our "good luck". <i>This sucks</i>, I thought.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16631765.post-42623589318896160782011-06-05T12:49:00.061+08:002011-06-05T15:12:31.844+08:00打飯班: Mess SquadI have heard that basic training has been described as "Hurry up and wait". The hours that followed our first arrival on base certainly lived up to that description. Our squad leaders - a mix of sergeants and a few corporals (I later learned that the sergeants were career military, while the corporals were experienced draftees), hurriedly shuffled us between what seemed to be a maze of buildings, where upon arrival, we spent long moments sitting outside on our stools filling out paperwork that ranged from background checks ("List the names, addresses, and contact information of 3 male, and 3 female friends", "Do you have any direct relations living or working in Mainland China?"), to medical questionnaires ("Do you have any long term medical ailments?", "How would you classify your personality?"), and more practical matters ("Who do you wish to list as the main beneficiary of your military life insurance policy?"). <div><br /></div><div>With all the new recruits being shuffled around base, it took an effort not to get separated from one's squad, or to avoid losing any of the items we were hauling around.<div><br /></div><div>"You're lucky that nowadays the brass have mandated a 3 day adjustment period for all new recruits", one of the sergeants warned as another hospital gown-wearing new recruit belatedly rushed back into the medical examination room for his gym clothes that he'd forgotten to put back on. "If you think this is hard, wait till the real work begins."</div><div><br /></div><div>Finally, after yet another trip to wait outside yet another room containing yet another bored looking officer with more forms to fill out, our squad leaders led us all back to the basketball court outside our company barracks. Steel racks containing steel utensils sat at the front.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ten dozen surgical mask-wearing young men with a variety of hairdos... mostly the shaggy "birdsnest hair" (鳥巢頭) that seems to be all the rage these days, stared at each other, shuffling from foot to foot. "We sure don't look like an army", I thought, "and this sure doesn't feel like how you always expect boot camp to be".</div></div><div><br /></div><div>One of the sergeants spoke up: loud enough to be heard, but still no real yelling. "You will now proceed to the front squad by squad, where you will receive your mess kit. You will use the same items during your entire stay here, so don't lose anything."</div><div><br /></div><div>Proceeding one by one to the head of the line, we each received a steel bowl, steel chopsticks, and a steel tray etched with "ARMY" (陸軍), or in several cases <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taiwan_Garrison_Command">"TAIWAN GARRISON COMMAND" (警總)</a> - the long defunct martial law era secret police agency disbanded in 1992. It is perhaps telling of how far Taiwan has come from those days that most of my fellow new recruits had never heard of the once feared state security body, or their creative applications of toothbrushes and car batteries to "subversive elements".</div><div><br /></div><div>In other good news, the modern ROC military is really into recycling.</div><div><br /></div><div>We were once again paraded single file into the battalion mess hall, where faceless troops wearing white aprons and baseball caps dumped portions of food onto our trays, before we were randomly led to one of the many square tables running up and down the length of the mess hall, each one with steel pots of rice, a watery soup-like liquid, and smaller steel bowls of pickles, and something resembling meat broth (滷汁).</div><div><br /></div><div>"Remember" my friends had told me, "the military views mealtime as a hazing ritual. Act in groups when ordered, sit straight. They're expecting to nail you the first day when you don't know all the rules."</div><div><br /></div><div>Armed with this bit of intelligence, I braced myself for a chewing out as several of the new recruits simply dropped their trays on the table, pulled out their stools, and started eating. To my surprise, none came.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Sit down and listen up while you eat", a sergeant said, "I'm only going to explain this once."</div><div><br /></div><div>He sat down at our table, his back remaining ramrod straight. "In the future, you will set your trays down at the table and pull out your benches silently as a group, only when ordered. Pass me the rice pot."</div><div><br /></div><div>The rice pot made its way over in front of him, he filled his bowl methodically, placing the bowl below the outside rim of the pot. "You will not stand up until the meal is over. If you want something, ask your fellow soldiers to pass it over to you. When filling your bowl with rice or soup, never hold your bowl above the rim of the pot - that makes it look as if you're planning to dump food back in".</div><div><br /></div><div>Holding the filled bowl in his left hand, he picked up his chopsticks and continued: "Your chopsticks are only for moving food between your tray, your bowl, and your mouth. When you are chewing your food, your chopsticks are to remain still. If your jaws are moving, your chopsticks should not be." </div><div><br /></div><div>He then proceeded to eat methodically in a method befitting a robot. The rest of us attempted to emulate him, often failing. Till then, I'd never noticed how often I tend to shovel food with my chopsticks while chewing the previous bite.</div><div><br /></div><div>The food that first night was representative of what we would be subsisting on for the rest of our stay in basic training. A thin cut of pork with the consistency of cardboard boiled in what appeared to be a watered down, fluorescent yellow curry, some limp green vegetable - boiled, something that looked like potatoes and canned corn boiled in the same curry sauce as the meat, and a few slices of dried tofu with a few crumbs of ground mystery meat. "On average, we have a daily food budget of about NT$30 per person here", the captain commanding our training company had said, "So its not haute cuisine, but it'll keep you alive".</div><div><br /></div><div>As I contemplated whether I was authorized to dump the corn into my rice bowl from my tray to avoid having to pick up individual kernels, the sergeant finished his meal.</div><div><br /></div><div>"When you are finished" he said, "Place your chopsticks back onto the largest space on your tray in front of you, then place your rice bowl upside down on top of it to signal to your fellow new recruits that you are done eating. When you have all finished, you will leave as a group as ordered by your table leader. Today, I will give the orders."</div><div><br /></div><div>"All rise!", he ordered.</div><div><br /></div><div>Everyone rose to their feet, with the sound of benches grinding against the tiled floor.</div><div><br /></div><div>"You will rise together, and silently!", the sergeant said. And in what would become a refrain in basic training: "Redo that last action!"</div><div><br /></div><div>We rose, trying not to bump into our benches, while stepping over them.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Replace benches!", the sergeant ordered.</div><div><br /></div><div>We shoved our benches back under the table as quietly as we could, and stood back at attention.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Did I tell you to come back to attention?", the sergeant said. "Redo that last move. Keep your hands on the benches when you're done pushing them back, and look towards the person giving the orders so he knows when you're all ready. Do not come to attention till I order you to."</div><div><br /></div><div>We pushed the benches back, kept our hands on the benches, and started back sideways at the sergeant from our bent over positions.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Come to attention!" he ordered. "Retrieve trays!"</div><div><br /></div><div>After another 5 minutes of breaking down that particular activity into its constituent parts, we were finally led out of the mess hall to the line of sinks outside our barracks, where we were each issued a piece of sponge the size of a postage stamp (for kids of my generation or younger, this is about the size of an SD memory card). Proceeding slowly forward, we dumped any remaining food into the first bin (to be sold to nearby farmers as pig feed - Taiwan is very much into garbage reduction: The pigs eat our scraps, then we eat the pigs), then scooped up soapy water from the second bin, before finally scrubbing our utensils in the sink. </div><div><br /></div><div>Maybe it was the result of the watered down detergent or maybe it was the tiny sponges, but either way, our tableware retained a distinctly greasy feel throughout our entire stay. Its kind of romantic if you think about it: lubricating your utensils with food scraps for future generations of new recruits.</div><div><br /></div><div>The trays went back into the steel baskets for each squad, carefully lined up in numerical order. The bowls, chopsticks, and sponges went back into our lockers.</div><div><br /></div><div>Eventually, we were led back into the mess hall, from which the communal pots had suddenly disappeared. A quartet of middle aged ladies wielding hair clippers stood at one end, rapidly shearing the hair off an endless line of new recruits, lined up like lambs at the slaughterhouse. Everyone got the treatment, from the kid with the most elaborate salon styled hair, to the ones who'd already gone through the trouble of shaving their heads beforehand. There were no combs on the clippers, no wash, no blow dry, and no brush at the end. </div><div><br /></div><div>Relieved of our hair, and still wearing our surgical masks, it was now all but impossible to tell people apart from one another.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Squad 3, assemble!", one of the drill instructors shouted. We were led back up to the sinks to face one of our two corporal squad leaders, as well as what seemed like a mountain of dirty pots, pans, and vats. "So that's where all the communal stuff went", I thought.</div><div><br /></div><div>The corporal looked at us grimly. "Squad 3", he said, "you have been selected as the mess squad (打飯班) for our company. For the duration of your stay in basic training, you will be responsible for setting up, clearing, and cleaning the mess hall, as well as for washing all the communal utensils."</div><div><br /></div><div>The dozen or so of us started at each other in the fading light, as well as back towards the barracks where the rest of our company was seated out in front, still filling out paperwork.</div><div><br /></div><div>"I'm warning you ahead of time", the corporal said, "you will have much more work to do and less rest time, compared to the other new recruits in your company. Now get to work."</div><div><br /></div><div>It was another hour before we finished, and another three hours after that of other random work, before dashing to the shower room for 2 minute combat showers (6 showers shared between close to four dozen new recruits), meticulously arranging our toiletries and personal items under our beds (toothbrushes must be placed in our metal cups, pointed towards the front of the room), and standing at attention for bedtime inspection, before we hurriedly crawled under our mosquito-netting into bed for lights out. The footsteps of our squad leaders echoed from the walkway as they periodically patrolled the barracks to make sure we were all lying in bed, as our first day finally drew to a close.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16631765.post-78010080964475915432011-05-20T22:23:00.074+08:002011-05-21T03:01:18.343+08:00九個班: 9 Squads<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><br /></u></span></div><div>Longtian (隆田) is a small town nestled amongst rice fields and mango orchards in rural Tainan, along the main eastern rail line. The town would be wholly unremarkable for one of its size, except for its close proximity to the army bases at Guantian(官田), Danei(大內) , and Shinjhong(新中). </div><div><br /></div><div>Taiwan has changed a great deal over the past two decades, and the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Republic_of_China_Armed_Forces">ROC military</a> has been no exception. Far from the old "Reconquer the Mainland"(反攻大陸)martial law days, the armed forces have since been de-politicized and placed under civilian control. The armed forces have also moved into a defensive role, with the army establishing <a href="http://www.globalsecurity.org/military/world/taiwan/afrc.htm">reserve units</a> patterned on the U.S. Army National Guard. Amongst other things, the bases near Longtian are home to several of these army reserve infantry brigades charged with providing basic training for new Army and Air Force recruits.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/5739683557/" title="DSC00980 by mutou824, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5026/5739683557_035e8e82d0.jpg" width="500" height="394" alt="DSC00980" /></a></div><i><blockquote style="text-align: center;">Longtian Station</blockquote></i>As our train pulled into the station in the early afternoon, I stumbled out into the bright southern Taiwan sunshine and heat, along with a few hundred other new Air Force recruits from around the north. Led by our flag wielding civilian handlers, we were hurriedly escorted out of the station into a fleet of waiting busses. Safely inside the air conditioned motorcoaches, the fleet of busses rumbled down broad avenues running through rice fields, while the onboard TVs blared. Outside, the pastoral scenes were broken occasionally by small shops hawking stir-fry (熱炒), karaoke, and agricultural equipment.<div><br /></div><div>"This is the middle of nowhere", one of the Taipei city kids grumbled as others dozed off.<br /><div><br /></div><div><div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/5740235408/" title="DSC00979 by mutou824, on Flickr"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3650/5740235408_3401e5c520.jpg" width="500" height="365" alt="DSC00979" /></a></div></div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>The town of Longtian. Any contact with the town was incidental on the way to and back home from base.</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Eventually, the busses pulled up to a gate in a long concrete wall guarded by rifle wielding soldiers. "We're there!", someone shouted, as everyone ripped open the curtains to peek outside as we drove in.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Driving onto base, our busses passed between three story faux-brick facade buildings, each surrounding a basketball court now filled with folding metal stools topped with white drawing boards. Some of the stools were already filled by other luggage carrying kids in civilian clothes. Trees dotted the scene along with somewhat ornate looking lamp posts. Except for the large central parade area and the green camouflage Humvees parked along the roads, we might as well have been looking at dormitories on move-in day from any decently sized university.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Our bus pulled to a stop before one of the buildings. An army officer wearing camouflage fatigues (the military's working clothes of choice) climbed aboard. 45 new recruits braced ourselves for the expected chewing out that you see in the movies...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Instead, the officer pulled out a spray bottle of disinfectant and box of disposable surgical masks, one of which he promptly donned. "Hands out for disinfection!" he said matter-of-factly, as he walked down the aisle distributing the masks. "Put your surgical masks on and do not take them off until ordered. We don't want one of you making everyone else sick."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Eventually, we were shuttled off the bus to the stools lined up in front of one of the buildings, each of which was a barracks housing a single <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Company_(military_unit)">company</a> (連) of new recruits. Underneath the drawing board on each stool was a large brown envelope containing a stack of forms. <i>Remember</i>, I was told by my friends who had been through before, <i>you will spend your first few days filling out mounds of paperwork</i>.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Another soldier walked in front of us wearing a yellow armband bearing the words "Duty Squad Leader" (值星班長). I strained to see the rank insignia on his collar: <a href="http://www.uniforminsignia.org/?option=com_insigniasearch&Itemid=53&result=2121">two thin chevrons atop one thick chevron: a sergeant</a>(中士). What happened next has been blurred in my memory by a month of similar events, but the main gist of it should be familiar to anyone who has been through it.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Pick up your stools, drawing boards, luggage, and form up into nine squads facing me!" (「在我面前排成九個班!」), he said in a firm, but not especially menacing voice.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Roughly ten dozen new recruits in civvies shuffled around thoroughly confused by what was just said. After a few more moments of confused movement with no end in sight, the sergeant spoke again:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"When I say 'squads', I mean rows. Now form up into 9 squads facing me." he said, this time with a slight edge in his voice.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Ten dozen new recruits started to move.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Did I tell you to move yet?" he said, the volume of his voice going up.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Ten dozen new recruits froze.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"You do not move until I order you to move!" he said. "Now move!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In physics, seemingly chaotic motions can lead to the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/B%C3%A9nard_cell">eventual formation of coherent patterns</a>. Somehow in the running, pushing, and shoving, 9 lines started to form.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Attention!"(「注意!」) the sergeant said.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Everyone looked up.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"When I say 'Attention', you will stop whatever it is you are doing and repeat the word 'Attention'! Now Attention!" he said. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">"Attention"</span>, came the ragged cry from the confused masses.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Sarge somehow conveyed disgust without changing his overall expression. "Do you think you're at summer camp or something?" he said. "Attention!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Attention!" came the reply.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Attention!" he repeated.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">"</span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">ATTENTION!</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">"</span> everyone yelled.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Is forming into 9 squads really that difficult?" he said. "I want the same number of men in each squad, arranged from shortest at the rear to tallest at the front. You have 10 seconds. Now move!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In the ensuing confusion, I dashed for the front end of one of the squads near the front. After some jockeying and further rearrangement, I found myself randomly positioned as the second member of the third squad. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I didn't know it at the time, but this seemingly random arrangement would end up having a massive impact on my experience in basic training. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Seated in our new positions, we waited to see what would happen next.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The sergeant spoke again: "Now listen carefully. On the second floor, you will be issued your uniforms and accessories. There are tables with sample camouflage fatigue hats, shirts, as well as combat boots of various sizes. You will first determine which size fits you for each of these. You will then report these sizes to the soldier in the room at the end, who will issue you the supplies. You will then return here with the supplies. Perform this action squad by squad. Replace the sample items neatly as you found them. Now move."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAxX3BsSWLecZZQKsU460zTql21toI41FikhNyq5iJOqQW48z-WKaNwrHo_7_voec25PpWlZlqgzN_ZiBccUPHiSjjuuqS3j5hJ_cLlNk1ab7SIe6Zfa8e321uZZ5U0nZmvUQ7/s1600/DSCF3070.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAxX3BsSWLecZZQKsU460zTql21toI41FikhNyq5iJOqQW48z-WKaNwrHo_7_voec25PpWlZlqgzN_ZiBccUPHiSjjuuqS3j5hJ_cLlNk1ab7SIe6Zfa8e321uZZ5U0nZmvUQ7/s400/DSCF3070.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608871480179436466" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 259px; height: 400px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Fatigues are work clothes meant for hard physical work. When not dressed in your gym outfit you will be wearing fatigues. The conclusion is left as an exercise for the reader.</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Doing as we were told, we dutifully reported our hat, shirt, and shoe sizes to the soldiers standing in the room at the end. We were issued a metal washbasin filled with a steel cup, three new olive drab undershirts (Proudly Made in Taiwan), three white underpants, a green camouflage web belt, a long and short set of dark blue sport pants, and a red white and blue sports jacket. Further piled atop this were two sets of fatigues in tropical camouflage pattern, a camouflage cap with the ROC's white sun and blue sky emblem, a steel canteen and cover, a set of new combat boots wrapped in plastic, and a new pair of white running shoes in a blue shoebox bearing the insignia of the Ministry of National Defense.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">All of this was heaped into a large mound in our arms that we struggled (often unsuccessfully), to carry back to our seats downstairs in a single load.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"It took you all long enough", the sergeant said at the end of the process. "We're all running late since you ladies decided to take your time getting here. Inside the barracks, you will find your bunks and lockers arranged by number. There will be four squads in the room on each level. You will carry all your things into your rooms. For now, throw everything on your bed. Change into the gym outfit you were just issued, then report back here in formation. For now, don't bother with the running shoes. You have 5 minutes. Move!"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Following another mess of running, collisions, and accessories flying everywhere, we dashed into our respective rooms. Inside, we found what was to be our home for the next month: two rows of narrow bunk beds, topped with individual mattresses barely a foot and a half wide, and flanked by tall steel lockers. A heavy blanket and mosquito netting were neatly folded onto the pillow of each spot.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Throwing what were now our only worldly possessions on our beds, we hurriedly ripped our gym outfits and olive drab undershirts out of their coverings. Donning our new outfits, there was no time for contemplation as we dashed back outside towards our new lives.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16631765.post-87616538308252887532011-05-20T01:10:00.072+08:002011-05-20T04:05:18.731+08:00“保護我們的台北家園” - "Defend our Taipei homes"<div style="text-align: center;"><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAdCwhZa97wcDq_f9zvM8y1FC4O8RhRczSMZN8liupzvAfaYs0ssg-oeMAmPBCiMnzLKCHcYVBhyphenhyphenHZZ84csNIQ0aIcIPh1Btue2bkIatXqa6pl5OxueVZtmzeWvtJkaCkdAo8N/s1600/DSCF3093.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><div style="text-align: left;">In old war movies, you almost always see that scene of the emotional sendoff of military-bound young men by their families and girlfriends at the train station, the "with your shield or on it"-speech, complete with tears, flags, and that lone figure chasing the train as it pulls out of the station to an uncertain fate.</div><div><br /></div><div>On my induction day, the train station part was real.</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 278px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0sXiBZokC4HkFC4W8OKjhy7-pDRZ_2HZqpV3flt-KD4NacFuDTuCWaZcFVdnoeCUFVXJ02kqBSLC2y38g7JsgvD8JIY-WrPFgrv-pzy55XuAtCZv9EYaYoV1pVpVhzRqjv8rT/s400/DSCF3067.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608478715162199058" /></div><div><br /></div><div>Our assembly point at the North 2 Gate of Taipei Main Station is one of those places you usually walk through without really paying much attention to. Induction Day was like any other morning with commuters and travelers hurrying on their way. But today, there was an additional contingent of middle aged men and women wearing red vests and yellow arm bands from the draft boards of district offices across Taipei. A couple dozen young men in various states of resignation milled around. Most came alone, a few came with family or girlfriends. Some were bespectacled student looking types, while others with shaggy manes of dyed hair milled around outside smoking cigarettes. A few had even already shaved the hair off their heads to the stubble that the military prefers for its new recruits. All wore the yellow passes issued by the draft board, bearing the markings of their home district, and "Air Force".</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLXSfXA-9_1gKD8pJIKzzzsWyoBAPuyChaH5cy9qfuTkTcOO_04kk0W1-nYZFjNyY839rN1d-HMA8plY3Pd3x2E0SsZWQK1tvQY3vmYN8VbkbNaqIJ6lWHJInOb4kKaqBnvOpj/s400/DSCF3068.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608482660658870322" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 296px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div>At 8:30AM, an authoritative looking man with a bullhorn ordered everyone to assemble by district. 12 red vested civil servants held up signs, each bearing the name of one of the 12 administrative districts of Taipei. We queued up, hauling our luggage with us. I silently congratulated myself on my decision to reduce my worldly possessions to a single backpack containing a jacket and a change of clothes. "You won't need anything else", my friends who had gone through the process told me, "you'll get everything you need once you get there."</div><div><br /></div><div>Once properly assembled, two distinguished looking gentleman stepped before us. Although older, their upright poise and clipped tones marked them as retired military. One of them picked up a microphone and introduced himself as director of the Department of Compulsory Military Service for Taipei...</div><div><br /></div><div><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;">"Before I joined the civil service, I served for over two decades in the Army. I have been stationed on the outlying islands, including <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kinmen">Kinmen</a>, when hostilities occurred regularly, lone sentries were under constant threat from<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/People%27s_Liberation_Army"> Chinese Peoples Liberation Army (PLA)</a> frogmen, and we were under orders to shoot to kill any intruders after dark. In my time, the term of service was two years. Today, you will be required to serve only one year or less, and will not face the same dangers that I did when I was a soldier..."</span></span></blockquote></div><div><br /></div><div>We remained silent, everyone in Taiwan has heard horror stories involving the outlying islands in the 1960s and 70s, along with the 12 hour boat rides, and infrequent leave.</div><div><br /></div><div><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"Although you will spend your first month receiving basic training from the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Republic_of_China_Army">Army</a>, all of you will be serving in the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ROCAF">Air Force</a>. You may ask, where is the Air Force? Yes, the Air Force is stationed at air bases across the country, but that is far from all. The Air Force operates the radar stations on high mountains, coastlines, and the outlying islands that comprise our entire early warning network. The Air Force operates the surface to air missile battalions located across the country on constant alert, ready to defend our skies against enemy aircraft on a moment's notice. As draftees, you may go your entire military career without ever seeing an F-16, Mirage 2000, or IDF fighter jet take off. Many of you may be hoping for easy jobs in support positions as secretaries, cooks, or drivers. But most of you will be the ones operating our missiles and radar sites, and guarding our facilities.</span></span></blockquote><br /><iframe width="425" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/nvTqxVnL66c" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe><br /><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote><i>As a draftee, I will probably never see this in person.</i></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, serif;color:#000000;"><br /></span></span></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Even today, you will face danger. The guns you will carry on sentry duty are loaded, and the bayonets fixed upon them are razor sharp. The missiles are heavy, and their exhaust can burn through metal. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;">Wherever you may end up, you will find that you no longer enjoy the freedom that you enjoyed as a civilian. Every action you take will be observed and controlled. Some of you with girlfriends going in may find yourselves without one when you are discharged. For many of you, this will be the first time that you will be living away from home for an extended period of time. I urge you to persevere, do your best, and remember that no matter what happens - you will be discharged in a year or less</span></span>.<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-family:arial;">"</span></blockquote></div><div><br /></div><div>The generation of Taiwanese kids born during the 1980s and 90s are often referred to as the "strawberry generation", stereotyped as being self-absorbed, pretty looking, incapable of rough handling and easily bruised... kind of like strawberries.</div><div><br /></div><div><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"And as a final parting gift, I hereby present you all with NT$100 calling cards, so you may contact your family and friends when you arrive on base. I have always believed that Taipei kids make for the finest soldiers in the country. So I urge you to go forth, adapt to your new life, and thank you for defending our homes in Taipei."</span></span></blockquote></div><div><br /></div><div>At this point, two preselected draftees marched to the front to receive calling cards with a snappy salute for the cameramen. Photo-ops are a universal thing, apparently. Even if the end played into the prevalent stereotype of Taipei-ites as being incapable of noticing anything outside of Taipei.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAdCwhZa97wcDq_f9zvM8y1FC4O8RhRczSMZN8liupzvAfaYs0ssg-oeMAmPBCiMnzLKCHcYVBhyphenhyphenHZZ84csNIQ0aIcIPh1Btue2bkIatXqa6pl5OxueVZtmzeWvtJkaCkdAo8N/s400/DSCF3093.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608497445381547154" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 258px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><blockquote><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">"Thank you for your devoted service in the military. The citizens of Taipei are proud of you!" (Here's an NT$100 phone card, which will give you approximately 2 minutes of talk time to any cell phone in the country!)</span></i></blockquote></span></div><div><br /></div><div>Herded down to Platform 3A, we made for a conspicuous looking bunch sitting in formation, supervised by our civil servant handlers. Other travelers looked on in curiosity as an empty 2nd class passenger train pulled into the station. <i>"Attention passengers, "</i> the loudspeaker blared, <i>"please do not board the special express train at platform 3A."</i> As we boarded along with our handlers, and as the train pulled out of station, two or three proud parents followed along the platform waving and snapping pictures.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Well, at least that part of the movies is true", I thought, as we all sat silently contemplating our shared destiny for the next month.</div><div><br /></div><div>Our train stopped at major stations along the way south, picking up more groups of similarly escorted, silent, young men. Some carried backpacks presented by local governments. Some cities helpfully provided generic brand baseball caps with which we could hide our soon to be shorn heads. </div><div><br /></div><div>The usual railroad bento boxes of pork chops and rice were distributed, and were again, eaten in silence as our train continued on south...</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16631765.post-32248201946869229152011-04-07T00:04:00.027+08:002011-04-07T01:56:41.312+08:00最後一天 (The Last Day)<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:16px;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia, serif;font-size:16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;"></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;">When my father got drafted back in the early 70s, he ended up getting a big send off, complete with the neighborhood chief (</span></span><span style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal 'Heiti TC Light'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;">里長</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;">) presenting him with his draft orders and commending him for his upcoming sacrifice. He then entered the navy, and according to him, proceeded to spend his first six weeks getting violently seasick, while on patrol in the waters between Taiwan, Kinmen, and Matsu. </span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:small;"></span></span></span>When my draft orders came down a few weeks ago, I got a pink form letter from the district office shoved into my mailbox, telling me to come pick up my marching orders. Not quite the glorious warrior sendoff of yesteryear, but hey I'll take it.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; min-height: 14px; "><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 205px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhANZ8dTQQc70IQmpWTS4mAqeaurZpED6elP1NNh2AiZMZY5SD7HB3h6f746qWSZewLvUASINurSwj1lNFuXrViQI6xhjiUQXaSaTuSfM3VZ2nnjloT_WDvwTZ05m0VV6PIAeN/s320/DSCF2701.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592504030190522850" /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">When I first arrived back in Taiwan, the thr</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">ee mon</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">th university research job I took on seemed like a placeholder before basic training. Now, I'm sad to be leaving. There seems to be so much more good work to do than I have time for, even though everyone tells me I've accomplished more than enough already. No doubt, the three month deadline helped with my productivity level. One new peer reviewed paper out, one more under review, and more in the pipeline.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; min-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Three months go by fast when you keep yourself occupied. But all too soon, I'm turning in my final report, tying up loose ends on campus, firing off my final emails, and making a promise to return after my service term is up. Maybe this academia thing is for me after all. Maybe they'll send me to do science when I go in…</span></span></p> <p style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; min-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">But if its something that I know I like doing, than that wouldn't be a sacrifice, would it?</span></span></p> <p style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; min-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">On my last day as a civilian in 2011, I decided to make the most of my freedom by wandering around aimlessly. Through the ornate lobby of the Grand Hotel built in the style of an ancient Chinese palace, where the Chiangs used to entertain (and presumably, spy on) foreign guests, now filled with tourists.</span></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><p></p><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSmghQYnKDXJ8ZOYlQlWS6j4gJ_fFTSwet1hfgVwFe8_Oj8NFN-ZVVaYthHRfK9x05ejbk2VFrxoQjITXKSBnVVWp9jsCKhBLEQzF2GFJpgkP5HLmqMAABFwMnmQBfV7YnX0nr/s400/DSCF3049.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592505096426818146" /><div><div style="text-align: left;"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLY1rZUc6K7Gg601L3UnB8_ZlzNpBPirPiIZ0UiGCmJh_cB6XVoOZo4QxMZPJwZ4uYgM6WRcr-F2t0Wep2VQvaJhUYa00_Zigln0WgzoVo6RAdVtRiaQWIjCQc2Tb7LuWmTW7x/s400/DSCF3066.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592506306594596002" /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Then out into the bright sunlight, into the hills up narrow staircases and boardwalks built by generations of locals, hidden underneath the green forest canopy overlooking the city below. Past terraced badminton courts, pavilions, and shacks with older couples singing karaoke.Then along a narrow road in the hills lined by bamboo forests, past abandoned army posts, and graves dating from the reigns of </span></span><span style="font: 12.0px 'Heiti TC Light'"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">道光</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, </span></span><span style="font: 12.0px 'Heiti TC Light'"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">光緒</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, and </span></span><span style="font: 12.0px 'Heiti TC Light'"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">昭和</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjdi8sGym91xEFCJrpIV_v4ljEPbHFFmKXAKL_TUNPKUaZXKh7N7Rf7IH5SGcwkHOSG4aRSAZbN25tsjliBfP4KIklTlkPgBAAJzBFejpsXkAl9Sq2lOJxWfz7Dy29C3gToYJp/s400/DSCF3065.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592507738282251522" /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMh2gEf4pO6ISMSb2qXnFGQm3mbHOFzMV0F_PPm6jPwayAoJSbazY099yHsYZEWKzTSZEJycwj41nWcNZ8R5ehySjaWjhf0GQ3hr0TDO4RwGc5l4cHtF91LIfbq213Y4pB_H1Z/s400/DSCF3051.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592508626003669122" /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><p></p><p></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Back down from the hills into the city, and a small Buddhist temple where I am (gently) reprimanded by a nun for unknowingly standing on the tomb of a great monk. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5iXdVa1q4IURfVU4KcMNoh2yWnLszQ_ol_CgzxPFuKcHbaSLI_Jarb3INQLUGWZvhw3puHzByWwaEqdlZQkiEfQgClnXHjTofk1ka3TbqWrxk67pFWNAGv92hiwTB8l5J9_-z/s400/DSCF3059.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592510925248365490" /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><p></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And finally, into a shiny shopping mall with hipster kids wearing horn rimmed glasses without lenses.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">It's amazing what you can find when you have no idea where you're going.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglZF_Ym3w56CcpivpKXAhMTimLdh8XM7Gh-4oIheUAm1VyqXt3IFhv8KnkpcNR5hpAvXPCjjcA0KPVgAJh6qPraZjOeXXpVBKcD26TqsrqysiM27AaIsbsy4uEjHEKnjfVlBxq/s400/DSCF3064.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592512332806998498" /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16631765.post-12374330347431302132011-03-09T11:41:00.088+08:002011-03-09T14:01:19.409+08:00第二類組 (Type 2)<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEginYnEB4PAWhl9c8BCJOsKPSmt2p34NdnGz1Z0gl1n1fPDkMERegmbc1b-sbrzpupMxocz7aY8TirPW9Gdhu5wF3QBTu4wBYTMTB6urHgYoY9IqRs6TwEvtra9UBHcKAGkQhES/s1600/DSCF2698.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEginYnEB4PAWhl9c8BCJOsKPSmt2p34NdnGz1Z0gl1n1fPDkMERegmbc1b-sbrzpupMxocz7aY8TirPW9Gdhu5wF3QBTu4wBYTMTB6urHgYoY9IqRs6TwEvtra9UBHcKAGkQhES/s400/DSCF2698.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581948249279808754" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#666600;">"Hurry up, they've already started drawing straws!"</span></span></blockquote></div><div><div>Another day at the Shilin District Office. Another step in the process of getting drafted. The 10th floor auditorium of the district office is packed with thongs of young men and their anxious looking parents. The middle aged ladies running the Department of Compulsory Military Service who were at the <a href="http://baladaily.blogspot.com/2011/02/next-stamp.html">medical exam</a> weeks ago are all there again. But for the first time, I see military personnel manning the check-in desk - an army lieutenant colonel along with a bunch of NCOs, and a couple of MPs.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Like anyone would try to make a break for it at this stage.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div>Taiwan has had a military draft going since the 1950s, back when the Cold War was still hot. Today, China's invasion threats have gone from the human waves of yesteryear to a ballistic missile buildup, while Taiwan has gone from dictatorship to democracy. One problem hasn't changed though - how do you distribute all the draftees fairly among the service branches? Lots of people want to get into the air force (considered an easy assignment), and few want to end up in the marines (at one point, marine boot camp graduation involved swimming from Kinmen to China and returning with a severed PLA ear... or so the rumor mill goes).</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPr4yLq30eSYDaQDL0OWkS77CAixOKFvkuROZXnIV1ZQwSxkxd3gKKWoU2hKDnfe5jS5nVaXPkkbpih4COr4H-_FVZvXz-TcJiI6pAgv0AC063YO4T8orASfLoS_Tzt_MbHPKO/s400/DSC00956.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581948416080955746" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 305px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div>The solution that was settled upon has become a rite of passage for Taiwanese males - drawing straws. Even with the introduction of civilian alternative service for folks who can't pass the physical, the practice still continues. Everyone gets a service branch, no one can complain about favoritism. This year, the ratio for the general pool is fairly typical: 75% Army, 8% Navy, 8% Marines, and 9% Air Force.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><blockquote><div>"But, I was told to come in at 11AM."</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#666600;">"Are you doing alternative service?"</span></span></div><div><br /></div><div>"No, I'm classified as Type 2."</div></blockquote><div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXNwV4V23q0vTa0tmb5KVbWNyNpV9VQ58iev0VCqzS4equPUfdWiY307rxwkawnooYKW_58vx0OY7OcPv7JFJPF0DH8CCiWR9p3xgoyVsiE2JogbqcbJQ72xaPX0rH1Ag7iJ0y/s400/DSCF2594.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581948812265131698" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 383px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div>But as you might expect, the military in Taiwan has its own needs in terms of personnel qualifications. In the U.S., incoming enlisted personnel take the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery (ASVAB) exam to determine their level of competency. Taiwan deals with this problem by loading the dice for draftees with certain qualifications...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>There are three separate pools as far as drawing straws is concerned. Type 1 is the maritime group (100% Navy), Type 2 is the aviation group (70% Air Force, 20% Army, 10% Navy), Type 3 is the general pool. Draftees are distributed by occupation or college degree: merchant seamen, maritime academy graduates, maritime engineers, and oceanographers go under Type 1. Type 2 includes commercial pilots, aviation mechanics, aerospace and aeronautical engineers, atmospheric and space scientists, meteorologists, and plasma physicists. Everyone else is Type 3.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#666600;">"Oh, there are only 4 of you this time. Have a seat and we'll call you once the general pool is done."</span></span></blockquote></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtN1ZYevlPxVRBkFgssHkAGz1itrcsq0_C8V30zzN7bt2kX2O9wGV7Lmp4qMElDZuf8VcOPwb4nBecslwXi42ApRhRjJKZvE_TzR2I86Z4lbm-e8yoI0ihKAtinPBo0AKwKhsP/s400/DSC00955.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581948974382203874" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 308px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div>I walk into the auditorium where the process is playing out for the general pool. The middle aged ladies of the district office sit at a long table at the front. A large clear plastic box sits in the middle of the table with a hole in the top. A draftee thrusts his hand into the box, pulls out a straw, and hands it to a lady with a microphone behind the box.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"></span></span></div><blockquote><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;">"Number 141, Army."</span></span></div><div></div></blockquote><div><br /></div><div>The young man is silent as the straw is removed from the remaining pool, and the next draftee moves up for his turn. There are 141 Army straws out of the 188 total for the general pool today. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div></div><blockquote><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;">"Number 142, Army."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;">"Number 143, Army."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;">"Number 144, Marines"</span></span></div></blockquote><div></div><div><br /></div><div>The marine-to-be grimaces, while a palpable sense of relief spreads throughout the line of draftees behind him. One less Marine straw.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>A middle aged lady walks over after overhearing my earlier conversation:</div><div><br /></div><div></div><blockquote><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">"What's this Type 2 thing you said you were in?"</span></span></div><div><br /></div><div>"Oh, the aviation group."</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">"Wait, so you're </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">all</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> Air Force? How did you get into that?"</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>"No no no... we just have a higher chance of drawing an Air Force straw. I studied aerospace engineering so-"</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">"My son studied accounting, why isn't he in this?"</span></span></div><div><br /></div><div>"Well they should already know his degree-"</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">"Wait what? I didn't know about this. I told them he studied accounting..."</span></span></div></blockquote><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I had a thing for space and aviation as a kid, like most kids do. Unlike most kids, I never grew out of it and choose to study astrophysics in college (instead of pre-med or computer science), and aerospace engineering in grad school. The typical reaction I got from people in Taiwan upon learning of this was "Aerospace engineering? Who needs that in Taiwan?". Guess I've got the answer to that now...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div></div><blockquote><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;">"Type 2 draftees, report!"</span></span></div><div></div></blockquote><div><br /></div><div>A middle aged man with greying hair takes the mike at the front - the supervisor. The 188 draftees in the general pool are finally done. My turn now, along with the two other draftees in the group who actually showed up.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The supervisor gathers us around the box.</div><div><br /></div><div><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;">"Congratulations, you are all in the aviation group. No matter which service branch you end up drawing, your work will be related to aircraft!"</span></span></blockquote></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The three of us stare at each other, uncertain what to say. I've heard of Air Force draftees who ended up in air defense units, which were characterized as "the Army, but with surface to air missiles."</div><div><br /></div><div>The supervisor opens a sealed brown envelope, containing three smaller sealed brown envelopes. He tears open the envelopes one by one to reveal identical looking small plastic tubes, each containing a rolled up piece of paper. The straws. He counts them out by service branch: 7 Air Force, 2 Army, 1 Navy. He hands me the microphone and points to the label on the big envelope:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div></div><blockquote><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;">"Read this please to confirm the contents are correct."</span></span></div><div></div></blockquote><div><br /></div><div>I pick up the microphone and hope my Taiwan accent is back...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div></div><blockquote><div>"7 Air Force, 2 Army, 1 Navy."</div></blockquote><div></div><blockquote><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"Sign your name and ID number on the envelope please, then have a seat."</span></span></div><div></div></blockquote><div><br /></div><div>He places the straws in the box, shakes up the contents, and hands the mike off to one of the ladies, who calls out our names and numbers, one by one. I'm last in line. The first guy draws Air Force. The second guy draws Navy.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I walk up and hand over my registration form and ID, and thrust my hand into the box. I hand the straw to the lady with the mike, who pulls the paper out of the tube...</div><div><br /></div><div></div><blockquote><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;">"Number 4, Air Force."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><br /></span></span></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNX3WZYqsOqbWigBQZsur442MSgeFhlOuFAW0YQX650t55AMNAmxkoJXygWcz0ULEZMX9LEpDnUt5V7vsWoq7ld0VlXQ9boNaT-kQYSSvLWY41e3n6rI3Uo-AAOZjYGGrzoXRD/s400/DSCF2699_2.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581947856329688258" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 238px; " /></div><div><br /></div><div>The lady writes my name on the slip, stamps it with my seal, then hands me the receipt.</div><div><br /></div><div><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;">"Congratulations. We'll notify you 10 days before the start of basic training with further instructions."</span></span></blockquote></div><div><br /></div><div>The army guys at the check-in desk are gone now. The father of one of the other airmen-to-be walks over.</div><div></div><blockquote><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333399;">"Don't worry about it, it'll be a good experience. Say, where are you from?"</span></div><div><br /></div><div>"Jiantan."</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333399;">"Jiantan? Interesting. You look so tall that I almost thought you were a foreigner."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333399;"><br /></span></div><div>"Oh. Heh. Well, you know us kids these days."</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333399;">"Yes, I would have taken you for American-born, except that you haven't done anything with your hair."</span></div></blockquote><div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16631765.post-20561004280960825022011-02-20T13:57:00.075+08:002011-03-10T00:59:05.871+08:00"Next". *stamp*<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGW1_LBMFOtkVe6yOjnamgaZfvkuP6kZcQTx53yR-Zsk2sGtCFZ-NbNHpY5T7PdvPI4vnTPvAieGgkZSWytidZorBB0la7wR15c3o9895uYEuZWwOS-uWqNni6qsoTSPwc6sxz/s1600/DSCF2555.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 84px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGW1_LBMFOtkVe6yOjnamgaZfvkuP6kZcQTx53yR-Zsk2sGtCFZ-NbNHpY5T7PdvPI4vnTPvAieGgkZSWytidZorBB0la7wR15c3o9895uYEuZWwOS-uWqNni6qsoTSPwc6sxz/s200/DSCF2555.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575658126005811010" /></a></div><div></div><blockquote><div>"I've finished my studies in the U.S. and just returned the other day-"</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"Ah? Please speak to the lady in the next window, she specializes in such cases. Please pardon the inconvenience."</span></span></div></blockquote><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"></span></span></div><div><br /></div><div>For being what is probably the most dreaded section of the Shilin (士林) District Office, the civil servants at Department of Compulsory Military Service (兵役課) are unfailingly polite. Probably comes from being yelled at a lot by angry parents waving foreign passports. That and Shilin being the epicenter of expat residents in Taipei, what with the Taipei American School, the Tianmu neighborhood and all...</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><blockquote>"Yes? How may I help you?"</blockquote></span></span></div><div><br /></div><div>The lady stares at me over a pile of what looks like files on all the other draft age males from Taipei's north side. Future comrades. Or whatever the preferred term is today. I take a deep breath and hope that 24 hours has been sufficient time for the American accent in my Mandarin to dissipate (<i>remember... non-rhoticity! Just like Boston</i>).</div><div><br /></div><div><blockquote>"Hi! I just finished school in the U.S. and arrived back in the country yesterday. I haven't been drafted yet and I'd like to report in to get the ball rolling-"</blockquote></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;"></span></span></div><blockquote><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;">"- He wants to know how long he has before basic training since he has a job now."</span></span></div><div></div></blockquote><div><br /></div><div>Standing behind me, my mother can't help but interject even after promising me that she'd let me handle things on her own. I survived on my own abroad for the last 12 years but apparently old habits die hard. (<i>Must get used to Taiwan family values again... the Italians are mama's boys and thrive just as well...</i>)</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"></span></span></div><blockquote><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;">"May I see your I.D. and any diplomas validated by our diplomatic personnel?"</span></span></div><div></div></blockquote><div><br /></div><div>I hand over my I.D. and a plastic folder containing photocopies of documents with TECO validation seals that cost me $30 apiece for the original documents and $15 apiece for Chinese translations that I had to do myself. Thank you Ministry of Foreign Affairs...</div><div><br /></div><div>The lady taps a few things on her keyboard, gets up, then returns with a folder with my name on it.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"></span><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"Engineering degree... current I.D. number checks out... wait a minute-" (<i>Ha</i>... </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">another kid who finally ran out of education deferments</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">)</span></blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"></span></span></div><div><br /></div><div>She flips over to the backside of my Taiwan I.D. and frowns.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><blockquote>"Place of Birth: United States. Doesn't this make you an American?"</blockquote></span></span></div><div><br /></div><div><blockquote>"Well yes, but my family moved here when I was a kid and had me naturalized to make the immigration paperwork easier and I was under the impression that I'm still required to serve..."</blockquote></div><div><br /></div><div>She stares. The unspoken <i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;">"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Sure we don't let you relinquish your citizenship till you've served but shouldn't you have just entered on your American passport and pretended you had ex-pat status so you'd be exempt from this? Everybody does it.</span>"</span></i>- seems to hang in the air. It only lasts a few seconds.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"></span></span></div><blockquote><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;">"Read and sign this please." (<i>you can read right?</i>)</span></span></div><div></div></blockquote><div><br /></div><div>She whips out a legal statement.</div><div><br /></div><div><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">"I _________ affirm that I am a dual citizen of the Republic of China and __________ . I do not claim and have no intention of claiming expatriate status and understand that I am subject to military conscription as a military age male."</span></blockquote></div><div>I sign, wondering if she isn't planning to send me to the psych ward at NTU.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"></span></span><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">"You'll hear from us in a few weeks for your physical at Yang-Ming Hospital. If everything checks out, you'll come back to draw straws to decide your service branch, and can expect to ship out sometime in late March or early April</span></span>."</blockquote></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDo5iAX0Q6dN27eSYc5isr-JE61sl69wrlbhSSES-5mQkw0jie5WpNHB9Avx_XrIQeE11sPzyAIsvze0RzaWsTOy0eFFyAp_4DY_PdbsEqbydzqdU4xhyphenhyphen6VgHLI92RRpVeQ1v_/s1600/DSCF1798.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDo5iAX0Q6dN27eSYc5isr-JE61sl69wrlbhSSES-5mQkw0jie5WpNHB9Avx_XrIQeE11sPzyAIsvze0RzaWsTOy0eFFyAp_4DY_PdbsEqbydzqdU4xhyphenhyphen6VgHLI92RRpVeQ1v_/s320/DSCF1798.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575660210982230050" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 182px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>A few weeks later a notice comes in the mail to pick up the physical exam forms at the District Office. "<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">Please report to the specified hospital at the specified date and time along with two 1" photos, your I.D., a ballpoint pen, and this form.</span>"</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD3TJI9OhtHrstcBn6AwDAZ0nzMy0Uqxjr-3THy0RHc1o2CKRixPzEM84yW4E2f5JniiIK8JMZXLmEdhIXw-ZbonP0_qaVS3PENGP033phrIpLI5URxh5DXFHwQjpNOrZcFBZy/s1600/DSC00906.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD3TJI9OhtHrstcBn6AwDAZ0nzMy0Uqxjr-3THy0RHc1o2CKRixPzEM84yW4E2f5JniiIK8JMZXLmEdhIXw-ZbonP0_qaVS3PENGP033phrIpLI5URxh5DXFHwQjpNOrZcFBZy/s320/DSC00906.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575661840436642498" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 254px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Yang-Ming Hospital is a large building covered with pink bathroom tile in a nice neighborhood in Tianmu. I arrive on an overcast afternoon of the sort that characterizes Taipei in the winter. </div><div><br /></div><div>The physical exam center is a separate building located to the rear of the main hospital building. I am surprised by the complete lack of military personnel. The check-in desks are staffed by middle aged women who might as well have been the mothers of all the young men milling around. The doctors are all civilians normally attached to the hospital. If it wasn't for the large number of young men from all around the north side of Taipei walking around accompanied by anxious parents, it would probably be another ordinary working day. One of the doctors chats loudly with his colleagues:</div><div><br /></div><div><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">"... and what do you mean healthy? How many of these kids do you think are going to whip out medical files claiming missing limbs, allergies, and esoteric diseases they found on PubMed? How many of the rest are going to whip out foreign passports, here on the north side? And can you blame them when even the president's daughter hides behind an American passport? In my day if you had flat feet they'd tell you to stuff tissue on the soles of your shoes..."</span></span></blockquote></div><div>As if on cue, several of the examinees gestured frantically at the middle aged lady overseeing the check-ins... "Excuse me, I'm not sure why I was told to come here, I have a foreign passport and lived abroad...". Interestingly, after the former (fluent Chinese-speaking) group had departed, quite a few other individuals of mixed ethnicity were still standing around with the rest of us. So much for blood thicker than water.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8mRJe1Tor7_5zZgqQ6wCxtOA715YxjIUfQo4dfk8YTaBTCvFpBl5eHTllNCkAz90JyezRA9sjEdF-63jllJUJlKwzZa5Xlls2Ug8d5qXKwea6mYkRM9P3JIKhAeToHexU3CRY/s1600/DSC00908.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8mRJe1Tor7_5zZgqQ6wCxtOA715YxjIUfQo4dfk8YTaBTCvFpBl5eHTllNCkAz90JyezRA9sjEdF-63jllJUJlKwzZa5Xlls2Ug8d5qXKwea6mYkRM9P3JIKhAeToHexU3CRY/s320/DSC00908.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575665758008887826" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>At the check-in desk, I'm handed a four page questionnaire. "Are you feeling healthy and well today?" "Have you been depressed lately?" "Are you angry at your parents?" "Do you have a driver's license?" After answering to what I suppose was the satisfaction of the proctor, I'm handed a physical exam form, my background file from the District Office, and a black tote bag containing a pair of gym shorts and plastic flip flops.</div><div><br /></div><div>After changing, I was led with the other examinees into a wing with several rooms, each containing nurses and doctors to perform a particular examination. At the end of each examination, the responsible doctor would write the results on the exam form, and stamp the particular section. Everything was systematic and assembly line-like with draftees lined up quietly at each station. There was little talk amongst the draftees as we wound our way from station to station. Blood pressure, dental, EKG, height and weight, vision, blood, urine, chest X-ray...</div><div><br /></div><div>Some tests were simple. Hearing:</div><div><br /></div><div></div><blockquote><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">"Do you have hearing problems?"</span></span></div><div><br /></div><div>"No."</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">"Next." *stamp*</span></span></div></blockquote><div></div><div>Psych:</div><div><br /></div><div></div><blockquote><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">"Have you ever felt like killing yourself?"</span></span></div><div><br /></div><div>"No."</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">"Have you ever seen a psychologist before?"</span></span></div><div><br /></div><div>"I'm talking to one right now."</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">"Next." *stamp*</span></span></div></blockquote><div></div><div>Finally, the part you always hear about. I find myself standing before a panel of one female and two male urologists in lab coats, wearing surgical masks. A screen bisects the room, ending right before the doctors so that they can see behind it. The other draftees in line behind me look on. One of the male doctors slips on a pair of latex gloves and comes in for a closer hands on examination.</div><div><br /></div><div><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">"Please step behind the screen and drop your pants."</span></span></blockquote></div><div>Despite spending the last six years studying in the town that gave birth to the<a href="http://blogs.westword.com/latestword/2010/10/naked_pumpkin_run_boulder_mall_crawl_cops_ready_if_they_make_a_halloween_comeback.php"> Naked Pumpkin Run</a>, I really don't find the lack of clothing to be a liberating experience in this sort of setting. </div><div><br /></div><div>Satisfied that I do indeed possess functioning male genitalia, the doctor nods and tells me to pull my pants back up and moves on to the next question on the list...</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">"Now, have you ever had a hernia?</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">"</span></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia, serif;">"No."</span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#006600;">"Next." *stamp*</span></blockquote></span></div><div><br /></div><div>The entire exam takes about half an hour, after which I find myself in front of the check-out desk, again staffed by middle aged ladies who might have been my friends' mothers.</div><div><br /></div><div><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000099;">"There's nothing immediately disqualifying, so we're just waiting on the blood and urine results. You'll hear from us again in about a month. Go out and have fun."</span></span></blockquote></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLzKxhnG060X8V6rTyh5hGf26YuFVwglgzDrSiTFYfj4A_tTu1T1e5l9buqL3Oo07rdE5IylztH5CPjFHy0eS4izSfG7p2CmdiAX_Ma2hV-XQhU8hxguY0FbI7rpdaiKqoStY7/s1600/DSC00910.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLzKxhnG060X8V6rTyh5hGf26YuFVwglgzDrSiTFYfj4A_tTu1T1e5l9buqL3Oo07rdE5IylztH5CPjFHy0eS4izSfG7p2CmdiAX_Ma2hV-XQhU8hxguY0FbI7rpdaiKqoStY7/s320/DSC00910.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575683479672779474" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><b>Continued on </b><a href="http://baladaily.blogspot.com/2011/03/type-2.html"><b>Part II: </b></a></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><a href="http://baladaily.blogspot.com/2011/03/type-2.html"><b>第二類組 (Type 2)</b></a></span></span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16631765.post-76826815823667947962008-11-08T02:25:00.000+08:002012-08-19T02:27:51.634+08:00Translated Action Statement from the "Wild Strawberry Movement"The student movement to revise the Assembly and Parade Law has been formally renamed the "Wild Strawberry Movement", a reference to both the "Wild Lily Student Movement" of 1990 (demanding democratic reforms to provide for the direct election of the president and all legislators), as well as the popular term for the generation born in the 1980s ("the strawberry generation" - stereotyped as self-absorbed, and weak).<br />
<br />
The students have issued a formal statement, which I have translated below (again feel free to pass it around). The original statement can be found <a href="http://action1106.blogspot.com/2008/11/1106_7181.html">on the official site for the movement</a>.<br />
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">“野草莓運動”行動聲明</span><br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Action Statement from the "Wild Strawberry Movement"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">運動緣起</span><br />
我們是一群憂心臺灣混亂現況與未來發展的大學教授、學生、文化工作者和市民。我們看到了近日來警察不當執法、侵害言論自由,導致合法集會的民眾受傷等事件。我們驚覺事態嚴重 —這已經不是維安有否過當的技術問題、更不只是政黨認同選擇的問題,而是暴力化的國家公權,對市民社會的嚴重挑釁和侵犯。我們為此感到擔憂,因此從 11/06上午11點開始,聚集在行政院門口抗議。我們在11/07下午四點遭到警方驅離,我們現在改聚集在中正紀念堂,並發起長期抗戰。<br />
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">Movement Origins</span><br />
We are a group of university professors, students, cultural workers, and citizens who are concerned about Taiwan's current state of disorder and future development. Over the past few days, we have seen numerous instances of police overreaction and suppression, which have caused injury to citizens exercising their right to free speech. Through reports in the media, we have come to realize the seriousness of the current situation. It is no longer a technical question of excessive law enforcement tactics, nor is it simply a partisan issue between supporters of various political parties. This is a proliferation of state sponsored violence that is challenging and attacking civil society. Our concern over this state of affairs led us to peacefully protest at the gates of the Executive Yuan, beginning at 11AM on November 6. At 4PM on November 7, we were dispersed by the police. We have since regrouped at Chiang Kai-shek Memorial Hall , where we plan to engage in a long term struggle.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">反對警方執法過當、侵犯人權與集遊惡法</span><br />
試舉出近日警方的不當行為:淨空高速公路車道。禁止民眾在公共場合舉國旗。禁止民眾在公共場所說「台灣不是中國的」。沒收人民財物,如旗幟、標語。民眾在圓山附近手持DV拍攝,卻被警方違反行政程序強行帶回警局。民眾想要施放印有「黑心」圖樣的氣球被警方制止。民眾騎機車懸掛支持西藏獨立的「雪山獅子旗」,卻被警方制止且強行帶回警局。上揚唱片行事件等。上述個案,警方以違反集會遊行法、社會秩序維護法、警察職權行使法為由對人民行使的強制行動,已經嚴重的侵犯憲法、民法等上位法規對於人民基本自由、財產權利的保障。<br />
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">Oppose Police Overreaction and the Suppression of Human Rights by the Unconstitutional Assembly and Parade Law</span><br />
Inappropriate acts taken by police in recent days include the following: Forcibly shutting down major highways. Prohibiting citizens from waving the national flag in public. Prohibiting citizens from stating that "Taiwan does not belong to China" in public. Confiscating the personal property of citizens, such as flags and signs with slogans. Forcibly detaining citizens filming areas near the Grand Hotel with handheld camcorders, without following due process. Preventing citizens from flying balloons protesting toxic Chinese food products. Forcibly detaining citizens on a moped carrying a Tibetan flag. Ordering the closure of a music store playing Taiwanese music. The police have tried to justify these repressive actions by claiming violations of the Assembly and Parade Law, the Social Order Maintenance Law, and invoking the Regulations on Police Duties, while ignoring the fact that their actions are in violation of the Constitution, Civil Law, and other higher level laws guaranteeing the peoples' free speech and property rights.<br />
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">言論與人身自由的重要性</span><br />
我們深信自由的重要。試想,假使當年政府動員警力驅散凱達格蘭夜市、驅散紅衫軍,那麼台灣的公民就沒有機會聽取社會上不同的意見;正是因為他們沒有被驅散,不同的聲音才得以被聽見。人只有曝露在各種不同的意見中,才能學習判斷意見的優劣,這是公民社會不可或缺的條件,也說明了言論自由為甚麼可貴。<br />
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">On the Importance of Personal Freedom</span><br />
We believe in the importance of freedom. Imagine for a moment what would have resulted had the government ordered the police to crack down on the 2007 Red Shirt demonstration in front of the Presidential Office. The citizens of Taiwan would not have had the opportunity to listen to other opinions. It was only because they were not dispersed that different voices could be heard. Only by being exposed to numerous different viewpoints, can we learn how to determine for ourselves the quality of different opinions. This is an essential requirement for a functioning civil society, and illustrates the importance of free speech.<br />
<br />
正因自由如此可貴,憲法明文保障此項自由。位階較低的法律,應該輔助憲法,將之具體實現並定其界限。然而,威權時代、戒嚴時期遺留下來的集會遊行法,卻嚴重危害言論自由。它的許可制預設人民的集會遊行會違法;它的禁制區寬免政府機關於民意的挑戰;它授予警察過大的裁量權,竟使警察執法時越俎而代法官之庖。<br />
<br />
It is because free speech is so important that its protection is enshrined in the Constitution. Other laws must support the Constitution, facilitating its execution and specifying its limits. Despite this, the Assembly and Parade Law - left over from the authoritarian days of martial law, gravely damages the right to free speech. By requiring protesting citizens to acquire a permit for a lawful demonstration, rather than simply notifying the government beforehand, it allows protests to be declared illegal before they even take place. Its excessive provisions for restricted areas off limits to protesters, allows governmental organs to insulate themselves from being challenged by public opinion. By granting the police excessive powers, it allows the police to take the place of judges in a court of law.<br />
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">具體訴求</span><br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Concrete Demands</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">修改集會遊行法</span><br />
因此,對於集會遊行法我們有以下幾點具體建議:(1)許可制改為報備制。政府不應事前審查,預設人民的集會遊行會違法;(2)檢討禁制區之規定。集會遊行是手無寸鐵、無權無勢者陳情抗議的方法,現行的禁制區規定卻不容人民挑戰行政機關;(3)規定警察執法的界線。避免警察無限上綱、恣意妄為;(4)取消刑罰,改採行政罰。就同樣的行為而言,集會遊行法規定的罰則比其他法律苛重,違反比例原則。<br />
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<span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Amend the Assembly and Parade Law</span><br />
We provide the following suggestions for revising the Assembly and Parade Law: (1) Change the current permit system to a notification system. The government has no right to examine the peoples' motivations beforehand, and declare unfavorable demonstrations to be illegal before they even take place; (2) Reexamine the current provisions for restricted areas. Demonstrations and marches allow unarmed citizens without any other means to make their grievances known and petition for redress. The current restricted areas do not allow the people to challenge governmental agencies; (3) Clarify permissible actions by the police in enforcing the law. Do not grant a blank check for the police to exercise whatever methods they see fit; (4) Make the new law an administrative law, rather then penal law. Compared to other laws, the current Assembly and Parade Law calls for heavier punishment for the same illegal actions, violating the principle of proportionality.<br />
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<span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">處分失職警務人員</span><br />
有關近日人民與警察的衝突頻傳,我們感到相當心痛。也有人質問我們為什麼不站出來譴責群眾暴力。對此,我們做出以下的回應:我們堅決守護、支持人民表達意見的權利,也堅決反對任何暴力的手段,不論暴力行為來自於人民或者警方。我們從近日發生的許多事件看到,人民的暴力可以由法律來規範,警政單位的公權力卻可能濫用,並擴張成無所節制的暴力,沒有受到應有的約束。因此,我們譴責政府與警方擴大解釋法律、不當使用暴力的手段來壓制人民合法表達意見的自由;調查處分相關失職警務人員;警務、國安長官必須下台負責。<br />
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<span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Punish Police Personnel Engaging in Inappropriate Behavior</span><br />
The recent clashes between the people and the police have left us with a great sense of sorrow. We have been asked why we have not stood out to condemn violent mob behavior. To this, we provide the following response: We are determined to protect and support the people in freely expressing their opinions, and condemn any and all acts of violence, be they from the people or the police. From the many events of the past few days, we have seen that while violent acts on the part of the people can be regulated by law, law enforcement agencies can also abuse their power to justify unlimited brutality without any appropriate restriction or regulation. It is because of this that we condemn the government and the police for increasingly ignoring the law, and for inappropriate use of force to violently suppress the rights of the people to freely express their views. We request that a full investigation be carried out to identify police officers who abused their authority, and that appropriate punitive measures be taken. Additionally, the directors of the police and national security agencies who are ultimately responsible must step down.<br />
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<span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">馬英九總統道歉</span><br />
警察執行強制行為時代表的是國家暴力,國家暴力的使用必須以維護人民生命、自由、財產權利為最高優先,不可不慎。但警察單位終究只是執行命令的機器,政府以及執政黨的立場和命令,直接影響一線員警如何執行勤務。我們譴責馬英九政府踐踏我國民主自由的基本立國精神,必須道歉。<br />
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<span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">President Ma must Apologize</span><br />
The use of force by police is a symbol of state sponsored violence, and should only be used when absolutely necessary to safeguard the rights of the people to life, liberty, and property. Its use should never be employed without the utmost care. However, police agencies are only passive mechanisms that execute the orders issued to them. The positions and directives of the government, as well as the ruling party, will directly impact how rank and file police officers go about their duties. We condemn the administration of President Ma Ying-jeou for trampling on the spirit of freedom and democracy that are fundamental to the foundation of our nation, and demand that he apologize.<br />
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">發起公民不服從運動</span><br />
我們是以學生為主體發起的公民不服從運動。當政府依照違憲的集遊法行使法律或者不當解釋法律時,後續的公權力行使是缺乏正當性的,對於缺乏正當性的公權力,公民有不服從的權利。我們希望所有認同我們訴求的公民、市民來一起參與這場運動,共同要求「馬英九總統和行政院長劉兆玄必須公開向國人道歉。」「警政署長王卓鈞、國安局長蔡朝明,應立刻下臺。」「立法院立即修改限縮人民權利的『集會遊行法』」。<br />
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Creating a movement of Civil Disobedience</span>We are a movement of civil disobedience initiated by students, and with students as our core. When the government invokes the unconstitutional Assembly and Parade Law, or abuses lawful governmental authority, subsequent governmental actions are illegitimate. The people have a right to refuse to obey illegitimate governmental actions. We hope that all people who agree with our statement will join us in this movement to demand that President Ma Ying-jeou and Premier Liu Chao-shiuan apologize to all citizens; that National Police Agency Director-General Wang Cho-chiun and National Security Bureau Director Tsai Chao-ming step down; and that the Legislative Yuan immediately amend the Assembly and Parade Law so that it does not threaten the rights of the people.<br />
<br />
Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tag/Taiwan" rel="tag">[Taiwan]</a>, <a href="http://technorati.com/tag/Protest" rel="tag">[Protest]</a>, <a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%E9%87%8E%E8%8D%89%E8%8E%93" rel="tag">[野草莓]</a>.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16631765.post-55573624671844787142008-03-30T14:40:00.018+08:002011-03-09T18:28:30.208+08:00The Politics of ChinatownIt's been a short visit back to Taiwan, but eventful nonetheless, first the elections, then backpacking around northern Taiwan. After ten days of enjoying myself at home, I find myself on the way to grad school with a six hour layover in San Francisco. San Francisco occupies a bit of a soft spot in my heart. As a kid born to one of the many students Taiwan sent abroad in the 70s and 80s, my parents would often take me up to The City on weekends.<br /><br />Taking BART up from SFO, I only have time for a quick walk from Union Square up through Chinatown. It's a route my folks used to take me on a lot as a kid. Chinatown hasn't changed much from what I remember from the late 80s and early 90s - tightly packed buildings with small stores selling everything from groceries to souvenirs, Cantonese voices floating through the air, what smells like a strange mix of fragrant spice, exotic stir fry, car exhaust, something rotting, and the salty breeze from the Pacific.<br /><br />I never noticed it much as a kid, but politics is alive and well in Chinatown. Walking down the main throughfares one sees a growing number of buildings flying the Five Starred Red Flag of the People's Republic of China, while the Blue Sky White Sun and Red Earth of the Republic of China flutters above others. Most prominant amongst the latter is a large white building located on Stockton Street, just outside the Stockton Tunnel, which borders the southern edge of Chinatown. This is the Dr. Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall of San Francisco. Emblazoned in traditional characters on the front of the building are words "Chinese Kuomintang U.S. Branch". A new banner "Celebrating the election of Messrs. Ma and Siew as the 12th President and Vice-President of the Republic of China" hangs prominently on the front of the building.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG2lE6o0mZtBpNvzv9OHJWk1mhKaYH9u4lzkqAk7wkJbMHTnaRCEjrlujK3qJes3IrLDLB_C39_kjSVtimzt6nE2FJCvk2YQTA-_2trMqZTUZdm0xxmvdxAa6Qa8Zwl-1lnK5t/s1600-h/P1010613.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG2lE6o0mZtBpNvzv9OHJWk1mhKaYH9u4lzkqAk7wkJbMHTnaRCEjrlujK3qJes3IrLDLB_C39_kjSVtimzt6nE2FJCvk2YQTA-_2trMqZTUZdm0xxmvdxAa6Qa8Zwl-1lnK5t/s400/P1010613.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183436768222598722" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbE57wcI-qc6tpiN9VHNu8nfgx8rQW8TPO9XXBoqdSjjyaoSnpfNNPz06FOk6zvojsqTnggilDUFNuc2_o3Vz95JrKVoRz8VNCc0zZklI-5ua00zDwMidPg_S0parx4k7fT-nJ/s1600-h/P1010614.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbE57wcI-qc6tpiN9VHNu8nfgx8rQW8TPO9XXBoqdSjjyaoSnpfNNPz06FOk6zvojsqTnggilDUFNuc2_o3Vz95JrKVoRz8VNCc0zZklI-5ua00zDwMidPg_S0parx4k7fT-nJ/s400/P1010614.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183436136862406178" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Yet this KMT is distinct from the KMT of Chiang Kai-shek - led by what some call the Shanghai-clique that spent the years after the 1911 revolution fighting first against successive northern warlord governments, then the Japanese, before relocating to Taiwan where they vowed to reconquer the Mainland. It certainly bears less and less resemblance to the KMT of today, based on the islands of Taiwan, Penghu, Kinmen and Matsu whose candidates were just elected to the presidency a little over a week ago. The party headquarters sitting in the oldest Chinatown in North America is the final remminant of the original KMT - the Cantonese speaking quasi-secret revolutionary society turned political party, funded by overseas Chinese, responsible for the 1911 revolution that overthrew the last emperor, establishing the Republic of China - the state that those of us from Taiwan still (nominally at least) owe our allegiance to. Party members here still cling to the hope that China will one day be ruled again under the KMT flag. I remember once helping an elderly gentleman in Los Angeles put up what so many of us simply refer to these days as the flag of Taiwan. "This" he said proudly, "is the flag of China".<br /><br />I wonder how many KMT members living in Taiwan today still believe that.<br /><br />Back at SFO, amongst all the newspapers on sale in the terminal, is the latest copy of The World Journal (世界日報) - a daily traditional Chinese language newspaper serving the overseas Chinese communities of North America, affiliated with the United Daily News - one of the largest KMT leaning newspapers in Taiwan. Like most of the papers in Taiwan, the news is still dominated by coverage of President-elect Ma, reflecting perhaps the excitement of the KMT at being so close to regaining control of the executive branch after 8 years.<br /><br />The main headline covers the unrest in Tibet. The second front page story is on the latest from President-elect Ma on cross-strait politics and mutual non-denial. The title reads: "馬:我是台灣的總統" ("Ma: I am the President of Taiwan").<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRtLPOg6uebmUdw6zpdUXab5YmEDnAMP_5Sa3_Mr4heA7HOeHiXrY6oTHoJHlTSUxc1tux9sSftMcj-KOMlPjzDTl8yKANHVTIvi7j4hBxMi2xu-QNnOi0iPlbKkGR3lNCToeb/s1600-h/P1010617.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRtLPOg6uebmUdw6zpdUXab5YmEDnAMP_5Sa3_Mr4heA7HOeHiXrY6oTHoJHlTSUxc1tux9sSftMcj-KOMlPjzDTl8yKANHVTIvi7j4hBxMi2xu-QNnOi0iPlbKkGR3lNCToeb/s400/P1010617.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183436304366130738" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Tags:<a href="http://technorati.com/tag/Taiwan" rel="tag">[Taiwan]</a>, <a href="http://technorati.com/tag/Taiwan+politics" rel="tag">[Taiwan politics]</a>, <a href="http://technorati.com/tag/Taiwan+elections" rel="tag">[Taiwan elections]</a>.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16631765.post-38164027258397952382007-11-10T02:24:00.000+08:002012-08-19T02:28:55.053+08:00Karaoke<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRzDio8v_aqemkRaiP34Mtctqzcfmh1lne36ubyXUjVNrMWpxhtIMXQvmWMdhmhHMNjImo4ZmtAtwJuFJJO_SSWL0_57qY8C8iEX3SUAKOtFYUspexNANEkzh0NyBE4oExOau_/s1600-h/P1010892.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332080316902707986" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRzDio8v_aqemkRaiP34Mtctqzcfmh1lne36ubyXUjVNrMWpxhtIMXQvmWMdhmhHMNjImo4ZmtAtwJuFJJO_SSWL0_57qY8C8iEX3SUAKOtFYUspexNANEkzh0NyBE4oExOau_/s400/P1010892.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 225px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">A popular summit without karaoke? This would never be allowed to happen in Taiwan.</span></span></span></div>
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There's nothing quite like wandering through the lush greenery of a trail through the rolling hills around the cities and towns of Taiwan, only to be greeted by a crude shack at the top with a TV and surround sound system filled with locals singing their hearts out. In hindsight, it seems to be one of the hallmarks of Taiwanese culture: To Go Boldly where No Man Has Gone Before... and to Erect a Karaoke Stand There.<br />
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I'm surprised no one has tried doing this on the summit of Yushan yet.</div>
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Perhaps it is simply my lack of musical talent, but I never really caught on to the karaoke craze while growing up in Taiwan (or vice versa). Conversely, almost every single Taiwanese student I've known, both in Taiwan and abroad, is crazy about it. Even here in the US, almost every major meeting of Taiwanese students involves a lengthy session of graduate students crooning into a microphone (with the echo effects cranked way up). </div>
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Come to think of it, <a href="http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=4057291">this may explain why we all seem to get along so well, despite our differences</a>. It may be a form of escapism, but <a href="http://a-gu.blogspot.com/2009/05/but-whimper.html">with everything else going on</a>, sometimes you just need to escape for a while. And Matsu knows that I've done my share of introducing them to local culture in Colorado, namely: "To Ski, Climb, Run, and Drink Lots of Microbrewed Beer".</div>
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"We're having a karaoke session on Saturday, come on by", my friend said. "We even went through the trouble of downloading some English MVs for you." </div>
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For the record, my Mandarin is perfectly fine, and liberally sprinkled with language commonly heard from your local betelnut chewing cabbie. But my understanding of Taiwan pop music seems to be stuck from around my high school days in the late '90s. Somewhere along the line, my friends became more interested in having someone who could convincingly (to their ears anyhow) fake a variety of North American accents, than rehash 1997 in Taiwan pop music.</div>
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"Why don't we go hiking instead?" I suggested. "Why?" my friend replied, "We'd just start singing at the summit. Why go through all the trouble when we can do it down here? You can bring the beer."</div>
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As if to accentuate his point, it rained on Saturday. And so I found myself with 15 other Taiwanese grad students, standing in front of a big screen TV and a karaoke machiene, with a microphone in my hand, awaiting the first song...</div>
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... which turned out to be "<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vo_0UXRY_rY">I Don't Wanna Miss A Thing" by Aerosmith</a>. I spent most of the song with my vocal chords stretched to the breaking point, and no sound coming out of my mouth. </div>
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Whatever the beneficial effects of living at high altitude for long periods, singing isn't one of them.</div>
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One by one, we went down the ever growing queue of songs. Ballads of love and loss seemed to be the most popular... all sung by everyone in the room (or so it seemed, it was hard to tell with the echo effect of the microphone cranked up to the max). The rain came down outside, we sang offkey, no one cared. Normally reserved students poured their hearts out.</div>
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If you've lived in Taiwan long enough you realize that the cynical nature projected by most people is a facade that rarely comes down... except in the presence of very close friends, or barring that, a karaoke machine (or liberal amounts of alcohol). "You can have dreams and ideals", my parents once told me, "as long as you don't tell them to anyone else". You don't do something for some idealogical reason... you do it because "沒辦法" ("I had no other choice"), "警察在看" ("There's a cop looking"), or some similarly pragmatic reason. Sometimes, you even start to believe it. Interestingly however, Taiwanese students arriving here have no problem accepting the idea that "Pedestrians have the right of way", without having to qualify it with "lawsuits are expensive", or "windshields are a pain in the butt to replace".</div>
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Just one of those cultural things I suppose.</div>
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After my third offkey rendition of "Country Roads", I finally managed to squeeze in a non-English song dating from my last days of high school. Maybe I just needed a reminder of brighter days when the future seemed boundless, untempered by the cynicism of reality. Or maybe I was getting fed up with the love ballads from the latest 星光 talent search stars....</div>
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Either way, I was still singing off key.</div>
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<object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/TviXWy__u4M&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/TviXWy__u4M&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br />
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<blockquote>
歌名:憨人</blockquote>
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Title: The Fool</blockquote>
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語言:台語</blockquote>
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Language: Taiwanese<br />
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編曲:五月天</blockquote>
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Artist: Mayday</blockquote>
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<a href="http://www.onedayinmay.net/VivaLove/Fool.html">Original Translation by C.C. and Merry, slightly modified.</a></blockquote>
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我的心內感覺 人生的沈重 不敢來振動<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">In my heart I feel the seriousness of life, but I don't dare touch it </span></blockquote>
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我不是好子 嘛不是歹人 我只是愛眠夢<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">I'm not a goody good, and I'm not a bad person either, I just love to dream</span></blockquote>
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我不願隨浪隨風 飄浪西東 親像船無港<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">I don't want to drift with the wind and tide, like a boat with no harbor</span></blockquote>
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我不願做人 奸巧鑽縫 甘願來作憨人<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">I don't want to be a devious opportunist person, taking advantage of others. I'd rather be a fool.</span><br />
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我不是頭腦空空 我不是一隻米蟲<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">My head isn't empty, and I'm not useless</span></blockquote>
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人啊人 一世人 要安怎歡喜 過春夏秋冬<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Oh people! A lifetime is so long, how can we happily pass the years?</span></blockquote>
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我有我的路 有我的夢 夢中的那個世界 甘講伊是一場空<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">I have my own road, I have my dreams. Is the world that I dream of just an illusion?</span></blockquote>
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我走過的路 只有希望 希望你我講過的話 放在心肝內 總有一天<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">On the road that I have travelled, I have only hope. Hope that all we've talked about is in our hearts, believing one day it will all come true.</span><br />
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看到滿天全金條 要煞無半項 環境來戲弄<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">Seeing my dreams dance through the sky, I reach out for it but grasp nothing, the world is mocking me</span></blockquote>
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背景無夠強 天才無夠弄 逐項是攏輸人<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">My background's not strong enough, my talent's not good enough, I lose to others in everything </span></blockquote>
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只好看破這虛華 不怕路歹行 不怕大雨淋<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">I'd best see through this facade, unafraid of how difficult the road ahead may be, and unafraid of being drenched by the rain</span></blockquote>
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心上一字敢 面對我的夢 甘願來作憨人</blockquote>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">On my heart there is one word: daring, when facing my dreams, I'm willing to be a fool.</span></blockquote>
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Outside, the rain kept pouring down, the world moved on, but for a moment, all that was forgotten.</div>
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<br />
Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tag/Karaoke" rel="tag">[Karaoke]</a>, <a href="http://technorati.com/tag/Mayday" rel="tag">[Mayday]</a>, <a href="http://technorati.com/tag/Student+Life" rel="tag">[Student Life]</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16631765.post-45979758970947877042007-11-07T17:05:00.000+08:002012-08-19T02:30:02.551+08:00和平! 人權! An Account of the Executive Yuan ProtestI'm still somewhat shaken from what <a href="http://live.yahoo.com/wenli">I just saw</a>. Some 500 students have been peacefully gathered in front of the Executive Yuan for the last day or so to protest the current <a href="http://law.moj.gov.tw/Scripts/Query4A.asp?FullDoc=all&Fcode=D0080058">Parade and Assembly Law (集會遊行法)</a>, the abuse of which has led to so much trouble over the last couple of days. The current law restricts the right of citizens to peaceably assemble, by forcing them to apply for permits which the government may deny at will <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">after reviewing the protest topic</span>, allows the government unrestricted rights to close off large areas from protesters, and allows police to forcibly disperse protesters even if they are not violent. The students are demanding the law be revised to require the government to grant permits upon receiving a notification <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">without the current content review </span>("government shall allow" vs. the current "government may grant a permit"), while requiring police to follow the rule of law and due process in all arrests and detentions. In other words, the law should protect the rights of protesters - not restrict them.<br />
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Despite numerous attempts by partisans to connect them to the DPP, the students have steadfastly refused to align themselves with any political party. In fact, speaker after speaker made it clear that while the current Parade and Assembly Law is a relic from martial law, successive administrations from both parties have lost interest in amending or revising the law after assuming the reigns of power, even as they claimed to oppose it while in the opposition... as the saying goes, power corrupts. Even the power that you might not use. Others attempted to link them to the few violent protesters over the last day or so - a patently false claim as the protesters promptly ejected any would-be participants who seemed too agitated, or too close to any partisan cause.<br />
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The protesters made it clear that they were not anti-police - in fact, they made a conscientious effort to differentiate between rank and file police officers, who were forced to carry out oppressive policies from their superiors. The current Parade and Assembly Law encourages that type of behavior from the government, victimizing protesters and police alike. As such the real responsibility lies with those who give the orders, and the laws that enable them. Under these considerations, the protesters' demands include apologies from President Ma and Premier Liu, as well as the resignations of the Directors of the National Police Agency and National Security Bureau for the <a href="http://globalvoicesonline.org/2008/11/05/taiwan-the-phantom-of-police-state-is-back-officially/">unprecedented</a> <a href="http://globalvoicesonline.org/2008/11/06/taiwan-defending-rights/">abuses of police power</a> over the past few days. Further information can be found in the <a href="http://www.csie.ntu.edu.tw/~b94095/1106/Protest_Statement.pdf">statement of protest</a>.<br />
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Watching the live feed and narration provided by a few students with a webcam, I was struck by the orderliness and relatively relaxed atmosphere throughout. The students spent most of the time calmly seated in front of the gate of the Executive Yuan, listening to speakers who spoke about the need for reform and the rights of citizens to demonstrate peacefully. There was little anger towards police, even as the police raised placards declaring the assembly to be unlawful. (<a href="http://campus.creativity.edu.tw/nctu/1106-2/Pages/11.html">The protesters responded</a> with their own placards reading "Dissent! Police action is unlawful"). Students handed police officers water and flowers, making it clear that they bore them no ill will. Unfortunetely, TVBS, true to its acronym, promptly ran a story claiming that the students supported the actions of the police over the past few days. When this gross distortion became known, the protesters faced the TVBS reporter on scene and chanted "TVBS 不要臉!" ("TVBS, have you no shame?")<br />
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By the start of Friday morning, rumors were flying that the police would move in at 4PM. Earlier in the morning, the secretary to Premier Liu came out amid chants of "Ma, Liu apologize!", "NPA and NSB chiefs resign!", "Amend the Parade and Assembly Law!". In response to the students' questions, he provided evasive answers, first claiming that the KMT had supported revising the law over the past 8 years of DPP administration and trying to pass the blame off to the DPP. But he could not answer questions from the protesters as to why the KMT had not done so now that it holds a supermajority in the Legislative Yuan and the Presidency, nor could he provide any assurances or timetables as to when it would be revised in accordance with the protesters' demands. Flustered, he quickly retreated back into the building as the protesters declared his response unsatisfactory and his attitude patronizing. A vote was taken and the protesters agreed to remain until their demands were met.<br />
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As the clock neared 4PM, a sense of uncertainty was in the air, as larger groups of police alternately congregated and dispersed. Citizens came with donations of food, water, and blankets. As the time ticked away, the students performed a roll call by institution. Cheers went out as "National Taiwan University!", "National Taipei University of Education!" and other institutions of higher learning went out. But the loudest cheer was reserved for a lone voice which shouted: "<a href="http://cpuweb.cpu.edu.tw/e-index.asp">Central Police University</a>!" (I don't know who you are buddy, but I salute you sir!).<br />
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At 4PM, three large police buses pulled up in the street behind the protesters, with squads of police officers emerging. "Remember!" the organizers shouted: "No violence! It is not the fault of the police that their orders are unconstitutional! No one is wrong here. Remain peaceful! We reassemble in 2 hours at Liberty Square!".<br />
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Sitting on the ground, the 500+ students linked hands and sang, in English, "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/We_Shall_Overcome">We Shall Overcome</a>". As the last lines of "We are not afraid today" faded, and the crowd of police grew larger, the students chanted "和平!" ("Peace!").<br />
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Then suddenly, the police officers turned around, reboarded their buses and left. The students cheered... it was as if a miracle had occurred. Plans were made to stay till a satisfactory answer was given by the government.<br />
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The moment proved to be short lived. Rumors began flying again that the police intended to detain them, then release them somewhere far away from public transportation. Calls went out across the web as individuals and groups promised to provide transportation for any stranded students.<br />
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About 20 minutes later, a large phalanx of police carrying riot shields poured out of the Executive Yuan and the 3 police buses which had suddenly returned. As the police surrounded the students, the students chanted "Peace!" again, joined by a growing crowd of citizens in the street. A group from the pan-green aligned Taiwan North Society attempted to offer their assistance, but were politely and firmly rejected by the students. "We are not rejecting your ideas, but we reject partisanship in this demonstration."<br />
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Finally, police officers began to forcibly remove the students dragging the limp, unresisting students, still chanting, into the police buses. The students began chanting "人權!" ("Human Rights!"), along with the crowd which quickly joined in.<br />
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Then the feed cut off.<br />
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It took over an hour to remove all 500 students. The latest report from the restored feed indicates that they were dropped off at the rear gate of National Taiwan University. The protesters are now reassembling at Liberty Square, welcoming anyone who is willing to join in peaceably, without political flags or placards, and without a partisan agenda. Reports indicate taxi drivers who heard of their plight are picking them up and taking them to Liberty Square for free.<br />
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The gate of the Executive Yuan is now clear of students. But the citizens who gathered have now taken up the students' cause, launching their own sit-in, and are now chanting the students' three demands: "Ma and Liu apologize", "NPA and NSB chiefs step down", and "Amend the Parade and Assembly Law!" The crowd is still growing as I type this, chanting "同學加油!" ("Go students!")<br />
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I am an engineering graduate student. For a long time, I considered myself cynical about anyone who randomly invoked Godwin's Law. The last few days, and what I saw today have now changed that. The Parade and Assembly Law isn't just a blue problem or a green problem, it is a threat to all of our civil liberties. Citizens do not spontaneously become violent - and while there are always people in any demonstration who simply seek to cause chaos, they are vastly outnumbered by ordinary citizens who simply wish to express their dissent. It is only when those in power seek to use their authority to silence dissenting voices that good people may feel that they have little recourse. Successive administrations from both parties have been loath to relinquish the promise of almost unlimited authority offered by the current Parade and Assembly Law. What we saw over the last two days is simply the culmination of that process. The government could not resist the temptation to overstep their bounds far beyond what was required for public safety, and ended up facing the inevitable backlash.<br />
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Today I saw peaceful idealistic students not so unlike myself who chose to show resolve and restraint in the face of great adversity. Not one broke and ran. Not one struck back at the police officers, and the police officers did not use excessive force on the students. Everyone stayed on message. The students may have begun the movement, but it is now something bigger as nonstudents have joined in as well.<br />
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As the police officers carried the students away, the voice of the student announcer on the feed broke as he said "This is how a police state begins. It's been 20 years since martial law ended and the law still hasn't been amended!"<br />
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For once, I am inclined to agree.<br />
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<a href="http://campus.creativity.edu.tw/nctu/1106/">Protest photos from participants</a>.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">UPDATE 1</span></span>: </div>
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Live feed from <a href="http://live.yahoo.com/pektiong">Liberty Square</a>.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">UPDATE 2</span></span>: </div>
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Several similar protests are now being organized by students across Taiwan. In particular, a<a href="http://blog.onlyone.idv.tw/1108.htm"> sit-in is now planned in front of the Kaohsiung Police Department</a>. </div>
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Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tag/Taiwan" rel="tag">[Taiwan]</a>, <a href="http://technorati.com/tag/Protest" rel="tag">[Protest]</a>, <a href="http://technorati.com/tag/%E9%87%8E%E8%8D%89%E8%8E%93" rel="tag">[野草莓]</a>.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16631765.post-8441715449573322452007-07-13T01:22:00.002+08:002011-03-09T18:27:07.061+08:00Riding the rails in the American Southwest<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRK-imbIPcDcCRMYa37DCFk1mIg40nWowCM5aSUrHELOCdmIYFFnxiRadv95FkSvHOsmIBg5wNndOqMFjGMonkAw8EFU9zwYDNhJdcR4w-ga8G0d7tji3gHR_Gpg8zydx9BPbp/s1600-h/P1000029.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRK-imbIPcDcCRMYa37DCFk1mIg40nWowCM5aSUrHELOCdmIYFFnxiRadv95FkSvHOsmIBg5wNndOqMFjGMonkAw8EFU9zwYDNhJdcR4w-ga8G0d7tji3gHR_Gpg8zydx9BPbp/s320/P1000029.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077561458090962706" border="0" /></a>Like a lot of kids, I went through a phase growing up where I was obsessed with trains and rail travel. As a kid in California, we spent a good chunk of our elementary school social studies classes on the role of railroads - namely, the US Transcontinental Railroad on the development of the American West. Later, living in Taiwan throughout my teenage years, I raked up god knows how many miles riding on <a href="http://www.railway.gov.tw/en/index/index.aspx">Taiwan Railway Administration</a> (TRA) trains and later on, aboard the <a href="http://english.trtc.com.tw/">MRT</a> and now the <a href="http://www.thsrc.com.tw/en/index.htm">High Speed Rail</a>. Railways were cool. On holidays I'd hop a cheap local train and end up a few hours later in some random city or town ready for a couple hours of wandering around gawking at the local sights. When I got tired of it, I'd head back to the station and hop on the next train back to Taipei. As much as I enjoyed bitching about the surly blue collar nature of TRA, the hilarious Chinglish signage, and how my last train was all of 5 minutes late, the TRA was sort of my ticket to adventures (if you can call them that) outside the hordes of people in the city, and at the same time, sort of a safety line. Who cares if Chongde Station is in the middle of nowhere when I can just hop on the next local train out in about half an hour and get back to Taipei for under US$5?<br /><br />Imagine my horror then, the first time I took an <a href="http://www.amtrak.com/">Amtrak</a> train (the <a href="http://www.amtrak.com/servlet/ContentServer?pagename=Amtrak/am2Route/Vertical_Route_Page&c=am2Route&cid=1081256321841&ssid=137">Coast Starlight</a>) in California as a college student back in 2001.<br /><blockquote><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />"Fearful that losses from passenger service would contribute to the weakening of other railroads, policymakers looked for a way to relieve the freight railroads of that burden. The result was the passage of the Rail Passenger Service Act of 1970, which created Amtrak. The company began operating on May 1, 1971." -- </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;">The Past and Future of U.S. Passenger Rail Service</span><span style="font-size:85%;">, Congressional Budget Office, 9/2003. <a href="http://www.cbo.gov/ftpdoc.cfm?index=4571&type=0&sequence=3">Ch. 2: A Brief History of Amtrak</a></span></blockquote><a href="http://www.cbo.gov/ftpdoc.cfm?index=4571&type=0&sequence=3"></a>I can overlook the fact that for most routes outside the Northeast Corridor, it generally isn't practical to run more than one train a day. And to be fair, the onboard service I experienced was quite good, the dining car food excellent, and the cars clean and well maintained.<br /><br />None of that makes up for the fact however, that we were eight hours late pulling into San Jose.<br /><blockquote><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">"Once one of the most popular train lines in the world, the Coast Starlight is in jeopardy because it consistently runs five to 15 hours late due to neglect by Amtrak and the Union Pacific Railroad, said Gerald Cauthen, president of the Train Riders Association of California... the Coast Starlight has delivered only 2 percent of its passengers to their destinations on time since October of last year." -- <a href="http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2006/08/08/MNGGTKD03A1.DTL"><span style="font-style: italic;">San Francisco Chronicle</span>, 8/8/2006</a></span></blockquote><a href="http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2006/08/08/MNGGTKD03A1.DTL"></a><br />Kind of sad, considering that the US passenger rail system was <a href="http://web.archive.org/web/20010614133724/wwics.si.edu/outreach/wq/WQSELECT/TRAIN.HTM">once one of the best in the world</a>... fifty some odd years ago. For intercity travel these days, it's generally a toss up between driving yourself for hours, or flying. Now, I like airplanes as much as the next aerospace engineer, but frankly for domestic travel, I think they are way too overused. I've heard it argued that massive federal subsidies for the airline industry and the interstate highway system create an environment favoring cars and planes as a one size fits all solution as far as transportation is concerned. Certainly cars and planes have their place, but sometimes it does seem like they dominate excessively here in the US due to an artificial scarcity of other options.<br /><br />But let's be fair here, west of Chicago, using Amtrak is virtually unheard of. Plane tickets cost about the same as intercity rail tickets. Reasonable people fly or drive.<br /><br />When it comes to traveling though, I am not a reasonable person. :D<br /><blockquote><span style="font-size:85%;">"Today, having received a total of about $27 billion in federal subsidies over 32 years, Amtrak is still teetering on the edge of bankruptcy, and policymakers are still struggling to find a workable plan for intercity passenger rail." -- </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;">The Past and Future of U.S. Passenger Rail Service</span><span style="font-size:85%;">, Congressional Budget Office, 9/2003. <a href="http://www.cbo.gov/ftpdoc.cfm?index=4571&type=0&sequence=3">Ch. 2: A Brief History of Amtrak</a></span></blockquote><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/756795865/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1055/756795865_8c48a5e016.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" /></a><br /></div> It's 5:50 AM in Downtown Denver, Colorado. The streets are still mostly empty as I step off the <a href="http://www.rtd-denver.com/">RTD</a> B bus. The air is cool, but there are already signs of the dry noontime heat that is yet to come.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/756795659/in/set-72157600721964827/" title="photo sharing"><img style="width: 413px; height: 310px;" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1130/756795659_d86ff4dc9b.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Like most major train stations in American cities, Union Station Denver is located near the heart of downtown. Built in the late 19th century before automobiles became commonplace, and the urban exodus that ensued, railroad passengers are spared a long drive from airports located in the outskirts of the city.<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/756795773/in/set-72157600721964827/" title="photo sharing"><img style="width: 413px; height: 306px;" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1009/756795773_68cea3b62c.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The waiting room is large, spacious, and evocative of another era. Rows of tall backed wooden benches line the interior. Only one of the four ticket counters is still operational, manned by a single lady in an Amtrak uniform. Though renovated and clean, there is still a sense of a place whose best days have passed. Though generally well maintained, most everything in Union Station looks old and somewhat worn.<br /><br />The waiting room is mostly empty this time of morning, aside for a few passengers who still insist on taking the Los Angeles bound <a href="http://www.amtrak.com/servlet/ContentServer?pagename=Amtrak/am2Route/Horizontal_Route_Page&c=am2Route&cid=1081442673827&ssid=132">Southwest Chief</a>. There are no security checks. No long lines. Just a quick direction from the ticket counter to wait outside for the connecting bus to arrive.<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/756795837/in/set-72157600721964827/" title="photo sharing"><img style="width: 400px; height: 328px;" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1115/756795837_b903b7cacd.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The only long distance service from Denver is run by Amtrak. The only train that actually stops at Denver is the <a href="http://www.amtrak.com/servlet/ContentServer?pagename=Amtrak/am2Route/Horizontal_Route_Page&c=am2Route&cid=1081256321209&ssid=133">California Zephyr</a> (Chicago, IL - Emeryville, CA), with one train in either direction per day. Other connections can only be made by chartered busses. The small number of trains on Amtrak's western long distance routes makes train to train transfers difficult. The first leg of my journey to Los Angeles is actually not by train but by a bus to Raton, New Mexico, where I will catch the Southwest Chief at it's 10:50AM stop there.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/757875740/in/set-72157600721964827/" title="photo sharing"><img style="width: 399px; height: 302px;" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1403/757875740_6e72a91282.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Four hours after boarding the connecting bus from Denver, I wake up was we cross the Colorado-New Mexico state line at the Raton Pass. We've gone south from Denver on I-25 and picked up more people at Colorado Springs, Pueblo, and Trinidad. The driver is a middle aged gentleman who cheerfully instructs us in the use of the bus's bathroom doorknob, which evokes a few laughs. The passengers keep mostly to themselves as we roll along and the ride is mostly silent except for a mother and two children behind me who are playing a "Guess the person" game. I am pleasantly surprised that one of the kids actually knows who Eleanor Roosevelt is.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/757875802/in/set-72157600721964827/" title="photo sharing"><img style="width: 396px; height: 298px;" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1371/757875802_eaa54769ae.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/757875912/in/set-72157600721964827/" title="photo sharing"><img style="width: 402px; height: 305px;" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1155/757875912_c5517d5fdf.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Racing ahead of the train on the railroad tracks below us, the bus drives into the town of Raton, New Mexico, population 7282 at the last census. The town is quintessentially Small Town America, with most businesses and small shops clustering around a single Main Street. We pass hardware stores and a small movie theater that looks like it was taken out of a Norman Rockwell painting.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/757875974/in/set-72157600721964827/" title="photo sharing"><img style="width: 417px; height: 314px;" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1099/757875974_adf86ba144.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The Raton train station is a small building, built in the whole mission style that seems to be so popular in the Southwest. The station seems to be shared between Amtrak and the <a href="http://www.bnsf.com/">BNSF Railroad</a> (freight). It's not much to look at but is the main transfer point for Los Angeles bound Amtrak passengers from Colorado.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/757876066/in/set-72157600721964827/" title="photo sharing"><img style="width: 401px; height: 302px;" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1113/757876066_2b6f159146.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/757133487/in/set-72157600721964827/" title="photo sharing"><img style="width: 406px; height: 308px;" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1391/757133487_b1396eb94f.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Half of the station seems to be occupied by a small waiting room. The aged look is even more apparent here, with a vending machine that looks like it was manufactured in the 60s, and separate hot and cold water taps in the restroom faucets. The actual Amtrak ticket office is actually located in a temporary prefab building outside the station itself.<br /><br />Nonetheless, there seems to be quite a bit of passenger activity here, most of it being a troupe of boy scouts headed back to Albuquerque after some type of camping trip.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/757133571/in/set-72157600721964827/" title="photo sharing"><img style="width: 412px; height: 310px;" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1409/757133571_6f93532440.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">We finally hear the train whistle and see the train itself as it rounds the bend just before the station. The Southwest Chief slowly pulls into the station as activity on the platform starts to pick up. Conductors emerge from the trains placing down yellow stools in front of the doors. I present my ticket to the conductor of a coach class car, while he checks the passenger manifest.<br /><br />"LA? Okay, head on upstairs to the front of the car. There's an open reserved seat for LA right across from two young ladies on the other side of the aisle. I believe that you'll be sitting with an older gentleman to your left."<br /><br />I soon learn that the conductors know virtually everyone in their designated cars... where they're going, when they want to eat, and even where they usually hang out on the train...<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/757231721/in/set-72157600721964827/" title="photo sharing"><img style="width: 415px; height: 312px;" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1111/757231721_97a24943a2.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Our train is one of Amtrak's <a href="http://www.amtrak.com/servlet/ContentServer?pagename=Amtrak/Page/Navigation_Page&c=Page&cid=1080080554402&ssid=138">Superliner fleet</a>. Though built in the late 70s and renovated in the 90s, the cars are surprisingly comfortable. Our train is comprised of (in order from the two locomotives) a checked baggage car, a sleeping car, three coach class cars, a lounge/observation car, a dining car, and another sleeper.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/757231929/in/set-72157600721964827/" title="photo sharing"><img style="width: 392px; height: 295px;" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1345/757231929_0c8bc4b9c0.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The coach class car that will be my home for the next 26 or so hours to Los Angeles is comprised of two rows of two seats each. Compared to typical passenger airliner seats, the train seats are heaven. Each seat is about twice as wide as an airline seat and swings backwards into a recliner like position, complete with a recliner chair like footrest.<br /><br />I sit beside an elderly gentlemen who seems mostly preoccupied with his iPod. Looking around the interior of the car, I see what can only be described as a cross section of America. Adults, children, students, retirees, black people, white people... etc. I find that many people preferred to wander about the train during the day, and can rarely be found in their seats.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/758165334/in/set-72157600721964827/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1216/758165334_31dd0c66d8.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The lower level of the coach class car contains the entryway as well as four lavatories. There's also a large rack for carry on baggage and a large empty space for more cargo. Not much to say here, except that the cargo space soon became a mini campground for a group of girl scouts who spread their sleeping bags there and spent the evening hours telling ghost stories.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/757422979/in/set-72157600721964827/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1054/757422979_bfdbf9568b.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The sleepers are Amtrak's version of first class. A single sleeper compartment contains a fold down bunk above two seats and a table beside a window, all in a private compartment. The lower seats can also be converted into a second bunk. Sleeper class passengers get complementary coffee, and do not have to pay for <a href="http://www.amtrak.com/pdf/menus/SampleMenu3_6-1-2006.pdf">eating in the dining car</a>.<br /><br />Very nice, but a bit pricey, especially when you're traveling alone. Besides, I found I spent most of my time in the lounge car anyhow, talking with other passengers and taking in the view.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/758165540/in/set-72157600721964827/" title="photo sharing"><img style="width: 412px; height: 310px;" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1372/758165540_1534058c05.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The Lounge Car is like a miniature town square, it's the center of activity for most passengers from both coach and sleeper classes. The upper level of the lounge car is a large observation room, almost always buzzing with activity and sightseers throughout the day. The single rows of seats facing the windows on either side encourage seat sharing, and indirectly, conversation between passengers.<br /><br />Spending the rest of the morning in the lounge car, I talk to a couple from Pennsylvania, taking the train to Vegas ("We decided to go retro"). I ask them about the scenery so far ("Lots of grassland"). They ask me where I'm coming from ("Colorado!"), where I was originally from ("California, where all the fruits and nuts come from!"), and what I've heard about the route from my friends ("Assorted varieties of tumbleweed.")<br /><br />I run into a couple from the San Fernando Valley, leading the girl scout troupe on a train trip returning from Chicago ("We always take the girls on a long train ride each year"). I make a remark about loving trains but having been burned pretty badly on my last Amtrak trip (Them: "Let me guess, Coast Starlight from LA to SF?" Me: "Yeah." Them: "Oh yes, we were late 15 hours into Seattle when we tried taking that one. The girls made us promise never to do that one again.")<br /><br />Them: "You sound like you grew up in California, which part?"<br />Me: "Is it really that obvious?"<br />Them: "You said 'soda' instead of 'pop' and also used the term 'back east'."<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/758165702/in/set-72157600721964827/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1154/758165702_0a57878260.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The lower level of the lounge car is designated as the "coach cafe". It's basically a simple dining area with a small convenience store like fixture where the cafe dude (for the lack of a better term) sells drinks, snacks, and microwavable meals. He also functions as a bartender, and a source of gossip and information.<br /><br />This is separate from the dining car (no photos unfortunately), the next car down from the lounge car. To accommodate all the passengers who want to eat in the dinning car, the conductors periodically check through their cars asking passengers to make reservations. Parties smaller than four are also seated together.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/757461309/in/set-72157600721964827/" title="photo sharing"><img style="width: 402px; height: 304px;" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1082/757461309_d297a02eaa.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">As lunchtime rolls around, I find myself seated at a table in the dining car, while we roll through a New Mexico river valley flanked by red rocks and the occasional pueblo style mansion. My tablemates are a diverse group, an Asian American civil engineer in his 30s working for a transportation consulting company in the Bay Area, returning from a trip to Oklahoma; a middle aged African American lady going home to Las Vegas; and a British lady visiting her son in Santa Fe, who opted to take the train from Denver over her son's suggestion to just fly down because she wanted to take the scenic route.<br /><br />We talk about public transportation in America ("Hey, were you involved in the whole FasTracks project up in Denver?"), bemoan how sad the nation's passenger rail infrastructure has become ("... and they now serve preheated food on plastic plates. Still much better then airline food."), relay the whole General Motors streetcar conspiracy theory ("... and so GM donated busses to various cities leading to the shut down of the light rail lines we had back in the 50s..."), water problems and growth in Vegas ("...we can't keep growing at that rate, there isn't enough water"), and explain the concept of "stone fired pizza" to our British contingent ("It's a fancy way of saying oven baked").<br /><br />Half way through lunch, the train pulls into Lamy station. We hear a broadcast over the intercom for someone's arriving early to pick up a passenger to Santa Fe. Our British friend excuses herself quickly scooping up the last of her stone fired pizza as we shake hands and exchange pleasantries. Then we're off again through the New Mexico countryside.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/758416454/in/set-72157600721964827/" title="photo sharing"><img style="width: 402px; height: 302px;" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1184/758416454_8c1189a984.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">By 4PM, we've gone halfway across the State of New Mexico. The farms, small towns, river valleys, and rocky southwestern landscape have given way to residential areas, warehouses, and finally, the skyscrapers of Downtown Albuquerque come into view. The train rolls into Albuquerque Station for a 40 minute layover to refuel to locomotives. As at the other stations, the passengers are allowed onto the platform to stretch their legs.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/758416494/in/set-72157600721964827/" title="photo sharing"><img style="width: 402px; height: 302px;" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1297/758416494_f801535c92.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/758416608/in/set-72157600721964827/" title="photo sharing"><img style="width: 406px; height: 307px;" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1245/758416608_4430aa0d43.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">A furnace-like blast of hot air greets me as I step out of the air conditioned train onto the platform. It's 104 degrees Fahrenheit out. Almost immediately, I feel the moisture in my skin start to evaporate.<br /><br />Several local Native American artists and peddlers have set up shop on the platform, hawking jewelry, blankets, and other souvenirs to the passengers. Someone mentions that there is a store in the station that sells ice cream. Judging by the crowd that immediately made for the station, I think they probably had a good business day that day. As the 40 minute time limit creeps up, everyone scrambles back aboard the train as the whistle sounds, and we start rolling again, making for the Arizona state line.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/757638151/in/set-72157600721964827/" title="photo sharing"><img style="width: 399px; height: 300px;" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1003/757638151_274acbd3eb.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Dinnertime rolls around again. I am seated with a family of three from Missouri headed to LA for a vacation. Conversation is polite, but distant. Excusing myself at the earliest opportune moment, I make my way back to the lounge car in time to see the sun setting behind the desert horizon as we change into Arizona.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/757638373/in/set-72157600721964827/" title="photo sharing"><img style="width: 393px; height: 297px;" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1245/757638373_8efb87b928.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The crowd in the lounge car gradually trickles away as the sun slowly sets around 9PM. The conductor announces over the intercom that we are now on Pacific time as we cross the state line.<br /><br />I find myself seated next to a young man about my age carrying a fancy looking camera. "Where are you from?", I ask. "I am from Taiwan" he says in halting English.<br /><br />Me: "幹!我也是台灣人ㄟ!" ("F***! I'm also from Taiwan!")<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/757638433/in/set-72157600721964827/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1272/757638433_98da54ed20.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">As it turns out, he was on his third month of a backpacking trip across the US that started from New York. He had spent the last two months gradually working his way across the country by rental car and train, and was planning to get off at Flagstaff, before continuing on to Los Angeles.<br /><br />Me: "Don't you know anyone there?"<br />Him: "No, not really."<br /><br />Apparently, I was the first Taiwanese person he'd seen for quite some time. After a long conversation about everything from military service in Taiwan, to US travel tips, we exchange emails before he gets off at Flagstaff.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/757728571/in/set-72157600721964827/" title="photo sharing"><img style="width: 394px; height: 297px;" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1270/757728571_938448595d.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">It's around 9PM when we approach Flagstaff, AZ. We experience an unexpected complication just outside the station. The train rolls to a stop just before the station, while the crew checks the engine. The station appears to be located in part of town with quite a bit of nightlife going on. Outside, we can see the lights of clubs and bars, and people who appear to be partygoers walking along the track.<br /><br />While the inspection is going on, our car is stopped right smack in the middle of a railroad crossing, blocking vehicle and pedestrian traffic. Standing near the lower level entryway along with the conductor, and a few other passengers desperate to go outside for a smoke, we see some curious looking pedestrians walking up to the door and staring at us.<br /><br />The conductor opens the window. A gentleman walks up to the train speaking to us in German accented English.<br /><br />German dude (GD): "Wheah ah you heading?"<br />Conductor (C): "Los Angeles."<br />GD: "Wheah ah you coming from?"<br />C: "Chicago."<br />GD: "Thea ah still trains that go from Chicago to Califohnia?"<br /><br />Thankfully for all involved, the train starts moving again after about 5 minutes, finally rolling into Flagstaff Station. A larger stop, we get about 10 minutes on the platform to stretch our legs and for those inclined to (as one passenger put it) "pollute their lungs".<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/757728223/in/set-72157600721964827/" title="photo sharing"><img style="width: 403px; height: 304px;" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1425/757728223_f6fe30ef7c.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I talk with the conductor while waiting for departure. A distinguished looking gentleman, I am surprised when he mentions that he is originally from Kenya, studied geology, and choose to work on the railroad for two years to see America. "I'm coming up on the two years. It's been fun, but soon it'll be time to move on to other things" he says in flawless American English.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/758670514/in/set-72157600721964827/" title="photo sharing"><img style="width: 392px; height: 295px;" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1433/758670514_e05d86c671.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">As the lights of Flagstaff fade behind us, we roll again out into the open desert. The lights dim and passengers head back to their seats and compartments to rest. I can't sleep so I head down to the cafe in the lounge car and order a beer. Unfortunately they ran out of Sam Adams, so I found myself sitting in the cafe with a can of Miller Lite.<br /><br />I talk with the only other passenger in the cafe, an older looking lady eating a midnight snack. I find that she is an ESL teacher hailing from Northern California and coincidentally, her first job was teaching at the University of Colorado, where I now study.<br /><br />"I loved Boulder, but couldn't stand the snow."<br /><br />We talk about snow, Colorado, California, teaching ESL, the grad student life. She inquires about my research, which somehow leads to a whole new discussion on sustainable living. Finally, my beer finished, and the feeling of sleep slowly setting in, I wish her a pleasant trip back up to NorCal, and retire back to my darkened coach seat for the night.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/758726284/in/set-72157600721964827/" title="photo sharing"><img style="width: 392px; height: 296px;" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1215/758726284_2dbdafbd73.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Through the night, the train passes across the deserts of Arizona and California, stopping briefly at Barstow. When I wake up to the sight of the sun slowly rising, I see a familiar sight. The rocky yellowed desert hills making way into rows of palm trees and identical looking suburban neighborhoods.<br /><br />It's been three years since I left but the memories of high school and college start flooding back. Southland. Home. (Or one of the many homes for someone who moves around as much as me.) The six years I spent in SoCal seem like they happened to someone else in another life on another planet, even though it's only been 3 years. We pass through stations with names of places I remember frequenting via the tangle of freeways. San Bernardino, Fullerton...<br /><br />The smoggy sky slowly brightens, and the giant megalopolis we are passing through slowly comes to life.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/758789108/in/set-72157600721964827/" title="photo sharing"><img style="width: 382px; height: 288px;" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1100/758789108_fd8661ca6f.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I return to my seat as we make our final approach into LA Union Station. The elderly gentleman seated next to me has finally removed the iPod headphones from his ears and nods a good morning to me as I sit down. He's coming to Los Angeles to visit his son and has taken the train all the way from Ohio.<br /><br />"I normally get a sleeper but they were out this time. For a young guy like you coach is fine, but for an old man like me it's terrible."<br /><br />We talk briefly about where we're coming from...<br /><br />Him: "My other son is in Denver, fine city. I like it a lot more than I do LA."<br />Me: "LA is an acquired taste I think. I disliked it when I was living here, then hated it when I was away, but coming back to it it sorta grows on you."<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/758844532/in/set-72157600721964827/" title="photo sharing"><img style="width: 395px; height: 298px;" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1238/758844532_ee941198f8.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flickr.com/photos/65694420@N00/758844618/in/set-72157600721964827/" title="photo sharing"><img style="width: 399px; height: 303px;" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1420/758844618_19a2c219be.jpg" class="flickr-photo" alt="" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">We arrive at Los Angeles Union Station at 7:38 AM. 37 minutes ahead of schedule. This has been an interesting trip. In Taiwan, while pervasive, a train ride was an ordinary affair. You got on, sat (or stood) till you got to your stop, then got off. This ride was different. Boarding the train and mingling with the other passengers was like meeting a cross section of ordinary America. No glitz, no glamor, just ordinary people who happened to run into one another on their respective ways. We often hear people complaining about Americans being stupid, apathetic, or dense... perhaps they should consider taking a long distance train ride across America. All I can say is, for someone as pessimistic as me, this trip has gone a long way in restoring my faith in my fellow man. At heart, we are all decent people making our way through life one day at a time.<br /><br />I will definitely come this way again.<br /><br /><blockquote>“The traveler sees what he sees, the tourist sees what he has come to see. The whole object of travel is not to set foot on foreign land; it is at last to set foot on one's own country as a foreign land.”<br />--G. K. Chesterton</blockquote><br />Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tag/Amtrak" rel="tag">[Amtrak]</a>, <a href="http://technorati.com/tag/Trains" rel="tag">[Trains]</a>, <a href="http://technorati.com/tag/Travel" rel="tag">[Travel]</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tag/USA" rel="tag">[USA]</a></div> </div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16631765.post-1168517443439543042007-01-11T19:11:00.002+08:002011-03-09T18:33:37.645+08:00Random pics: Biking along the rivers of Taipei<div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/4369/2805/1600/52973/P1040036.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/4369/2805/320/876079/P1040036.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>One pleasant little surprise that I've noticed is the increased proliferation of bicycle paths and recreational biking in Taipei. It's actually not too uncommon nowadays to run into people commuting by bike, or simply biking for the fun of it. While the city streets remain rather hazardous for bikers, several new bike paths have been constructed along the riverside parks which flank the shores of the rivers and streams running throughout the Taipei metro area. It is now possible to bike all the way from Neihu (內湖) to Danshuei (淡水) along the Keelung and Danshuei Rivers.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Considering that Taiwan is one of the world's biggest producers of bicycles, it seems only fitting that folks here are finally taking up recreational bicycling again. Bicycle repair and rental shops (some publicly funded) have been popping up along the bike paths and weekends find many a family rolling along together on two wheels. Perhaps in a few years we'll finally start to get over our fixation on motorscooters.<br /><br /></div> <div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/4369/2805/1600/859788/P1090020.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/4369/2805/320/172739/P1090020.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">The Dajih Bridge (大直橋) and the Grand Hotel in the distance.</span></span><br /></div> <div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/4369/2805/1600/271102/P1090021.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/4369/2805/320/525022/P1090021.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">New apartment towers near Dajih.</span></span><br /></div> <div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/4369/2805/1600/608213/P1040015.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/4369/2805/320/244805/P1040015.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Commuters near Beitou.</span></span><br /></div> <div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/4369/2805/1600/514393/P1040008.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/4369/2805/320/47451/P1040008.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Cloud covered Yangmingshan and an expressway in the foreground.</span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/4369/2805/1600/531411/P1040021.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/4369/2805/320/616244/P1040021.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Mangrove swamps near Guandu.</span></span><br /></div> <div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/4369/2805/1600/399409/P1040030.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/4369/2805/320/849844/P1040030.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">The Guandu Temple.</span></span><br /></div> <div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/4369/2805/1600/964860/P1040034.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/4369/2805/320/219064/P1040034.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">A nearby bicycle repair and rental shop.</span></span><br /></div> <div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/4369/2805/1600/2023/P1040037.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/4369/2805/320/399762/P1040037.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">The Guandu Bridge.</span></span><br /></div> <div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/4369/2805/1600/789784/P1040040.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/4369/2805/320/20108/P1040040.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Looking towards Danshuei and out to sea.</span></span><br /></div><br />(If you're wondering why the weather is different in some of the photos, they were taken on two separate trips.)<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tag/Taiwan" rel="tag">[Taiwan]</a>, <a href="http://technorati.com/tag/Taipei" rel="tag">[Taipei]</a>, <a href="http://technorati.com/tag/Cycling" rel="tag">[Cycling]</a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0