I’d live in ‘world’s most dangerous place’

When my parents were growing up in the 1970s, they did not consider Taiwan an idyllic place to start a family. It was under martial law and the steady drumbeat of threats from China only seemed to be getting louder with each passing year.

My dad still remembers the anxiety that engulfed the island when the United States cut off diplomatic recognition of Taiwan in favor of the People’s Republic of China in 1979. “We weren’t sure if America would protect us if there was conflict,” he told me.

And so, in their late 20s, they left everything they knew and moved to the suburbs of Los Angeles where I was born. They weren’t the only ones; roughly 20 percent of Taiwanese college graduates went abroad for advanced study in the 1970s and 1980s. Few returned. My parents considered America a safe haven and wanted me to grow up with all its comforts.

Whereas they grew up in cramped moldy buildings, I spent my childhood in a four-bedroom house with a backyard and a swimming pool. Whereas they walked to school on uneven sidewalks in a cloud of pollution, my mother drove me to school every day in a comfy SUV.

My parents were raised under the shadow of martial law, where folks were jailed and killed for speaking their mind. I was raised in the land of the free, where freedom of speech is enshrined in the constitution as a human right.

And yet, decades later, I ended up doing the exact opposite of what my parents did. In 2020 at the cusp of the global pandemic, I moved to Taiwan with my husband. Last year, I gave birth to a baby boy in Taipei.

Threats from China have not abated. In fact, tensions have reached such historic highs that Taiwan is often dubbed “the world’s most dangerous place” by international analysts. This perception is so pervasive that every time my husband and I leave Taiwan, we are greeted with wide-eyed concern by friends and family. Are we safe in Taiwan? Do we think China will attack?

Though my perspective may be myopic (given the very real possibility of conflict and a military blockade) and comes from a place of privilege (I am a dual citizen of both Taiwan and the United States), there’s currently nowhere else I’d rather be. A lot has changed over the past 30 years as Taiwan has transitioned from a dictatorship to a vibrant democracy.

In Taiwan, power is handed over peacefully while it’s no longer a certainty in the US. In Taiwan, guns are illegal. In America, guns are a leading cause of death to children. Taiwan has universal health care; I can pop into any clinic or hospital for immediate and affordable treatment. My entire medical record can be accessed instantaneously via a chip on my health card. In America, medical insurance is opaque and not guaranteed.

The contrasts are especially stark now that I am a new mother. The Taiwanese subway system has designated seating areas for pregnant women and children, and there are breastfeeding rooms at every major station. The city has free play centers for children stocked with a wide range of toys. All new parents in Taipei are eligible for monthly cash handouts, and certified daycares and at-home nannies services are subsidized by the city government. In the States, only low-income families qualify for financial aid.

Of course, comparing the United States and Taiwan this way without acknowledging the nuanced socio-political contexts can be misleading. While the American health care system is notoriously difficult to navigate, it is far more advanced and state-of-the-art than Taiwan’s. While Taiwan is great for babies, it can be stressful for school-aged children; the education system emphasizes rote memorization and stifles creative freedom.