“It’s chic to be stressed,” says Leslie Reisner, a Los Angeles psychologist and corporate trainer specializing in stress. “Not only do many of us want the stress in our lives, we want more stress than the next guy. It’s the new way of keeping up with the Joneses.”

You know the script. If you mention you worked until 10 p.m., your co-worker ups the ante to 10:30. If you are up to your neck in e-mail, she’s up to her eyeballs. If you are tied in knots, someone else's knots are bigger, tighter, knottier.

The rat race has a new finish line. It’s not who gets there first, but who’s the most hassled along the way.

The horrific accident at the weekend that left Taichung Mayor Jason Hu Chi-chiang's wife, Shaw Hsiao-ling, in a critical condition illustrated perfectly just how dangerous Taiwan's roads are.

According to local media accounts, the young factory worker who caused the accident was attempting to pass a slower vehicle on the freeway hard shoulder when he lost control of his car. This highly risky manoeuvre is all too common on Taiwan's freeways, as are high-speed tailgating and sudden shifts across several lanes.

On city streets, drivers routinely run red lights. In rural areas, overloaded refuse trucks career through tiny villages. And everywhere one drives, the law of the jungle prevails. Trucks are bigger than cars, which are bigger than scooters. Failure to heed this reality has disastrous consequences.

As in other Confucian societies, the nanny state clucks disapprovingly by tacking up hopeful signs urging the putative gentlemen behind the wheel to yield - or "ritually defer", as the Chinese term lirang may be literally translated. The snarling reality behind this polite façade, though, is a heavy toll of injuries and deaths. That is due to a systemic failure to enforce traffic laws and an incredibly cavalier attitude towards safety.

Motorists drive recklessly because the police rarely, if ever, pull people over for traffic offences. Instead, they rely on checkpoints put up during periodic campaigns against drink-driving or speeding, and technological solutions such as unmanned radar traps and cameras.

Neither works particularly well. The highly publicised campaigns end in a few weeks, after which the targeted offence may once more be committed with impunity. And almost every driver I know has installed illegal radar- and camera-detection devices in their vehicles. As the Chinese saying goes: "Those above have their laws while those below have their ways of getting around them." Taiwanese, in fact, are generally able to ignore traffic laws they don't like.

But, as Saturday night's tragedy illustrated, the lack of safety precautions is potentially deadly. Ms Shaw, a back-seat passenger in the van carrying Mr Hu and staff members, was not wearing a seat belt. Back-seat passengers in Taiwan are not required by law to do so, and they rarely do. Safety experts were unanimous that her serious injuries could have been substantially lessened had she been wearing a seat belt.

Deeply shocked by Ms Shaw's terrible injuries, Taiwan's parliament, paralysed for months by partisan battles to depose President Chen Shui-bian, quickly launched a bill to compel back-seat passengers to use seat belts. The measure seems virtually certain to become law. But it is difficult to be optimistic about continued progress towards making Taiwan a safer place to drive when it takes a celebrity injury or death to drive home what should be simple common sense.

As this article points out, the issue of Taiwan's international status is a sensitive topic.  The following sentences are often seen in the international media: "Beijing, which considers Taiwan a breakaway province, has vowed to attack if it declares formal independence. The two sides have faced off since China's defeated Nationalist forces fled to Taiwan at the end of the Chinese civil war in 1949." 

Stories in AP, UPI, Washington Post, LA Times, Baltimore Sun, New York Times, etc. frequently repeat these phrases.  Such stories are also picked up the by Chinese language media in Taiwan, translated into Chinese and offered up to the Taiwanese populace as part of their daily fare. 

Unfortunately, this description ignores the fact that Taiwan was Japanese territory up until the coming into force of the post-war San Francisco Peace Treaty on April 28, 1952.  The ROC military forces under Chiang Kai-shek (CKS) had been sent to Taiwan to accept the surrender of Japanese troops, and the date of that surrender (Oct. 25, 1945) marks the beginning of the military occupation of Taiwan.  Hence, in 1949, when CKS moved his ROC government to occupied Taiwan, he was in fact becoming a government in exile. 

At any rate, the truth is now out, and a new federal lawsuit in Wash. D.C. is demanding that the US government recognize the Taiwanese people's fundamental rights under US laws, including the US Constitution.   While unknown to many, there is a coherent line of analysis under international law to say that CKS accepted the surrender of Japanese troops on behalf of the Allies, but the ensuing military occupation of Taiwan was conducted on behalf of the "conqueror" and "principal occupying power" -- the United States of America.  A full summary of the lawsuit is online here -- http://www.taiwankey.net/dc/suitsuen3.htm  Thankfully, under this formulation, the Taiwanese can have everything they really want -- a new constitution, new flag, new territorial seal, etc. etc. -- under US administrative authority.

So far, however, the China controlled international media are paying scant attention to this story. 

Sincerely,

Roger C. S. Lin
Gaoxiong, Taiwan
Nov. 22, 2006
tda.taiwan@gmail.com

Also see --

The One China Policy and Taiwan's Identity Crisis
http://www.taiwankey.net/dc/twintro6.htm

Are Taiwanese Persons ROC Citizens?
-- In Search of a Legal Basis for ROC Citizenship
http://www.taiwankey.net/dc/rcitizen6.htm

Letters and Commentary
http://www.taiwankey.net/dc/lettcomm6.htm

Putonghua is one of mainland China's big-growth exports. Beijing-backed Confucius Institutes, which teach the language, are cropping up by the score in a seemingly relentless linguistic march around the globe. Some may see this as a new form of imperialism - a central government plot to impart ideology - or merely as a passing fad. I prefer to think of it in terms of joint-venture opportunism.

My theory is simple, and uncluttered by dark mutterings of backroom schemes: where there is a buck, people tend to go for it. And there are certainly big bucks to be made from teaching languages, especially ones like Putonghua, which people think will advance their careers.

It was reported this week that there are now 120 Confucius Institutes in 50 countries on five continents, and a further 40 in the pipeline. Conspiracy theorists may see this as less a matter of learning than indoctrinating.

The institutes are set up jointly by the government's Office of Chinese Language Council International and foreign partners. Suspicions were doubtless confirmed when the office's director-general, Zhao Guocheng , noted that students not only learned Putonghua, but were likely to have their "misconceptions about the country" dispelled.

For conspiracy theorists, such remarks are proof that Putonghua teachers are using language as a vehicle to send out pro-communist, anti-western ideology. British academic Robert Phillipson took on board some of this thinking in his influential 1992 book Linguistic Imperialism, which expounds the theory that English has achieved dominance through a series of complex hegemonic processes.

With the British Council leading the charge, he asserts, English has been promoted as being God-given, interesting and a gateway to the world - which makes it widespread and therefore easier to learn. Other arguments are that English represents modernity, is the universal language of business and symbolises efficiency.

The Confucius Institute would seem to have a battle on its hands to compete with these perceptions - since English has had centuries of lead time. The rush to learn Putonghua would need to be more hectic and sustained to achieve dominance any time soon.

There is, after all, another truth. While an estimated 100 million around the world are taking Putonghua classes, six times as many mainland Chinese are learning English. This was pointed out yesterday by psycholinguistics expert Niu Qiang: for the past 20 years, she said, English has been compulsory for all students at the primary, middle, senior and college levels.

There are apparently 1 million native Chinese teachers of English on the mainland, 150,000 foreigners teaching the language legally and another 100,000 doing so without a permit. The publishing industry based around teaching English as a foreign language had gross revenues of almost US$2 billion last year.

I do not hear complaints from Beijing that learning English is bad because western dogma comes along with the linguistic package. In fact, it's quite the opposite: China's economic boom presents salient opportunities.

"To get a good job in a big company brings a big salary and high social status," said Dr Niu from her office in Chongqing . "While it's presently fashionable for young people to take English to learn about another culture, there is another, more important, reason: the financial aspect."

Her colleague Martin Wolff takes the English-versus-Putonghua debate a step further, wondering whether the world's estimated 420 million native English speakers stand much of a chance against China's 1.3 billion Putonghua speakers. He and Dr Niu have a theory of their own. "We predict an eventual regional English in China that will become the new global language of international communication," he said.

My experience with English on the mainland has not been good, and Dr Niu admitted that standards were not always the best. I'm not sure how comprehensible this form of English - with Chinese characteristics - will be.

Peter Kammerer is the Post's foreign editor.

peter.kamm@scmp.com

During a recent trip to Hong Kong and mainland China, I was struck by the extensive coverage of Taiwan in both the print and electronic media. It contrasts sharply with how little attention Taiwan pays to either of its neighbours, the region and indeed the world.

On the mainland, for example, state television lavished attention on Taiwanese President Chen Shui-bian's latest political crisis - sparked by the indictment of his wife on corruption charges. Taiwanese political commentators were interviewed and given ample time to discuss the internal logic of the continuing support for Mr Chen by his Democratic Progressive Party.

No such serious discussion of mainland affairs ever occurs on Taiwanese television. Certainly no mainland commentators are invited to share their views on, say, the significance of Kuomintang overtures to Beijing.

Part of this stems from continuing restrictions on the Taiwanese media on the mainland. But the overriding reason is a remarkable lack of interest on the part of most Taiwanese about events across the Taiwan Strait. That is despite the estimated Taiwanese investments there of over US$100 billion, the presence of more than 300,000 islanders in the mainland, and the 800-odd missiles Beijing has pointed at Taiwan.

Hong Kong, as far as the Taiwanese media is concerned, might as well be a black hole. Korea? Who cares if North Korea has the bomb? Certainly no one in Taiwan does - even if the island's fate is inextricably linked to events on the Korean Peninsula - judging by the minimal flicker of interest shown in translated newswire stories.

Taiwan's clear lack of interest in the outside world is partly the effect of the island's prolonged, self-imposed isolation after the Republic of China government lost its UN seat in 1971.

It is also the effect of a free-wheeling, profit-driven media - one with no high-minded tradition of serving up international news as a sort of moral duty to enlighten the public, as the US press used to and Britain's still does. News from outside Taiwan is poison in the media ratings game. In a tiny market with far too many outlets, no one can afford to be high-minded. Money, not state interference or self-censorship, is the issue.

Ultimately, Taiwan's resolute navel-gazing is a mechanism for coping with the realities of its international situation. Visitors often remark that the Taiwanese seem passive - almost unconcerned - about the island's relations with the mainland and the region. This is misleading: most Taiwanese have strongly held views on these matters. But they keep them to themselves, since such talk is a good way to turn friends and neighbours into enemies.

But this seeming passivity is also real in the sense that it is a way to go on living - building businesses, buying houses, starting families - in a place where nothing about the future is certain.

Taipei is far too crowded for curbside rubbish collection. Instead, residents have two or three opportunities a day to throw their trash into the smelly maw of one of the city's garbage trucks. The trucks signal their arrival several blocks in advance by blaring an electronic tune. Prudent residents stake out their positions 10 or 15 minutes in advance.

In my neighbourhood, near the university district, this is a diverse group. Tall Africans tower over elderly Taiwanese housewives, while groups of domestic helpers from the Philippines or Indonesia chat excitedly in broken Mandarin. One older man with a strong Beijing accent always appears neatly dressed in his pajamas, ready for his last task of the day.

All garbage must be placed in special, transparent bags with complex anti-counterfeiting seals sold by the city government to offset the costs of waste disposal. This system is the reason why it is nearly impossible to find a public rubbish bin anywhere in the city - outside of convenience stores, which are required to provide them by law. Even these must be watched closely by store clerks, to ensure that no one tries to save a few dozen New Taiwan dollars by illegally dumping their household trash there.

Despite the occasional impulse to lawlessness, most people are surprisingly enthusiastic and meticulous about sorting their trash, as is now required. Under the watchful eye of a city sanitation worker, kitchen slop is gingerly poured into large, plastic barrels attached to the back of the trucks. A second truck accepts sorted bottles and paper, although this one is used less frequently because scrap collectors are standing by to take these valuable recyclables.

Although dirty and unpleasant, jobs on garbage truck crews are prized, since they often pay more than office jobs. Further, they're seen as being more stable since they're on the government payroll. Every year, thousands of hopeful applicants - including people holding graduate degrees from Taiwanese universities - compete for the few coveted spots. They are chosen based on time trials involving sprints while lugging sacks of rice.

Taipei's garbage collection system may seem a bit backward by the standards of other countries. But it's a vast improvement on the old system, where people were allowed to dump their garbage at designated street corners after dark. Huge mountains of evil-smelling trash would appear nightly, attracting rodents and stray animals until the trucks finally came round to pick them up.

Still, the current system is inconvenient for people who work late, since the trucks make their rounds in the evenings. It can be a safety hazard when desperate stragglers end up chasing the trucks through Taipei's crowded streets, rubbish in hand. The system works, but surely a city with international ambitions could do better than this.

The anti-democrats of Hong Kong are rubbing their hands with glee to see the problems that democracies in Asia are having. This includes the military coup in Thailand, scandal and corruption in the Philippines, and the president and first lady of Taiwan accused of enriching themselves.

Taiwanese First Lady Wu Shu-chen was indicted on corruption charges on Friday and many have accused her husband, President Chen Shui-bian, of being involved. As president, he cannot be prosecuted. All this is sure to send these anti-democrats scrambling to pen more articles that say: "You see, we told you that democracy is not a good system. Why do you keep asking for it?"

Why do Hongkongers still want democracy, they ask: just look at the problems that can afflict democracies. And they arise not just in Taiwan. You can see problems with democracies everywhere: they hold back economic development; they result in corruption. And so the accusations continue.

Well, let's look at Taiwan, both now that it is a democracy and before. Are things worse than they were during the Chiang Kai-shek era? Its Taiwan Garrison Command - a secret police and state security body - is gone. The government no longer has the right to lock people up and throw away the key. Journalists, scholars and political activists no longer simply disappear into prison, never to be heard from again.

And was corruption unknown in those days? Far from it. Even now, the ruling Democratic Progressive Party is trying to force the Kuomintang to account for the assets it controlled during its decades in power.

The Kuomintang thought it would never lose power, and did not separate party assets and state property.

In the absence of a trial, one cannot be legally certain, but maybe the president's wife was corrupt. Maybe the president himself was corrupt. All this shows is that corruption and democracy can coexist. Is there any system of government that can guarantee an absence of corruption?

In fact, the Chinese Communist Party keeps reminding us of the seriousness of corruption on the mainland. Yet, do we ever hear the Hong Kong members of the National People's Congress and the Chinese People's Political Consultative Conference say that all these cases of corruption in the mainland prove that one-party rule is not a panacea and should be given up?

Or are they too embarrassed to talk about it?

Obviously, democracy is not a panacea: it cannot solve all our problems. But whoever said it was? Claiming democracy is not a panacea is just like creating a straw man and then knocking it down.

The fact is, there is no perfect system of government. But there is simply nothing better than democracy.

As Winston Churchill so accurately put it: "Democracy is the worst form of government, except for all those others that have been tried."

Democracy is imperfect. Look at the United States: see what a mess President George W. Bush has made of things. Remember Richard Nixon? Remember the impeachment of Bill Clinton?

But do these things prove that democracy is a terrible system? No, it proves that human beings are fallible, regardless of the type of government they live under.

It proves that power corrupts, and so institutions should be created to limit the amount of power in the hands of one person.

Is there any example of a perfect government anywhere in the world? Is there any system under which all the people are always happy? Is there a one-party state where the people enjoy freedom and rights?

A system of government where there are checks and balances is, at least, much better than one where these checks do not exist, where one political party - or one individual - has the final say over all matters, and controls the judiciary, the legislature and the executive.

There is no point talking about a perfect government: it doesn't exist. Rather, ask the question: is any form of government better than democracy? If anyone can come up with a better one, I would like to hear it.

Frank Ching is a Hong Kong-based writer and commentator.

frank.ching@scmp.com