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The popularizing and politicizing of queer media images in Taiwan: 1997 to the present

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Content THE POPULARIZING AND POLITICIZING OF
QUEER MEDIA IMAGES IN TAIWAN: 1997 TO THE PRESENT
by
Yayu Zheng
A Dissertation Presented to the
FACULTY OF THE USC GRADUATE SCHOOL
UNIVERITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
In Partial Fulfillment of the
Requirements for the Degree
DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
(CINEMA AND MEDIA STUDIES)
May 2024

ii
Acknowledgments
Finishing a Ph.D. is truly a challenging journey, one that, although solely authored,
involves inputs and support from many people. I would not have completed this project
without the invaluable help of the many people I have encounters with along the way. Here I
hope that I can at least express my gratitude to some of them.
First and foremost, I would like to express my deepest appreciation to my advisor,
Prof. Michael Renov. Without his guidance and support, this project would not have reached
its fruition. The other two of my committee members, Prof. Brian Bernards and Prof. Tara
McPherson, have also supported me along this difficult journey with their insights,
encouragement, and support. Their wisdom and mentorship have been instrumental in the
progression and final completion. Moreover, observing their scholarly journeys has been
inspiring, motivating me to persevere in my own academic career. I am also grateful for
Prof. Ellen Seiter and Prof. Giancarlo Cornejo, who served on my screening committee, for
their guidance in shaping the direction of this project. I also want to thank other faculty
members I have interactions with while being at USC, including Prof. Priya Jaikumar, Prof.
Todd Boyd, Prof. J.D. Connor, Prof. Hernan Galperin, Prof. Joseph R. Hawkins, Prof.
Roberto Ignacio Díaz, Prof. Colin Miles Maclay, Prof. Kiki Benzon, Prof. Lan Duong, Prof.
Aniko Imre, and Prof. Vicki Callahan.
I also want to thank my mentors at UC Berkeley for igniting my interest in pursuing
academic research in film and media studies, especially Prof. Damon Young for his
comments and support even after my graduation, and Prof. Linda Williams for showing me
the responsibilities of being a scholar through her actions.

iii
Support from peers has also been extremely important on this journey. I will always
cherish the moments we shared chatting with Wakae and Laboni. Moreover, I want to
express my gratitude to Jackie, Dan, and Bill for their kindness and the bonds we have
formed over the past five years. I am also thankful to the many other people I have met and
encountered at USC—Ann, Ziwei, Chloe, Yiyan, Sui, Max, Ray, Jae, Patricia, Trace, Feyza,
Allison, Eszter, and many others—all of whom I feel grateful to.
I would also like to warmly thank the scholars with whom I had the opportunity to
keep in touch and exchange ideas, especially Ying-Chao Kao and Kecheng Fang, and all the
scholars I met and had the chance to talk to during various conferences. The intellectual
exchange that I had with them was very inspiring and had significant impact on this project.
I want to extend a special thank you to Allan Shatkin for his consistent support and
assistance over the years. I owe you a lot of meals and a lot of stories. Your encouragement
has been pivotal in sustaining my commitment to this endeavor.
I also want to mention my friends who have always believed in me, among them are
Ray Chen, Olivia Xu, Ryan Qiao, Tina Huang, Yuying Li, and Manmei Lv.
To my parents, grandparents, and other family members, I am profoundly grateful
for your decade-long support. Looking back at the past ten years since I left home, I believe
that your love, support, and trust have played a significant role in shaping me into the
person I aspire to be and pursuing my passions.
I would like to thank Faye for her encouragement and companionship. Life is indeed
a tumultuous journey, fraught with anticipation and anxiety, but with the support, care, and
belief in the possibility and the meaning of our e!orts, we can support each other on this
journey, trying to become stronger.

iv
This project is dedicated to my grandfather, who did not live to witness its
completion. However, I am sure that he would be able to see it in another way. It was our
evening discussions about cross-Strait politics during my primary school years that, despite
unintentionally, planted the seed for this project.

v
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements ………..………..………..………..………..………..………..………..………..……………… ii
Abstract ………..………..………..………..………..………..………..………..………..……………………………… vi
Taiwan as the Promised Land. An Introduction ..………..………..………..……………………….......... 1
CHAPTER ONE ………..………..………..………..………..………..………..………..…………………………… 34
Documenting Queer Identity Amidst a National Identity Crisis: Taiwan’s Queer
History in Mickey Chen’s Independent Documentaries
CHAPTER TWO ………..………..………..………..………..………..………..………..………………………….. 63
Juxtaposing National and Queer Identity: Cautious Optimism in Blue Gate Crossing
CHAPTER THREE ………..………..………..………..………..………..………..………..………………………. 91
Taiwanese Queer Identity in Everydayness: A Personal Turn in Small Talk
CHAPTER FOUR ………..………..………..………..………..………..………..………..………………………. 119
Navigating Commercial Realms: Interweaving Taiwan’s Identity with Queer and
Mortality
Conclusion. Future(s)? ………..………..………..………..………..………..………..………..……………….. 150
Bibliography ………..………..………..………..………..………..………..………..………………………………. 165

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Abstract
This project explores the socio-cultural and political-legal significance and impact of
Taiwanese queer cinema during the period discussed. It analyzes diverse filmic expressions
of queerness and examines the shifting conceptualization of sexual identity in Taiwanese
society, intersecting with the evolving discussions of Taiwanese national identity.
From 1997 to the present, limited queer visibility and lack of rights protection were
replaced in Taiwan by a thriving queer media and the legalization of same-sex marriage.
This noticeable shift accompanies a broader social and political trend of de-Sinicization,
marked by the emergence of a Taiwanese identity separate from Chinese-ness, characterized
by a push for values such as democracy, freedom, and human rights, a trend particularly
prevalent among the younger generation. Using queer cinema as both a lens and a
springboard, my project seeks to offer answers to some fundamental questions about these
developments, including but not limited to the following: What role does queer culture and
activism play in contributing to the evolution of Taiwan’s national identification? What do
the shifting of queer identity and that of national identity have in common, and how do they
differ from each other? How does Taiwan’s status as a contested state influence its approach
to queer issues? What insights can Taiwan’s case offer to the field of queer studies, and what
implications does it have for envisioning queer future and other futures?
My project examines queer films across four distinct periods: the late 1990s
underground indie documentary filmmaking on queer subjects; the early 2000s teen
dramas exploring queer sentiments and desires; the 2010s indie, yet less nonmainstream,
documentaries focusing on the life experiences of older-generation queers; and the postmarriage equality era mainstream commercial blockbusters with explicit queer themes,

vii
topics, and characters. The overarching narrative progresses from the underground and
revolting, facing censorship or even accusations of being unpatriotic, to the mainstream and
celebratory, representing the image of Taiwan on the global stage as the most queer-friendly
country in Asia. This evolutionary trajectory mirrors a significant shift over time in the
perceptions and associations of queerness in Taiwan.
The 1990s marked a crucial starting point for Taiwan’s queer rights movement. The
lifting of martial law in 1987 opened the path to democracy, with increased social debates
and civil activism. Meanwhile, the constant threat from revanchist China has fueled
Taiwan’s concerns about its future, particularly the worry over losing both sovereignty and
democracy. I examine the zeitgeist in Taiwanese queer documentaries from the late 1990s.
They serve as tools for seeking fair representation, unbiased recognition, and rights
protection, and speak to the emergence of politicizing and mobilizing both queer identity
and Taiwanese national identity. On the domestic level, the significance lies in how these
queer representations inform the ongoing and subsequent activism of civil society. In a
broader context, the advocacy for complete citizenship for queers, as discussed in these
films, parallels the call for full membership for Taiwan on the global stage.
The main focus of queer filmmaking during this period lies in efforts to address
historical prejudice and inequality suffered by the queer community, corresponding to a
social atmosphere fervently seeking a self-determining while all-encompassing national
identity. In the period that preceded the 1990s, Taiwan labeled itself “free China,” with the
primary goal of reclaiming “Communist-occupied China.” Thus, the Taiwanese identity at
that time was closely aligned with Chinese-ness. From the 1990s onward, the process of
democratization created fertile ground for discussing what constitutes Taiwanese identity;

viii
the reclamation claim became less compelling, giving way to the search for a new identity
for Taiwan. In this configuration, sexual citizenship plays a key role as part of the vision of
democratic political life for queers in Taiwan. Moreover, its close relationship with civil
society and democracy allows its implications to extend beyond the queer community and
reach the broader population.
I conclude with how Taiwan’s cultural practices, given its contested statehood, open a
door to imagining both queer futurity and alternative geopolitical existence. This study was
to deconstruct the factors contributing to what might be perceived as a leap forward—the
legalization of same-sex marriage in 2018. The discussion shows that this legislative change
was not a sudden occurrence, but a culmination of incremental advancements in the
discourse surrounding queer issues since the 1990s. This period was marked by signi"cant
political transformations/shifts sparked by social debates raising questions about the
de"nition of Taiwanese identity and the pressing concerns and struggles related to Taiwan’s
geopolitical status. This study traces the trajectory that began within a societal context
characterized by e!orts to "nd and formulate a novel, more suitable and inclusive de"nition
of Taiwanese identity following the end of Kuomintang’s authoritarian control. In tandem,
the queer community vied for visibility, equal rights, and opportunities that surfaced within
the new freedoms attained during this transformative era. In such a quest, a pivotal necessity
is ascertaining what it means to be queer—not solely relying on Western theories and
historical struggles and achievements as foundations and support, but contextualizing
queerness within the unique framework of Taiwan.

ix
The evolution of assertions of queer identity and endeavors for queer representation
is intertwined with Taiwanese national identity discourses. The journey so far has featured
fervent social debates marked by phases of uncertainty and transitions into a future-oriented
outlook inspired by a retrospective gaze into both the historical and the quotidian. It has
involved a departure from teleological capital logic toward a progressive mindset for seeking
opportunities and sources of inspiration within alternative historical narratives, which
include even those that may, at "rst glance, appear conservative or backward. During its
development, this project inevitably transformed into a forward-looking endeavor.
Inextricably linked with geopolitical tensions, the discourse on queerness in the context of
Taiwan is knottily tied at diverse identity intersections, rendering anti-relational approaches
to queer theory low in tenability. It transcends discussions of personal or sexual identity,
extending to an examination of how the queer identity is positioned and situated within the
intricate web of multifaceted individual, community, and national dynamics.

1
Taiwan as the Promised Land. An Introduction
My dissertation project explores the socio-cultural and political-legal significance and
impacts of queer media imagery during Taiwan’s consistent progression and transition
toward a sexually liberal and gender-equal society in the past two decades. This research is
situated within a broader academic discourse that has engaged in fervent debates regarding
the localized trajectories of Taiwan’s queer activism and culture, the shifting landscape of
Taiwan’s nationalism, and the influence of the “China factor” on the Taiwanese
government’s stance concerning queer issues. While prominent scholars such as Howard
Chiang, Ta-wei Chi, Hans Tai-Ming Huang, and Petrus Liu have extensively charted the
history of queer literature in Taiwan, there exists a noticeable gap in published research
dedicated to the intersection between queer media productions and national identification.
Since the 1990s, the field of queer and sexuality studies in Taiwan has been spearheaded by
sex liberation scholars, initially focused on cultural traditions and practices but gradually
converging with discourses on national identity. This synergy is becoming increasingly
apparent among new-generation scholars and activists. The ongoing need to examine the
evolution of queer media images, as well as to revisit and renew the conceptualization of
queerness, arises from their potential and capacity to provoke contemplation and stimulate
imagination concerning the precarious nature of both the future and the very existence of
Taiwan. As a contested state with a de facto but not yet de jure independence, Taiwan
occupies a unique position within the nation-state system and on the platform of
international politics. To use Chen Kuan-Hsing’s words, “Taiwan has never been a closed

2
space.”1 Having been “decisively shaped by the political and economic dynamics of East
Asian history,”2 to this day, Taiwan’s future remains in limbo, caught in the ongoing process
of state-building and constrained by the great-power competition between the United States
and China. However, this uncertainty also adds intrigue to the discussion, as it invites new
possibilities and imaginations. My research looks into queer cinema and media
representation in Taiwan from the late 1990s to the present, seeking to, through the lens of
media, explore their relationship with concurrent political transformations, particularly the
debates, struggles, efforts, and (re)definitions surrounding Taiwanese national identity.
The beginning timeframe of my project, the latter half of the 1990s, holds particular
significance in the Greater China region and the Asian context. A series of transformative
events with far-reaching geopolitical implications characterize it. These include the handover
of Hong Kong to China in 1997 and the similar transfer of sovereignty of Macau in 1999. In
the wider East and Southeast Asia context, the Asian IMF financial debt crisis in 1997 had
substantial impacts on many Asian countries, with mainland China remaining much less
affected. This led to a turning away from the U.S.-led West and a shift toward regional
collaboration and partnership, with a notable inclination toward mainland China. This sets
the stage for regional tensions in the decades that follow due to a strengthening sense of
regional dependency and China’s increasingly influential role in the region. Concurrently,
on the other side of the strait, Taiwan was undergoing a profound political transformation
following the lifting of martial law in 1987, which marked the end of the Kuomintang
(KMT)’s half-century-long authoritarian rule and the beginning of the democratization
1 Chen, Kuan-Hsing. Asia as Method: Toward Deimperialization. Duke University Press, 2010. 2 Ibid.

3
process in both politics and freedom of thought, expression, and creation in the sociocultural sphere. Several far-reaching milestones, such as the introduction of democratic
elections and the inaugural presidential election in 1996, punctuated this transformation.
During this era, a palpable sense of anticipation indicated the potential for a paradigm shift
through democratic processes. Conversations and deliberations flourished, inviting
contemplation for the first time over whether the promise of true democracy would
materialize in the Sinophone world.
This period marked Taiwan’s gradual journey toward democratization, extending its
alignment with the Western bloc from economic freedom and market capitalization to
democratic values and liberal politics. At the same time, mainland China focused on
advancing market freedom and capitalization, while prioritizing economic development and
transnational cooperation in the domains of economy and trade. Since the Reform and
Opening-Up Policy in 1978, China has gradually pushed for economic development,
cautiously navigating constraints imposed by its political ideology, and structured its
connections and collaborations on the global stage, starting with the establishment of
normalized diplomatic relations with Western countries in the 1970s. Whether one
interprets China as subjecting itself to the path of a market economy or as charting a
differentiated course remains an ongoing debate. For this futurity-focused project, it is
essential to contextualize the positions of different actors within this web of geopolitical
relations and to have queerness, historically perceived as nonnormative, in mind as an
influencing factor in such dynamics. Distilling differentiated factors between China and
Taiwan in the late 1990s, I state a strategy divergence in the extension of
regional/transnational influence and collaboration, with China highlighting its rising

4
economic power, while Taiwan shifted toward embracing, promoting, and even branding
liberal democratic values in both the political and civil spheres.
This project explores the intersection of queerness and nationhood by interpreting
media practices from the late 1990s to the present in relation to corresponding sociopolitical
events in Taiwan, paying close attention to how gender and sexuality have become relevant
in political agendas and geopolitical competitions and participated in the conceptualization
or imagination of the future of the state. A crucial aspect of this project involves
incorporating and problematizing Taiwan’s de facto sovereignty into the analysis of “queer”
as a political concept or a factor with political agency. An opening question would be, why
and how Taiwan has been imagined and portrayed in media as an exceptional space, not
only for the queer community but also for anyone resisting the grand narrative set by
mainland China? My investigation starts from the 1990s, a period marked by anxious
anticipation and not-so-positive expectations surrounding the 1997 power shift in Hong
Kong. The handover of Hong Kong to the People’s Republic of China (PRC) by Great Britain
was an event that significantly changed the course of history in the Sinophone world and
influenced regional geopolitical dynamics, which include but are not limited to the nuanced
power relations and inclinations within the Greater China area.
Two major impacts of political, economic, and social changes following the handover
are pertinent to the research objectives of this project: (1) Taiwan continually intensified its
reservations about the “one country, two systems” policy, which was first implemented in
Hong Kong and proposed for ensuring peaceful, smooth reunification with China. The
concerns primarily revolve around fears of losing sovereignty and democracy. (2) Taiwan
consistently expressed both official and civil support for democracy in Hong Kong and

5
democratic values more broadly. Such support has been particularly pronounced and
strengthened since the 2010s when images of the crackdown on pro-democracy movements
in Hong Kong were disseminated through the media and witnessed by an international
audience, pushing Taiwan to align more explicitly with the human rights discourse. Both
Taiwan’s political reality, as a de facto but not de jure country with limited sovereignty and
international recognition under the threat of China’s revanchism and its ideological and
political alignment with humanism, liberalism, and democracy contributed to its pivotal
position in debates concerning nationhood and its indeterminate future.
I explore the positioning and envisioning of Taiwan as the promised land for
Sinophone queers by tracing the historical development of queer visibility, civil rights, and
freedom in Taiwan in connection to shifts in national identity. Queer subjects in Taiwan,
historically regarded as nationalism’s “other” (as discussed in Li-fen Chen’s work), perceived
as non-reproductive and associated with negative connotations of death rather than positive
aspects of life, have, since the early 2000s, been gradually incorporated into the framework
of the nation-state and even imbued with positive productive forces given their association
with progressive ideology. This integration has gained momentum as queer liberalization
politics has become interwoven (or coopted) for nationalist purposes, largely driven by the
ongoing necessity to distinguish Taiwan from mainland China, which, globally, is often
perceived in the geopolitical arena as the antithesis of both human rights and democracy.3
Western liberal ideas, especially queer cultural politics, are essential in the process of
sex/gender/sexual knowledge production and reproduction in Taiwan. In her article on the
3 Chen, Li-Fen. “Queering Taiwan: In Search of Nationalism’s Other.” Modern China, vol. 37, no. 4, pp. 384–
421. https://doi.org/10.1177/0097700411409328.

6
formation of Taiwan’s homosexual cultural politics in the 1990s, Li-fen Chen noted that
“Taiwan’s sexual discourses are heavily indebted to American queer theory” (385-386).4
However, that being said, she finds that in addition to the influence of American queer
theory, sex/gender/sexual knowledge has also been adapted, localized and regenerated as
“the mobilization of sexual knowledge in Taiwan’s public sphere is a cultural activity
strongly tied to local politics.”5 When we study the role of queerness in the process of
cultural production and the conscious deployment of “difference” in forming post-identity
politics, de-Westernizing queer theory relies on the idea that the (re)production of sexual
knowledge in Taiwan is, as sociologist Ying-Chao Kao astutely points out, always
“intertwined with the politics of nation, nation-building, and nationalism.”6
The discussion of the progress in queer rights is inseparable and requires the
examination of the changing nature of national identity and the changing role of nationalism
in Taiwan because its unique situation of existing without full sovereignty appears to be in a
perpetual standoff and resembles what Giorgio Agamben terms a “state of exception.”7 This
state of permanent exception unavoidably attaches nationalist sentiments to the question of
citizenship, encompassing sexual citizenship as well. My intervention introduces complexity
to the discourse on rising nationalism in third-world countries. Drawing from Chen KuangHsing’s writing, the conjunction between decolonization, deimperialization, and de-Cold
War is of significant importance in this context.8 The democratization process in Taiwan
4 Ibid.
5 Ibid.
6 Kao, Ying-Chao. Organizing transnational moral conservatism. Retrieved
from https://doi.org/doi:10.7282/T3FB56CW. 7 Agamben, Giorgio. State of Exception. University of Chicago Press, 2008.
8 Chen, Kuan-Hsing. Asia as Method: Toward Deimperialization. Duke UP, 2010.

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started over three decades ago, with a widely acknowledged official starting point in 1987
when martial law ended, but the legacies of World War II and the Cold War never stop to
present dilemmas, primarily due to the ambitions and strategic considerations of the U.S. in
the Asia Pacific Region, the revanchist agenda of the PRC, and Taiwan’s geopolitical
significance in regional politics, particularly its role as a relatively robust economic power
and proactive, inclusive cultural promoter in East and Southeast Asia. I consider the
sociopolitical entanglements surrounding Taiwan’s position in a shifting geopolitical climate
as an empirical case study of decolonization and democratization, and as a player constantly
navigating survival strategies among greater forces, primarily the U.S. and China, in tandem
with regenerating concepts such as Jasbir K. Puar’s homonationalism.9
The parallel between the challenges faced by Taiwan’s national identity and queer
identity in terms of nonnormativity, indeterminacy, and a long-haul sense of futurity is
apparent. Unraveling this similarity and understanding its implications demands
meticulous attention and thorough analysis. In the critical timeframe from the late 1990s to
the present, the discourse of Taiwan’s national identity has undergone a transformative
journey. Initially marked by inquiries and societal debates concerning the constituents and
fundamental attributes of being Taiwanese, it gradually shifted toward a process of deSinicization against the background of political party power struggles. This evolution
ultimately fueled a concerted effort to define a Taiwanese identity distinct from that of a
Chinese identity.
9 Puar, Jasbir K. Terrorist Assemblages: Homonationalism in Queer Times. Duke University Press, 2017.

8
Concurrently, the queer movement in Taiwan has demonstrated substantial progress
in the past few decades in terms of social acceptance, recognition, and advancements in
human and legal rights. As one of the few social movements emerging in the initial wave of
public social and civil space following the democratization in 1987, the movement,
beginning in the 1990s at first along with the feminist movement, has progressively gained
visibility and organizational structure through pioneering initiatives such as Gay Pride
events, queer film festivals, and a diverse range of cultural and political events that have
contributed to increasing queer visibility and advocating for equal rights. These platforms
have played a crucial role in raising awareness, fostering dialogue, and advocating for the
rights and inclusion of the queer community within Taiwanese society. This trajectory
culminated in a watershed moment—the legalization of same-sex marriage, a historic
milestone that began in 2019.10 This dissertation delineates this trajectory from the late
1990s to the early 2020s, a transformative journey marked by changing public sentiment,
evolving policies from official entities, and the evolution of identity against the background
of constant geopolitical tension. Each of the four chapters of my dissertation explores either
a single director’s body of work or a specific film representative of the era, discussing the
films’ social production background. These cinematic works are chosen primarily because
they represent specific temporal moments or sentiments. This array of films—fictional or
documentary, independently produced or backed by a large commercial company, targeting
10 It's important to note that same-sex marriage in Taiwan was initially permitted between Taiwanese citizens
and citizens from countries recognizing same-sex marriages. This inclusivity further expanded to transnational
marriages involving a citizen from a country or region where same-sex marriage was not yet legal, including
Hong Kong and Macau. However, an ongoing restriction remains: same-sex marriage between a Taiwanese
citizen and a Chinese citizen is the only type not allowed within Taiwan's current legal framework. This is due
to the requirement of recognition from the Chinese side before registration, casting a shadow over this
progress and underscoring the ongoing conflict and struggle between geopolitics and queer rights.

9
international art markets or national audiences—collectively embodies the evolving
landscape of queer media representation in Taiwan. Additionally, these films capture the
intertwining narratives of personal and political quests that reflect the period of their
creation and the subjects they endeavor to present, discuss, or about which they attempt to
provoke discussions. This representation is contextualized within the broader social debate
over national identity and cultural belonging, emphasizing the connection between cinema,
identity, and society in Taiwan.
I begin the analysis with Wong Kar-wai's 1997 film Happy Together, released two
months before the historic handover of Hong Kong to the PRC. Despite not being a
Taiwanese film, it is very relevant and essential to this topic as it projects Taiwan as a place
of hope, particularly for queers in the Sinophone world. I chose Happy Together primarily
because it encapsulates a fundamental dilemma confronting Sinophone queers, who often
find themselves caught between two contrasting prospects: the seemingly more inclusive yet
less recognized Taiwan, and the ostensibly repressive and conservative but more
internationally acknowledged People’s Republic of China.11 The yearning for a more
complete national identity stands in this case at odds with the imperative for full and
dignified recognition and rights for the queer community. This conflict manifests in the
pursuit of one identity clashing with the pursuit of another, a seemingly perpetual struggle
that the characters in Happy Together, Hong Kong’s queer denizens caught in the
involuntary process of becoming Chinese, poignantly embody. The inclination to seek solace
11 I acknowledge my arbitrariness in applying an oversimplifying standard for the sake of clarity, referring solely
to diplomatic relationships and international representation. Also, the extent of recognition discussed here
specifically pertains to the period under examination.

10
and refuge in Taiwan marks a complex and evocative illustration of the tension between
these competing or even contradictory wants and desires.
Happy Together, often perceived as a national parable or political allegory (although
such interpretations may risk oversimplifying), tells the story of two Hong Kongers, Lai Yiufai (played by Tony Leung Chiu-wai) and Ho Po-wing (played by Leslie Cheung Kwok-wing)
who, just a few years before Hong Kong’s retrocession, leave their hometown for Argentina,
hoping to restart their previously tumultuous relationship. Before their journey, Ho
committed an act of theft by taking a sum of money from his boss, who is a friend of his
father, to be, at least temporarily, financially secure, a situation that, as anticipated, does not
last long. This act further distances them from their home due to its evident, unpleasant
consequences. Rather than exemplifying homonormative examples of queer liberalism, their
existence falls into a state of precarious displacement, necessitating a constant search for an
alternative structure of the family. They lack legal protections and are constantly immersed
in the simmering tension between different sets of social realities.
The relationship between Lai and Ho fluctuates, reflecting their distinct expressions
of queerness. As Lim Song Hwee argues, Lai epitomizes a more domestic, faithful queer
figure, whereas Ho seeks pleasure through cruising the streets: “Taken together, these
opposing traits can be grouped spatially and ideologically into home-as-private-sphere versus
city-as-public-sphere. They are also embedded in a discourse of sex and sexuality as private,
personal, and intimate set against the notion of public sex as anonymous, promiscuous, and
impersonal” (109).12 Lai's emotional connection with homeland is intricate and multi12 Lim, Song Hwee. Celluloid Comrades: Representations of Male Homosexuality in Contemporary Chinese
Cinemas. University of Hawaii Press, 2006.

11
layered; it is characterized by a sense of complexity, even from a distance, and is marked by
ambiguity and conflicting feelings. These intricacies occasionally manifest as concerns and
inner struggles of the character. This connection is further highlighted by his preoccupation
with his passport, which serves as an emblem of identity; it encapsulates his fixations on the
concept of home, the desire to return, the act of traveling, and crossing borders. His ease
and adaptability are palpable, and Wong’s choice to avoid probing Ho’s true thoughts
amplifies these qualities. This contrast persists regardless of Ho’s location or the level of
recognition he receives in a particular place. This sense of queer adaptability is further
evident through the lens of a potential national allegory, possibly a corollary to such a
narrative. Lai’s internal struggle and complex emotional relationship with his family and his
Hong Kong home mirrors the conflicting situation that Hong Kong faced in 1997 more than
Ho’s cruising attitude. As Lai grapples with his sense of belonging and uncertainties about
the future, contemplating whether to remain as a part of the diaspora or return home, he
embodies the very struggle that Hong Kong underwent during its transition from British
rule to Chinese sovereignty in his anxiety, nervousness, pessimism, and his hesitancy to give
up or simply leave.
Even in the late 1990s, when queer rights were far from receiving social and legal
recognition in Taiwan, it was already employed, not just in this film but in various instances,
as a symbol of hope and opportunity. This sentiment can be attributed, on the one hand, to
Taiwan’s ongoing social progress and burgeoning civil movements, including those
regarding feminism and queer rights. On the other hand, Taiwan was perceived as an
alternative to the PRC, thus holding significant meaning for Hong Kongers awaiting the
handover from a colonial power to an authoritarian regime. The depiction of Taiwan as a

12
symbol of warmth and hope in the character of the friendly Taiwanese Chang (played by
Chang Chen), with whom Lai forms a close, nourishing friendship tinged with possible
romantic feelings, is significant. In Happy Together, Taiwan is also a physical space that Lai
visits while in transit before returning to Hong Kong, where the film concludes. This multidimensional envisioning of Taiwan offers the possibility of alternatives for Lai, a queer
subject unsettled by a toxic romantic relationship, an incommunicable family relationship, a
disheartened connection with his hometown, and pessimistic expectations about its future.
Transposing Lai’s dilemma into the broader context of Hong Kong’s predicament raises the
question of whether Taiwan, to some extent, functions as a transient stop, a haven, or even a
refuge for residents of Hong Kong navigating an identity transition. This transition entails
shifting from the status of colonial subjects to citizens of a regime known for its political
oppression, with both identities marked by an absence of liberalism. David L. Eng claims
that “queer diasporas open upon a landscape of other histories and knowledge, preserving in
the process a space for social and political reinvestment.”13 In this case, Taiwan is also
positioned as a landscape where otherness can arise and persist, and even more, sort of as a
promised land for Sinophone queers, who, contending with the pressures of
heteronormative ideologies and notions of (re)productivity linked to the PRC citizenship,
may find Taiwan to be a refuge during such an unsettling transition.
Chang, portrayed as more optimistic, joyful, and carefree in comparison to both Lai
and Ho, harbors a consistent desire to return to his homeland, Taiwan, throughout the film.
His prolonged sojourn in Argentina is depicted as a phase of life for self-introspection and
13 Eng, David L. The Feeling of Kinship: Queer Liberalism and the Racialization of Intimacy. Duke University
Press, 2010.

13
soul-searching during moments of personal confusion, with ambiguity surrounding the
exact nature of his inner turmoil and quest. In contrast, Lai grapples with indecision for a
significant portion of the film regarding whether to return to Hong Kong. However, his
concerns are grimmer than those of Chang: his hometown is troubled, and his foreseeable
life in his hometown is troubled. Unlike Chang, who envisions returning as a safe and
reasonably satisfying conclusion to a planned journey, Lai contemplates the not-sopromising aspects of his hometown. Ultimately, he decides to return and, before his
departure, makes a careful, almost confessional phone call to his father. He is prepared to
confront the uncertainties awaiting him at home, but before doing so, he sees Chang's
homeland as a temporary solace.
A parallel can be drawn between Lai’s personal experience and the broader societal
context of Hong Kong at this crucial historical juncture, where identities, both personal and
collective, faced an undeniable need for transformation. The impending change
encompasses not only Lai’s personal identity, or identification, but also an identity that he
shares with his compatriots born in this soon-to-be-past British colony, standing on the
precipice of change. His status as a British National (Overseas) passport holder raises
pertinent questions: How would it evolve over time, legally and cognitively? How would his
self-identification adapt? Which facets would endure, and which would undergo profound
alteration? These queries remain enveloped in uncertainty but are charged with futureoriented perspectives. In comparison, Lai’s queer identity appears to encounter
comparatively few direct challenges because it does not require formal registration or
identification. However, the confrontation with his father, family, and the patriarchal
structure back home, as detected from the tense atmosphere during the phone call, is

14
unlikely to be comforting or tolerant, let alone accepting or welcoming. Lai’s identity
struggle and dilemma, be it nationality or sexuality, finds a sense of solace in Taiwan, which
offers an alternative to both.
Taiwan not only unfolds as an inspiration for alternative politics within the narrative
universe of films such as Happy Together but also as a tangible reality that promises
sanctuary for the queer community within the broader Chinese cultural sphere. Over the
next two decades, Taiwan continues to evolve into a transnational center, a beacon of
democracy and progressiveness in Asia concerning queer rights, acceptance, and even
encouragement in the name of respecting human nature and diversity.
The first chapter of this project focuses on the films of the independent
documentarian Micky Chen. Chen’s works are usually celebrated for their bold stylistic
approach and pivotal social value and influence in the developmental trajectory of not only
Taiwanese queer cinema but also the queer movement. Specifically, the chapter analyzes
Chen's works from the late 1990s and early 2000s, and they are distinguished by an
underground, activist tone. Notably, his directorial debut, Not Simply a Wedding Banquet
(1997), co-directed with Mia Chen, holds a prominent place within this exploration. Chen's
films can also be seen as historical records capturing a significant moment in time and
serving as a proclamation for the underprivileged and the deprived. Not Simply a Wedding
Banquet chronicles the public wedding of Hsu You-sheng, a member of the Han Chinese
literati educated in the West, and his Paraguayan American partner, Gary Harrison.
Commencing with the documentation and media sensation surrounding this legally nonbinding symbolic act, the film progressively shifts toward interviews and discussions with
queer individuals regarding the prevailing societal conditions the community faced. More

15
than a mere manifestation of personal happiness, in this context, the wedding represents a
politically charged gesture, a proclamation, or a declaration—one that is further underscored
by the significant presence of high-profile attendees, including the then-mayor of Taipei,
Chen Shui-bian, who later became Taiwan’s president.
My perspective diverges from Song Hwee Lim’s assertion that “Hsu’s wedding
represents a certain ‘normalization’ of homosexuality in Taiwan, where it has become
nothing more than media hype, encountering little or no official or societal condemnation.”14
I situate this public display within the context of the dynamic identity discussions, debates,
struggles, and rounds of definitions and defiance to existing definitions that characterized
that era, not limiting it to queer-related issues, but also encompassing issues surrounding
national identity. During a period when both social recognition and legal acceptance of queer
individuals were yet fully realized, and comprehensive agendas for protecting gender nonconforming individuals against abuse and violence were not in place (a period that extended
into the early 2000s), it is insufficient to dismiss a homosexual wedding as mere media
hype with few opposing voices from the society. This event was part of a broader social
discourse revolving around the essential questions of “who we are” and how to define being
a “Taiwanese.” The need to break the distinction between queer and non-queer and to
distinguish the previous identification of Taiwanese as citizens of the Republic of China
(during the period of the KMT’s authoritarian control prior to the end of martial law) and the
attempt to find a new identification for Taiwanese as attached to a democratic Taiwan
collided. Therefore, we can say, in this context, individuals, or more appropriately citizens,
14 Ibid.

16
previously labeled as gender and sexual deviants, played a critical role in sparking
conversations with the potential and power to generate new possibilities and perspectives.
The film’s title not only contains a reference but can also be interpreted as a
statement in itself. It recalls and subtly contrasts with Ang Lee’s Wedding Banquet (1993), a
romantic comedy involving the mixture of East-West dynamics in the conflicts, struggles,
and renewals of traditional ethnic Chinese family relations against the backdrop of global
exchanges and evolving social relationships on a cross-cultural scale. The distinction Not
Simply highlights is the contrast between a fictional film depicting a sham heterosexual
marriage with a cheerful resolution, veiled by layers of deception, and eventual harmony
through the unveiling of truths and mutual understanding in Wedding Banquet. In
addition, Not Simply directly documents and discusses a genuine homosexual marriage.
This narrative is further complicated by the exploration of the living conditions and
dilemmas of the queer community in Taiwan during the 1990s, marked by confession-style
dialogues. This difference signifies a courageous challenge to prevailing social traditions and
norms, not only on a personal level but also within the broader public domain. This
exploration addresses how Chen, who overtly and explicitly identified as a gay man actively
involved in community work and service, strategically utilizes documentary filmmaking as a
tool for social activism. He interwove the personal with the political to amplify the queer
voice and shed light on the absence of protection and legal rights for the queer community
in 1990s Taiwan. Chen’s approach emphasizes the pressing need for support and societal
engagement to uplift queer rights, living conditions, and social recognition. Chen’s
documentaries have, since their creation, served as potent vehicles for advocacy, where the
frequent presence of his personal voice, “I,” harmonizes with the collective voice of the

17
community, “we.” His role as a filmmaker-activist from the grassroots queer community
enhances the persuasiveness of assertations conveyed through the first person while
maintaining a consistent evocation of a sense of community, belonging, and togetherness.
The symbiotic presence of “I” and “we” bridges the gap between the filmmaker, the social
actors featured in the documentaries, and the audience, whether within or outside the queer
community. This collaborative expression becomes a focal point in the intense social
discourse surrounding shifting identity conflicts during the pivotal juncture when the
essence of Taiwanese identity underwent fervent and heated deliberation. Chen’s
documentaries embody a shared voice that represents both an individual’s perspective and
the community’s stance, contributing to the ongoing dialogues concerning societal
transformation and aspects of identity.
The second chapter explores queer-themed films from the early 2000s, examining
the teen drama film Blue Gate Crossing (Yee Chih-yen, 2002) as its paradigmatic
centerpiece. The film centers on the nebulous dimensions of sexuality as they manifest
within the embryonic triangular relationship involving three high school students: Meng
Kerou, Lin Yuezhen, and Zhang Shihao. Meng harbors clandestine affection for her best
friend, Lin, who secretly falls in love with the popular, charismatic Zhang. Meng becomes
acquainted with Zhang to help Lin; however, Zhang instead becomes infatuated with Meng.
Under the surface of this narrative lies Meng’s internal maelstrom, a self-questioning
through her homosexual desires toward her friend. This exploration unfolds within the
context of the era’s societal landscape, including the adolescent experience, aspirational
pursuits, familial expectations, and the imposing pressures of societal norms.

18
The film’s production coincided with a distinctive era in Taiwan’s political landscape,
following the historic shift of power in Taiwanese history from the KMT to the Democratic
Progressive Party (DPP) in 2000. This transition was accompanied by a series of policies
and social movements aimed at de-Sinicization and the assertion of Taiwanese identity on
the global stage. The political shift in question wielded a substantial impact on the societal
level because of its cultivation and fostering of a distinctive Taiwanese identity15 and
prompted reassessment and reevaluation of traditional narratives and associations with the
concept of China, both in political and cultural dimensions. Blue Gate, as a product of this
transformative socio-political milieu, reflects the zeitgeist of Taiwan’s younger generation, or
in other words, a young Taiwan, grappling with questions of identity, cultural autonomy,
and the complexities of interpersonal relationships in a rapidly evolving society. The film’s
exploration of sexuality and youthful experiences resonates with the nuanced intersections of
personal identity and socio-political landscape. While acknowledging the potential
inappropriateness of oversimplifying a drama film like Blue Gate that focuses on teenage
characters as a national allegory, my intention is to illuminate the film’s entanglement with
queerness and position it within the broader framework of ongoing discussions surrounding
national identity. Critical to this examination is the delineation of parallels between the
representation of queerness as a struggle during adolescence, possibly part of a coming-ofage experience, and how this formative struggle can significantly shape an individual’s
subsequent trajectory in life. This includes understanding how individuals navigate their
15 KMT as a party retreated and transplanted from mainland China following their defeat in the Chinese Civil
War in 1949; DPP as a homegrown political party emerging from democratic movements starting from the
1970s onwards.

19
lives post-struggle, and the enduring impact queerness has on their journey of self-discovery
and identity as they transition into adulthood.
A pivotal, arguably the most pivotal, aspect of Blue Gate lies in its forward-looking
perspective, which is accentuated not solely by the characters’ imminent transition to
adulthood as they navigate college entrance exams and the precipice of personal
independence, but also by the broader societal context: The characters belong to the first
generation raised in the post-martial law era, characterized by the advent of newfound
freedom of expression and the establishment of a democratic society. Their formative
experiences diverge markedly from the upbringing of previous generations. At the center of
the narrative is the exploration of how these characters comprehend and articulate
themselves in an era that was no longer constrained by political authoritarianism when
knowledge and expression have gained greater latitude. The core inquiry revolves around
their interaction with such freedom and, in tandem, how the expansion of social opinions
and cultural perspectives shapes their cognition and construction of their self-identity. Meng
and Zhang talk openly about the issue of sexuality, shedding light on the challenges of
navigating personal identity and desires in a society where the boundaries of knowledge
have expanded, yet social and familial expectations continue to exert considerable influence.
The juxtaposition of looming freedom and enduring pressures serves as a contemporary
undercurrent, adding complexity to the characters’ experiences. This dynamic resonates with
a broader audience navigating this era of transformation.
As the social discourse surrounding identities evolves, the conflict gradually weaves
itself into more cohesive historical narratives. A consequential development surfaces—the
depiction of adolescent queer sentiment as a harbinger of potential trajectories that the

20
future may unfold. Through an examination of a popular teen film emblematic of this
evolving transformation, my objective is to shed light on the shift where forward-looking
attitudes are becoming prominent. I also endeavor to elaborate on how this growing
anticipation of a future-centric perspective shapes the way a generation contemplates
queerness and perceives nationhood. José Esteban Muñoz advocates for a queer futurity not
within the present moment but always "not yet here."16 In the case of Taiwan, the notion of
the future is not only pertinent to queerness but also an imperative necessity for
contemplating the question of nationhood. The narrative in Blue Gate reflects a departure
from earlier times when what was once considered deviant became the rallying point for
new social thinking among the younger generation and sparked fervent movements for
change. In the current societal landscape, characterized by a more subdued and less
combative discourse, the portrayal of future prospects for teenagers, particularly queer
youths, takes center stage. Portrayals of this nature embrace a tone of levity and optimism,
fostering a more nuanced exploration of queer sentiments unfolding in the very fabric of
everyday life. The film exudes a palpable sense of normalcy, distinct from the intensified and
confrontational tone prevalent in earlier works addressing queer themes, let alone those
from eras in which queer relationships were veiled or approached with discretion.
Noteworthy is the film’s participation in a broader trend, a movement marked by a
continuous exploration of diverse queer experiences interwoven into the details of life
experiences. This representation has significantly influenced the attitudes and
comprehension of the public, particularly among the youth, contributing to a reshaping of
16 Muñoz, José Esteban. Cruising Utopia: The Then and There of Queer Futurity. NYU Press, 2009.

21
mainstream discourse. Through subtle depictions of queer sentiment, the narrative emerges
as a catalyst, propelling a gradual transformation of societal attitudes. This transformation,
in turn, can also be considered as a catalyst for heightened awareness and a greater
acceptance of identities not yet fully embraced within the broader social milieu. This societal
evolution gains particular significance when discussions surrounding identity become
interwoven into the discourse of nationhood. The narrative takes on significance in the light
of the then government’s proactive promotion of a distinct Taiwanese identity through social
activities and history education on the domestic front and concerted efforts to secure
expanding international recognition by emphasizing not only political but also ideological
distinctions from the PRC. Cinematic portrayals thus stand as a poignant reflection of the
evolving discourses on personal and national identity.
The third chapter shifts its focus to a later era while the film under discussion
traverses time, considering the nuanced experiences of queer individuals and highlighting
the interplay of shifting, crossing, and overlapping lives and struggles across decades. In the
documentary Small Talk (Huang Hui-chen, 2016), the director utilizes the medium of film
to reconstruct her relationship and communication with her mother A-nu, who, compelled
by family pressure, found herself coerced into a heterosexual marriage that proved to be not
only devoid of love but that was also marred by domestic abuse. The director's primary
objective is to unravel the emotional knots tightly woven into the fabric of their relatively
unconventional family.
Huang began the filming and documentation process in the late 1990s. However, it
was not until the 2010s that she secured the necessary financial support and resources to
commence this project officially. The film’s central subject, A-nu, representing an older

22
generation, lives her life quite openly as a butch lesbian. She has been living in the rural
regions of Taiwan, presenting experiences markedly distinct from those of queers observed
in urban and metropolitan areas. A-nu’s role as a spiritual guide for funerals adds a layer of
complexity to her story. Her narrative entails her struggle against social and gender norms,
pressures from her original family (parents and siblings), responsibilities for her daughters,
and forced marriage that even involved domestic violence. She managed to escape this dire
situation, not primarily due to her sexuality but rather owing to the abuses inflicted by her
ex-husband. These abuses rendered her circumstances unbearable, prompting her to
contemplate not only her own future but also the prospects for her daughters. Eventually,
she took the brave step of escaping her oppression. A-nu’s story offers a glimpse into the
intricacies of identity and the arduous struggles endured by queer subjects, particularly
those from older generations, within traditional and often-oppressive societal frameworks.
In this context, particularly notable is the subtle downplaying of ostensibly tragic events by
both the subject herself and the people around her, indicating both a sense of resilience and
an air of detachment. Such an atmosphere is further characterized by a prolonged and
profound silence that appears to encompass and absorb all aspects of the narrative. The film
was released during a critical period in the queer/civil history of Taiwan when the issue of
same-sex marriage was at the forefront of social discussion.17 However, the ongoing tense
social discussion is seldom presented or directly addressed in the film, except for the
17 One year later after its release, in May 2017, a landmark ruling by the Constitutional Court affirmed legal
rights for same-sex couples to marry. The Court's argument emphasized that the existing civil law was
unconstitutional and failed to grant equal rights to same-sex couples. Subsequently, in May 2019, same-sex
marriage was formally legalized through the enactment of a special law, albeit with certain restrictions
pertaining to adoption and recognition of transnational couples.

23
director’s casual family talk with her nephews. Instead, the film is more of a depiction,
exploration, and interrogation into the very fabric of everyday life, delving into personal
emotions and reactions toward life experiences and embodying normalcy with the potential
to influence others through resonance and echoing, rather than employing overt calls to
action and persuasion.
The release of Small Talk undeniably played a role in this period of heightened social
debates surrounding monumental legal changes. More importantly, it approaches the
discourse through a quotidian lens, yet no less pivotal in its impact. The documentary traces
the life experiences of an older butch lesbian whose daily routine revolves around playing
card games with friends; the community she belongs to has been privy to her sexuality for
decades. For individuals like her and many from her generation, acceptance transcends the
act of taking to the streets for protests or openly advocating for legal rights. Instead, it
manifests as resilience forged through numerous life trials, in which the suppression of
sexuality is merely one facet. During the contemporary era, where the younger generation of
queers articulates their demands more explicitly while grappling with the difficulties of
defining their place in society, the older generation featured in Small Talk illuminates
another vital aspect of the message—the strength contained within their survival, resilient
existence, and persistence throughout life. What makes this social debate in Taiwan
distinctive is its deep-rooted connection to the local context. The divide between those
advocating for same-sex marriage and those opposing it is far from a simple binary and
transcends alignment with Western democratic values, often associated with the promarriage side or a more conservative stance linked to the anti-marriage faction, which is
sometimes seen as leaning toward pro-China and pro-unification sentiments.

24
The actuality is significantly more complicated, as the opposing voices to same-sex
marriage comprise a multifaceted spectrum of viewpoints and social forces. It cannot be
simplified into a dichotomy between pro-China or pro-West, considering the considerable
presence of religious groups, especially those with long-standing ties to Western Christian
organizations, as expounded upon in Ying-chao Kao’s scholarly tracing and examination.18
Resisting inclination to oversimplify or categorize individuals into discrete blocs is
paramount in order to emphasize the complexity and diversity of identities and identityrelated beliefs. Small Talk offers a nuanced exploration of the intertwined web of identity
beliefs enveloping queer politics. It counters the oversimplification of what queerness
entails, challenges perceptions about what it means to support queer rights, and questions
the division into supporting/liberal and opposing/conservative camps. Recognizing this
complication becomes imperative for reinforcing and validating the identities of individuals
who may initially appear to deviate from the norms of contemporary queer politics, which
often involve the disclosure of one’s gender identification and sexual orientation and the
endorsement of marriage equality.
A-nu, a queer woman who, for the most part, lives her life authentically, appears
nonchalant when it comes to the proclamation of her sexuality and the issue of marriage
equality. For her, modern queer progress is more of a political endeavor than a personal one.
Her primary focus centers on the deeply personal aspects of her existence—her chosen
lifestyle, her interactions with other women, and her familial relationships with her
daughters and granddaughters. The daily rituals of preparing meals, setting the table, and
18 Kao, Ying-Chao. “Organizing Transnational Moral Conservatism.” Retrieved
from https://doi.org/doi:10.7282/T3FB56CW.

25
then leaving to socialize with her friends and play Mahjong can be much more
representative of queerness than holding up a sign at a gay pride rally. A-nu epitomizes the
authentic Taiwanese queer deeply rooted in the land, unencumbered by intellectual or
explanatory deconstructions of her sexuality. Her understanding of and thoughts about her
way of life remain relatively untouched by Western ideologies or human rights values
pertinent to sexuality and family dynamics. A-nu’s sexual awakening unfolded during her
formative teenage years in rural Taiwan, a period dominated by the pervasive influence of
traditional family values and societal expectations. Societal norms emphasized marriage and
childbirth as obligatory responsibilities rather than choices guided by personal preference.
A-nu’s decision to liberate herself from a heterosexual marriage was fundamentally driven
by her ex-husband’s abusive conduct. This pivotal juncture propelled A-nu to forge her own
path, inseparable from the liberation gained after her escape. In shedding the confines of a
tumultuous marriage, A-nu experienced a transformation: her gendered value as a wife
gradually faded over time. A-nu subsequently fostered relationships with multiple
girlfriends, steering her life in a direction that aligned with her true self. This newfound
authenticity allowed her to navigate life with a sense of liberation and genuine resonance. In
contrast to the prevailing political ethos of the contemporary era, A-nu still navigates her
own path, eschewing engagement in political mechanisms such as voting, while her views
on matters of sexuality remain entrenched in the personal sphere. For her, sexuality is an
integral facet of life, one that exists independently of specific political affiliations or party
ideologies.
This narrative also conveys a sentiment regarding national identity. It draws a parallel
between the fervent reaction of youth advocating for the international recognition of Taiwan

26
as a sovereign nation and the more nuanced attitude of acceptance and coexistence among
the elderly. This parallel mirrors the generational differences in their responses: the youth’s
passionate advocacy for recognition and equality resembles their fervor for queer visibility
and equal rights. Conversely, the elderly, who experienced a complex political and societal
evolution, demonstrate a pragmatic and nuanced approach that adapts to shifting
perspectives on Taiwan’s status. This alignment underscores how generational experiences
and the evolving socio-political landscape shape perspectives on various aspects of identity,
whether on a national or an individual level. The production and examination of Small Talk
are important as the film introduces a cross-generational perspective to the discussion by
portraying the turbulent life and the current serenity of a lesbian grandmother, emphasizing
the intersection of generations regarding issues such as social protest and rights advocacy,
and exploring the nuanced dynamics of identity and identification within the sociopolitical
landscape of 2010s Taiwan.
The choice of my last chapter may seem unconventional at first glance. However, I do
believe it is important to discuss the mainstreaming of queer cinema in Taiwan, particularly
by examining the impact of a recent box office hit. Since the intensification of social debates
regarding the legalization of same-sex marriage in the mid-2010s, Taiwan’s queer cinema
has gradually and progressively gained prominence. Mainstream commercial films such as
Dear Ex (2018) and Your Name Engraved Herein (2021), drawing popular casts and highly
professional production teams, have not only made their mark at the box office but have also
been chosen to represent Taiwan in Oscar competitions, thereby representing the national
imagery of Taiwan on the international stage. In this regard, Taiwan distinguishes itself
from the PRC, where queer issues are still prohibited from being depicted on screen. In

27
contrast to the PRC, which often faces international criticism for its perceived lack of respect
for human rights and limited freedom of expression, Taiwan actively brands itself as a
progressive and inclusive society, one that openly addresses and celebrates diverse human
experiences through different channels, including queer cinema. This contrast further
underscores the significance of exploring the mainstreaming of queer cinema in Taiwan and
its societal implications, particularly in relation to its neighboring regions. The last chapter
underscores the creative possibilities that have opened up in the post-marriage equality era,
which can also serve as a potent political statement. One such example is the film Marry My
Dead Body (Cheng Wei-hao, 2023), in which the ghost marriage, historically considered a
backward and conservative ritual, is creatively appropriated. The film blends this ritual with
elements of sexual orientation, social justice, and genre mixing (it combines police and
gangster themes with elements of romantic comedies).
Following the legalization of same-sex marriage in Taiwan in 2019, moving beyond
the momentary celebratory atmosphere, a set of limitations has gradually become apparent,
primarily twofold in nature. One aspect pertains to the comprehensiveness of rights,
specifically in areas such as adoption and surrogacy. The other aspect revolves around the
applicable scope of marriage itself, notably concerning marriages between individuals of
different nationalities. In my analysis, I place a greater emphasis on the latter aspect rather
than the former, as the latter aligns more with the project’s focus on examining the position
of Taiwan’s queer community within geopolitical tensions. The passage of marriage equality
in Taiwan was not achieved through an amendment to the existing marriage law but rather
by the enactment of a special law recognizing same-sex couples’ unions as marriages.
Specifically, my research considers the international dimensions of this special law in cases

28
involving marriages between a Taiwanese citizen and a non-Taiwanese individual. Initially,
the law stipulated that marriages could only occur between Taiwanese citizens or between a
Taiwanese citizen and a citizen from a country where same-sex marriage had already been
legalized. In the global landscape of same-sex marriage issues, this provision was unique to
the context of Taiwan. Over the past four years, significant legal battles have persisted,
resulting in the expansion of its scope. The expansion has allowed for marriage between a
Taiwanese citizen and a citizen from a country where same-sex marriage is not yet legal.
However, a significant constraint remains, particularly concerning same-sex marriages
between a Taiwanese citizen and a citizen of the PRC. The constraint is caused by the
requirement for cross-strait marriages to be ratified and recognized by the PRC first before
becoming eligible for registration in Taiwan. Such constraint has complicated the situation,
underscoring the ongoing challenges and limitations within the legal framework. In a
parallel vein, the theme of national identity among the younger generation presents
dilemmas. Unlike the de facto acknowledgment of Taiwan’s sovereign status, this struggle
pertains to a complex and challenging issue that may lack the entry point to surmount its
obstacles. This is primarily due to the legal complexity and the considerable political burdens
it carries, which have the potential to politicize personal matters excessively. A palpable
challenge emerges, one that eludes clear resolutions. This challenge, on the one hand,
exacerbates the frustration that pervades the younger generation. Simultaneously, it exerts a
somewhat tranquilizing and pacifying influence. The current problem, characterized by the
sense of “not-yet-there” paired with a lack of discernible pathways for advancement, stands
in contrast to the mobilization of the past generations on a societal scale for the purpose of
shaping a distinctive Taiwanese identity or advocating for enhanced international

29
recognition. Rather than adhering to the progressive logic and teleology in envisioning a
national or a queer future, a nebulous anticipation surfaces; it assumes paramount
significance considering the conspicuous absence of a foreseeable strategy for transcending
the present impasse.
Cinema again serves as a comforting refuge, projecting Taiwan not only as a haven
for the queer community but also as a realm of possibilities of what queerness can
encompass in post-marriage equality in Taiwan. It is no longer only a safe space for Hong
Kongers, as it was in the late 1990s when it grappled with uncertainty and an oppressive
patriarchal order. Taiwan’s queer cinema embodies the potential to break free of patriarchy
and conservatism in cultural traditions and to (re)appropriate and (re)define them as
components of a new set of identities. The incorporation of ghost marriage into a queer story
is fascinating. In this context, a heterosexual policeman becomes entangled in a ghost
marriage with a kind-hearted homosexual who passed away unexpectedly. Through this
unconventional union, the policeman becomes an advocate for social justice. The film
addresses conflicts and injustices with a lighthearted approach. This artistic choice opens the
door to interpreting queer cinema as a step toward blending eras and traditions, as well as
challenging conventional notions of good and bad. This blending represents a generational
sentiment of embracing open-mindedness rather than strictly advocating for a linear
progression in favor of an openness to the past, the present, and the future. It resonates with
a postmodernist approach, albeit not necessarily a deliberate one. This fluidity and
willingness to intertwine various elements reflect a contemporary mindset that seeks to
navigate a complex world by integrating diverse perspectives and experiences, ultimately
contributing to the evolving landscape of queer representation in cinema.

30
This project primarily examines the parallel evolution of queer identity and national
identity in Taiwan from the late 1990s to the early 2020s. The cinematic works analyzed
encompass a diverse spectrum, including underground documentaries, teen dramas, family
documentaries, and commercial films. Despite their distinct characteristics in terms of
nature, target audience, and production scale, they all capture a prevalent sentiment that
offers insights into how societal attitudes toward queer individuals reflect those toward the
nation. Taiwan still finds itself at a crossroads, entangled in an uncertain future and mired
in a seemingly unending geopolitical tension with the PRC. The acceptance and recognition
of queer identity in Taiwan, while a significant stride forward, still faces a critical juncture.
The final step toward achieving complete recognition of same-sex marriage hinges on
closing the chapter on transnational marriage with mainland Chinese partners. In addition,
there are other pending issues, such as adoption and surrogacy. Once again, the limits on
queer rights stand side by side with the limits on sovereignty. The PRC stands as a persistent
obstacle in Taiwan’s journey toward fully asserting its sovereignty and independence,
underscoring the interplay between queer identity and national identity in its ongoing quest
for recognition and self-determination. However, viewed in a positive light, this sense of
uncertainty and indeterminacy offers a perspective on alternatives, on surpassing the notnon-problematic normativity and excavating and pursuing an existence beyond our limited
political imagination.
The selected filmic objects on the surface simply follow a chronological order and
represent different political discourses and queer frameworks. They do serve varying
purposes at the time of production with their meaning being shaped and reshaped as time
progresses. Mickey Chen’s activist documentaries are a record of a political climate where

31
the fight for the visibility, acceptance, and rights of disenfranchised groups (not just queers)
was gaining momentum through dynamic means. They also serve as a case study to
demonstrate the need to look into the everyday interactions within the queer community and
how they situate themselves within the broader society. Chen focused his camera on queers
coming of age in the time of authoritarian rule in Taiwan and the Cold War divide globally
and during the transition to democracy, fighting for change in the personal and private
alongside the political and public. Different from later productions being occupied with how
LGBT narratives would be picked up in the issue of geopolitical rivalry with the PRC, their
focus was mainly on how to position themselves within a discourse dominated by the West
in the postcolonial context.
The transnational turn in the early 2000s, in relation to both domestic politics and
cross-strait relations, led to the flourishing of homonational Taiwan, with sex/gender politics
being included in a series of de-Sinicization educational policy changes. The film discussed
in the second chapter acts as, but also goes beyond a national allegory. The emphasis on
younger generations in both social reality and cultural realm suggests a shared focus on the
future. A forward-looking approach slowly surpasses reflecting on the past and analyzing the
present, gradually solidifying its position as a source of inspiration for shaping Taiwanese
identity and driving discussions on queer narratives forward. The 2000s saw a shift away
from the activist atmosphere of the late 1990s, as a renewed sense of optimism and
imagination for the future replaced the heavy burden of historical suppression in both
identity discourses.
Timeline-wise, the Sunflower Student Movement in 2014 was a turning point, in
which the discontent toward the strengthening bonds with the PRC in terms of economics

32
and culture during Ma Ying-jeou’s presidency (2008-2016) broke out. This younger
generation-led protest movement, in tandem with the Hong Kong protests, is indicative of a
shift toward the decolonial and a Sinophone approach to Chinese-ness beyond the mainland.
Small Talk is not so much a reflection of its time but a chronicle of the development of
Taiwanese queer discourse. What’s at stake since 2014, and even more so since Tsai Ingwen’s rise to the presidency in 2016, is the increasingly intertwined relationship between the
fight for marriage equality and Taiwan’s global reputation as a champion of human rights
and democracy in Asia, as well as its use of soft power to safeguard its sovereignty. Given the
circumstances, Small Talk is better understood as a reflection of past occurrences rather
than the present. What sets it apart is its intimate focus on family, the elderly, and rural
environments, which are often neglected in the representation of queerness in the 2010s
that favors youthful energy and bodies. It is unique in both its time and within the collection
of queer media productions. It plays a unifying role in the midst of the most intense social
debate surrounding queer issues in Taiwan, bringing together different generations and
bridging the gap between city and rural communities. Its poignant exploration of family
dynamics, rooted in Sinophone Confucian traditions, is vital to the meaning and
implications of this particular personal documentary. I wove this cinematic work into the
broader dialogue as during the pivotal moment of the marriage equality campaign, its
creation, consumption, and subsequent impact serve as a stitching thread in both queer
identity and national identity discourses, signifying a move toward a new Taiwanese identity
that defies definition, reconciliation, and coherence but values acceptance, progress, and
mutual kindness.

33
The last chapter delves into a box office hit, which represents an unprecedented trend
in Taiwanese queer media—its emergence into the mainstream, commercially-driven scene,
which, however, is not unusual in a post-same-sex-marriage society where societal norms are
evolving rapidly. What’s at stake is how cultural traditions, especially those usually perceived
as conservative, have been gradually incorporated into the world of storytelling and
filmmaking as progressive signs. The film analyzed, Marry My Dead Body, engages with
elements like ghost marriage, superstition, and the afterlife to drive a poignant and socially
relevant storyline. This extraction of cultural elements from the past indicates the ongoing
cultural tug-of-war between the ROC/Taiwan and the PRC but with a twist from the Cold
War period. Rather than the struggle over China’s representation in global geopolitics, the
competition centers on how its cultural heritage can be placed in a progressive light through
recycling, reinterpretation, and reshaping. It also hints at a blending of genres and cultural
phenomena, emphasizing the blurring of distinctions between the living and the deceased,
the positive and the negative, and the optimistic and the pessimistic, echoing the idea of
queerness on the horizon as a future possibility. The future imagination of Taiwan and
queers converge in a shared conflict or even incompatibility with teleology, perhaps more
out of pragmatic conditioning rather than voluntary solidarity. The importance of this
invitation to think about queering the idea of nationhood lies in a political reality that can
hardly be fully realized and thus regarded as an ongoing yet-to-come.

34
CHAPTER ONE
Documenting Queer Identity Amidst a National Identity Crisis:
Queer Taiwan in Mickey Chen’s Independent Documentaries
Tracing the history of queer media production is a convoluted effort that is shaped by
the source and origin one selects as the starting point. For this project per se, I choose to
begin with an exploration of independent, underground documentary film practices that
overtly and explicitly address queer subjects, relationships, and living conditions. Films of
this kind, despite varying socio-cultural contexts, tend to concentrate on discourses to
provoke discussions, featuring a distinctive voice with an evident social consciousness.
Besides, they are often accompanied by a contemporaneous rights movement that relies on
visual portrayal as part of its activist endeavors, amplifying voices traditionally sidelined
within mainstream discourses and emphasizing the close ties and mutual impact of visual
culture and advocacy. Taiwan’s political climate of the 1990s, following the lifting of the
Martial Law in 1987 and the beginning of transition to a democracy, guided this choice. The
end of authoritarian rule in Taiwan allowed for gradual liberalization, turning what was once
prohibited into an underground phenomenon with increasing visibility and publicity. In
particular, the commodification of media during the 1990s facilitated versatile
representations and portrayals across various mediums such as film, art performance, and
journalism. During Taiwan’s burgeoning status as the beacon of free speech and expression
in Asia, intense social debates over both politics and culture began to not only emerge but
also proliferate. These discussions not only deliberated on Taiwan’s envisioned identity with
its recently acquired sociopolitical freedom on the domestic front but also navigated the
complex terrain of its political standing in the global arena. Within such a context, queer

35
subjects, in the past decades viewed as the “other” of nationalism as elaborated by Li-fen
Chen,19 found a special place in the debates surrounding national identity and identification.
The intersection between queer identity and Taiwanese identity during this period stems
from a political imperative aimed at distinguishing Taiwan, more specifically, the newly
democratized Taiwan, from the PRC on the international stage. As a contested nation
without de facto independence and caught within an environment characterized by the
PRC’s increasing international connections, Taiwan gradually leaned itself toward soft
power in international politics, attempting to gain and maintain recognition and esteem
through an alignment with Western liberalism and a commitment to democracy and human
rights and democracy. This distinction has grown to be increasingly crucial for Taiwan’s
strategic contemplation over its own survival, with the deconstruction and reconstruction of
Taiwanese identity as a key component.
Western liberal ideas, including those pertaining to queer cultural politics, have
played a pivotal role in shaping the production and reproduction of knowledge regarding
sex, gender, and sexuality in Taiwan. Li-fen Chen’s examination of Taiwan’s homosexual
cultural politics in the 1990s underscores the indebtedness of Taiwan’s sexual discourses to
American queer theory. However, her work also accentuates the processes of adaptation,
localization, and regeneration within the local political context regarding knowledge of sex,
gender, and sexuality. The mobilization of sexual knowledge in Taiwan's public sphere
emerges as a cultural activity that is intrinsically linked to local politics. In exploring the role
of queerness as an ideological sign within the cultural production process, the conscious
19 Chen, Li-Fen. “Queering Taiwan: In Search of Nationalism’s Other.” Modern China, vol. 37, no. 4, pp. 384–
421. https://doi.org/10.1177/0097700411409328.

36
deployment of “difference” in forming post-identity politics becomes prominently evident.
De-Westernizing queer theory hinges on the notion that in the Taiwanese context, the
(re)production of knowledge regarding sexuality is inextricably intertwined with the politics
of the nation, nation-building, and nationalism, as the sociologist Ying-Chao Kao has
astutely observed.20
In this chapter, my intention is to examine the realm of underground indie
documentary initiatives in late 1990s Taiwan, with a specific focus on the contributions of
the activist and documentarian Mickey Chen (1967-2018). The investigation seeks to
illuminate the dual capacity of documentary filmmaking as a medium: first, to shed light on
the concealed aspects of the social undercurrent experienced by queer individuals from
diverse backgrounds, and second, to strive for visibility and recognition beyond the confines
of mainstream perspectives. Further, the inquiry aims to explore the intentional
interweaving of knowledge related to gender and sexual identity within the broader context
of national identity discourses. In the analysis of Chen’s works, a comparative examination
will be conducted, juxtaposing the productions of the late 1990s with more recent
endeavors, particularly the 2018 documentary series Queer Taiwan. The latter distinctly
exhibits a pronounced inclination toward positive normative representation within the
mainstream. Through this comparative exploration, the analysis aims to offer insights into
the shifts in the representation of queer experiences in Taiwan over time. It seeks to reveal
the disparities between an era marked by fervent identity debates and a subsequent epoch
wherein queer identity appears to have adopted a more fixed framework. Concurrently, the
20 Kao, Ying-Chao. Organizing transnational moral conservatism. Retrieved
from https://doi.org/doi:10.7282/T3FB56CW.

37
investigation addresses the observation that, despite increased rights protection, the
prospects for imagining a diverse or alternative future appear constrained. Continuing, I will
proceed by contextualizing the production of documentary films since the 1990s within the
evolving Taiwanese social landscape. Following the dissolution of a centralized state
discourse, catalyzed by the process of liberalization that was initiated in 1987, a myriad of
social discussions and debates gradually surfaced. The conclusion of top-down dictation,
which had hitherto ordered what Taiwan stood for and defined Taiwanese identity,
necessitated the initiation of new social discussions. These dialogues aimed at reimagining,
rearticulating, and redefining Taiwanese identity in the aftermath of the KMT dictatorship
on the domestic front. Simultaneously, they grappled with the ongoing challenge posed by
the PRC on the international stage. Within this multifaceted context, an exploration of how
discussions around queerness intersected with or complemented the already intense debates
regarding Taiwanese national identity became a prominent aspect of societal discourse.
In light of the profound impact of documentary practices in Taiwan since the late
1990s, wherein they have functioned as both reflections of and active responses to the
evolving social landscape, my focus is first directed toward the works of Mickey Chen. As a
pioneering queer Taiwanese filmmaker, Chen was recognized for his independent and
activist-oriented documentaries. The emphasis lies in the non-mainstream, non-official
nature of his works, consistently provoking both conflict and controversy while fostering
constructive dialogues within the social sphere. Documentary studies have long involved
contemplation on the societal potential, possibilities, and implications inherent in
documentary images. As Michael Renov has noted, documentary films share certain issues
with fictional forms, including the pivotal ontological status of images, the epistemological

38
dimensions of representation, and the potentials of historical discourse through film.21
These considerations bear significant importance for my exploration of documentaries
focusing on queer and gender issues in Taiwan. As I engage with these documentaries, my
objective is to explore their multifaced relationship with reality, representation, social
change, activism, and other related facets.
The concept of documentary voice serves as the foundational framework for
considering Micky Chen’s efforts to amplify queer voices within the entangled and
multifaceted context of the postcolonial complexities of dilemmas related to queer rights in
Taiwan. As Bill Nichols has explained, a documentarian’s deliberate choices and skillful use
of rhetorical strategies infuse the work with a distinct voice that is characterized by a unique,
individual perspective that the filmmaker meticulously sculpts and presents.22 This
personalized viewpoint seamlessly interweaves with the broader socio-cultural and political
fabric, enveloping the specific subject or issue under examination. This holistic approach not
only bolsters the authenticity of the narrative voice, but also reinforces its capacity to convey
targeted messages with the aim of persuading and influencing the audience. In his later
work Speaking Truths with Film: Evidence, Ethics, Politics in Documentary, Nichols once
again emphatically underscores the pivotal role of voice in documentary filmmaking. He
asserts that, even in the digital age, in which advanced media technologies have paved the
way for more direct forms of creating documentaries, the primacy of rhetorical elements
21 Renov, Michael. Theorizing Documentary. Routledge, 1993. 22 Nichols, Bill. Speaking Truths with Film: Evidence, Ethics, Politics in Documentary. Univ of California
Press, 2016.

39
remains essential in both the creative process and the construction of meaning behind
images.
The practice of documentary filmmaking involves not only the act of documentation
but also the art of articulation. The selection of documentary films that my dissertation
features, focusing on the works of Taiwanese documentarian-activist Mickey Chen, serve as
tangible manifestations of the concept of documentary voice while simultaneously
examining the dynamics of the "I/we" relationship in these films. Chen's cinematic oeuvre
is renowned for its adept portrayal of the personal, private, and intimate experiences of
Taiwan's queer community from the 1990s until his untimely passing in 2018. A devoted
member of the queer community and a vocal advocate for social justice and human rights,
Chen, who was already acquainted with some of the social actors in his films or at least
perceived as a relatively trustworthy figure due to his longstanding commitment to
advancing queer rights, successfully garnered the trust of those portrayed in his works. This
rapport enabled him to immerse himself in the documentation and presentation of the dayto-day lives of various queer individuals. It also allowed him to dissect and meticulously
examine the very essence of queer subjectivities during a period marked by the sensitive and
enigmatic nature of the discourse of gender and sexuality.
In deconstructing this narrative, it is essential to highlight a pivotal distinction
concerning the autobiographical facet of the "I/we" dynamic. Although Chen's films may
not inherently conform to the conventional parameters of autobiography, the modus
operandi he adopted in filmmaking serves a commensurate purpose because of his position
as a quasi-“spokesperson” within the queer community of that era under consideration.
Moreover, his engagement with documentary subjects is distinctly that of an insider rather

40
than that of an outsider or even an intruder. His presence during interviews and active
participation therein is marked by a manifest proficiency in navigating the gamut of formal
and informal conversations. This adeptness enables him to traverse a diverse array of
settings and scenarios with apparent ease. It would be suitable, therefore, to consider Chen’s
voice as claiming that “we are speaking to the public,” while noting that the sense—or more
accurately, the voice—of the “I” sometimes emerges in the films through commentaries,
subtitles, and other means.
Moreover, it becomes imperative to distinguish Chen's engagement with the queer
community from his outreach to the broader societal audience. Chen’s body of works
revolves around subjects historically marginalized, contending with challenges ranging from
restricted visibility and acknowledgement to the pursuit of accurate representation. Within
this context, the documentary filmmaking process takes on a dual mandate: to amplify
visibility and advocate for equal rights, all the while adhering to a commitment to
authenticity and steering clear of gratuitous sensationalism. This dual mandate resonates
with the observations of Chris Holmlund and Cynthia Fuchs,23 who have astutely
underscored the central role of "seeing" in queer documentaries. Holmlund and Fuchs
maintain that the essence of queer documentary extends beyond visual representation
alone—it transcends the act of being observed by society, challenges stereotypes, and
broadens the spectrum of possibilities associated with vision and visibility. Instead, it
embraces a more expansive endeavor—not solely for the sake of visibility but also a
dedicated pursuit of "social acceptance and political influence."
23 Holmlund, Chris, and Cynthia Fuchs. Between the Sheets, in the Streets: Queer, Lesbian, and Gay
Documentary. U of Minnesota Press, 1997.

41
While it might appear that the most effective strategy for attaining objectives, such as
"social acceptance and political influence," involves (re)presenting queer individuals on
screen in a positive light through the cultivation of affirming images, a predicament arises.
This is evident in the potential drawback of exclusively portraying queerness in a positive
manner, as this emphasis runs the risk of selectively presenting the reality or even distorting
it. In this case, the question becomes: should we forsake the negative to prioritize the
positive, as it appears more socially powerful, in order to achieve the ultimate purpose first?
Alternatively, should we adhere to authenticity, acknowledging that the seemingly less
positive elements might still contribute to the pursuit due to their realness? Chen chose the
latter path, opting to present authentic and intimate images imbued with emotional
resonance. In prioritizing realness over a strictly positive portrayal, his approach seeks to
navigate the nuanced terrain of authentic representation while still aspiring toward positive
outcomes. Guo-Juin Hong has argued that this difficulty or complexity stems from the
limitations of visual representation.24 He analyzes the nuanced application of strategies such
as resistance and subversion within Chen's works, conceiving of them as tools of sociopolitical construction. Hong aptly notes that the fervent pursuit of visibility is accompanied
by the perilous prospect of media appropriation in the politics of formal representation.
Simultaneously, he underscores the existence of an opportunity for the filmic form to retain
its political essence, which is not confined to any singular politics; rather, it stands between
the domains of documentary representation and the act of documentation itself. This
potential is demonstrated in Chen's works. More concretely, the standpoint of the "I/we"
24 Hong, Guo-Juin. “Limits of Visibility: Taiwan’s Tongzhi Movement in Mickey Chen’s Documentaries.”
Positions, vol. 21, no. 3, Duke UP, June 2013, pp. 683–701. https://doi.org/10.1215/10679847-2144887.

42
within his works encapsulates testimony and testimonial knowledge, embodying a sense of
urgency and an essential compulsion to be candid, truthful, and receptive to both positive
and negative portrayals.
The "I/we" subjects portrayed in Chen's films are not limited to positive depictions.
Furthermore, the deliberate avoidance, whether intentional or not, of exclusively positive
portrayals adds a layer of complexity and authenticity to his works. The intention extends
beyond mere visibility or public exposure; rather, it also involves demystifying and
normalizing the struggles pertaining to identity that these societal participants faced. This is
achieved through an independent media lens that is explicitly contrasted with other
perspectives, including those presented by state-controlled television stations. In
Memorandum on Happiness (2003), Chen chronicles the journeys of two homosexual
couples—first, Yu-Sheng Hsu and Gary Harriman, and second, Tom and Hannah—from
the initial stages of wedding preparation to eventual marital challenges, some of which
escalate into conflicts and disputes. The overarching narrative enveloping these two
weddings is saturated with media attention from various sectors of society. A pivotal formal
strategy that illustrates how this "I/we" perspective is employed is the use of extreme closeups during interviews; a handheld camera captures the specturm of emotions, reactions, and
sentiments that the characters exhibit. This filming technique and stylistic predilection
correspond with the emotional and even psychological states of the queer subjects under
examination. When Chen probes into the motivations propelling them to host weddings
devoid of formal legal validation and explores their apprehensions regarding everyday life,
their candid and forthright responses are accurately documented. The utilization of
techniques like whip pans, despite the potential to induce disorientation, is executed with

43
precision to capture and impart the quintessence of their narratives’ most instinctive
moments.
In contrast to documentaries crafted by mainstream media or those endowed with
substantial budgets, which often employ meticulous structuring of interviews and narrative
shaping, Chen's approach presents his subjects on screen as if they were everyday neighbors
casually divulging the experience in their lives, including both the trivialities and struggles.
This ostensibly unpolished manner of the reactions and responses, both in terms of content
and form, engenders a unique sensibility characterized by an informal tone. The apparent
paradox between informality and the gravity of the presented issues indeed imparts a robust
emotional resonance. This informality contributes significantly to a sense of intimacy
between the subjects and the spectator, coursing through the filmmaker. While weddings
are usually perceived as personal unions, in this case, they serve as public demonstrations
intentionally designed to attract media attention and generate social impact. Their purpose
surpasses acknowledgment of love and partnership; they strive to normalize queer
relationships and advocate for their legal recognition within a broader societal framework.
This assertion finds support in the active participation of human rights groups and even
politicians in these weddings, along with the pervasive presence of diverse media forms
throughout the events. One intriguing aspect lies in the juxtaposition of the urgency and
seriousness in these advocacy efforts with the "not-so-serious" style of filmmaking that is
characteristic of Chen's films.
The individuals positioned in front of the camera not only share their life experiences
and emotions but also actively engage in performing their identity, embodying roles more
like characters than narrators or speakers. This performative aspect, facilitated by a sense of

44
familiarity with the filmmaker, encourages a more casual and relaxed posture, indicative of
an effort to authentically present themselves in a manner reflective of their daily lives. This
approach aligns with the overall "not-so-serious" style. However, within this specific context,
it serves to underscore the gravity of the subject at hand—the challenges faced by the
LGBTQ community in that societal moment, entangled in both identity struggles and the
fight for equal rights. The resonance of Judith Butler's concept of the performative is evident
here. Gender reality, according to Butler, is performative, implying that it is only real to the
extent that it is enacted.25 Gender, in this context, becomes a performance that is further
compounded by the presence of the camera. An additional layer of performance emerges
when the self is projected on screen and is intricately woven with the performance of gender,
particularly when enacted before the media and the public. This dual imperative to perform,
both on a personal and public level, gives rise to questions regarding the authenticity of the
performance itself, casting shadows on the concept of realness in media portrayals. A crucial
distinction arises between performing for Chen, a fellow insider and comrade, and
performing for other media entities that may be perceived as outsiders or intruders. This
tension is palpable within Chen's documentaries, in which moments of other media
recordings and portrayals coexist. Characters appear to be more direct and explicit when
facing television stations, whereas interactions with Chen often reveal a less serious
demeanor that suggests conversations with close friends. The fluidity in this narrative ease
facilitates an authentic expression of characters, allowing them to articulate and engage in
actions reflective of their intrinsic nature. This authenticity becomes particularly pronounced
25 Butler, Judith. “Gender Trouble.” Routledge eBooks, 2002, https://doi.org/10.4324/9780203902752.

45
when juxtaposed against the portrayals disseminated by mainstream media. It is within this
dynamic interplay that a nuanced spectrum of emotions and sentiments emerges,
demarcating the activist representations from the homogeneity of mainstream depictions.
This interweaving of personal narratives with socio-political dimensions transcends the
confines of individual experiences, effectuating a symbiosis where the personal and the
collective converge. The deliberate choice by social actors to publicize and politicize their
private lives through media exposure serves as a mechanism for brigading personal
narratives and collective resistance. In contrast to the notion of "masking," this intentional
exposition represents a cognizant and conscious strategy, one that embraces vulnerability as
a purposeful act of resistance.
In Chen's works, characters perform before him not merely as a means to project an
image—endeavoring not only to convey a positive image but, more significantly, to
authentically embody their true selves. Concurrently, these performative endeavors serve to
reinforce their sense of belonging within the queer community through a medium they
deeply trust. Mindful of the camera's presence and its potential implications, this
heightened awareness indeed converges with their decision to publicize and politicize their
weddings. Within this context, the collective "we" involves both Chen and the characters.
This shared identity evolves organically throughout the filming process and is reinforced
through enunciation and performance.26 It additionally intertwines with the imperative of
personal connections and trust, thereby emphasizing mutual reliance, friendship, and a
26 This resonates with Angela J. Aguayo's assertion that collective identities catalyze social change. Aguayo, A. J.
(2019). Documentary Resistance: Social Change and Participatory Media. Oxford University Press.

46
unifying pursuit of equal rights. Beneath these characterizations and conceptualizations
resides a profound undercurrent of affect and emotion. The queer individuals spotlighted
are bound together not solely by a collective inclination for self-expression but, more
profoundly, by their shared yearning for emotional connections that resonate deeply within
the fabric of their everyday lives. As they navigate the terrain of sexual inequality and the
complexities of daily existence, their shared experiences evolve into conduits of emotion.
What enhances the intrigue of this engagement with the public is how Chen interweaves his
own voice into the cinematic fabric, punctuating the narratives and presentations with
directed questions and nuanced commentaries. These commentaries are far from mere
description; this is clear, for example, when Chen, with palpable irony, addresses the public
about the absence of the then-mayor of Taipei City, Chen Shui-bien's, from a wedding,
attributing it to “homophobia.”
This ironic stance, in and of itself, constitutes an activist gesture that pervades Chen’s
filmmaking and underscores the distinctive voice of almost all of his works. Another formal
strategy employed to negotiate the "I/we" dynamic is vividly exemplified in Scars on
Memory (2005), in which Chen integrates individuals from within and beyond the queer
community, notably family members of queer individuals, into the encompassing “we” of
the collective narrative. This approach, which is characterized by both authenticity and
reverence, extends its embrace to queer families—families comprising queer individuals as
well as their families of origin. It captures the emotional resonance with transparency
through the lens of the camera. Scars on Memory follows the journeys of two gay men who
grapple with the loss of their lovers to liver cancer and AIDS, respectively. In this case, they
speak not just for themselves, but also as proxies for the departed and the absent. The

47
narratives of queer lives that have passed can only be unveiled through the words and
experiences of others, thus revealing a multi-layered process of mediation. Chen immersed
himself in these relationships, navigating not only through the terrain of memory, but also
by revisiting origins, participating in group conversations, and documenting reunions with
families. The family members of those who have passed, bearing their emotions on screen,
do so not from an activist standpoint but as humans grappling with grief and struggling to
articulate their sentiments effectively in the face of suffering and loss. This difficulty is also
in part ascribed to the presence of societal inequalities that impede a proper mourning
process.
For instance, Youmou, who lost his lover to AIDS, hesitates to disclose the cause of
death due to anticipated mixed reactions, especially from both families. The film navigates
through this one-year period without overtly signaling the passage of time. Instead, it reveals
the nuanced evolution and fluctuations of emotions and thoughts within this temporal span,
portraying poignant moments such as Youmou's internal struggle when confronted with his
family's expectations for him to enter into a heterosexual marriage. The inclusion of family
members—such as sisters crying over the loss of their brother—adds to the film's potency in
conveying the intricacies of the relationships under scrutiny. An emotionally charged scene
unfolds when Youmou meets the family of his deceased lover. Their expression of sorrow is
noteworthy, devoid of blame, and conveyed with an intense and fierce emotional force. This
emotional outpouring reflects a sense of realness and authenticity, bypassing the rational
and deliberate processing often associated with more measured rhetoric. Their inability to
articulate these sentiments verbally stems not only from the intensity of the emotions but
also from the absence of rituals equipped to accommodate situations of this nature. Both

48
Youmou, a queer man, and the family of his deceased lover, categorized more as the
"normative" side of society, find themselves caught in between. There exists a gap between
their real emotions and the traditional ways of conducting funerals, where certain rituals are
reserved for wedded partners. Despite the family tactfully accepting Youmou's identity and
sense of belonging, there exists no smooth path for him to mourn the passing of his lover
within the confines of the traditional framework. In this context, emotions and traditions
find themselves in conflict, compelling Youmou and the family of his deceased partner to
delicately and carefully navigate the balance between personal sentiments and cultural
norms. The modification or alteration of rituals and practices entails gradual shifts within
the cultural tradition in response to challenges. In this context, emotions and sentiments
emerge as potent forces for change, although this transformation remains an individualized
instance, yet to be formalized or even acknowledged as having the potential to be so. This
also serves as an exemplification of Chen’s strategic endeavors directed toward cultivating
societal influence and instigating transformative change in both cognition and conduct
through the artful integration of emotionally charged moments that encapsulate sorrowful
struggles, accompanied by authentic reactions, within the domain of audio-visual language.
This nuanced navigation between traditions and personal desires, a hallmark of queer
documentary practice in Taiwan since the 1990s, is no longer a prevailing feature in the
contemporary era. Here, I will introduce the discussion of Queer Taiwan to draw
comparisons with the aesthetics and political catalysts in queer documentary practices
during the late 1990s. Nearly two decades following the creation of Not Simply a Wedding
Banquet, in 2017-2018, the production and release of the documentary series Queer Taiwan
took place. This series embraces a more conventional approach and demeanor, specifically

49
manifesting a direct emphasis on affirmative imagery and a forthright stance regarding the
intended purpose of these images. This approach is partly shaped by the immediate political
and social objectives the creators aimed to advance, notably the impending same-sex
marriage referendum. Hence, the imperative to convey the queer voice and harness it for
tangible social objectives in the proclivity for direct expressions over nuanced sentiments,
statements, and contemplations. At the core of my comparative analysis is the distinct
attitudes in Chen’s works and in Queer Taiwan regarding the construction and presentation
of a positive image of the queer community. In contradistinction to Chen's documentary
films, Queer Taiwan prominently accentuates the celebratory dimensions of gender diversity
and the seemingly indomitable nature of queer love, particularly in the face of challenges
and adversities. This unidimensional portrayal holds significance in both its creation and
reception, explicitly aspiring to counter the stigma linked to the queer community—a
historical association fraught with negativity and societal prejudices. Queer Taiwan
endeavors not merely to subvert but to dismantle these negative perceptions vehemently.
Such a purpose extends beyond artistic considerations, which typically involve the nuanced
reconfiguration and exploration of the potential relationship between images and emotions.
Contrary to nuanced artistic considerations, Queer Taiwan adopts a direct approach
by delivering a pro-marriage message with a strong emphasis on positive queerness,
addressing the public through a collective voice of "we." This documentary series comprises
four episodes, each dedicated to a distinct facet within the expansive domain of gender and
sexuality—namely, marriage equality, drag queens, sexual services for disabled people, and
same-sex parent families. This conversation-focused, dialogue-centric series offers a rather
comprehensive framework for examining the orchestration and presentation of

50
conversations involving both liberal and conservative perspectives on screen. The hosts of
Queer Taiwan—Jin Tai, an openly lesbian singer, and Leo from the FufuKnows YouTube
channel—function as representatives of the queer community. The hosts’ public personas—
Jin's gender-neutral style and Leo's openly gay identity displayed on social media
platforms—conspicuously underscore their positions on the various subjects discussed.
While the series generally adheres to the format of traditional media interviews in both
content and structure, it diverges with the hosts’ distinctly casual yet clear-cut attitude,
signaling their support for advancing queer rights and fostering liberal sexual discourse. The
strategic choice to explicitly emphasize the timeliness of creating this series and implicitly
steer away from negative responses, especially within conversations featuring opponents of
sexual liberation issues, gives the series a campaign promotion quality.
With that said, Queer Taiwan aligns itself with the mission to propagate a positive
image, especially in light of the imminent vote on marriage equality. This deliberate and
overt approach was crafted with the intention of shaping public perception and dissolving
longstanding negative connotations associated with the queer community in a swift way. It
operates as a direct expression from the queer community as a collective “we,” addressing
society with a message of positivity, constructive contribution, and consequently, a just
demand for equal and fair treatment. In contrast, Chen's films, characterized by a
significantly more subtle treatment of queer images, embody a distinct kind of "I/we"
dynamic—a notion that conveys the message, "We are the same as any of you." This stance
intentionally refrains from highlighting the specific classification and categorization of a
minoritized sexual identity and its associated implications. The aim is not solely to gain
visibility or positive representation for the purpose of recognition and equitable treatment.

51
Rather, it seeks to stimulate a nuanced contemplation of the essence of authenticity and the
transformative potential it carries. This entails actively grappling with the dynamic interplay
of inclusion and exclusion within the context of queer issues. Chen strives to achieve
equilibrium by blurring the sharp boundaries of both negativity and positivity. Through a
gentler and more subdued and tempered approach, he crafts a queer image that is intended
to ensure and resonate over an extended period. The primary objective is to etch the
characters into the spectator’s mind and memory as authentic embodiments of both their
individual struggles and the collective struggles of the queer community and as poignant
representatives of being queer or growing up queer during a time when equal rights
remained largely in the shadows. This gradual enlightenment within the public sphere is
fostered through portrayals and presentations of sincerity and authenticity within the
characters, complemented by a progressively deepening sense of familiarity or closeness,
evolving between the characters and the spectator.
It is imperative to highlight that the method employed to cultivate and achieve this
impression of sincerity and authenticity, as delineated in this discussion, diverges from its
manifestations in its Western counterparts. Take, for instance, cinematic works such as
Marlon Riggs’s 1989 Tongues Untied, where the emphasis on intimacy and privacy assumes
a central role in conveying authenticity. Here, queer individuals or the community strive for
genuineness, frankness, and honesty, akin to speaking directly from the depths of one's
heart. Within this narrative, the speaker, the “I,” is the queer individual, presenting a
determined and earnest perspective. However, the Taiwanese context introduces a novel
dimension to this discourse on presenting authenticity, particularly concerning the identity
of the speaker and the source of the voice. Here, authenticity transcends individual

52
expression, woven into a broader social fabric, primarily the familial structure. This
necessitates an exploration and discussion of how entrenched social structures, such as the
traditional family unit, contribute to the conception of “we” as a collective identity. Within
this framework, the demarcation of what constitutes a community becomes nebulous,
extending beyond the conventional confines of the queer community itself. Concurrently,
the dialogues captured on camera and the presentations exhibited on the screen constantly
and dynamically shape, broaden, or even constrain the parameters defining “we” and the
community. The noteworthy fluidity of the "I/we" perspective is exemplified, occasionally,
by its incorporation of individuals holding conservative viewpoints, as manifested in the
inclusion and portrayal of You-Sheng's elder sister in Memorandum on Happiness. Chen
accentuates the familial connection and bond between You-Sheng and his elder sister with
an adherence to a more traditional mindset and set of beliefs. Despite her conservative
stance, she serves as the witness at his wedding, silently consenting to endure media
exposure and, in real life, even going so far as to purchase an apartment for him. This
expression of love and care from his sister emanates from the influences of her upbringing
and cultural environment, outweighing and surpassing her ambiguous or even disapproving
attitudes toward her brother’s sexuality and, moreover, his risky choice of a public wedding.
She rarely speaks, perhaps a reflection of her personality or the media presence, yet her
actions are captured on screen. Her presence lends substantial weight to the overarching
sense of “we,” especially given the film’s public- and outward-facing intent. Her role in the
"I/we" dynamic prompts inquiries—does she address or speak to the public as a component
of the “we” voice in the film, or is she more a member of the public, listening to the quest
from the queer community? As both an observer and participant, straddling the line between

53
insider and outsider, the nuances of her involvement and its significance are communicated
and conveyed through subtle actions and considerations rather than explicit verbal
expression, aligning with the cultural norms of reserve observed in East Asian societies.
This inclusion of individuals outside the queer community grappling with diverse
sentiments, reactions, and thoughts concerning queer-related issues into the dynamics of
screen representations is more pronounced within the Taiwanese context than in Western
scenarios. This resonance is particularly palpable for Taiwanese spectators, aligning with
East Asian tendencies for deeper entanglements rooted in origin families and a more
implicit expression of emotions. Family members situated outside the queer community but
within the family unit receive thoughtful portrayals in both Chen's documentaries and more
recent works such as Queer Taiwan. Examples such as Hannah’s son responding to her
same-sex marriage and wedding, A-Sheng’s interactions with his deceased lover’s mother,
and the interviews featuring parents of drag queens collectively contribute emotional depth
to the subjects discussed. These family members, who have differing beliefs, add credibility
to the discourse by embodying complex feelings rather than adhering to straightforward
ideological alignments. The concept of a documentary voice serves as a conduit for
addressing and engaging with the public through the lens of the "I/we." However, this voice
transcends a mere direct appeal for equality; it involves a gradual revelation or even selfexposure of both queer individuals and their family members, contributing to a more
authentic exploration of personal and shared experiences. The Taiwanese context enriches
and enhances such exploration by expanding the spectrum of speaking subjects and delving
into a diverse array of social themes. The continuous exploration of how the voice of the
"I/we" can be understood within the framework of representing both a queer voice and

54
identity as well as a Taiwanese identity is significant in this context. This inquiry navigates
the terrain of the Western queer studies paradigm against the backdrop of postcolonial
dynamics, and it demonstrates the interplay of these multifaceted identities and the
intersections they forge within broader cultural, political, and historical contexts.
The confluence of the queer voice, as embodied through the "I/we" narrative,
intertwined with the historical backdrop that accentuates the quest for and pursuit of
Taiwanese identity in the latter part of the 1990s, is significant. This intersection gained
prominence following extensive discourses pertaining to Taiwanese identity that transpired
throughout the 1990s. In the aftermath of the rescission of martial law in 1987, the
construction of a Taiwanese identity began drawing substantially from historical vestiges
that had previously received limited exploration. Especially significant among these
historically neglected and underexplored moments is the 2-28 Incident of 1947, an antigovernment uprising by the local Taiwanese in response to the recently relocated KMT
government in Taiwan. This uprising was forcefully suppressed, its justification left
unexamined or inadequately scrutinized, and its resolution marked by the imposition of
martial law on the island for four decades. Under the aegis of the KMT’s authoritarian rule, a
comprehensive historical narrative had, for the most part, remained conspicuously absent,
impeding the acknowledgment and thoughtful contemplation of the inherent violence that
characterized those events.
Mark Harrison has underscored the revival or unearthing of Taiwanese historical
narratives that stemmed from and extended beyond the 2-28 Incident; he alludes to the

55
constructive aftermath of the post-martial law decade.27 In 1988, Chen Yongxin, the
chairman of the 2-28 Peace Day Promotion Committee, stated, “For the past forty years on
the island of Taiwan, no one has dared publicly discuss the 2-28 Incident. No one could
assuage the injustice to the souls of the dead victims. The government authorities would not
face making the truth of its history public.” In this pursuit and endeavor of reshaping
historical discourse within the political landscape, the primary goal was to instill and
establish a sense of normalcy in Taiwanese social life, thereby engendering what has evolved
into a shared, collective aspiration for a future distinctly characterized as “Taiwanese,” as
opposed to the future of the Republic of China, among political figures, commentators, and
academics alike. Through the reintroduction and reintegration of the memory of the 2-28
Incident with the aspiration and commitment to diversify the historical narrative, mainly to
incorporate a historical perspective divergent from the singular narrative and perspective
propagated by the KMT over the preceding four decades into the annals of Taiwanese
history, Chen advocated for the robust construction of a Taiwanese society characterized by
principles such as mutual love, respect, tolerance, and peace.
Connected by a shared trajectory of historical introspection and transformation, the
inauguration of Taiwan's first president in 1996 marks a pivotal point, representing
Taiwan’s inaugural democratic election. Following this, the presidential election in 2000,
which resulted in Chen Shui-bian's presidency, holds emblematic significance, as it
heralded the first occurrence of a transfer of power between political parties in Taiwan's
history. During this period, the ideals of democracy and a democratic, sovereign Taiwan took
27 Harrison, Mark. “How to Speak About Oneself: Theory and Identity in Taiwan.” Hong Kong University Press
eBooks, 2009, ecite.utas.edu.au/56863.

56
center stage in public discourse, fostering a sense of promise, hope, and optimism. The
concept of Taiwanese identity emerged as a unifying force, one that encompassed the
pluralistic facets of its society, including various ethnicities and distinct political affiliations.
This facilitated active discussions and formed a dynamic backdrop for further deliberations.
As Li-fen Chen has astutely written,
The counter-national discourse of identity that informs such studies has only become
possible under the specific historical conditions of the 1990s (among them the rise of
the notion of secular citizenship) that, in conjunction with the changing political
discourse of the nation, have enabled the mobilization and competition of various selfrepresentations in Taiwanese society. As Taiwan is shaking off its traumatic past of the
martial law era, nationhood has come to be defined more in terms of civil rights and
less in terms of centralized state power. Thus, "a very delicate and protracted
renegotiation of the social contract is underway in Taiwan, where for the first time,
social forces and not the party-state are determining the agenda and pace of change"
(Gold, 1994: 47). The emphasis on citizenship has certainly helped facilitate the
emergence of this heightened consciousness in regard to public space in both official
and resistant discourses.28
Against the backdrop of this historical context and prevailing social milieu, particularly
the discourse surrounding Taiwanese national identity, Mickey Chen's works assume a
distinctive position. Chen's exploration centers on the intricacies of being both a Taiwanese
and a queer individual, especially at the turn of the century, providing a nuanced perspective
within the broader discussions about Taiwanese identity and the future of Taiwan.
Operating independently and situated on the periphery as an underground endeavor with
modest funding, Chen's works align themselves with the prevailing atmosphere of
inclusivity; it aims to gather potential allies, both local and global, in the pursuit of obtaining
understanding and support. Embedded within the societal discourse concerning the
28 Chen, Li-Fen. “Queering Taiwan: In Search of Nationalism’s Other.” Modern China, vol. 37, no. 4, pp. 384–
421. https://doi.org/10.1177/0097700411409328.

57
parameters of inclusion within the category of “us,” namely the Taiwanese, there exists a
pivotal influence on the malleability of the constructs of "I" and "we" within queer
documentaries. The central inquiry endures: Can Micky Chen, a male member of the Han
ethnic group, belonging to one of the most privileged strata in Taiwanese society (except for
his homosexuality), encompass the diverse experiences of fellow queer individuals in Taiwan
and advocate on their behalf? The response to this question can hardly be unified, as the
usage of "I" and "we" within this context is characterized by its multifaceted nature and
inherent flexibility. “I” has the potential to encapsulate the individual identity of certain
filmmakers, embody a condensed essence of Taiwanese identity imagination, or signify
broader values, such as liberalism and humanitarianism. Meanwhile, "we" can either mirror
the dynamics within the queer community of Taiwan or even represent the entire societal
fabric of Taiwan, especially when it is portrayed to broader, global audiences. This flexibility,
portrayed through the interactions documented in the films among individuals from diverse
backgrounds and perspectives, reflects the inherent fluidity of queerness. This fluidity
extends beyond the confines of the queer community, where the quest for visibility and
rights becomes inevitably entwined with the resolution of internal disputes and conflicts.
Moreover, it resonates with Taiwan's societal need to construct a new identity,
encompassing both its internal dynamics and its position on the global stage in the 1990s;
the latter became especially pronounced following the cessation of martial law, which
marked the definitive end of authoritarian rule. Indeed, the efforts to integrate queerness
into the societal framework coincide with the initiatives to project Taiwanese identity onto
the global stage. The pursuit of visibility and the aspiration to form alliances grounded in

58
love and peace intersected within both the realms of queer identity and Taiwanese identity
discourse during that era.
Involving a critique of Taiwanese identity that emphasizes theoretical and
methodological foundations rooted in the West while adopting a post-colonial perspective, it
is crucial to acknowledge that the social discourse surrounding Taiwan's identity in the
1990s was significantly shaped by the descendants of waishengren. This demographic
consists of individuals who migrated to Taiwan from the mainland in the aftermath of the
Chinese Civil War. Some of this cohort held substantial social, cultural, political, and
economic capital, exerting considerable influence on various aspects of Taiwanese society,
such as politics, social life, and intellectual debates, exerting considerable influence on
politics, social life, intellectual debates, etc. Their descendants were facilitated in pursuing
education in the U.S. and subsequently attaining academic positions upon their return to
Taiwan. This scenario parallels the perspectives that Arif Dirlik and Aijaz Ahmad have
presented.29 They accentuate the emergence of a class-driven dynamic within postcolonial
theory. Their analyses elucidate a dynamic wherein intellectuals travel to the Western
hemisphere, adopting the role of authoritative interpreters for voices that are relegated to the
margins and that are silenced in non-Western realms. This convergence of historical context
and theoretical insight illuminates the intricate interplay among power, representation, and
narratives—elements that are interwoven within the discourse that addresses the intricate
facets of identity and belonging. In scrutinizing how post-martial law Taiwan engages with
29 Aijaz Ahmad, In Theory: Classes, Nations, Literatures (London: Verso, 1992) and Arif Dirlik, “The
Postcolonial Aura: Third World Criticism in the Age of Global Capitalism,” in Contemporary Postcolonial
Theory, 294-320.

59
or assimilates Western intellectual ideologies, a noteworthy shift has occurred, redirecting
attention from the social capital held by US-educated Taiwanese intellectuals to the
interconnected global flows and dynamics of culture and capital. This shift is particularly
pronounced due to Taiwan’s perceived linkage to broader global power dynamics. The
ongoing discourse mirrors and reflects the multilateral and, thus, intricate nature of
endeavors to examine and comprehend diverse sources of influence in an increasingly
globalized context. Geopolitical elements consistently occupy a central position in intense
discussions and debates during a period marked by fervent discourse surrounding
Taiwanese identity. This fervor is especially discernible in the quest for a distinct identity
when navigating the terrain of addressing national history and geopolitical complexities
involving not only Taiwan but also the U.S. and the PRC.
An illustrative example of visual representation emerges through the concentrated
attention to the lives and public union of Hsu Yu-Sheng, a Taiwanese author and activist,
and his American partner Gary Harriman. Chen meticulously captures this focus in two of
his films, Not Just a Wedding Banquet and Memorandum on Happiness. The wedding of
Hsu and Harriman, which occurred at the Howard Hotel's wedding hall in Taipei in 1996,
assumes a significant role as the first public gay wedding within the Taiwanese milieu. Two
discernible attributes of the event have symbolic significance: the conspicuously public and
media-focused nature of the ceremony, entwined with the foreign and specifically Western
identity attributed to one of the participants in the marital union. The exploration of this
subject is intricately intertwined with Hsu’s multifaceted identity, which encompasses his
stature as a publicly acclaimed queer writer and his possession of a Western education. It is
worth noting that his decision to return to Taiwan and orchestrate the wedding transcends

60
considerations solely of familial dynamics, especially given his upbringing, which was
marked by parental absence. Furthermore, despite the attendance of his elder sister and the
absence of legal recognition of same-sex unions during that period, the pivotal motivation
behind this decision lacked legal validation. Instead, it resides in the intentional creation of a
public spectacle. This spectacle, rooted in its potential to captivate attention, is underpinned
by a deliberate purpose: to amplify consciousness and provoke substantial social discourse.
Hsu’s decision—which was made with his American-Ugandan partner, whom he met
in the US—to organize a symbolic wedding in Taiwan underscores how the discourse of
queerness animates a transnational and transcultural undercurrent. This wedding, which
holds de facto rather than de jure significance, parallels, to some extent, the quandary that
Taiwan faced in the global political landscape. It navigates the complexities of a multi-player
geopolitical dynamic, where the intricacies inherent in the relationships among various
influential powers pave the way for provisional solutions. This symbolic union serves as a
public display, highlighting a somewhat apprehensive preparatory phase and shared
anticipation among the engaged individuals, attendees, and the broader society. The
unconventional and rarely witnessed nature of this event accentuates its significance, with
its objectives focusing on cultivating social awareness carrying more weight than the
pragmatic, real-world implications typically associated with a legally binding marriage.
Further, Harriman's status as a foreigner significantly amplifies the emblematic
quality of the notion of public display. Despite Harriman’s then situation of not yet
establishing a life in Taipei and considering the absence of same-sex marriage laws in
Taiwan (along with the illegality of such unions in the U.S. in 1996), Hsu still deliberately
chose to bring Harriman to Taiwan for a public wedding. Through this public-facing

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gesture, Hsu's intent appears twofold: firstly, to forge a connection between his roots and his
queer identity, igniting meaningful discourse; and secondly, to some extent, fulfilling his
wish for recognition encircling his transnational experience and queerness. This purposeful
act reflects Hsu's concerted effort to reaffirm his Taiwanese identity in correlation with his
and Harrison’s shared experiences and encounters in the Western context. This deliberate
act serves to situate Taiwan within the intricate framework of his queer identity, all the while
drawing a parallel with his encounters in the US. However, this course of action is by no
means immune to criticism, particularly concerning Hsu’s self-assertion of a Taiwanese
queer identity, which was facilitated through a Western presence. This parallels numerous
instances where the positioning of an ostensibly autonomous and self-governing Taiwanese
identity within the postcolonial landscape is intertwined with Western interpretations of the
geopolitical dynamic and the intricate interplay of power dynamics.
The dilemma and significance of this public wedding are entwined with the challenges
encountered in the pursuit of Taiwanese identity, exemplified by the overarching question of
the extent to which Western influence should either be integrated into or excluded from this
quest. In the late 1990s, set against the lingering aftermath of the post-martial law era, when
the harsh memories were still vivid, the central point remained driven by the imperative to
assert a distinction, a divergence, a separation from the authoritarian history and its
accompanying singular historical narrative and identity. At the same time, within the milieu
of the post-AIDS era, where the terror of AIDS was still palpable, there emerged an impetus
to bring forth and make visible queer experiences and an endeavor to foster genuine
representation both on screen and in society advocate for equal and just recognition. The
debates during this period, far from reaching conclusive resolutions, signified the inception

62
of what would follow—a junction where voices, whether originating solely from the island or
influenced by overseas education, were incorporated for the sake of plurality and diversity.
The noteworthy feature of this convergence between the pursuit of a national identity and a
queer identity was not the pursuit of a definitive, singular answer but rather the inclusion of
diverse perspectives to enrich the discourse in unprecedented ways in the history of Taiwan.

63
CHAPTER TWO
Juxtaposing National and Queer Identity
through Cautious Optimism in Blue Gate Crossing
After the termination of martial law in 1987, which marked the end of the KMT’s
authoritarian governance and monocultural nationalism, diverse social discussions about
democratization and freedom of expression emerged within the newly gained social
atmosphere. Among these discussions was the struggle for queer visibility and equal
rights.30 Broadly speaking, as, in Adam Chen-Dedman’s words, “the monocultural
nationalism inherited from the martial law era under the KMT” gradually declined,31 the
discussion and exploration of a Taiwanese identity inevitably surfaced and blossomed.
However, this temporal parallel between the queer movement and the social debate over
forging a new national identity is far from without tension. Historically, queerness, with its
nonnormative underpinnings, including its initial incoherence with reproduction and family
planning, has been invoked to challenge the pursuit of a unified national identity that aligns
with the capitalist, teleological, or family-oriented prosperity of the state. In her seminal
exposition, Li-fen Chen adeptly directs our attention to a perceptive insight: “In response to
the national project of reconstructing historical memory, the discourse of queerness takes a
divergent trajectory, eschewing conventional historical narratives and localized
particularities. Instead, it embraces what Aijaz Ahmad has termed the ‘hyper-reality of an
30 Queers were one of the historically underprivileged and discriminated community, even once regarded as the
enemy of the state.
31 Chen-Dedman, Adam. “Tongzhi Sovereignty: Taiwan’s LGBT Rights Movement and the Misplaced Critique
of Homonationalism.” International Journal of Taiwan Studies, vol. 6, no. 2, Aug. 2022, pp. 261–90.
https://doi.org/10.1163/24688800-20221267.

64
eternal and globalized present.’”32 This unique conceptual framework underscores how
queerness, with its inherent “absolute difference,” assumes a perpetual state of Otherness.
This stands in contrast to a potentially unifying narrative, one that could unite previously
marginalized individuals, allowing them to collectively rewrite and reclaim a national history
that had been suppressed and forbidden during the authoritarian era, alongside other
marginalized groups. However, what appears pivotal in this seemingly fundamental conflict
is the plurality within the debate on Taiwan’s national identity, in which the search for a
unified discourse is destined to be incomplete and fail to achieve fulfillment due to its
contested sovereignty.
Against the backdrop, in the 1900s, of fervent social debates on national identity and
citizenship in post-authoritarian Taiwan, a controversial article titled “Pseudo-Taiwanese,”
authored under the pseudonym “Taiwanese,” was published on the eighth episode of Island
Margin magazine. In sharp contrast to the government-promoted narrative, which aimed to
unite four main communities in the then Taiwanese society—the indigenous people, the
Minnan, the Hakka, and the waishengren (commonly known as mainlanders, primarily
associated with the KMT government’s relocation to Taiwan following their defeat in the
Chinese Civil War)—this article feverishly and ironically advocates for a direct,
straightforward, and fierce rejection of the veneer of harmony perpetuated through official
political slogans regarding identity. Instead, it called for absolute defiance, aiming to shatter
historical influences (or more appropriately understood as constraints) and embrace
attributes such as marginalization, dissociation, radicality, and anti-institutionalization,
32 Chen, Li-fen. “Queering Taiwan: In Search of Nationalism’s Other.” Modern China, vol. 37, no. 4, May 2011,
pp. 384–421. https://doi.org/10.1177/0097700411409328.

65
drawing influences from the framework of Western left-wing theory. Queerness was
intricately interwoven with these discussions, proudly representing a branch of the
historically marginalized—the deviant, the nonnormative and, therefore, the one with
promise and potential. Queer individuals, especially those active in the cultural sphere,
boldly asserted themselves as a deviation from the government’s official narrative of forging
a new, unified, and harmonious Taiwanese identity within a society where social conflicts
were just surfacing and far from being fairly discussed and addressed. This challenge was
undertaken not only to disrupt the traditional family structure and societal norms and
challenge social expectations but also to recognize the significance of plurality and
diversification for queer survival and thriving. Queerness was, to some extent, perceived and
utilized as symbols of radicality, subversion, and the exploration of new possibilities. It
became evident that establishing a distinctive Taiwanese identity required a departure not
only from the one-party rule characterizing the past half century but also from the implicit
narrative of a dignified and orthodox identity deeply rooted in history.
During the 1990s, thanks to the emergence of social activism made possible by the
rising civil society, the growing visibility of queerness, largely led by people with elevated
social and cultural capital, contributed to the evolution of the discourse on queerness.
Despite the national agenda calling for unity and inclusivity, such discourse persisted. The
shift in queer inclusivity exemplifies the interplay connecting queerness and national
identity. Initially portrayed as an enigmatic “Other,” seemingly conflicting with the fabric of
unified national narratives, queerness in Taiwanese society underwent a transformation,
asserting a positive presence within the public domain in the first decade of the 21st century.
This trajectory underscores the evolution wherein queerness, once considered as eternally

66
distinct, now navigates the broader socio-political stage, while retaining its essence of
challenging normative constructs, partly due to the significance it brings in aligning Taiwan
with progressive Western liberal politics. Rita Jhang further connects being progressive in
gender and sexual issues with preserving democracy.33 If we consider that in the 1990s, the
visibility and rights movement surrounding sexual minorities were in parallel with the
discussions over national identity, sexual citizenship was becoming more tightly entangled,
to the extent of taking a side, in the discourse and debate surrounding Taiwan's national
identity in the early 21st century. This entanglement grew increasingly fierce, not only in
social discussions but also in public attitudes and global positioning, asserting a democratic,
self-determined Taiwan as distinct from the PRC. With the introduction of multiparty
elections, subsequent waves of political campaigning heightened political tensions, and
significant institutional changes replaced the relatively pacified geopolitical approach led by
the KMT with the homegrown, independence-leaning DPP.
A pivotal moment occurred in 2000 when Chen Shui-bian of the DPP was elected
president. This presidential election was historic, being the first peaceful transfer of power
between political parties in Taiwan, among Chinese people anywhere, and in any Chinese
nation. It marked a shift from the longstanding rule of the “transplanted” KMT to a
“homegrown” opposition party, ending the KMT’s uninterrupted half-century reign over
Taiwan since their retreat in 1949. This power shift was followed by a series of efforts led by
33 Chen-Dedman, Adam. “Tongzhi Sovereignty: Taiwan’s LGBT Rights Movement and the Misplaced Critique
of Homonationalism.” International Journal of Taiwan Studies, vol. 6, no. 2, Aug. 2022, pp. 261–90.
https://doi.org/10.1163/24688800-20221267.

67
Chen—domestically, regionally, and internationally—central to which was the promotion of
a distinctive Taiwanese identity closely relying on the notion of “de-Sinicization.”
Examining the local and historical context is instrumental for understanding the
significance and influence of this election and its role in shaping the debate over Taiwanese
identity. The DPP, growing from the Tangwai (literally translated as “outside the party,”
representing opposition to the KMT at that time) movement of the 1970s and 1980s and
officially founded in 1986, was Taiwan’s first local political party after 1949. During the
KMT’s authoritarian rule, members from opposition parties were prohibited from running
as party-affiliated candidates in elections and could only be categorized as independent,
meaning without party affiliation. The Tangwai movement, initially loosely organized,
brought together a diverse group of activists outside the KMT who vehemently rejected
being excluded and labeled as outsiders in the political sphere. Throughout the authoritarian
era, numerous founding members of the DPP endured severe suppression, facing
accusations, punishments, and imprisonment as a consequence of their political dissent.
The political activities of the DPP played a central role in ending martial law, after which
Taiwan transitioned to democracy, marking a drastic change in the situation.
A factor that delineated these activists from those of the KMT was a pronounced
emphasis on their connection to local culture and a proclaimed commitment to a unique
Taiwanese identity, conceived as distinct from the broader Chinese identity, rhetoric that had
been prevalent during the KMT authoritarian era. This rhetoric claimed that the retreat to
Taiwan was temporary, and the decades after were merely preparatory stages for counterattacking communist China; therefore, a Chinese identity was still heavily indoctrinated. The
pursuit of a new identity centered on Taiwan-ness carried weight prominently within the

68
benshengren community, a term used to denote individuals native to Taiwan or those whose
families have been in Taiwan for generations. This term should be understood in pair with
waishengren, referring to those relocating to Taiwan after the Chinese Civil War, mostly
affiliated with the KMT. The conflicts over interests and rights between benshengren and
waishengren had been predominant in Taiwanese society since the late 1940s. In 1949, two
years after the February 28 incident, an anti-government uprising by local civilians was
crushed by the KMT and martial law was declared, signaling the beginning of authoritarian
control with stringent measures enforced, including severe punishment for political
dissenters. From 1949 to the 1980s, oppositional voices, particularly from benshengren
emphasizing local identity and a distinct Taiwanese culture, never stopped appearing.
However, due to stringent control, no politician representing a party other than the KMT
was allowed representation in the government. Taiwanese society remained under one-party
rule for nearly four decades.
In 1986, a year prior to the lifting of martial law,34 the DPP formally established itself
as a political party and subsequently grew to become the most significant challenger in the
following years to the longstanding KMT rule. In the 1996 election, the KMT’s
representative, Lee Teng-hui, won, continuing the party’s rule. However, in the 2000
election, the DPP achieved a historic victory, marking a notable shift in the political
landscape. This transition was fueled by a brewing desire for political reform that had been
lurking in society for decades and simmering since the end of martial law. During the
election, the DPP embraced an ideological stance closely aligned with the discourse of
34 During that year, although martial was still in effect, there was a noticeable loosening of governmental
control in both the social atmosphere and the political sphere.

69
human rights. Their campaign slogan emphasized the vision of creating “a nation based on
human rights.” The DPP furthered their push for de-Sinicization after coming to power,
which has, over time, shaped the trajectory of Taiwan’s national identity in the 21st century,
as the tentacles of such direction (both ideology and policy) spread broadly across various
fields, from strengthening alliances with the Western bloc to actively engaging in regional
collaborations to altering domestic social attitudes through methods such as revising
historical education content with a focus on Taiwanese-ness rather than Chinese-ness.
Whether the slogan “a nation based on human rights” merely functioned as a
campaign strategy, reflected a sincere commitment to a social cause, or should be better
understood with its consequential practical achievements, such as social progress generated
by it, it is imperative to integrate the connection between geopolitics and sexual into the
discussion. The Republic of China (the official name of Taiwan) and the PRC, since the end
of the Chinese Civil War and the development of Cold War politics, have been embroiled in
a prolonged half-century dispute over the issue of China’s representation on the
international stage. The ROC has aligned itself with the U.S. as a counterforce within the
U.S.-led anti-communist initiatives and beyond in the U.S.’s postwar plan to reconstruct
global power and establish a new international order that persists in evolving even after the
end of the Cold War. Although queer issues are initially personal identity- and civil rightsrelated, as the ideological divergence became increasingly apparent with the Western bloc
being progressive in promoting pro-queer equality, in the post-Cold War era, the
identification with gender and sexual equality became a new domain for Taiwan to build on
or strengthen the connection with the West and to distinguish itself from the PRC.
Undoubtedly, in the context of Taiwan, the issues surrounding queerness transcend self-

70
affirmative identity and are profoundly influenced by the shifting dynamics of geopolitics.
Many scholars have explored how the discourse of human rights, queer rights included, is
employed for practical purposes beyond its genuine belief, value promotion, and legal
protection. Petrus Liu, for instance, states, “Queer liberalism is a key tool with which Taiwan
disciplines mainland China and produces its national sign of difference from its political
enemy in the service of the Taiwanese independence project” (156)35. Specifically, by
promoting liberal democratic values that align with the human rights discourse flaunted by
the US, which has a long history of interfering with and intervening in the national affairs of
other countries under the banner of human rights and humanitarianism,36 Taiwan
strategically distinguishes itself from the PRC, which carries a reputation lacking in
humanitarian principles. Taiwan's alignment with the advocacy of human rights discourse
and the promotion of socially progressive agendas not only leads to garnering empathy and
support from the West but also fosters a sense of alliance based on a shared ideology,
extending to political and even military cooperation. These strategic actions play a crucial
role in navigating Taiwan's de facto, not yet de jure, independent status, which remains
constrained by the PRC.
The film Blue Gate Crossing (2002), a teenage drama embodying the emergence,
ambiguity, and potentiality of identity-related discussions in the early 2000s, is an excellent
vehicle by which to examine the social, political, and cultural climate of that era, when,
following the DPP’s victory, the undetermined social discussion over a Taiwanese identity
35 Liu, Petrus. Queer Marxism in Two Chinas. 2015, https://doi.org/10.1215/9780822375081.
36 For instance, Jasbir K. Puar in Terrorist Assemblages: Homonationalism in Queer Times, argues that the
US’s celebratory embrace of sexual minority movements in fact serves to reinforce social control and legitimize
its “civilizing” interventionism against “backwards” Muslim nations.

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gradually gave way to a more determined direction for de-Sinicization. This coincided with a
new outlook on queer visibility and movements influenced by a need to engage with the
West, both characterized by a strong sense of future-looking perspectives. This film also
sheds light on how the pursuit, contention, and reinforcement of queer identity and national
identity intersect in Taiwan. The film also provides the opportunity to explore the
localization of queerness in the context of Taiwan, particularly its role in electoral politics,
cultural capital and ideals, and social and political changes, and illustrates how queerness,
which can be understood as a space of possibility (Edelman, 1998), in this case specifically
introducing a plethora of possibilities that can persist and provide ideological and political
inspiration beyond time constraints. The film centers on the struggle of sexual awakening
during one’s teenage years, drawing interesting parallels with the nascent queer movement
and discussions around national identity discussions at that time. Both in the film and in the
then Taiwanese society, there is a sense of future dawning, projecting a forward-looking
exploration onto both a queer future and a national future. This encompasses debates over
building and deepening democracy in Taiwan, the potential for radical change, the
emergence of new hope, and the construction of something new and unprecedented.
Queerness, with its intrinsic ambiguity, not only fosters the expansion of discussions but
also defies confinement, as seen from a cultural materialistic perspective.
The socio-political potential manifest in Blue Gate Crossing does not actually belong
to the typical early queer films in the culturally Chinese context characterized by Fran Martin
as belonging to the earlier “memorial mode” of narrating same-sex love in the schoolgirl
romance genre. In this “memorial mode,” same-sex experiences are often
compartmentalized as brief interludes within an otherwise unilinear and predominantly

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heterosexual life history (147–79).37 National allegory is defined by Fredric Jameson as any
narrative using the protagonist’s journey to allude to a nation’s destiny will be referenced.38
My position differs from that of Jameson as in this case the allegorical remains open-ended.
It serves more as an invitation to imagination, opening up the possibility to discuss Taiwan’s
future with references to the zeitgeist of the moment as shown in the film, rather than an
attempt to make claims about Taiwan’s destiny. This study, which extends beyond the
national and cultural imaginary of Taiwan to avoid reducing narratives to monolithic, can
offer insights that transcend the temporal and national discourse of its production,
functioning as a constant source of inspiration for queer imaginaries within the Sinophone
context and beyond.
This film primarily revolves around a love triangle, devoid of direct drama or conflict
but characterized by slow-brewing emotional swings, involving three high school students:
Meng Kerou (played by Gwei Lun-mei), Lin Yuezhen (played by Yolin Liang), and Zhang
Shihao (played by Chen Bolin). Meng harbors romantic feelings for her best friend Lin. Lin
is more of a romantic dreamer; infatuated with Zhang, she even starts fantasizing about
marrying him when they grow up. However, Zhang becomes attracted to Meng. In the end,
none of them end up together, yet it seems that all their emotions find a place to reside. As
the summer comes to an end, it appears that something has transpired, but only a few traces
linger.
37 Martin, Fran. Backward Glances: Contemporary Chinese Cultures and the Female Homoerotic Imaginary.
Duke UP, 2010.
38 Jamesom, Fredric. “Third-World Literature in the Era of Multicultural Capitalism.” Social Text 15, 1986.

73
To understand gender and sexual diversity in an educational setting, in relation to the
imagination of nation’s future, it is essential to begin from reality before diving into
representation, as real-world cases hold unneglectable significance for the shifting social
policy. What holds significance in the intersection of queer, future, and education is the Yeh
Yung-chih incident.
On April 20, 2000, Yeh Yung-chih, a third-year middle school student, was found
injured and bleeding in his school’s bathroom. He later passed away at a local hospital. The
Equality Commission for Both Sexes Education was assigned to investigate Yeh’s case. The
Commission was established within the Ministry of Education following the horrifying Peng
Wan-ru Incident on November 30, 1996. Peng, a dedicated feminist activist, was raped and
murdered while taking a taxi in Kaohsiung. The case remains unsolved till now. In its early
days, the Commission focused more on protecting women’s safety and rights and promoting
gender equality. Through investigation, the Commission finished a report, revealing that
Yeh had been bullied by his schoolmates for an extended period, mainly due to his gender
nonconformity—being seen as too “feminine.” While no one was charged for directly
causing his death, it was the fear of harassment that led him to go to the bathroom minutes
before the class ended, a choice related to his eventual death. He feared being harassed
during class breaks when most people used the bathroom, so he went during class time. The
Commission recommended the Ministry of Education to expand its focus beyond gender
equality and include sexual minorities’ equality in educational settings and argued for
changing its name to “gender” rather than “both sexes.”
The Commission was later renamed the Commission on Gender Equity Education.
The death of Yeh ramped up the pressure on the government to promote gender equity in

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society at large, with a special focus on education. In 2001, academics and legislators were
commissioned to draft the Gender Equity and Education Act (the GEEA), which was legally
codified in 2004.39 Yeh’s death has also become inspiration for educational materials in
various forms, including videos and books, and even for creations within popular culture
over the next two decades.
Noah Metheny claims that the fight to establish and pass the GEEA emerged out of
an intersection primarily of three social movements—"activism and advocacy around
women’s rights, LGBTQ rights, and educational reform (among numerous other social and
political issues).”40 The social debate of the 90s propelled fervent civil activism, which,
although unfortunate in leading to shocking cases of bloodshed, as well as formal and legal
actions in a positive light. This has had long-term effects on the future generation, the first
generation receiving full education in a democratic civil society. These cases function as
symbols and inspirations for both legal, administrative, and institutional pursuits and
advancements, and artistic and creative endeavors—indispensable to achieving the goal of
promoting gender equity and a diversity-embracing future.
Two insights emerge from the Yeh incident. First, it marks the beginning of
emphasizing gender and sexual education in Taiwan and how this educational change
profoundly influences the younger generation. This is relevant to the contemporaneous film
Blue Gate Crossing, which features internal struggles over sexuality within a high schooler.
39 Shu-Ching Lee, “Beyond the State: Legitimatizing Gender Equity in Education in Taiwan,” in Social
Production and Reproduction at the Interface of Public and Private Spheres Advances in Gender Research 16,
eds. Marcia Texler Segal, Esther Ngan-Ling Chow, and Vasilikie Demos (Bingley, UK: Emerald Group
Publishing, 2012), 253–271, http://140.119.115.26/retrieve/102443/17042712.pdf. 40 Metheny, Noah. “Beyond Marriage Equality LGBTQ Issues Within Gender Equity Education.” Center for
Strategic and International Studies (CSIS), 2020, www.jstor.org/stable/resrep29479.10.

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However, her frustration finds an outlet through friendly interactions with a peer, and to
some extent, it is mitigated when projected into the imagination and envisioning of the
future. In this case, what we observe in a teenager of the early 2000s is still a troubled soul,
yet not isolated or bullied, not feeling shamed, but rather infused with hope, promise, and
kindness that propel them forward into tomorrow. Gender and sexual identity are in
formation, with a generation educated in accordance with knowledge about gender and
sexuality.
Second, the Yeh incident has become a consistent source of artistic and cultural
products aimed at advancing gender and sexual equity in Taiwanese society. In the 2000s,
although Micky Chen’s documentary plan about Yeh fell through, educational
documentaries commissioned for classroom use have been created and distributed. What’s
particularly noteworthy due to its expanded influence is a series of music and video
productions by Jolin Tsai, known as the Queen of C-Pop. During her world tour in 2015, just
before singing another song supporting queer equality, a 5-minute short documentary was
played, featuring Yeh’s mom narrating her memory of her son, the course of the incident,
and her active participation in gay parades in the following years. It served as an interlude
video accompanying Jolin’s tour throughout. In 2018, Jolin released a song titled “Rose Boy”
(official English title “Womxnly”) on her album Ugly Beautiful, dedicated to Yeh. This
release coincided with the peak of the marriage equality campaign. Jolin’s decision to create
this song is deemed significant in the queer rights movement, especially considering her
importance in the music industry and her role as a prominent gay icon in the Sinophone
world. The song was released as a show of support for the passage of same-sex marriage
legislation. This exemplifies a longstanding connection between popular culture and social

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activism, in which the former, with the power to shape public beliefs, especially those of the
youth, reflects upon and, in turn, influences the latter.
It is fair to claim that national identity is shaped through social participation and
political engagement and channeled through public artistic creation. The 2000s marked a
period when Taiwanese cultural products, exemplified by pop music, gained prominence not
only in Taiwan but also in the Sinophone world. Connecting this atmosphere with an
extended influence in the broader Sinophone cultural zone is crucial. Song Hwee Lim
contends that this vibe, woven into various cultural texts, fulfills the imaginations of Chinese
youths and fosters citizen-to-citizen connectivity.41 What's distinct here is the emergence of
different kinds of imaginations—Taiwanese experience a triple interaction with what is
happening in society, what is manifested in the representation, and how those
representations impact society. This cycle culminates in a social sentiment characterized by
a sense of freedom, not just freedom in artistic creation but also in youth expression. Beyond
Taiwan, this imagination serves as a soft power, aligning youths in other Sinophone regions
to feel emotionally connected with the zeitgeist contained in Taiwanese cultural products,
somehow bypassing the national identification part.
In shaping his argument, Lim views such popularity as “more than a passing
subcultural fad…upon closer examination, its structure of feeling belies a potential for forms
of citizen-to-citizen connectivity that may have (or may already have had) an impact on civil
society in the region.” What's being formed and shaped is a national sentiment that reflects
41 Lim, Song-Hwee. “Citizen-to-citizen Connectivity and Soft Power: The Appropriation of Subcultures in ‘Little
Freshness’ Across the Taiwan Strait.” China Information, vol. 33, no. 3, Nov. 2018, pp. 294–310.
https://doi.org/10.1177/0920203x18806418.

77
the prevailing social atmosphere, asserting a Taiwanese identity and reality. The cultural
products travel well, receiving acclaim in the Sinophone world, while the concrete social
reflection, to some extent, limits itself within domestic borders.
Blue Gate Crossing, with its focus on its intersection of queer, youth, education, and
the future, is worth discussing, as it is both a teen-oriented film emphasizing a sense of
youthful freshness and energy and a queer film reflecting the social sentiment that revolves
around the ideas of exploration, experience, and expression but in a less playful and more
serious tone given the unexpected consequences entangled within such a forward-forward
perspective. Many may perceive this film as a teen romance with a queer twist, but there is
more to the on-screen queerness when we take into account the historic moment of its
production: This film mirrors a sentiment prevalent due to the influential social events of its
time, also with long-lasting impact, that thrust gender education to the forefront of schools.
In addition, Blue Gate Crossing addresses the topic of national identity formed through
shared social experiences and wields soft power in claiming Taiwan’s unique potential
through a freer and fresher imagination. This connection echoes the concept of “little
freshness” proposed by Song Hwee Lim, which “little evinces a structure of feeling among
youth citizens across the Taiwan Strait for freedom and democracy, a desire that is often at
odds with those of state agents in their places of residence.”42 In the 2000s, with the
entering of Taiwanese media production, often “symbolized by the cleanness and clearness
of the imagery of blue skies, white clouds, and green fields,”43 into other Sinophone regions,
42 Lim, Song Hwee. “Citizen-to-citizen Connectivity and Soft Power: The Appropriation of Subcultures in ‘Little
Freshness’ Across the Taiwan Strait.” China Information, vol. 33, no. 3, Nov. 2018, pp. 294–310.
https://doi.org/10.1177/0920203x18806418.
43 Ibid.

78
particularly mainland China, Taiwan has progressively become a site of aspiration for a
cleaner and more refreshing present, and also, future. This stands in contrast to prevailing
issues such as air pollution and patriotism education in the PRC, which to some extent
denote a sense of suppression and even suffocation. The unburdened and carefree image of
Taiwan through film, music, and art proves appealing to mainland Chinese youth, endowing
them with the prospect of an alternative Sinophone narrative, one that is distinct from the
PRC and appears more pleasant and ideal.
In the 2000s, Taiwanese films characterized by “little freshness” quickly emerged to
be popular in both Taiwan and other Sinophone regions. What is at stake here is that this
rising trend, which also implies the mounting of Taiwan’s soft power and cultural influence,
showcases a vastly different aesthetic compared to other well-known Taiwanese films that
came before. Blue Gate Crossing was released in 2002 during a slump in the Taiwanese box
office. It turned out to be a box office success, grossing over five million New Taiwan Dollars
in Taiwan. This injection of new vitality and excitement into the industry was significant,
especially considering that the previous year had seen no film gross over one million New
Taiwan Dollars. Blue Gate Crossing distinguishes itself from the previous popular films
featuring grand historical narratives, with the last one being Ang Lee’s 2000 martial arts
action adventure film Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. In sharp contrast to all the other
precedents, Blue Gate Crossing primarily focuses on a school-based story with high
schoolers being the main characters. The romantic feelings during adolescence and
emerging adulthood, characterized by both uncertainty and intensity, are the main focus. As
the protagonists begin to experience romantic attraction toward others, the story context
highlights a sense of possibility, hope, and the promise brought about by a future that is

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open and still seems unlimited. The film’s setting and storyline align with the “little
freshness” cultural imaginary, and the popularity and influence of it extend beyond Taiwan’s
borders, manifesting an affective trait shared by youths across the Taiwan Strait. Lim
specifically identifies Blue Gate Crossing as retroactively credited as the progenitor of little
freshness films, pointing out that the film contains “many elements that would later be
regarded as belonging to the little freshness genre, from the campus setting and goodlooking leads to summer skies and a light-touch treatment of ambiguous sexuality.”44
However, I want to stress that this “light-touch treatment of ambiguous sexuality”
does not end at offering comforting fantasies to youths in the region. This film lends itself to
a case study reflecting the parallel between national identity and queer identity in the early
2000s because of the forward-dawning future entangled in subtle nuances and gripping
narratives centered on adolescent sentiment. It serves well for an exploration of how this
story of adolescents helps us to study and understand Taiwan’s social complexities and
transitions. Teenage romance tinged with ambiguous sexuality is not detached from social
and political realities; instead, this future-oriented narrative and promising characterization
can be interpreted as a strong response to the controversy of that era. Song Hwee Lim’s
argument regarding the projection of a cultural image of Taiwan as a physically and
politically free society is taken up by youth in the PRC who are fascinated by Taiwanese
art/culture/cinema is due, in good part, to films like this one, which carries significant
geopolitical implications.45 This projection can be seen as a manifestation of soft power
wielded by Taiwan, albeit not by the state or its agents, but by cultural creators through
44 Ibid.
45 Ibid.

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media works. In the Taiwan context, as a cultural artifact, this film reflects the gradual
consolidation in the early 2000s of national and queer discourses, both playing a shaping
role during that period; and beneath the film’s outwardly youth-focused narrative, there
exists a clandestine, suppressed undercurrent of sexual awakening, introspection, and
contemplation. This subtle undercurrent has the potential to extend beyond personal
experiences, reaching into broader historical narratives and modes of thinking.
A crucial characteristic of this Blue Gate Crossing is its future-oriented thought,
which permeates and provides cohesiveness from beginning to end. The sense of the future,
the not-yet-here, is implied positively throughout the film as a ghostly presence. The film
opens with a black frame accompanied by the sounds of rustling leaves, followed by the
voice of Meng saying, “I can't see (my future self),” signifying her inability to generate a
mental representation of her future when she closes her eyes and tries to let her mind roam.
The opening scene features two girls, Meng and Lin, sitting under a tree during a physical
education class, envisioning their ideal future lives. The ending mirrors the opening scene
regarding the theme of the messages presented, in which Meng and Zhang are riding
bicycles against the wind. The film concludes with Meng’s monologue, also future-oriented:
“What kind of adults will we become in three years, five years, or even longer? Will we grow
up to be adults like our physical education teacher or like my mom? Although I close my
eyes and cannot see myself, I can see you.”
The change from “I am unable to envision my own future” to “I am still unable to
envision my own future, but I can envision yours” is due in part to the emotional
entanglements between the three. The narrative arc involving Meng and Zhang does not
culminate in a romantic relationship. However, an emotional connection, characterized by

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genuine concern for each other and transcending romantic attraction, is developed between
them. Such a bond emerges during a time of uncertainty in one’s life journey, moving from
high school graduation toward adulthood. The transition to adulthood, with teenage
aspirations, evokes a sense of forward-dawning that originates from real life and spreads
across the cinematic screen. The unrealized romance is just the beginning of a life chapter,
and the sense of ambiguity is strengthened and empowered through an indefatigable
forward-looking ethos.
The themes of sexuality and queerness in Blue Gate Crossing become intriguing
when the time the film was made is incorporated into the discussion. In contrast to the
common themes in queer cinema from the past decade, which predominantly focused on
the articulation of identity and narratives exposing social injustice, this film leans toward
more lighthearted subjects, such as high school life, teenage romance, and youthful
enthusiasm, with queer elements. The focus on a teenage love triangle with different sexual
orientations portrayed challenges the more solemn tonalities characterizing the previous
decade’s patterns in queer representation.
The textual analysis of the three main characters in Blue Gate Crossing begins by
examining how the three main characters perceive and react to queerness, in this case
specifically referring to Meng’s budding affection for Lin. Meng’s exercise of self-control and
restraint in concealing her feelings of affection for her same-sex close friend is intensified by
her inner conflict regarding societal norms and her reservations about sharing these
sentiments with others. Zhang reacts in a jestful way when Meng plucks up the courage to
confess her secret (her homosexuality). Confident in his appeal to high school girls, he
initially considers Meng’s confession as coming out of shyness in the face of his romantic

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feelings for her. They also try a cautious kiss to discern if Meng's sexual orientation can be
swayed by intimate interactions with a boy. After what appears to be a lighthearted and
playful conversation, deep down addressing a weighty and serious topic, Zhang resumes his
characteristic playfulness, saying that if Meng were to develop romantic feelings for boys,
she should notify him first.
When compared to Meng and Zhang, Lin appears to stand aside as she remains
untouched by both Meng’s affection for her and Meng’s sexuality. She intentionally indulges
herself in the fantasy bubble she creates, and ignoring Meng’s emotional swings is exactly
her strategy for dealing with uncertainty. In the beginning, when she immerses herself in
her romantic fantasies with Zhang, she seems completely unaware of Meng’s interest and
care. After Zhang’s disinterest shattered her illusions, she immediately plunges into
idolizing Japanese actor and singer Kimura Takuya, whom she envisions as her future
husband or ideal partner. She neglects the possibility of a romantic connection, not to
mention a connection from a female friend. As the film nears its conclusion, in a setting
similar to the opening scene, we see a physical education class where Meng and Lin sit
together under a tree. In a medium shot where both characters’ facial expressions are
presented clearly, Lin imagines her future in a heterosexual romance with a radiant smile.
Meng, who appears nervous, eventually interrupts by surprising Lin with a sudden kiss. This
intervention hastily ends: Lin first tries to continue narrating what’s in her imagination
while Meng attempts to continue to interrupt and diverge. The camera moves to filming
them from the back where the audience sees Lin hastily depart and mix into the crowd.
Their paths appear destined not to intersect again, marked by Lin purposely avoiding contact
with Meng. Lin’s reaction has less to do with homophobia than her inability to deal with the

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situation. She, consciously or unconsciously, opts for avoidance as the coping mechanism to
save her from being incapable of reacting in other ways.
Some discussions, or conversations, in Blue Gate Crossing may raise concerns due to
their not being aligned with the current understandings of queer experiences and identity
formation, such as the suggestion that kissing a boy may change one’s sexual orientation or
Meng’s self-limitation of saying that she is not supposed to like girls. However, it is worth
pointing out that these lines are delivered with a sense of warmth, care, and concern, and
they carry a touch of flexibility rather than imposing rigid definitions and rules. They are
presented and situated within the context of exploration and reflect the characters’ evolving
understanding of their own identities and emotions during the nascent stages of discussions
surrounding gender and sexual equality in society.46 The film presents the complexity in its
treatment of queerness, showing characters grappling with societal norms and expectations
while also seeking genuine connections and self-discovery. As a teen film with a publicfacing audience, its incorporation of queerness aligns with the sense of openness and
possibility often attributed to teenagers. For them, gazing into the future imbued with a
sense of flexibility is perfectly normal.
In this case, imagining Taiwan’s future and queer future are closely intertwined. The
ending of the film indicates a long-lasting sense of hope through the act of envisioning the
future, without explicitly dissecting the complexities of queerness. This treatment aligns the
film’s public reception with the internal conflicts of its characters. Their personal struggles
46 The fervent social discussions and bold activism of the 1990s first brought gender and sexual issues to the
forefront, enhancing their visibility within Taiwanese society. However, the exploration and pursuit of proper
and equitable approaches to address these matters from an official standpoint did not materialize until the
early 2000s, as represented by legal wins such as the enactment of Gender Equality Education Act in 2004.

84
remain unresolved within the film’s narrative, but it is precisely this sense of lingering that
keeps the potential and futurity of queer as a concept open.
Meng, a high school student harboring affection for her same-sex friend, experiences
acceptance from Zhang, who later encourages her to confess her feelings to her friend.
However, her confession leads to heartbreak, as her friend subsequently severs
communication with her. As the film concludes, Meng’s future, both her plan after high
school and her emotional direction, remains uncertain, although the pain she carries in her
heart has somewhat subsided. This raises questions about where her future lies and where
the hope and promise come from. Is her acceptance of uncertainty caused by her youth, her
queerness, or small acts of kindness from her surrounding, mainly from Zhang? These
questions, involving identity, futurity, and sociality, remain entangled. Toward the end of the
film, in her internal monologue, Meng talks about an inability to visualize her own future;
however, she can easily envision Zhang growing up to be a confident, responsible man. This
contrast prompts reflection on where her optimism for Zhang’s future comes from, whether
it be Zhang’s characteristic confidence, his carefree family background, or the fact that he is
a straight man of Han ethnicity and is perceived as handsome by most people.
The tension between queerness and the future has been a pivotal concern in queer
studies, provocatively prompting us to ponder whether queerness can be future-oriented or
whether it is fundamentally characterized by an anti-future stance. Lee Edelman’s take on
this debate emerges from the notion of reproductive futurism that views the child figure, the
consummation of heterosexual pairings, as the symbol of future and positions same-sex
couples as aligned with death because of non-reproduction. He argues that such a cultural
ideology prioritizes the future of society, symbolized by the omnipresent figure of the child,

85
as the linchpin of our universal politics. And this overfocus on the future, rooted in the act of
(re)producing children, has been employed to marginalize and exclude queer individuals.
Queerness tends to be portrayed and perceived as a threat to the traditional family structure
and as a rejection of the imperative to reproduce. Edelman suggests that queers should
instead embrace a negativity associated with irony, jouissance, and, ultimately, the death
drive itself, rather than submitting to homonormativity. This involves rejecting society’s
obsession with the future and advocating for a radical, anti-reproductive stance. He perceives
queerness, with its refusal to conform to normative expectations, as powerful in challenging
the vision of the future centered around reproduction and family values. In essence,
Edelman calls for queerness to be unapologetically anti-future, disrupting dominant cultural
and political narratives.47
On the other hand, José Esteban Muñoz offers a different perspective on the
relationship between queerness and the future. He wrote extensively on the concept of
“queer futurity,” in which queer individuals look beyond the constraints of the present and
envision a future that transcends the limitations of the current reality. Muñoz argued that
queerness is indeed a future bound phenomenon, and this future-oriented outlook is a
fundamental aspect of queer identity and activist cultures. Queer futurity eschews the
confines of the present tense and shifts from solitariness to collectiveness. This
conceptualization also operates as an act of resistance against social and political forces that
marginalize and oppress queer individuals. Indeed, at its core, “queer futurity” embodies a
yearning for a future with potential and possibilities. Here, the visions of the future it
47 Edelman, Lee. No Future: Queer Theory and the Death Drive. Duke UP, 2004.

86
generates are free from the negative associations typically tethered to queerness; its essence
lies in how persistent anxiety and destabilizing status collide to cultivate a utopian vision,
one that exists outside of the bounds of the normalized one.48 The two contrasting stances,
one endorsing an anti-future stance and the other exhibiting relative optimism regarding
queer futures, offer divergent insights into the relationship between queerness and the
future. While Edelman challenges the societal fixation on the future, Muñoz asserts a
forward-looking orientation intrinsic to queer identity and activism.
Choosing a definitive stance on either side proves unsatisfactory, for what the film
text conveys is a sense of uncertainty, ambiguity, and indecision surrounding the
imagination, symbolic connotations, and potentialities associated with a queer future. This
resonates with the characters’ broader life trajectories as they navigate the transitional phase
of adolescence. This sense of indeterminacy prevailed in the then Taiwanese society
regarding the nation’s future and the queer future. Back on the streets of Taiwan in the early
2000s, the discourse surrounding queer human rights was strategically harnessed within
the political arena both for election campaigns and to bolster the international reputation of
the nation by aligning itself with the beliefs of Western liberal pluralism. However, at the
broader societal level, it remained an issue largely left unaddressed. The inaugural Taipei
Pride parade was not held until 2003, a year after the release of Blue Gate Crossing. Notably,
the parade’s slogan the following year was “Awaken citizen consciousness.” This choice of
theme signifies a reality wherein societal attitudes toward queerness were still grappling
with an incomplete understanding, prompting the necessity for sustained activism within
48 Muñoz, José Esteban. Cruising Utopia: The Then and There of Queer Futurity. NYU Press, 2009.

87
both social and cultural spheres. Legal rights for the queer community were in their
formative stages, actively being shaped and ardently contested. However, this social reality
did not invariably align with the political stance taken by Taiwan, owing to its distinctive
geopolitical situation. Taiwan found itself in a constant state of necessitated positioning as a
progressive and inclusive society on the world stage, including a proactive engagement with
human rights issues.
In the film, the apparent tension between these two stances does not manifest as a
direct conflict. Instead, the narrative emphasizes an interplay, imbued with a sense of hope
and optimism for the future. This optimistic undertone, tinged with uncertainty, extends not
only to the prospects of the queer characters but also to the trajectory of society and the
nation. Meng’s imagination of her life trajectory does not seem to be swayed significantly
because of her queerness. Nearing the end of the film, Meng mutters to herself while
looking at Zhang’s silhouette: “If you are 17 years old, all you think about is whether you can
go to college, no longer be a virgin, and be able to urinate in a straight line, then you should
be a very happy child.” Meng perceives Zhang as having a more secure future, attributing
this sense of security to his carefree past. Zhang, exuding confidence, stands in contrast to
Meng, who often grapples with the challenge of suppressing her queerness. However, other
characters in the film, such as Lin, grapple with even deeper emotional concealment, even if
their feelings are heterosexual attraction. The dynamic between Lin and Meng adds a layer of
complexity to the exploration of queerness within the film. Lin’s feelings find expression
through Meng, while Meng’s kindness to Lin, including helping her confess her love to
Zhang, is related to her romantic feelings for Lin, creating a “queering channel.” Meanwhile,
Meng, encouraged by Zhang, takes the risk of confessing her queer feelings at the end of the

88
film. This decision, laden with potential consequences for a friendship that she values
significantly, highlights the multifaced nature of teenage frustration and identity
exploration. The contrast between Lin and Meng regarding their emotional disclosure
suggests that, within the narrative, Meng is not the most reserved character when it comes
to expressing her emotions. It also underscores the idea that queerness, while a significant
aspect, does not operate in isolation as the sole determinant of the challenges faced by
teenagers and their identity and experience.
The concept of a queer Taiwanese identity is indeed fraught with complexity, subject
to a hierarchy of recognition and acceptance, particularly evident in the political discourse.
Specifically, individuals who align with the state-defined criteria of being perceived as
healthy and positively contributing homosexuals are the ones included and represented. This
selective inclusion serves as a symbolic representation of Taiwan’s social progress in terms
of human rights. This narrative of progress tends to overshadow the experiences of
marginalized subgroups within the already marginalized queer community. Notably,
individuals facing additional challenges, such as those who are HIV-positive and sex
workers, often find themselves excluded or neglected in the broader discourse.
During the fervent social debates over Taiwanese identity in the 1990s, the radical
factions, as represented by the brains behind articles such as “Pseudo Taiwanese,” tended to
focus on individuals not recognized by the government as contributing social members,
seeing them as the key to the assertion of a new Taiwanese identity, an authentic Taiwanese
identity. Queers occupied a significant place, especially those marginalized even within the
queer community. This voice, partly directed at mocking and accusing the government’s
claims of officiality, challenges the notion that conformity and adherence to establishment

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norms are the pathways to authenticity: ironically, it suggests that authenticity may indeed
manifest divergence from the norms, especially when those norms hinder individuals from
expressing their authentic selves. When arguing about an identity that was not yet clearly
defined within historical narratives, parody emerged as a crucial means through which
alternative possibilities—possibilities that are not inherently false or self-defeating—could be
imagined and explored. Within the realm of uncertainty portrayed in the narrative, a
nuanced sense of cautious and discreet optimism emerges, echoing the forward-looking
inclination embodied by Meng. Although she may seem distant from the subversive queer
subject discussed in the article, a closer examination reveals a subtle resistance to
conventional norms and societal expectations that typically shape adolescent experiences,
particularly the experiences of adolescent queerness. As Meng embarks on a quest to
understand and establish her own identity, an emotional landscape, marked by moments of
melancholy and sadness yet also punctuated by an anticipation of what lies ahead in the
future, unfolds. In this context, queer introspection and survival, both functioning as a form
of resistance, serve as a visionary force shaping Taiwan’s future imagination. This
resistance, whether expressed discreetly or overtly through queer resistance, signifies a
departure from social norms and an embrace of uncertainty, suggesting a strength derived
from authenticity, albeit non-officiality. The act of queering, with its inherent norm-defying
features, becomes a catalyst for envisioning a future that transcends predefined boundaries.
This form of resistance offers a glimpse of optimism and the potential for a new dawn, even
in the absence of promises.
While a dissection of a teen story film may not be advisable as a direct exploration of
national allegory, discernible resonances with a broader societal discourse on national

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identity are apparent within the film text. The prevalence of ambiguity, interwoven with a
subtle undercurrent of hope, mirrors the socio-cultural milieu of Taiwan in the wake of a
decade marked by fervent literary, cultural, and social debates and profound political
transformations. The Taiwanese identity can be seen as being entrusted to a new
government prioritizing the configuration of a future vision. This strategic emphasis often
translates into the assurance of advancing human rights being predominantly
communicated through rhetorical slogans rather than policy enactments. Indeed, it is the
uncertainty, as opposed to any definitive certitude, that delineates the essence of this
transformative period.
A parallel emphasis on uncertainty and a constructive perception of it can be
discerned in the representation of queerness on screen. The once underground and
subversive elements of queer narratives have gradually receded, and upon resurfacing, they
manifest in more nuanced ways, extending across various film genres. Queer sentiments are
becoming increasingly visible, not necessarily in films explicitly aimed at catalyzing change
or critiquing an unjust status quo, but rather through their gradual integration into all
aspects of the social fabric. This signifies the early steps toward the normalization of
queerness within everyday life, moving away from spectacle and toward embracing
queerness as a part of the ordinary.

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Chapter Three
Taiwanese Queer Identity in Everydayness: A Personal Turn in Small Talk
The temporal focus of this chapter is the mid-to late-2010s, during which the
discourse on gender and sexuality in Taiwanese society was prominently shaped by the
marriage equality campaign. A pivotal juncture in this narrative occurred in 2016 with the
victory of the DPP candidate Tsai Ing-wen in the presidential election. This marked the
conclusion of an eight-year rule by Ma Ying-jeon from the KMT, which was characterized by
policies aimed at fostering amicable collaboration and relations with the PRC.
A number of socio-political events having to do with the PRC played a crucial role in
leading toward this power change. The Occupy Central movement in Hong Kong advocated
for democracy but met with police oppression at the direction of the Beijing government,
and the Anti-Service Trade Agreement protest in Taiwan, challenging the perceived opaque
dealings of an economic treaty benefiting the PRC without transparency to the Taiwanese
public, stood out as the most significant two among all the catalysts from this period. These
incidents exposed the Taiwanese populace, particularly the younger generation, to an everpresent while increasingly reinforcing revanchist threat coming from across the Strait.
The election of Tsai, a candidate from the homegrown, pro-independence DPP,
becomes emblematic of a declarative attitude shift toward not only cross-Strait relations but
also Taiwan’s self-positioning in international politics. This development unfolds against the
backdrop of an era where the younger generation, born, raised, and educated in the postmartial law democratic civil society, reaches adulthood, gains voting rights, and actively
engages in social and political fields. In the context of Taiwan's electoral landscape, where
the “electoral politics in Taiwan are defined by one dominant factor, having to do with how

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people see the relationship between Taiwan and China,” and “at its core, the China factor is
fundamentally a question of identity,”49 Tsai’s election can be interpreted as an affirmation
of the endorsement for untying the closer ties between Taiwan and the PRC built under the
Ma Ying-jeou administration, asserting a Taiwanese identity that diverges from the concept
of Chinese-ness, and presenting Taiwan to the world stage as a transnational center and a
beacon in Asia.
Petrus Liu argues that “queer activism brings the tensions between the two Chinas to
a productive use.”50 During this time, issues related to gender and sexuality continued to
serve as a key factor in the political tensions between Taiwan and the PRC. What’s special in
the case of the 2016 presidential election is that candidates, as represented by Tsai,
considered same-sex marriage important for their campaigns. Tsai explicitly voiced her
support for queer human rights and made commitment to the legalization of same-sex
marriage. Notably, on October 16, 2015, Tsai shared a 15-second video on her social media
platform, becoming the first-ever presidential candidate to openly support marriage equality.
The video is short and employs animation, using the visual image of balance to symbolize
equality and circle to convey a sense of harmony. In the video, animated figures with gender
ambiguity and diverse bodily forms are shown as equals when placed on a balance to
highlight the idea of equality. These figures are further shown holding hands to reinforce
the theme of unity in diversity. In the in-between sequence, Tsai is prominently positioned,
49 Batto, Nathan F. “Cleavage Structure and the Demise of a Dominant Party: The Role of National Identity in
the Fall of the KMT in Taiwan.” Asian Journal of Comparative Politics, vol. 4, no. 1, July 2018, pp. 81–101.
https://doi.org/10.1177/2057891118788202. 50 Liu, Petrus. “Chapter 5 Queer Human Rights in and Against the Two Chinas.” Queer Marxism in Two
Chinas, Duke UP, 2015, p. 141.

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occupying the left half of the screen. Addressing the audience directly, she states, “I am Tsai
Ing-wen and I support marriage equality.” The message is crystal clear. Tsai took aim at
aligning herself with the cause of marriage equality and articulated her support through a
video characterized by a palpable sense of determination presented in a relatively cute style:
Supporting Tsai became synonymous with advocating for the passage of same-sex marriage
and the advancement of queer human rights in Taiwan, and beyond that—considering her
broader political stances—endorsing a Taiwan that diverges even more significantly
politically and ideologically from the PRC, with a notorious reputation on the world stage in
terms of human rights. Tsai’s unambiguous attitude attracted many young people, as both
the fight for marriage quality and the call for a distinct Taiwanese identity different from
China exhibit a discernible age-dependent pattern, with the youth expressing more
substantial support for both causes.
What followed Tsai’s electoral victory was a fierce call for substantive legal measures
and concrete actions from queer activists, as promises cannot stand alone as mere words. A
full treatment of the role of marriage equality in the 2016 presidential election and the
subsequent politics and policy orientation is beyond the scope of this project; however,
laying out the landscape is essential: it is necessary to introduce the historic moment of the
production of the film text that deals with queer subjects, a period when marriage equality
took center stage as a heated social topic. During a period of time with heightened sensitivity
to queer human rights and its concrete practice, the realms of election dynamics, political
discourse, national identity, and the trajectory of the nation’s future were closely interwoven
with discussions surrounding gender and sexual identity.

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Electoral politics in Taiwan has been orbiting around the “China factor” since its
initiation. Picking a side on issues related to gender and sexuality is not a divergence from
this singularly crucial focus; rather, it should be perceived as woven into the fabric of
Taiwan’s continued political tensions against the PRC. Sexual citizenship is thrust to the
forefront as a critical factor in both imagining and asserting a national identity. Beyond
considerations of and debates over ethnic and cultural origins, one’s ideological alignment
on queer human rights discourses is also a key element in contemplating the content and
meaning of Taiwanese identity and determining how to concretize such an identity in the
face of the challenges of real geopolitics.51 Taiwan’s problematic identity, as Mark Harrison
argues, “remains the key geopolitical formation with which the Taiwanese are resisting the
hegemony of the People’s Republic of China and their geopolitical marginalization.”52 In this
sense, both sexual citizenship and the outlook and attitude toward gender and sexuality
issues on the public discourse are infused with broader social implications that contribute to
the maintenance and reinforcement of Taiwan’s sovereignty, despite limited, and Taiwan’s
statehood, despite contested. This ongoing mutual influence reflects the ongoing evolution
and renewal of identity conceptualization and formation in the Taiwanese context.
In this chapter, I choose to focus on Small Talk, a first-person documentary centering
on the director’s butch lesbian mother, as the main object of analysis, as it exemplifies the
blending of national identity and queer identity discourses during the height of Taiwan’s
51 Uslaner, E. M. (2022). Chapter 8: Israel and Taiwan. In National Identity and Partisan Polarization. Oxford
University Press.
52 Harrison, Mark. “How to Speak About Oneself: Theory and Identity in Taiwan.” Cultural Studies and
Cultural Industries in Northeast Asia: What a Difference a Region Makes, edited by Chris Berry et al., Hong
Kong UP, 2009, pp. 51–70. ecite.utas.edu.au/56863.

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marriage equality campaign through the employment of a cross-generational and crossurban-rural-divide perspective. The primary focus is on how this family-themed, singlecharacter-focused documentary, focusing on an older generation lesbian, manages to reflect
the everydayness of queer sentiment, relations, and interactions in Taiwan—in other words,
queer identity within quotidian life experiences, rather than merely within the realms of
social activism and civil rights movements always attentive to intense campaign images.
Small Talk proves significant as it succeeds in establishing connections between the
local and the global, the individual and the community, and the older and the younger
generations. It also addresses and showcases the possibility of reconciling differences in the
topic of queer and queerness in the Taiwanese context, with its manifestations in the
harmonious combination of rural and urban conditions. Although solely focusing on the life
experience of an older-generation lesbian from a rather intimate lens, this film reflects
interconnected political and cultural contexts. It explores how such a figure, embodying a
sense of localness (her experience does not revolve around the Western-educated, urban
middle-class queer; instead, it is centered on the poorly educated rural working class, which
was claimed to represent the authentic Taiwan in the bentuhua movement), prompts
contemplation about the history of “queer” or non-heterosexual sexual relations in the very
Taiwanese context. When discussing a personal turn in activist documentary film practice,
Jihoon Kim argues that works of this nature “proclaim their political legitimacy against the
activist downplaying of personal film as ‘apolitical’ by expressing ‘personal’ elements—the
director’s reflection, her everyday reality, and her intimate others—as deeply intertwined

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with the public, political, and historical” (21-22).53 In presenting the experiences, emotions,
and thoughts of an older-generation lesbian, involving family tensions (with her daughters,
siblings, and granddaughters) and reflections on past romance, this film attests to the
evolving perspectives on issues such as marriage, women’s changing roles in family and
society, queer visibility, and how the dichotomy between the personal and the
political/historical becomes increasingly blurred. Adopting a gentler and empathetic
approach, it diverges from the confrontational activist stance prevalent in the 1990s, offering
insights into the evolving social dynamics within the developing civil society.
Small Talk is the feature debut of the self-taught, social worker-turned-documentary
director Hui-Chen Huang. Huang’s involvement in this project can be dated back to the year
1998 when she first embarked on her exploration of digital video production, trying to
capture fragments of her mother’s life. Huang’s mother A-nu, a Taoist priestess, has long
been a mystery to her. This documentation and filmmaking endeavor originated from a
simple wish to understand, address, and perhaps alleviate the family’s trauma and
misunderstandings. The project remained personal and small-scale for many years, during
which Huang created two short documentaries on different topics. The turning point came
in 2014 when, for the first time, she secured funding specifically for the realization of this
project and devoted full time to its production. Small Talk premiered at the 67th Berlinale in
February 2017 and received international attention as it won the Teddy Award for Best
Documentary Film. This achievement unfolded against the dynamic backdrop of fervent
social dialogues about same-sex legislation in Taiwan. The post-Berlinale excitement and the
53 Kim, Jihoon. Activism and Post-Activism: Korean Documentary Cinema, 1981--2022. Oxford UP, 2024.

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public release of Small Talk in Taiwan in April 2017 coincided with a series of legislative
milestones regarding marriage equality: In February 2017, the Taiwanese Constitutional
Court accepted the quest for a constitutional challenge for same-sex marriage. In March, the
Court held a constitutional hearing on the case, engaging in debates on the legalization of
same-sex marriage. In May, Judicial Yuan Interpretation No. 748 was enacted, declaring “the
illegalization of same-sex ‘unions’ as unconstitutional” as “it constitutes clear discrimination
against LGBT individuals”54 and was in need of amendments. This marked a significant
victory for pro-marriage activism.
Back to the film, the protagonist A-nu is the mother of the director, a connection that
intuitively carries a sense of intimacy and implies a narrative angle infused with closeness.
However, this presumed closeness is ambiguous. Despite living under the same roof for
decades and being very familiar with each other’s everyday routines, their mother-daughter
relationship has, over an extended period, lacked genuine communication and efforts to
truly understand each other. The film begins with a straightforward depiction of A-nu’s
morning routines: she prepares meals in the kitchen, sets them on the table, and then leaves
home. The camera captures her habitual practice of fulfilling the familial duties she believes
are hers and then changing from the confined domestic space to a sense of freedom outside.
Huang and her young daughter wake up after A-nu’s departure and eat what A-nu prepared
earlier. From Huang’s voiceover, we learn that for nearly three decades, the act of meal
preparation has been the only intersection between them. This convergence demands no
54 Huang, David Kc. “The Court and the Legalisation of Same-Sex Marriage: A Critical Analysis of the Judicial
Yuan Interpretation No. 748 [2017].” University of Pennsylvania Asian Law Review, vol. 14, no. 1, Jan. 2019, p.
4. scholarship.law.upenn.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1041&context=alr.

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verbal dialogue and lacks physical, face-to-face interaction, establishing a nuanced, and
seemingly conflicting, ambiance encompassing both intimacy and detachment. The facet of
intimacy arises from capturing the most private and unguarded moments of their everyday
life, in the domestic space. In the meanwhile, the undertone of distance emerges from the
pronounced lack of expression and the disconnection pervading their family relationship, a
sentiment interwoven with the unaltered documentation presented.
Despite an apparent lack of communication, Small Talk still manifests itself as a film
that is personal, private, and secretive. This sense of intimacy arises not only from featuring
the director’s mother but also from its visual style—filming in digital video quality,
presenting domestic space, and capturing subtle emotions. The impression deepens with
recurrent voiceovers from the director reflecting on her memories and experiences and
pondering the motives behind them and the impact of them on their family ties. This
resonates with a genuine and forthright essence, encompassing both self-exploration and the
exploration of familial dynamics. The film specifically delves into a complex family situation
centered on A-nu, a butch lesbian born in rural 1950s Taiwan. Pressured by both family and
society, A-nu entered into a heterosexual marriage. Even worse, her husband was not only
abusive but also addicted to gambling. After a decade of a troubled marriage, she fled from
home with her two daughters, a decision made not because of her sexual orientation but
because she could no longer endure domestic violence and her husband’s irresponsibility.
A-nu’s sexual identity, situated within a changing social backdrop, carries various
meanings, including the implications of being an older-generation lesbian who has spent
her entire life in a rural region. However, in the film, her identity is somewhat de-politicized
in its presentation, framed through her everyday activities and interactions. The camera

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primarily brings the everyday aspect of her identity into focus. Not only in the film but also
throughout her life, A-nu avoids openly admitting her homosexuality. She has minimal
inclination to align herself with such a meaning-loaded label, let alone subject it to any
politicization. However, in contrast to the absence of verbal acknowledgment, actions speak
volumes. The director remembers vividly during her upbringing moments when A-nu’s
then-partner shouldered caregiving responsibilities for her and her sister. In the sequences
showing A-nu’s daily socializing with friends, we can see that her sexual orientation is not a
secret. Her friends have long been aware of it and treat it with a relatively lighthearted
attitude. However, A-nu’s narrative does not involve straightforward admission or direct
commentary on this matter. Actions and experiences occupy a more important position in
her life compared to proclamations of different forms.
This film can be understood as Huang’s endeavor to grasp how A-nu perceives her
identity, despite her habitual reticence. Huang has adopted a variety of approaches to achieve
such a goal, including direct engagement with A-nu, with the goal of uncovering her past
experiences and inner thoughts. To achieve this goal, the film also incorporates perspectives
from individuals of different generations connected to A-nu in different ways. On one end,
the scope extends to encompass A-nu's family of origin, mainly her siblings, to glean their
perspectives, including their thoughts on her gender-non-conforming dressing and lifestyle.
On the other end, Huang delves into the insights of the younger generation, A-nu’s
granddaughters, who are Huang’s nieces, emphasizing their views regarding their
grandmother’s gender non-conformity, as well as on the issues of homosexuality and samesex marriage. Particularly noteworthy are the interviews, more aptly described as
conversations, with several of A-nu’s ex-partners. Throughout these inquiries, Huang's own

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voice, her questions, and reflective elements intertwine, underscoring her dynamic and
deeply vested role in this exploration and presentation.
Simply put, A-nu views her sexual orientation as an intrinsic inclination and
considers in-depth self-introspection, family and social acknowledgment, and political and
legal achievements somewhat less important. In the interviews, the camera is positioned
beside the dining table in their home space, with its focus filming A-nu from a frontal
perspective at chest level, conveying a sense of genuineness. This sequence is divided into
two parts based on content differences: the first part centers on the motives behind A-nu’s
prolonged concealment of her homosexuality, and the second part delves into the details of
her romantic history. The camera position remains mostly constant for the former content.
However, for the latter content, sometimes intercut with interviews of A-nu’s former
partners, the camera occasionally zooms in to concentrate on her facial expressions, adding a
further sense of closeness and intimacy. When asked about her homosexuality, A-nu appears
rather reserved. However, when questioned about romance history, A-nu displays a
demeanor that is relatively at ease and even lighthearted, in contrast to other moments of
“small talk.” The moment that blends these two together is marked with a change of attitude
from indifference to a kind of amusement. A-nu says that “knowing this (her homosexuality)
is not good.” Huang counters, stating, “You have brought them home before. Does it make
any difference whether you admit it or not?” A-nu’s unplanned laughter manifests a sense of
lightheartedness, a response that suggests a laid-back ease when reflecting upon past events.
After this specific exchange of words, A-nu becomes more relaxed, tending to respond with
more pronounced laughter to Huang's queries, particularly those of an intimate or even
gossipy nature, such as “How many girlfriends have you had?” and “It seems that very few

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rejected your advances.” A-nu tries to maneuver the task of revealing her romantic history
and confessing her true feelings to her daughter, displaying a combination of unease and
excitement. This unease stems from the inherent privacy associated with such matters, while
the excitement originates from the sweetness of romantic encounters. Beneath this
conflicted yet warm-hearted dialogue, there exists an evident delight in recounting fond and
blush-tinted reminiscences.
A-nu’s discomposure, triggered by the questioning and probing of her sexual identity,
is gradually replaced by an uplifted mood while continuously sharing her personal history.
Through this strategic exploration into her past, which has long been kept unspoken within
the family, a sense of gratification emerges on the screen. This gratification can be
understood in two different ways. First, this filmed conversation allows A-nu to revisit
moments with emotional resonance in her life. In this remembrance and revisit, she
discovers solace and finally fulfills her long-held desire to confess. Second, for the director,
Huang, it’s not only about seeing her mother’s story as individual personal experiences; she
also endeavors to contextualize them within the changing social environment. Despite her
full acceptance and support for queer visibility and equality in general and her mother’s
homosexuality in particular, she grapples with breaking the conversation barrier around this
unspoken, tacit information at home. For Huang, the innermost emotions of her mother
have long been a mystery, a source of enduring perplexity and distress. However, in this
conversation, the enigma begins to unravel itself. This shift touches upon a crucial aspect of
cross-generational conversations in the home surrounding queerness or other presumably
sensitive topics. It reflects a situation where an unspoken agreement exists, acknowledging
the existence and occurrences but avoiding direct confrontation due to awkwardness and

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concern over potential conflicts. Rooted in Confucian culture and persisting in many
families within the Sinophone culture zone, familial duty prioritizes caretaking over
emotional exchange and sharing. Despite the older generation showcasing a non-traditional
lifestyle and the younger generation aligning ideologically, they maintained a silent
communication barrier for decades. It is only when the camera intrudes, disrupting the
domestic space, that the taboo of openly discussing it gradually dissipates. The at-home, atthe-dining-table interview with A-nu not only captures the interplay between silence and
willingness to share that shows A-nu’s true self but on a broader scale reflects the potential
in dialogic exchanges. In these exchanges, anxieties and concerns are visibly alleviated, and
identity, along with its implications, is unveiled through the undisguised revelation of
emotions.
Another avenue through which A-nu’s sexual identity is explored involves interviews
with her siblings. In the sequence where the three generations – A-nu, Huang, and Huang's
daughter – return to A-nu’s old home together, Huang actively engages in conversations
with A-nu’s siblings in the presence of the camera. This generation, one ahead of Huang,
has lived their entire lives in a relatively traditional rural setting. Their attitude toward
homosexuality and queerness is particularly intriguing, considering that they embody the
dual sense of the elder and the rural, both presumed to be rather traditional and
conservative. Huang seizes the chance to delve into A-nu’s past, exploring aspects such as Anu’s relationship with her parents, how she became involved with her violent and abusive
husband, and ultimately inquiring about their knowledge about A-nu’s romance with
women. The camera captures the reactions and facial expressions of A-nu’s older sister and
two brothers, in three different scenes, framed within conventional interview setups where

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they face the camera and speak directly to the audience. They respond with a shared attitude
of denial regarding knowledge of A-nu’s sexuality. However, all is communicated through a
composed demeanor, presumed to be unusual if it is their first time knowing. Moreover, to
conceal or escape the unease arising from talking about this topic, they endeavor to engage
in vacuous dialogues, murmuring about random issues.
One of A-nu’s brothers sidetracks the conversation by turning his eyes away, noticing
the temple festival is about to start, while A-nu’s sister steers the discussion away from the
subject of A-nu’s sexuality by saying, “I need to do laundry now,” proposing to move indoors
to evade the heat of the sun. As Huang persists in her inquiry about whether anyone in the
family knows about A-nu’s sexuality, her sister quickly states: “Nobody knows.” The other
brother remains calm and composed, simply saying, “I have no idea.” When Huang
continues asking why he seems unsurprised, he says, still calmly, "What is there to be
surprised about?" Huang insists, “Or probably you knew this already?” The same phrase is
repeated: “I have no idea.” The camera stays on A-my in a medium front shot, solely
featuring him. As the camera lingers, he begins to touch his ear and engages in discreet
gestures upon the table. With gradual subtlety, the camera edges closer, capturing the slight
shifts of his gaze. It is evident that Huang aims to unveil his real emotions by filming for an
extended period, which may allow him to drop his guarded demeanor and reveal genuine
reactions. The camera later changes to focus on A-nu, who sits on a stool in front of a house
adjacent to the road. The sequence is remarkably quiet; however, the turmoil and tension
permeate the screen.
It is worth discussing why they deny so unequivocally, yet with a calm demeanor.
This prompts curiosity about whether this stance is indeed a disguise. They may already be

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aware of A-nu’s sexuality but tacitly agree to keep silent and avoid admitting or discussing it.
The reasons behind this approach are varied. Considering the fact that they belong to an
older generation living in a rural area, there may be potential social unacceptability within
their circles of life. They might view A-nu’s non-conformity as a source of shame to the
family or as something that cannot be openly exposed to people outside the family. Their
disinterest in discussing this, along with societal attitudes toward queerness, also has to do
with their family values, which maintain the belief that one’s sexual life is less about
personal happiness and desire but rather is woven into social relationships. In other words,
marriage is seen not for love but for continuing the family lineage. This finds support in the
discussion about marriage included in the film, centering on the traditional belief of
ancestral reverence. From this perspective, women have to get married, because unmarried
women will not be assigned a role in any family altar, with no offspring to venerate them
after they die. As no one in the world of the living continues to offer ancestral homage to
them, they face the risk of becoming wandering spirits or lost souls in the world of the dead.
Entrenched in conventional perceptions about family and marriage, A-nu’s sexuality is
suppressed due to the “necessity of forming a family with a man.” This is primarily
attributed to the perceived function and meaning of heterosexual marriage in how family
and society are envisioned to be constructed and orchestrated, having little to do with
emotional affection and romantic attachment.
However, amid unequivocal denials, we can see a clear sense of avoidance in the
attitudes and gestures of these family elders. Although they feign ignorance of A-nu’s
sexuality and attempt to stay composed when questioned, as the camera stays longer, an
underlying unease is discerned, which can only be derailed through an intentional shift to

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other topics, including peculiar ones like the local festival or routine ones like daily chores.
This highlights a discordance between belief and action. Despite having some exposure to
and awareness of queerness, they sidestep contemplation of it. Denial facilitates not only
their mental processing but also their everyday life, as delving into thoughts and engaging in
discussions about queerness would only complicate their lives. In their environment where
marriage is viewed as functional rather than romantically or politically significant, avoidance
seems to be the instinctual and practical response to such inquiries. Purposeful detachment
and deliberate avoidance serve as coping mechanisms to dispel anxiety about uncertainty or
topics deemed relatively controversial.
To gain a perspective from Huang’s nephews, A-nu’s granddaughters, a comparative
lens is employed. Huang utilizes two interview sequences filmed in different time periods,
creating a contrast between childhood naivety and teenager perspectives on gender and
sexuality issues. The first interview was conducted during their childhood, while the second
took place in recent years leading up to the film’s completion and release, capturing their
teenage years. In the first sequence, Huang asked them about A-nu's gender identity and
whether they perceived their grandmother as a man or a woman. They innocently stated that
A-nu was a man as she never wore dresses. This seemingly simple reply, when scrutinized
through a broader discourse, indeed reveals the pervasive gender stereotyping in Chinese
society, leading children to internalize these norms at an early age. While they might not yet
grasp the implications of gender differences, they did already develop a socially constructed
understanding of gender, influenced by observed distinctions or instructions from their
surroundings.

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They believed that the difference between a man and a woman lay in the presence or
absence of a dress. While this thought seemed firm for these children, it actually suggests a
degree of flexibility in approaching gender identity – although channeled through childhood
innocence and naivety. It implies that individual actions and conduct, subject to daily
changes, can emerge to be the determinant of classification. The children recognized a
distinction, yet intriguingly, it appeared remarkably fluid. This echoes Butler’s proposition
that gender is not an ontological “given.”55 Putting on or taking off a dress does not represent
a fundamental difference but reflects a behavior aligning with one’s self-presentation
preference. While it might be a stretch to call their response a “performative utterance” as
such a childish answer does not qualify as interpellation, it can still function as evidence
supporting the argument that gender is not essential but comes into being through
repetitive gender acts/practices (as in this case, A-nu's rejection of wearing a dress) that give
the illusion of gender's stability. This draws attention to the idea that “the gendered and
sexualized constitution of bodies is…an ongoing process.”56 Intriguingly, here, the power
dynamics between the subject and the interpolators are, to some extent, disrupted. A-nu’s
repeated practices shape the perceptions of the innocent, and their iterations continue to
sustain her gender-related performance over time. Moreover, in this case, specifically,
children’s intuitive and seemingly innocent answers pose an irony to the prevailing modes
of assigning genders. This allows us to glimpse into alternative possibilities for
understanding gender and ways of life by looking at and reflecting upon the early moments
of how our gender-related perceptions are formed.
55 Butler, Judith. “Gender Trouble.” Routledge eBooks, 2002, https://doi.org/10.4324/9780203902752. 56

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As they grow older, childish answers become a past that is not even retained in their
memories. A sense of amusement arises as they watch the old footage filled with childhood
innocence. When asked about their attitudes toward A-nu’s gender non-conformity and
homosexuality, a topical issue in the then Taiwanese society, these two teenagers, like many
of their generation, express that homosexuality is an identity that can and should be openly
acknowledged and discussed. They do not perceive it with negativity and avoidance, as
observed in the older generation, but with a sense of positivity and confrontation. The
interview is filmed as they playfully sit on the carpets in A-nu and Huang’s home and
engage in a casual family talk. This time, the posed questions become more timely,
concerning their views on queerness and queer rights, specifically inquiring whether they
support the then topical social issue of marriage equality. By juxtaposing these two
sequences, filmed in different time periods yet featuring the same figures, Huang presents a
developmental shift in the understanding of gender and sexuality in the younger generation
growing up in the post-martial law and even post-gender-education-enforcement era, from a
more instinctive, emotion-driven understanding to one that is steeped in education, social
discussions, and legal debates. These interviews serve as a contrast to those of family elders.
However, all of them, whether tacitly or directly, seem to acknowledge A-nu’s gendernonconformity. The difference lies in their approaches to discussing it. The elders tend to
choose avoidance, while the younger generation can engage in casual and playful
conversations. What adds an intriguing dimension is that A-nu’s sexuality is perceived
differently within these dynamics; she is accepted, and her behaviors are normalized in
diverse ways. This not only speaks to A-nu’s experience but also resonates with the broader
Taiwanese queer community. Legalizing same-sex marriage does not reflect society-wise

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public support, given that it is a legal decision and not a referendum result.57 Presenting
diverse attitudes of different generations within A-nu’s family toward her gendernonconformity and non-heterosexual relations prompts a closer examination of the concerns
and rationales embedded in these varied perspectives underlining the complexity of the
cultural connotations surrounding such issues, which do not neatly align to yes or no,
support or oppose.
Huang also conducts interviews with three of A-nu’s former girlfriends, primarily
contributing to the exploration and understanding of homosexuality as a lived experience
interwoven into specific junctures of their lives, rather than simply being a rigidly delineated
and articulated identity category. The three women who agreed to be interviewed express
divergent attitudes and emotions as they reflect upon their past romance with A-nu. Two
appear composed, recounting nostalgically and seemingly cherishing those moments. In
contrast, the one whose entanglement with A-nu is more complex (due to their shared
occupation, as well as her role in caring for Huang and her sibling during their youth)
appears more agitated. As the dialogue continues, we can observe her disappointment,
disillusion, and eventually her displeasure and anger. It is revealed that A-nu’s gambling
habit led to the depletion of the financial resources they had prepared to purchase a house
and build a life together.
The theme of identity is not all that is at stake: None of them expands on the impact
on their relationship of being same-sex; none identifies as homosexual; in fact, they also
57 Huang, David Kc. “The Court and the Legalisation of Same-Sex Marriage: A Critical Analysis of the Judicial
Yuan Interpretation No. 748 [2017].” University of Pennsylvania Asian Law Review, vol. 14, no. 1, Jan. 2019, p.
4. scholarship.law.upenn.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1041&context=alr.

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make passing references to their previous heterosexual relationships and marriages. Their
narratives are centered more around action and emotion. This emphasis on lived
experiences dissolves the boundaries between asserting identity and living everyday life,
accentuating that experience-focused personal oral histories can be powerful in claiming a
certain level of visibility and rights. The political urgency and implications of social justice,
prominently imbued in the process of making the film, inherently derive from the
mundane, from the everyday aspects of life. Damon Young explores the potential of personal
confession as a form of political cinema. Here, while what is presented is not so much a
confession about identity, we can reasonably assert that their sharing of past romances is
politically charged. The act of speech and iteration functions as an implicit form of activism,
as they articulate an existence and experience suffered from social practices of oppression
and exclusion.
They navigate their lives in their own ways, not conforming to the mainstream but
also not openly challenging the structures of power. Michel de Certeau’s conceptual
framework, centered on everyday practices as a response to overarching social dominance,58
resonates with their coping mechanisms within such a context. It serves as a response to the
comprehensive and pervasive system of disciplinary mechanisms in modern society, as
proposed by Michel Foucault.59 Focusing on the unstructured aspects of culture and the
experiences of the “anonymous” masses on the periphery, in contrast to Henri Lefebvre’s
more ambitious concept of the “total man,”60 De Certeau suggests that beneath the facade of
58 De Certeau, Michel. The Practice of Everyday Life. Univ of California Press, 2011.
59 Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Vintage, 2012.
60 Lefebvre, Henri. Le Matérialisme Dialectique. FeniXX, 1989.

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all-encompassing discipline, individuals still maintain agency and freedom, through
tactics—methods capable of undermining established rules.61 When contemplating the
creation and examination in our daily lives, individual practices and the paths they carve
resist reduction and simplification into numerical values and elude confinement within
predictable, standardized categories. These trajectories may be regarded as strategic
maneuvers unique to each individual.
Small Talk’s protagonist A-nu, who has lived most of her life in a social environment
with limited queer visibility, queer rights, and a lack of legal recognition and protection,
navigates her daily life with tactics. It is worth mentioning that voices surrounding gender
and sexuality issues in Taiwan in the 1990s were mostly centered on literary and intellectual
circles; moving into the 2000s, creative works and social initiatives began to touch upon this
domain, coinciding with increasing educational reforms that shaped the perspectives of the
younger generation. However, it is challenging to assert that A-nu and the people in her
everyday life circle had a close relation with any of these changes.62 Before involving the
entire society in open dialogues and debates over queer issues, specifically the same-sex
marriage campaign, individuals navigate the trajectory set by authorities and systems of
power differently, carving pathways with varying everyday engagements. This gives rise to an
embodiment of agency characterized by a spontaneous, strategic nature.
In the film, when Huang asks A-nu about her love life, there is no mention of social
inequality and structural oppression, despite her experience being intertwined with
61 De Certeau, Michel. The Practice of Everyday Life. Univ of California Press, 2011.
62 Chen, Li-Fen. “Queering Taiwan: In Search of Nationalism’s Other.” Modern China, vol. 37, no. 4, pp. 384–
421. https://doi.org/10.1177/0097700411409328.

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intersectional injustice of gender, sexuality, and economic class. Without addressing the
broader social environment and its impact, A-nu’s responses center on the fondness she and
her ex-girlfriends shared and the nostalgic, romantic moments of the time they spent
together. This focus remains purely personal and affectionate, sidestepping the topical social
and legal conversations on queer issues. A-nu’s responses present her as someone who
manages to live most of her life in a queer way, embodying de Certeau’s concept of tactics.
In this context, individuals, situated outside positions of power within the system, capitalize
on available opportunities and resources.63 Armed with spontaneity and adaptability,
individuals strive to attain concrete and relatively immediate objectives, enhancing a sense of
agency while facing the confinement imposed by systematic constraints and operations. This
approach reflects a form of resistance not strictly from an activist point of view but rather as
a means of wielding autonomy within hardly escapable restriction, a reality that applies to a
broader public than posing a challenge to dominant power. Central to this narrative is the
marginalized people’s efforts in expressing and fulfilling their desires and identities within
implicit and explicit constraints, charting a course of life without being a fierce force
confronting the dominance and structure of power.
A-nu’s professional identity as a Taoist priestess adds a nuanced layer to her overall
persona. She founded a “qianwang” term, a term directly translating to “tethering to the
deceased,” which is a Taoist ritual performed to guide the dead toward the envisioned
“Western Pure Land,” a place associated with posthumous happiness. Engaging in
“qianwang” as a means of earning a living, A-nu and her team took on commissions from
63 De Certeau, Michel. The Practice of Everyday Life. Univ of California Press, 2011.

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families in rural towns. She used to travel frequently to perform this spiritual and religious
ritual, believed to foster communication with the dead and bring solace to their souls. Such a
profession has a long history that is meaningful to the community embracing it and
believing in its necessity. The “qianwang” ritual is perceived by many as a crucial channel to
offer blessings for the dead. However, paradoxically, this practice is gradually regarded as
mere superstition, relegated to outdated, non-scientific beliefs, and consequently deemed
regressive. A conflicted attitude exists, as with most other similar traditional practices.
Concerns about abandonment coexist with a struggle against being perceived as
superstitious. In summary, the “qianwang” ritual holds significant value for a specific group,
primarily those in rural areas, as an indispensable part of posthumous services.
Against the backdrop of scientific progress, a certain spirituality and superstition
persist within the structure of modern society. However, rather than standing in opposition
to progress and development, they exist more as complements than contradictions. They
represent a potentiality to embrace what cannot be verified empirically, a stance that eludes
definitive validation or refutation in concrete terms. When A-nu’s professional identity,
deeply rooted in tradition and ritual implicated with the confines of Confucianism and the
feudal ethical codes, intersects with her sexual identity—more often interwoven with liberal
discourse and progressive ideals—the grip of political discourse surrounding queer rights
appears to loosen its hold over the narrative. This intersection opens us to a coexistence that
is rarely envisioned in the social debate. Her self-coherence materializes through a
disinterest in and an indifference to—spontaneously rather than deliberately—politicizing
her identity. She keeps herself within her innate emotions and sentiment-driven actions,
avoiding rationalization and contemplation of conflicts therein. These seemingly incoherent

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acts, encompassing both practices to sustain her income and pursuits of personal wills,
coincide with the idea that her contentment derives from the immediate, the practical, and
the tangible, as opposed to political advocacy. Some considerations to keep in mind
when understanding A-nu’s thoughts about her sexual identity are her upbringing and
surroundings. The interplay of the neighborhood, personal and professional communities,
and individual socio-economic standing contributes to her sensitivity toward social
discourse, even if it is closely personal. This not only influences how she narrates her stories
but also enhances our comprehension of how she makes sense of those stories—to view
them just as experiences as valuable sources for political campaigns or as something
positioned somewhat in between.
A-nu’s experience resonates with individuals for whom gender and sexual identities
are not harnessed for advocacy, not utilized for political purposes, but the fact of it
remaining mostly in the personal domain still holds political significance. Living in
alignment with non-mainstream personal desires becomes a source of inspiration and
satisfaction. Despite the first-person perspective with which Huang documents the life of
her mother, the topic discussed in the film touches on concerns beyond those of just a
singular individual. In The Cinema of Me: The Self and Subjectivity in First Person Cinema,
Alisa Lebow perceptively points out a key characteristic of first-person documentary
filmmaking—the intertwinement of the “I” within the “we,” if not reciprocally so.64
Referencing to Jean Luc Nancy’s conception of “being singular plural,”65 Lebow writes,
64 Lebow, Alisa. The Cinema of Me: The Self and Subjectivity in First Person Documentary. Columbia UP,
2012.
65 Nancy, Jean-Luc. Being Singular Plural, trans. Robert D. Richardson and Anne E. O’Byrne, Stanford UP,
2000.

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“wherein the individual ‘I’ does not exist alone, but always ‘with’ another, which is to say
being one is never singular but always implies and indeed embodies another. That means
the ‘I’ is always social, always already in relation, and when it speaks, as these filmmakers
do, in the first person, it may appear to be in the first-person singular ‘I’ but ontologically
speaking, it is always in effect the first person plural ‘we’” (3).66 Lebow emphasizes a sense of
“commonality…plurality…(and) interrelatedness with a group, a mass, a sociality” expressed
in first person films.67 The interconnection between the “I” and “we” echoes with Huang’s
vision in making a film about not only her mother, not merely an individual undertaking,
but a collective pursuit emerging from an aspiration for broader visibility.
The extension from “I” to “we” can be understood from two vantage points in this
context. The first pertains to the relationship between the creator and the subject, centering
on A-nu’s experience and identity. The second is concerned with audience reception,
examining how such a documentary holds the potential to exert a profound impact on
society at large. Through Huang’s exploration and narrative portrayal of A-nu’s life, she
embarks on a quest to authentically comprehend her mother, whom she sees as “the
stranger living under the same roof.” Moreover, Huang attempts to fathom whether her
mother loves her, as she is a product of an exceedingly unhappy marriage. Evidently, in her
persistent inquiry into longstanding questions, Huang strives for answers often considered
to belong in the private sphere. However, these questions remain unanswered when sought
66 Lebow, Alisa. The Cinema of Me: The Self and Subjectivity in First Person Documentary. Columbia UP,
2012.
67 Ibid.

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privately, necessitating the act of filmmaking and subsequent audience engagement to
facilitate their revelation.
By utilizing the medium of the camera and engaging the public sphere, Huang draws
forth from A-nu sentiments and insights that might otherwise remain obscure or concealed.
This process serves to extract not only what lies beneath the quotidian ordinariness but also
the deeper meaning behind human expressions and emotions, illuminating hidden
dimensions that can only be accessed by shifting the private into the public realm. This is in
part due to the reservedness of A-nu and the embedded cultural aspects. Consequently,
through filmmaking, Huang manages to eventually glimpse into her mother's innermost
emotions which offers Huang a window into the depths of the private sphere in her home of
origin.
To broaden the perspective involving the creator and the subject, it is essential to
recognize the particularity of Huang’s journey in documentary filmmaking. This journey
coincided with an educational and sociopolitical equity movement that unfolded during the
late 1990s. During this transformative era, university professors in Taiwan initiated evening
classes that were accessible to the public, fostering knowledge dissemination and a sense of
inclusivity. Within this context, Huang, whose formal education concluded only at the
primary school level, encountered a life-changing opportunity. She embraced the chance to
venture into diverse fields of study, eventually finding herself immersed in documentary
filmmaking. Through the lens of the camera, Huang aims to observe and engage with the
intricate layers of societal dynamics that have long held her attention. In her quest to delve
into A-nu’s innermost emotions, Huang aims not only to uncover her mother’s life
trajectory, which appears like a mystery to her due to its rarity in being spoken and shared

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but also because of its nonconventional existence in a conventional community. She also
endeavors to provide a glimpse into the experiences of a broader community from a specific
generation. This objective aligns with the “before sexuality thesis” claim—which sees samesex desire as a continuum encompassing acts, experiences, identities, and pleasures
spanning the entirety of the human spectrum. This historical and socio-cultural context is
essential for understanding Michel Foucault’s argument on the dual histories of the
constructed nature of homosexuality. He emphasizes that sexuality is not an inherent,
unchanging trait, as evidenced by its absence in the Eastern understanding.68 However,
within this context, Huang’s presentation of a seemingly anachronistic case not only sheds
light on the past but also offers an alternative lens through which to view the present marked
by the same-sex marriage campaign and imagine the future with a particular focus on how
to envision sexual citizenship in a contested state. This presentation of an older rural
generation butch lesbian grandmother holds particular significance in an era marked by
fervent advocacy for gay marriage, channeled through the politicization of queer identity and
the interconnectedness of queer rights with human rights and liberal-democratic values.
The socio-cultural context lays the groundwork for Small Talk, infusing it with a
communal essence. While it begins as an exploration of the life of one specific person—
moreover, a close relative of the director—the documentary transcends these confines,
operating as a reflective mirror that illuminates the wider social environment and conditions
that have facilitated A-nu’s dynamic life. It shines a spotlight on the trajectory of Huang,
who, having left school at the primary level, has been transformed through adult education
68 Foucault, Michel. The History of Sexuality: An Introduction. Vintage, 2012.

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into a documentary filmmaker and social worker. Dedicated to creating documentary works
focusing on communal issues and fostering a sense of community, she has always been
committed to fortifying its foundations. Through A-nu, Huang engages in both casual talks
and interviews with individuals from the neighborhood who gather almost every day for
leisurely card games. Their narratives not only help piece together A-nu’s social life but also
reveal the societal circumstances of the local community to which A-nu belongs. Their
leisure appears precious in light of the hardships they have endured, as recounted through
stories of domestic abuse and the struggle to make ends meet.
Through her exploration of the rarely known lives of A-nu and her circle of friends—
individuals often perceived as less enmeshed in complexity due to their limited involvement
in political discourse—Huang uncovers the profound significance of seemingly
commonplace conversations, the subtleties embedded within seemingly trivial actions, and
the concealed undercurrents that accompany living life on one's own terms. These
revelations underscore dimensions that intertwine with the broader fabric of political
discourse, unveiling the intricate threads of existence as they weave into one's personal
narrative. In this manner, the film transcends the realm of the singular “I” and brings to the
forefront the collective “we.”
Small Talk not only showcases the private feelings and thoughts of an elderly lesbian
who endured a tumultuous, loveless heterosexual marriage and later embraced her own
pleasures, but it also illuminates an entire generation trapped by conventional mindsets yet
determined to carve out their unique paths. Regardless of whether this journey entails
further advocacy or intention, the film reflects a generation that navigates life in its distinct
way, which adds a further layer to what constitutes queer identity in the Taiwanese context.

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In this particular case, the spotlight is not cast on an identity crafted for political
purposes; instead, it is on the everydayness of existence, distilled in the minutiae of every
action and interaction. These actions may not possess fixed definitions or names at the
moment of their occurrence. The identity being shaped here is not about definition but
rather about doing—its form emerges through actions rather than rigid definitions. Amidst
debates surrounding both sexual and national identity, particularly within the context of
rural areas being appropriated by urban elites to reassert uniqueness in Taiwan, the
authentic rural experience persists. Despite the struggle to make ends meet and the
intersectional systematic oppressions, the rural population practices their own tactics. These
tactics, in their implicitness, contribute to a richer fabric of identity—one that is empirical,
experiential, flexible, resilient, and essential in understanding identity formation in Taiwan.

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CHAPTER FOUR
Navigating Commercial Realms:
Interweaving Taiwan’s Identity with Queer and Mortality
With growing visibility and advancements of the rights of queer people from the
2010s onwards, the landscape of Taiwanese queer cinema has been shifting toward greater
mainstreamization and commercialization, reaching beyond niche audiences to target the
general public. In particular, an intriguing trend has emerged—the combination of genre
film with queer narratives, incorporating local cultural elements. Since 2018, the year when
the discussion of same-sex marriage in Taiwan was in full swing, Dear Ex, a comedy-drama
centering on the conflict between a dead gay man’s heterosexual wife and his boyfriend,
entered the film market, and surprisingly or unsurprisingly, topped Taiwan’s box office
upon its initial theatrical release. Two years later, Your Name Engraved Herein, a romantic
drama featuring a nostalgic high school gay romance, became another hit. Style-wise
mainstream and influence-wise able to reach beyond the queer community, an increasing
number of public-facing, queer-themed films are being produced more frequently and
regularly in Taiwan. This chapter analyzes the 2023 commercial blockbuster Marry My Dead
Body, directed by Cheng Wei-hao, primarily because of the genre mixing in it and because it
exemplifies the trend in mainstream queer films in Taiwan in recent years. In this film, a
diverse array of elements, typically not put together, such as queerness, supernatural
elements (ghosts and superpowers), comedy, and crime investigation, converge to create a
unique story world. The success of this film, both in festival circuits69 and as the seventh
69 Marry My Dead Body won best screenplay at the Taipei Film Awards and was selected as the closing film of
the 2022 Golden Horse International Festival. It also had a successful run internationally. The accolades it has

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highest-grossing local film in Taiwan’s box office history, stands as a testament to the
burgeoning of Taiwanese queer cinema at this moment in time. Here, innovative narratives
that transcend conventional boundaries are embraced, advocating for a more vibrant and
expansive queer-bound imagination.
The elements included in Marry My Dead Body are quite varied. The connection
between the two protagonists—straight policeman Wu Ming-han (played by Hsu Kuang
Han) and gay ghost Mao Mao Pang-yu (played by Austin Lin), who not long ago died in a
mysterious car accident—is built through the traditional Chinese custom of ghost marriage.
Wu randomly picks up a red envelope on the road, placed deliberately by Mao Mao’s
grandmother for the purpose of picking a ghost marriage partner for her grandson.
Although their destinies intertwine initially due to the tradition of ghost marriage, the story
unfolds without the usual negative associations attached as being a “culturally backward”
superstition. This is mainly because this tradition merely serves as a starting point, a trigger,
setting the framework rather than being the focus of the story. This chapter explores how a
ghostly motif is integrated into the realm of queer narrative. Departing from the more
commonly seen association of queer/queerness and the death drive, despite featuring the
dead, Marry My Dead Body explores death as, interestingly, a symbol of hope and a catalyst
for transformative societal dynamics.
Instead of emphatically probing into a single individual’s afterlife or our society’s
future existence, the story focuses on the impact that ghostly presences and the connections
received include three audience awards at the New York Asian Film Festival, Asian Pop-up Cinema, and
Neuchatel International Fantastic Film Festival. It was submitted by Taiwan for the 2024 Oscars Best
International Feature.

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and interactions between the living and the dead exert upon our immediate reality. Within
the story world, queerness and mortality converge in a distinctive manner, wherein death
ceases to be regarded as a negative terminus or an austere conclusion to human existence.
Rather, it assumes an alternative complexion—a chapter replete with warmth, bearing the
potential to salvage the very essence of human reality. Mao Mao’s spectral presence is
perceived as the primary or even the only harbinger of redemption in the story world. The
presence of comedy and the crime-thriller genre disrupts the conventional framework in
which queerness is often tethered to the symbol of mortality tinged with a sense of
solemnity. Instead, it pioneers an unconventional trajectory, casting non-normativity and
death drive as agents of auspicious transformation, or even, justice.
Lee Edelman’s seminal work, No Future, delves deeply into the connection between
queerness and the concept of death, centering on the pivotal role of fertility and reproduction
in this discourse.70 Within this framework, the absence progeny in the queer narrative seems
to be entangled with an inevitable endpoint, which doesn’t solely pertain to the cessation of a
singular family lineage but also to the concept of progressive advancement of the human
race. Edelman elucidates how the historical symbolism of the Child, positioned as both the
epitome of innocence and the harbinger of a human future, magnifies the absence of
reproductive productivity. This absence, emblematic of queer love, is poignantly situated at
the very core of its inextricable connection with themes of negation, despondency, and
mortality. This exploration articulates the intersection between queerness, the notion of
reproductive futurism, and the undercurrents of mortality and hopelessness.
70 Edelman, Lee. No Future: Queer Theory and the Death Drive. Duke UP, 2004.

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In Marry My Dead Body, there is an intriguing departure from such common
associations, as negative connotations of the concept of death are replaced by hope and
positivity. Mao Mao, who simultaneously embodies queerness and mortality, is, surprisingly,
our best hope for justice. The focus lies not on him being innocent or with progressive ideas
but rather on how he can assist in reaching justice in the immediate moment. Instead of
fixating on a future-oriented perspective, his postmortem experience engages mainly with
the prevailing reality. The notion of reproductive futurism in relation to queerness and death
tends to direct our gaze toward the question of a future made possible only with the
involvement of the forthcoming generations. However, this film, which directly deals with
queer death, redirects our attention to its significance in the immediate material reality. The
human race tends to entrust the future to the figure of the Child; however, most problems
lie in the present, the tumult of it, and often remain unaddressed or even deliberately
neglected.
The connection between the living and the dead, the straight and the gay, shifts the
focus of this queer-themed story from a future-oriented perspective to a present-oriented
one. Different types of human relationships, ranging across familial, romantic, and collegial
spheres, are presented in the film. It is worth mentioning that the “collegial” relationships
include camaraderie among not only law enforcement but also gangsters. An intriguing
premise that permeates the film is the prevalence of notions usually associated with
negativity, such as skepticism, cynicism, and risks caused by secrecy, betrayal, and crime in
almost every relationship between living persons. Only Mao Mao, a deceased queer
returning to the living world as a lively, cheerful ghost, appears to be capable of imbuing
such a fractured and problematic world with energy and hope for the restoration and

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rebuilding of genuine human connection and the envisioning of a more prosperous and just
future. Here, the sole hope of humanity and a just society lies in the queer ghost.
There exists a parallel irony between the romantic relationship between Mao Mao and
Chen Chia-Hao, his partner while he was still alive, and straight policeman Wu’s crush on
his fellow policewoman Lin Tzu-ching, albeit through distinct trajectories. The gradually
unfolding harsh truths—Chen’s long-held betrayal and Lin’s real identity as an undercover
agent obsessed solely with revenge—both expose the insincerity and fragility of human
relationships in the living world, regardless of sexual orientation. However, in the
connection between Mao Mao and Wu, forged through superstitions and, more specifically,
ghost marriage, the audience is finally invited to glimpse hope, warmth, and care. The
dynamics between them subvert narrative anticipations typically associated with romance,
whether heterosexual or homosexual, due to the hodge-podge of elements. Beginning with
the superstitious tradition of ghost marriage serving the functional purpose of appeasing the
unjustly deceased, the narrative traverses a nuanced trajectory of sexual attraction, not so
much rooted in romantic involvement but laden with necessity, urgency, and responsibility.
The culmination of their connection and interaction lies in the pursuit of justice and truth
with not only personal but also societal significance.
The tradition of ghost marriage in the Sinophone region has drawn a certain degree
of attention and engendered substantial scholarly scrutiny, especially in the fields of
anthropology and sociology. Generally tied to Confucian thoughts on family and filial piety,
its practice varies across historical periods and regions—mainland China, Taiwan, Hong
Kong, Singapore, and others. In Taiwan, ghost marriage has historically been predominantly
initiated by a woman, and she will only be wedded to a living man. The reason for this is that

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although men, since birth, have been entitled to a place on the altar, only women may face
the dilemma of finding no place on the altar. According to traditional Chinese belief, “a girl
belongs only temporarily to her natal family…she has no legitimate place on the (family)
altar and no one to bring offerings to her” (26-27).71 In the case that a woman dies
unmarried, she is “likely to become a wandering ghost and a source of fear and anxieties”
(27-28). As she holds a strong dissatisfaction with not being able to get married while she’s
alive, which results in not having a place on any family altar and being homeless with no
offspring to pay tribute to after her death, she may be returning to trouble the living.
Michael Puett extensively discusses how ghost marriage has been practiced for the
purpose of appeasing ghosts harboring unresolved wishes and preventing them from
coming back to the living world to continue to haunt, hurt, or punish their relatives. The
grudge- or grievance-laden spirits “would be drawn to where they once lived and would send
down disasters and misfortunes on their living family members” (226).72 Finding them a
spouse to marry is perceived as an effective way to satisfy ghosts, as it will provide them with
a place to entrust their restless souls. Historically practiced in Taiwan, the family of the
woman who dies unmarried places a “bait” in the middle of a road, typically in “the form of a
red envelopment of the kind used in China for gist of money” (182).73 When the first man
picks it up, the family emerges from hiding and announces that he has been chosen as the
groom by the deceased woman from the unseen world. If he refuses to marry, it is believed
71 Martin, Diana. 1991. “Chinese Ghost Marriage.” Journal of the Anthropological Society of Oxford Occasional
Paper 8: 25–43. 72 Puett, Michael. “Sages, The Past, And The Dead.” Mortality in Traditional Chinese Thought, edited by Amy
Olberding and Philip J. Ivanhoe. State University of New York Press, 2011, pp. 225-248. 73 Jordan, David K. “Two Forms of Spirit Marriage in Rural Taiwan.” Bijdragen Tot De Taal-, Land- En
Volkenkunde, vol. 127, no. 1, pp. 181–89. https://doi.org/10.1163/22134379-90002795.

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that ill fortune will befall him. The ghost marriage ceremony is then held, usually officiated
by a Daoist monk, with the bride being represented either by an ancestral tablet or a paper
doll.
In the film’s narrative, a ghost marriage takes place between two men, with the gay
ghost assuming the role of the woman in the traditional practice. Mao Mao’s family puts his
photo and monetary gifts inside a red envelope, and Wu, after an unsuccessful attempt to
chase a crime suspect, picks up the envelope. At the onset, Wu does not believe in ghost
marriage, especially given the fact that he is straight. However, what follows his disregard
and indifference is a series of misfortunes, which, seemingly orchestrated by an unseen
force, compel him to reconsider, and out of fear, he eventually succumbs to marrying Mao
Mao. The complexity here lies in the shift in gender and the change of meaning attached to
the practice per se. The coexistence between the backward and the progressive is intriguing.
Ghost marriage is usually understood as a traditional practice deriving from patriarchy,
especially concerning the idea of finding a home for unmarried women in the underworld.
However, here, the focus lies not in Mao Mao being an unmarried ghost (and thus with the
need to get married) but his lingering wishes, which are twofold, with the first being the
truth behind his unfortunate death—he died in a car accident, and the hit-and-run driver has
not yet been identified. Mao Mao also leaves the world with many of his selfless wishes
unfulfilled; none of them is related to feudal and superstitious beliefs but social issues such
as animal welfare and environmental protection.
The changing gender dynamics disrupt traditional conceptions and associations of
ghost marriage. In this story world, no woman is deemed as a lost soul in the underworld
anxiously looking for a man to marry in order to have a place on the family altar. Gendered

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familial expectations are absent in the text of the film. The custom of ghost marriage is used
as a formula, a framework, with its cultural history—backward thinking and gender
inequality included—with its essential content being cut out nearly completely. It is applied
as a narrative technique to blur or even break the line of demarcation between the living and
the dead for the story to proceed and develop. In such an approach, queer visibility,
categorized as a progressive ideal, presents itself in parallel—not incompatibly—with
conservative, traditional values such as the stigma of being unmarried and the expectation to
continue the family tree. In this case, instead of provoking discussion on queerness’s
association with the death drive, the film mingles queer and death by inserting a queer
character into the framework of ghost marriage and explores what a progressive queer lens
can bring to the historically conservative cultural practice, which in the meantime,
intendedly or not, challenges the negativity usually associated with the death and the world
of the dead. Significant to this arrangement is the blurred distinction between life and death.
The conduct of the ghost marriage ceremony brings the spirit of Mao Mao back to the living
world. With limited or even no emphasis on family values, the ceremony is predominantly
appropriated as a channel for him to engage in investigating the truth behind the unsolved
car accident leading to his death.
The mystical interaction between the living and the dead is channeled through the
ghost marriage ceremony, the completion of which imbues Wu with a supernatural capacity
to see Mao Mao. Within the story world, Wu remains the only character capable of
communicating with Mao Mao. Although initially connected by ghost marriage, what exists
between them is not traditional familial responsibility. Their entanglements transcend
familial ties, romantic attraction, and professional obligations. At first, it is explained that

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their connection derives from Wu, in his past life, being Mao Mao’s pet dog; hence, this
ghost marriage thing is more of his reciprocation, through which Mao Mao can re-access the
living world and have his killer identified, arrested, and punished. Wu, as a police officer,
solidifies the purpose of his mission as chasing the culprit aligns closely with both his
professional duty and his personal debt to Mao Mao. All the relationships featured in the
film—among the living people—are tinged with either deception or insincerity. However,
what connects them, despite the seemingly absurd origin, turns out to be the only occasion
when benevolence and kindness are visible. Driven by the shared goal of solving a criminal
case and bringing justice back to the world of the living, their interactions have little to do
with familial duties and expectations traditionally associated with ghost marriage, but
instead reflect a pursuit of justice that has emerged in the modern era.
The creation of a queer film, appropriating while altering a conservative ritual
practice, targeting a mainstream audience, embodies José Esteban Muñoz’s assertion that
“queerness exists for us as an ideality that can be distilled from the past and used to imagine
a future.”74 Utilizable elements from the past, in this context, reincarnation of the dead and
fulfillment of unfinished wishes, are evoked to present queerness as equal to idealism. For
instance, Mao Mao was highly idealistic, and aside from seeking truth, his life revolved
mainly around his care for animals and the environment. Here, we witness an intersection
between queerness and other social issues. What is pertinent to the identity discourse in
such a characterization is Mao Mao representing a generation viewing queer rights not as an
isolated issue but as a part of the entire package of progressive politics. This extends beyond
74 Muñoz, José Esteban. Cruising Utopia: The Then and There of Queer Futurity. NYU Press, 2009.

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identifying as queer or supporting queer equality, aligning more with adopting a supportive
attitude toward all human rights-involved issues, which has been defined as part of
responsible citizenship. Embracing or even celebrating queerness has, to some extent, been
equated with qualities such as being as good-hearted and conscientious. Simply put, there
exists a somewhat arbitrary social sentiment that connects queerness with being kind.
Drawing from this perspective, the idea of unfulfilled wishes embodied in the film should
not be seen as agents of the patriarchal tradition but as expressions of liberal values and
progressive ideals.
In this context, queer identity is inevitably closely entangled with other sets of values
and beliefs. Throughout the 2010s, the marriage equality campaign greatly politicized queer
issues in Taiwan. Originating from realms of personal identity and sexual relationships, and
increasingly evolving into the discourse on body politics, relevant issues have become part of
the discussions on civil rights and democracy. On May 24, 2017, Taiwan’s Constitutional
Court issued Interpretation Shi-Zi No. 748, ruling that preventing two people of the same
sex from forming a union for the purpose of living a common life is unconstitutional. The
ruling stipulated that the Legislative Yuan had two years to find a way—in this case, to
decide whether to amend the Civil Code or to make a special law only for same-sex
marriage—to address the violation of the constitutional rights of same-sex couples. The two
years following this ruling became a fierce battlefield between opposing sides in the
marriage equality campaign. This period also marks the highly politicized nature of queer
identity, as issues such as same-sex marriage not only entered public sight and became
subjects of public debate but also evolved into matters that every adult citizen had the right
and was encouraged and expected to express an attitude toward. The anti-marriage equality

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side put efforts into obstructing the smooth procession of the lawmaking, particularly in
forestalling constitutional amendment for the case of same-sex marriage. They employed
referendums as a suitable tool, the law of which was amended in December 2017,
significantly lowering the bar for their initiation. This allowed for an increasing number of
issues to be placed within public discussions and voting, resulting in increased civic
participation rates. However, risks accompany the increased utilization of referendum as a
mechanism to test public opinions, as fundamental questions like this arise: should
questions pertinent to human rights be subject to public judgment? Also, what questions are
deemed pertinent to human rights?
Three same-sex marriage-related referendums were included in the 2018
referendums, with the results favoring the positions endorsed by the anti-marriage equality
side. Despite no binding impact on the lawmaking process, it sparked fierce discussions and
provoked civic engagement as political involvement. My focus here is not on the details of
either referendums or the debate but on how they have contributed to the politicizing of
queer identity and queer issues. Taiwan’s queer movement, growing from selftransformation on the societal level following the lifting of martial law, experienced a revival
during the so-called “civil turn” in the 2000 presidential election while being instilled with
the zest of nationalism. Since the early 2000s, it has been perceived as a positive force in
“the establishment of a civil society.”75 The marriage equality campaign, which played a
central role in the public scene through the mid-2010s, has elevated the idea of sexual
citizenship to a further level of understanding, participation, and engagement. It is not just
75 Chu, Wei-Cheng. “Queer(ing) Taiwan: Sexual Citizenship, Nation-Building or Civil Society.” Journal of
Women’s and Gender Studies, vol. 15, May 2003, pp. 115-51.

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about the living conditions and rights of queer people, but also about queer discourses
involving multiple stakeholders, which place queer issues alongside other livelihood
problems, such as prioritizing nuclear electricity or environmental protection, all said to
relate to and concern lives and benefits of all citizens and thus need to be brought into the
public view for discussion and examination. Under such context, it is not surprising to see
queerness being incorporated into a reality-driven scenario, aligning with other essential
issues in a properly functional civil society. In this case, queer identity does not exist in
isolation; it is not just Mao Mao’s personal identity, but rather a window into his social
engagement and civil responsibility. His queer identity and support for queer issues stand
side by side with his advocacy for animal rights and environmental protection, all coming
together to form a conglomerated identity understood as being a progressive, responsible
Taiwanese citizen of the 2020s. This reflects Taiwan’s transition from ethno-nationalism to
civic nationalism in the past two decades, marked by a significant reliance on emphasizing
and promoting liberal democratic values,76 where functioning democracy serves as a key
element in issues surrounding identity formation and definition. As Yang Zhong contends,
“It can be argued that the new Taiwanese identity is based on civic and democratic values
that bind Taiwanese people together.”77 In the case of Mao Mao, we observe the grounding
of such Taiwanese identity within his queer identity, a harmonious and evident coexistence
of the two.
76 Wachman, Alan M. Taiwan: National Identity and Democratization. Routledge, 2016. 77 Zhong, Yong. “Explaining National Identity Shift in Taiwan.” Journal of Contemporary China, vol. 25, no.
99, Feb. 2016, pp. 336–52. https://doi.org/10.1080/10670564.2015.1104866.

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In the film, Mao Mao, portrayed as a good-hearted gay who died young, dedicates
much of his energy to civil activism, both being alive and dead. This character setup
complicates traditional conceptions of what a ghost would be like and what demands a ghost
might make if being offered the chance to return to the living world. Mao Mao’s wishes are
solely concerned with ideals benefiting neither himself nor his family, but the society as a
whole. The copresence between queerness and altruism points us to a perspective of him not
so much as a spectral presence coming back to demand tangible benefits, but as an
enthusiastic guardian of humanity’s higher ideals returning to determine how certain values
are upheld in the living world. Those aspects that received much emphasis in past ghost
marriage practices, such as women’s perceived lack of position in their natal family, were
radically and unreservedly replaced. In their place are altruistic values with the potential of
contributing positively to both the present and the future of society. The film borrows a
conservative cultural ritual as a starting point, yet the content undergoes a radical
transformation. These values find their way to the younger generation characters such as
Wu but also the older generation, as represented by Mao Mao’s father, who starts to adopt
his son’s environmentalist way of life as a form of memorial and remembrance.
Therefore, I perceive this narrative trope and direction as both an appropriation—not
necessarily in a negative sense—of the past and a manifestation of an umbrella term
emerging in Taiwanese society, in which queerness does occupy an undeniable role. This
drawing-from-the-past has also implicated national discourse in communicating Taiwan’s
power and influence on Chinese cultural traditions. This is exemplified by showcasing its
ability to infuse them with modern interpretations tinged with progressive thoughts,
portraying Taiwan as an ideal agent of transformation from the conservative to the

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progressive, and thus, a more forward-looking, more suitable, interpreter and promoter of
Chinese cultural heritage. However, this does not aim to assert legitimacy in representing
China or Chinese-ness on the global stage, as it did during the early decades of the Cold
War. The main objective is instead to present itself as open and vibrant, distinguishing itself
from mainland China and aligning with liberal values promoted by the West. Besides this
power of cultural discourse, the incorporation of the ghost marriage in the film also offers a
new perspective on the extensively discussed connection between queerness and death,
while diverging distinctly from the Western viewpoint.
Central to this perspective is the shift from the negativity associated with death to a
sense of hope and promise with the potential of fostering humanity and social responsibility.
Mao Mao’s death is sudden and unjust, but the narrative refrains from portraying it as
purely tragic. His family members, while carrying grief and regrets, exhibit a rather objective
attitude toward the fact of mortality. This shift serves as the foundation for the unfolding of a
supernatural death-related narrative that expands the meanings contained in personal and
familial sorrow, queer experience, and even the death drive. In this case, the virtue of the
dead surpasses that of any of the living, which serves as the basis for the pursuit of truth and
the spread of social values back to the world of the living. It is not explicitly asserted whether
Mao Mao is depicted as virtuous simply because he is dead. However, the narrative’s overt
and repeated emphasis on his kindness, sincerity, honesty, and responsibility, among many
other positive traits embodied, stands in stark contrast to the character flaws of those still
alive. Through this contrast, Mao Mao is once again set apart from the rest, not only because
he is dead, but because he is the only flawless character. He is no longer a living human
being, and in his afterlife, he is perceived by the living as a powerful angel, devoid of human

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flaws and equipped with supernatural powers. In the narrative, Mao Mao, the dead queer, is
portrayed as lovable, kind, desirable virtuously flawless, and desirable, thereby emphasizing
the imperfections and problems of the living world and the ones still alive. Mao Mao’s
interaction with Wu, his ghost marriage partner, gradually transforms their relationship
from distrust to trust and from mutual dislike to spiritual companionship. This interaction
serves as a conduit for Mao Mao’s virtues and goodwill into the human world. Wu’s initial
homophobia and fear of ghosts are simultaneously challenged and then transformed
through the positive portrayal of the dead queer. Both the queer and the dead are presented
as positive and desirable, embodying concepts such as vitality and life-force, which are often
associated with a hopeful future. In contrast, the non-queer and the living are portrayed as
sneaky, unsavable, and creators of nothing but trouble and scheme. The narrative overtly
defies the perception that queerness and death are inherently tragic, depressing, and
undesirable. Instead of dwelling on “the precariousness” of queer life, borrowing Judith
Butler’s usage of the term,78 or questioning the worth and happiness of living a queer life,
the narrative takes a unique approach. In this case, the queer figure is already dead, and the
story begins only after his death. Mao Mao is presented more as a symbol—an angelic queer
ghost—than as a human character, prompting discussions about queerness and death, the
interplay between the two, and the possibility of extracting positive associations wherein.
The blending of the surreal, the ghostly, and the superstitious with a realistic touch
and for a practical purpose, within the broader framework of institutional errors and the
absence of justice, is intriguing. The positive societal impacts of the bonding through the
78 Butler, Judith. Precarious Life: The Powers of Mourning and Violence. 2004, ci.nii.ac.jp/ncid/BA67872700.

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ghost marriage between the dead gay social advocate and the living straight police officer
also contribute to challenging the usual connections between queerness and accounts of risk
and loss. In other words, it disrupts the negativity and refusal of the future associated with
queerness (as elaborated in Edelman’s work) due to its deviation from hetero-reproductive
futurism informed and continuously agitated by modern capitalist logic. In this context, the
death of a queer contributes to the (re)establishment of trust and bonding between people
hidden behind a surface-level crime-solving narrative. What’s at stake here is that this
Taiwanese case explicitly incorporates queer and death but refuses to move toward an
antisocial turn.
However, both elements seem to contribute to the vitality of that which is social and
civil. In Edelman’s argument, the idea of no future is tied to queer’s incompatibility with
heterosexual reproduction and disruption of straight futurity centered around the figure of
the Child. However, the future discussed by Edelman is to some extent limited—not all
futures but solely capitalist futures.79 Queerness holds a “figural status as resistance to the
viability of the social”80 within capitalist futures, but, as Jack Halberstam argues, such a
refusal of the future and the social can instead open up or lead to alternative possibilities,
“allow(ing) us to escape the punishing norms that discipline behavior and manage human
development.”81 Briohny Walker takes on this idea, suggesting that “leaving behind heterocapitalist ideas of success might open up new and interesting ways of living and being.”82 In
79 Edelman, Lee. No Future: Queer Theory and the Death Drive. Duke UP, 2004.
80 Ibid.
81 Halberstam, Judith. “The Queer Art of Failure.” Duke University Press eBooks, 2011,
https://doi.org/10.1215/9780822394358. 82 Walker, Briohny. “Precarious Time: Queer Anthropocene Futures.” Parrhesia, vol. 30, pp. 137–55.

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this case specifically, queer death and failure not only open up new and interesting ways of
living and being but also of dying. And not only that, the death of a queer, interestingly,
paves the way for fresh approaches to organizing social functioning, forming trust, and
creating harmony in the world of the living.
The world of the living is failing many. Mao Mao’s case has been set aside due to
insufficiency of evidence. No one appears to be optimistic about uncovering the truth. The
police station where Wu works has difficulty resolving a drug smuggling case; colleagues
begin to feel distrustful toward each other, worrying about the possible existence of a spy.
The return of Mao Mao becomes a pivotal turning point, providing hope to the far-from-ideal
reality with his supernatural powers. These include the ability to instantly transport himself
from one place to another and to possess other bodies, powers that transcend both temporal
and spatial limits. The dead gay character, owning superpowers, teams up with his ghost
marriage partner, a frustrated policeman, succeeding in restoring justice. What tends to be
categorized as and attributed to the bright, positive side is presented as full of flaws and can
only be saved with the help of the non-normative, including the queer, the negative, and the
dead. The lack of trust between the living people and the institutional system, as represented
by the police station, is emphatically shown. The solution lies in the queer, the dead. Under
the shell of commercialism Marry My Dead Body contains some transformative
connotations, marked by the potential to resolve social dilemmas by seeking help from the
unconventional, or even the negative. The conflict within the film is eventually resolved; the
happy ending, quite common in mainstream commercial films, provides comfort and solace
to the audience. However, besides all the conventional tropes, it is worth paying attention to
questions such as: how diverse elements are evoked and utilized to chart the journey and

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adventure of the characters, how the inhumane traditional practice of ghost marriage is
appropriated to serve a progressive ideal, and how a dead queer comes to help restore justice
in the world of the living.
With the passage of same-sex marriage legislation, queer media production in
Taiwan entered a new era. Queer elements now occupy a more visible position, no longer
hidden in the closet. Joyful, celebratory, positive, or even comedic portrayals are emerging,
freeing queer characters from the shadowed, depressed narratives. This shift toward
mainstream commercialism allows for the intertwining of diverse narrative elements. Queer
cinema is imbued with the freedom to be an open canvas where various stories, characters,
feelings, and experiences can mingle in a multitude of clashes, rather than being confined to
something preset and depressing. In this case, the mixing of genres and elements
encompasses the comedic, the commercial, the suspenseful, the supernatural, etc.,
cumulating in a narrative that reaches beyond commonly seen story elements and, on a
societal level, challenges establishment social norms, especially those related to identity. The
freedom facilitated by the worldbuilding, common in fictional filmmaking, allows for the
incorporation of elements such as ghost marriage. Intertwined with a police detective trope,
the ultimate purpose of ghost marriage in this film is not the traditional one of appeasing
the dead by providing them with a home through marriage or perpetuating family lineage. It
is invested with broader meanings and significance, such as fulfilling personal aspirations
and restoring social justice. One crucial aspect is how the use of ghost marriage, despite
being a backward ritual, enriches and complicates, to some extent, the localness of queer
discourse and representation, looking for opportunities that go beyond the contemporary
queer culture predominantly influenced by Western ideology. It reveals a significant

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potential for transformative powers rooted in the cultural past, traditions, and rituals,
highlighting how these elements can rejuvenate themselves or be entirely repurposed.
Through the evolution of Taiwan’s queer media production, the discourse has shifted from
an emphasis on the “West factor,” as argued in my writings about the late 1990s, and the
interaction between the West and the local, to an introspective examination of Taiwan’s own
cultural past and historical legacy. Although the example analyzed falls within the realm of
commercial filmmaking, it undoubtedly serves as a powerful illustration of how Taiwan’s
distinctive social context can be harnessed for the creation of a fertile ground for generating
new queer narratives. It also showcases the relatively unusual effort of repurposing the
conservative and the feudal to achieve progressive ends.
It is particularly worth noting, in this weaving of the tradition of ghost marriage into
a queer narrative, that stepping away from the constraints of reality is seen as an essential
step leading up to the true face value, the essence of the very reality. It is only through the
supernatural that we can perceive the authentic, and only through the negative that we can
bring what is endowed as positive into the real world. The tradition taken out of its historical
context, shedding its traditional weight, serves the narrative’s objective of forging a close
connection between two people who had no relationship before. The seemingly absurd
marriage allows for the impossible connection to become possible and acceptable. The
reason behind the building of such a connection is to showcase a contrast between the
reality, the world of the living, and the afterlife, the world of the dead. Reality is usually
considered worth living for, while the afterlife is seen as more of an unknown, precarious
abyss. In this case, there is no portrayal of what the world of the dead looks like, but the
reality is, for sure, fractured and troubled, where criminals are at large, and justice can

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hardly be brought. Two elements, once associated with negativity—queer and death—are
brought together to salvage humanity and reality, establishing this narrative as a counter to a
future based on reproductive futurity, where future imaginations heavily rely on the living
and birth. In both theoretical exploration and Taiwan’s social context, queer has been seen as
the opposite of reproduction. Homosexual desire is considered as having the capacity
to ”disrupt ‘the reproduction of the social order,’ due to ‘infecundity’ of (some) gay sex and
the (related) ’politically unacceptable and politically indispensable choice’ to disobey societal
norms and live ‘an outlaw existence’ in ‘opposition community.’”83 In the context of Taiwan,
queerness—seen as deviating from social norms and familial responsibilities in thinking
where reproduction is deemed vital for national survival—was historically positioned as an
adversary/enemy to the state, criticized for not being productive and contributing to the
continuous development and strengthening of the state.84 Here, ghost marriage, queer, and
death interestingly come together within a positive treatment. This combination, with the
presence of local specificity, opens a new avenue for scholarly exploration, inviting an
examination at the nexus of queer identity, sociopolitical reality, and cultural practices.
Considering Taiwan’s geopolitical dilemma allows us to better understand the
significance of endowing the ghost figure with a sense of hope and promise, as portrayed in
the film. The evolution of Taiwan’s international recognition is a troubled history shifting
from being the official representative of China, at a time when communist China was not
83 Walker, Briohny. “Precarious Time: Queer Anthropocene Futures.” Parrhesia, vol. 30, pp. 137–55; Robert L.
Caserio, Lee Edelman, J Halberstam, José Esteban Muñoz, and Tim Dean, “The Antisocial Thesis in Queer
Theory.” PMLA 121:3 (2006, 819–28), 76.
84 Martin, Fran. Backward Glances: Contemporary Chinese Cultures and the Female Homoerotic Imaginary.
Duke UP, 2010.

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included in the U.S.-centric power landscape, to a gradually marginalized geopolitical reality
with no membership in the United Nations and a decreasing number of countries
maintaining an official diplomatic relationship with it. This is mainly due to revanchist
China rejecting any gesture publicly acknowledging the existence of two Chinas and thus
requiring countries to choose between mainland China and Taiwan when it comes to the
issue of establishing diplomatic relations. The impact and implications of precarious
statehood, the ensuing identity crisis, and the ever-evolving state-building—or, in other
words, the derailing of Taiwan’s official name as the Republic of China, inherited from the
KMT government’s retreat to the island in 1949—are instrumental not only for analyzing
this film but for understanding the constant shifts in Taiwanese national identity. In this
dissertation and beyond, the lifting of martial law in 1987 has been discussed as a watershed
moment in Taiwan’s history, marking its transition from authoritarian rule to democratic
society. However, to better understand that moment and the accompanying transitions
unfolding across time, it requires us to examine what is not separate—what consistently
evolves and continues to exist, and what matters across time, especially given that history
neither turns a completely new page overnight nor exempts us from considering the
remnants of yesterday.
Mark Harrison’s essay, “How to Speak About Oneself: Theory and Identity in
Taiwan,” poignantly explores the historical progression of Cultural Studies and theoretical
inquiry in the context of Taiwan.85 Harrison works on finding continuities that bridge the
85 Harrison, Mark. “How to Speak About Oneself: Theory and Identity in Taiwan.” Cultural Studies and
Cultural Industries in Northeast Asia: What a Difference a Region Makes, edited by Chris Berry et al., Hong
Kong UP, 2009, pp. 51–70. ecite.utas.edu.au/56863.

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pre-1987 era with the post-1987 period. In Harrison’s words, “the Taiwanese write their
history with geopolitics.”86 The attempt to construct Taiwan’s identity and subjectivity has
been inevitably entangled and coupled with shifting geopolitical considerations, “as it
operates within the brutal realities of real, empirical power between China, Japan, and the
US.”87 During the authoritarian era from the end of World War II in 1945 to the lifting of
martial law in 1987, the KMT government predominantly implemented Sinicization policies,
fostering a Chinese identity. The portrayal of Taiwan as Free China, as one of the frontiers of
the Free World, took precedence, although in practice, international dynamics from the
1950s to the 1980s were changing significantly with historic events such as mainland
China’s gradual establishment of diplomatic relations with Western countries and entry into
international organizations. This, however, does not negate the fact that Taiwan, under the
aegis of the U.S., served as a bastion of anti- (or at least counter-) communism. Beneath this
façade, this seemingly dominating, overarching identity imposition simmered conflicts,
primary between the Chinese nationalists and culturally diverse populations having
inhabited the island prior to the KMT government seizing control of the island. This tension
was largely obscured from public discourse mainly because of the substantial influence
exerted by the government’s official rhetoric. However, it never ceases to exist and has
gradually become valuable source material for future discussions, debates, examinations,
investigations, and writings about national history and identity (de)construction.
It is important to bear in mind the persistent power struggle between the imposition
of identity from the government in power and the homegrown identity components not
86 Ibid.
87 Ibid.

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officially recognized or publicly promoted but crucial for considering what constitutes an
authentic, essential Taiwan, emerging out of the inhabitants of the island—here to
distinguish the geographical location of Taiwan from the nation-state built upon it. This
dynamic is not a new development after 1950 but has been a vector in Taiwan’s history for
centuries. Harrison points out that “under martial law, ways of speaking about Taiwan
emerged in two alternative ways,” which are “its oppositional politics in the 1960s and 1970s
as part of the pro-democracy movement” and “the (re)-emergence of nativist literature in the
1970s.”88 Both were marginalized, deemed unofficial, under the KMT’s authoritarian rule
but have now “become the material for a self-conscious project of nation- and identitybuilding” in Taiwan’s civil society.”89 What has become more prominent in recent years is
the continuous recuperation of both, and moreover, the convergence of them.
Of particular significance in this case, where traditional practices are picked up and
adapted for progressive ideals is “the development of nativism or localism, first in the 1970s
in literature, and then in the post-martial law era as the more wide-ranging localization
movement, or bentuhua.”90 Cultural elements can be politicized and become part of an
emancipatory political project. From its emergence in the 1970s, “in bentuhua, authentic
Taiwanese local culture is a form of resistance.”91 Bentuhua was taken as a potent rejoinder
against KMT’s cultural dominance and cultural hegemony. Li Hsiao-feng articulates: “In the
period of foreign control of Taiwan, local culture was the grain which sustained the dignity
and life of the nation. Its special quality is the basis of the search for our history, and the
88 Ibid.
89 Ibid. 90 Ibid. 91 Ibid.

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sadness of many of our songs.”92 The Bentuhua movement seeks to recapture the essence of
Taiwanese local culture, nurturing the very vitality and dignity of the island against its
historical underpinnings. The politicization of culture as resistance and source material for
imagining alternatives has been crucial not only in challenging foreign forces or opposing
authoritarian governments and in providing domestic dissenting voices with cultural bases
and legitimacy, but also in cultivating a form of inclusive identity as a unifying force,
particularly in contexts of facing threats from the outside. For Taiwan, such threat manifests
in the form of revanchist China, deeply embroiled in international politics.
The notion of Bentuhua, envisioned and employed as an instrument of agency,
assumes a role akin to a weapon wielded by advocates of a distinct Taiwanese identity
marked by liberalism, pluralism, and democracy. Since its emergence in the 1970s, it has
been utilized with a dual focus. On the one hand, as mentioned earlier, to distinguish and
challenge the KMT’s one-sided claim of Taiwanese identity and contribute to the national
imagination of democracy. On the other hand, it has also been used to explore a new identity
mainly driven by the necessity and pursuit of deviating from Chinese-ness, given Taiwan’s
gradual loss in the international arena’s zero-sum competition for representing China.
Carrying socio-political agency, bentuhua takes on the mantle of political emancipation,
paving the way for cultural, political, and even national imaginations. Its significance evolves
into an act of defiance against the grip of KMT’s authoritarian governance, seeking an outlet
for Taiwan as a contested state unable to represent not only China but also Taiwan in global
diplomacy. This assertion echoes as a clarion call, a manifestation of the aspiration to shape
92 Ibid.

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the narrative of Taiwan’s cultural and political trajectory, tinged with conflict, uncertainty,
and complexity. The impact and implications of it continue into the 21st
-century context.
While the struggle over the authoritarian has faded, the need for national and identity
construction persists as the geopolitical conflict and mainland China’s revanchist claim
remain and are even reinforced. In the society of Taiwan, generations born and raised in
post-martial law democratic civil society are gradually taking up the main force of social
agency. Despite the vicissitudes that have punctuated its course, the bentuhua discourse,
marked by a search for and a pursuit of localness, remains a staple of contemporary debates
over Taiwanese national identity and Taiwan’s position in the world.
Bentuhua has, for the past five decades, played a vital role in shaping and directing
the search for a new Taiwanese identity, diminishing the influence and persuasiveness of
the KMT-imposed Chinese-ness. In the context of the second decade of the 21st century, the
post-marriage equality era, the process of bentuhua encounters the queer discourse in both
theory and practice. Munoz points out “an attentiveness to the productive and
counterproductive deployments of the past,”93 which, theoretically, speaks to the possibility
of evoking the past to achieve the progressive. In real-world practice, the strategic
deployments of the past, such as the alteration of a ghost marriage trope in this film, also
contribute to a proclamation of a Taiwanese-ness distinct from Chinese-ness. Even if the
tradition of ghost marriage exists in other Sinophone areas, only with the success of civil
activism and the commitment to liberal democratic values can it be erased of feudal,
conservative residues and be regenerated with a sense of positiveness. The intertwining with
93 Muñoz, José Esteban. Cruising Utopia: The Then and There of Queer Futurity. NYU Press, 2009.

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that which is queer gives the past a refreshing touch, makes its deployments of the past, a
past shared with other regions, not only distinctive but also progressive, and furnishes the
conceptions of Taiwanese identity. Queer/queerness is imbued with the potential to bypass
the confines of the nation-state, especially when considering the possibility of aligning queer
identity with national identity and the accompanying political imaginations. Considering
queer narratives can be instrumental in forging connections that possess the potential in
functioning and exerting meaning beyond international diplomatic frameworks.
Incorporating queer perspectives into historical contexts for envisioning and imagining
identities of the present moment and of the future allows for a transcendence beyond
current geopolitical dilemmas. Utilizing a past having to do with the local, not only an
identity with a modern sense is formed and strengthened but also a possibility is opened up
by such an identity in thinking about how to circumvent the longstanding geopolitical
tensions and in moving toward a more transnational, international perspective, where
border-crossing becomes tangible.
In another sense, the presence of localness in Taiwan’s search for a new national
identity is indispensable to a desire to dissociate from the PRC not only in terms of
political/state self-identity but also in an ethno-cultural sense. The interactions and
exchanges between Taiwan and the PRC have been reestablished since the 1980s, both
people-to-people and government-to-government, with varying levels of harmony and
hostility, leading to an interesting situation marked by a coexistence of geopolitical
competitions, military threats, and economic entanglements. Interactions, both between
Taiwan and the PRC and between Taiwan and other countries, often deliberately avoid
addressing any agreements or discussions regarding sovereignty and statehood in public-

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facing narratives. Taiwan’s contested statehood and lack of recognition on the world stage
persist; yet interestingly, they are accompanied by thriving transnational and cross-regional
activities in domains such as culture, economy, and infrastructure. Expanding on this
dynamic is Taiwan’s strategic alliance with the U.S.—a relationship lacking formal and
official diplomatic recognition but characterized by frequent and strategically important
conversations and exchanges in cultural, economic, political, and military resources. This
strategic entwinement reflects a fluidity and ambiguity molded by the exigencies of
circumstance, schemes, and strategies. Such a liminal position, of in-betweenness, of semiofficiality, of indeterminacy, open ups opportunities beyond the official realm. Amidst this
matrix of unyielding realities, compounded by the PRC’s ascendant sway within the
geopolitical sphere, the quest to delineate Taiwan’s identity within the contours of the
nation-state remains an ongoing process of being and becoming, constantly influenced and
altered by external forces and changes. It necessitates a steadfast repudiation of the
conventional and widely recognized, compelling the emergence of an identity that endures
amid the stark undercurrents of our contemporary global panorama.
In discussing Taiwan’s identity, Shan Te-hsing refers to the distinction between
“filiation” and “affiliation” posed by Edward Said in the article “The World, the Text and the
Critic.”94 “Filiation” is characterized as congenital, natural, fixed, and blood-related—a
physiologically immutable bond. In contrast, “affiliation” refers to a forward-looking,
culturally adaptable, flexible, active, and empowering connection defined by subjective
94 Shan, Te-hsing. "Power, politics, and culture: an interview with Edward W. Said." Tamkang Review, vol. 44,
no. 1, Dec. 2013, pp. 141+. Gale Literature Resource
Center, link.gale.com/apps/doc/A361241908/LitRC?u=anon~8936eb2a&sid=googleScholar&xid=7f664e44.

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intentionality and dynamic power relations. This concept of “affiliation” gains significant
resonance in contemporary Taiwan. It is through this ongoing struggle, this evolving
dilemma, that its identity is being consistently (re)generated. While the debate may hardly
lead to definitive answers, given the volatility of geopolitical circumstances, the dialogue
persists, with elements such as queerness, localness, and even spectrality providing material
for its enrichment and multi-layeredness, provoking discussions on asserting selfdetermination and imagining future possibilities. Taiwan cannot afford to discontinue the
discourse on its identity or curtail the production of Taiwan Studies or Taiwan in Cultural
Studies, as such cessation may pose a danger to an identity in the (continuous) process of
formation, a statehood facing constant challenges.
The effort to define and articulate a Taiwanese identity is less about achieving an
answer in agreement but more about perpetuating the conversation around “Taiwaneseness” as a concept in flux, in precarity, and in the making. This consistent pursuit holds
significance, considering Taiwan’s confrontation with revanchist China and its strategic role
in the geopolitical competition between the hegemonic powers of the PRC and the U.S. The
alignment of Taiwan with queerness and (the alternative interpretation of) mortality
emerges as a progression, residing in the exploration of themes that diverge from a futureoriented perspective while incorporating an alternative path that defies capitalist heteroreproductive futurism—not because it chooses to, but it has been forced by the present
world context to be so. The film’s narrative appropriation and deployment of the ghost
marriage custom can be interpreted as an effort representative of the endeavor to achieve
such an objective.

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In traditional practice, ghost marriage enables a deceased man to sustain his family
lineage by adopting a son, while a woman can attain a “home” and therefore avoid being
considered as a lost (and thus dangerous) soul in the world of the dead and a haunting
source of worry in the world of the living. However, within the film’s narrative, these
conventions are disrupted drastically. The story deviates from the traditional pursuit of
familial continuity and harmony, turning its focus toward the fulfillment of personal desires
and the advocacy of social justice. This shift marks a departure from the pursuit of
authenticity associated with the rural-centered localized past, opting instead for modern
liberal values and social goods. Consequently, the once-perceived negative facet of identity
gains renewed vigor within the construction of Taiwan’s identity, undergoing a process of
rebranding and reimagining that encompasses both queer and deceased identities.
Such a deployment, with the involvement of queer and in the form of mainstream
commercialism, affords a fresh platform for discussing Taiwan’s identity, extending its
possibilities. When writing about nativism, Chen Kuan-Hsing implicitly critiques its
intrinsic connection to colonization. Nativism has been studied and analyzed as a response
to, or product of, colonization, leading to the paradox where nativists’ pursuit of an authentic
identity mirrors that of the colonizer—a manifestation of colonial mimesis. Chen introduces
the concept of “critical syncretism,” with inspiration from Homi Bhabha’s notion of
hybridity.95 A key element lies in syncretism’s lack of a singular origin, its inherent selfreflection, and its subjective definition. Essentially, it embodies a fusion process rooted in
95 Chen, Kuan-Hsing. “Asia as Method.” Duke University Press eBooks, 2010,
https://doi.org/10.1215/9780822391692.

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introspection and internal generation, whereas hybridity involves the mixture of two distinct
entities, yielding a third.
Kuei-fen Chiu, also influenced by Bhabha’s notion, offers an interpretation
emphasizing the transcultural essence ingrained in Taiwanese culture—an identity that has
evolved into an ideal scenario for embracing new cultural affiliations. Chiu’s approach
mainly focuses on the realm of self-reflective and subjective consciousness inherent in
syncretism. Instead, it embodies a heightened sense of critical inquiry.96 From this
perspective, cultural syncretism empowers the subject to transcend its concrete or
substantial nature, emerging as an entity open to introspection, reflection, and imagination,
while integrating with external influences. Exploring the intersection of divergent
communities—the queer community, believers and practitioners of ghost marriage, and the
rural community where nativists root their theory and campaigns—initially appears fraught
with incongruities. However, upon further examination, an alternative perspective and
explanation emerges when we foreground their intrinsic capacity for introspection. As these
discrete communities coalesce, what unites them yields valuable insights into the evolving
topography of Taiwan's identity against the background of globalization and the landscape of
media production driven by commercial currents. In the ongoing exploration of Taiwan’s
identity, situated amid the complex dynamics of hegemonic rivalries and the ambivalence of
contested nationhood, the subject’s existence takes on an intriguing quality—it persists
without an absolute, invariable essence. This evolving subjecthood reflects the fluid nature
96 Chiu, Kuei-Fen. “The Production of Indigeneity: Contemporary Indigenous Literature in Taiwan and Transcultural Inheritance.” The China Quarterly, vol. 200, Dec. 2009, pp. 1071–87.
https://doi.org/10.1017/s0305741009990634.

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of identity. Significantly, entities once elusive and previously deemed negative emerge onto
the stage not merely as a counterpoint to established norms, a vestige of superstition, or a
fleeting indulgence devoid of future implications. Instead, they stand as testaments to the
potentialities of syncretism, underscored by a potent critical lens. This criticality does not
exist solely in opposition; instead, it resides within a self-generative capacity that perseveres,
evolving dynamically with heightened endurance.

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Conclusion. Future(s)?
This project is driven by a desire to dig out the historical trajectory of queer media
representation in Taiwan, considering that in recent years, Taiwan has witnessed significant
advancements in the protection and recognition of queer rights, prompting a crucial
examination of the interplay between societal transformations and the portrayal of queer
identities in the media. The objective of this study was to deconstruct the factors
contributing to what might be perceived as a leap forward—the legalization of same-sex
marriage by the Taiwanese government in 2018. The discussion shows that this legislative
change was not a sudden occurrence, but rather marked the culmination of incremental
advancements in the discourse surrounding queer issues from the late 1990s until 2023.
This period was marked by significant political transformations and shifts sparked by social
debates raising questions about the definition of Taiwanese identity and the pressing
concerns and struggles related to Taiwan's geopolitical status. This study traces the trajectory
that began within a societal context characterized by efforts to find and formulate a novel,
more suitable, and inclusive definition of Taiwanese identity following the conclusion of
KMT's authoritarian control. In tandem, the queer community vied for visibility, equal
rights, and opportunities that surfaced within the new freedoms attained during this
transformative era. In such a quest, a pivotal necessity is ascertaining what it means to be
queer—not solely relying on Western theories and historical struggles and achievements as
foundations and support, but contextualizing queerness within the unique framework of
Taiwan.
The evolution of assertions of queer identity and endeavors for queer representation
is intertwined with the discourse of Taiwanese national identity. The journey so far has

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featured fervent social debates marked by phases of uncertainty and transitions into a futureoriented outlook inspired by a retrospective gaze into both the historical and the quotidian. It
has involved a departure from teleological capital logic toward a progressive mindset for
seeking opportunities and sources of inspiration within alternative historical narratives,
which include even those that may, at first glance, appear conservative or backward. In the
course of its development, this project inevitably transformed into a forward-looking
endeavor. Inextricably linked with geopolitical tensions, the discourse on queerness in the
context of Taiwan is knottily tied at diverse identity intersections, rendering anti-relational
approaches to queer theory low in tenability. It transcends discussions of personal or sexual
identity, extending to an examination of how the queer identity is positioned and situated
within the intricate web of multifaceted individual, community, and national dynamics.
What proves intriguing in this parallel, at this particular juncture in history, is the
shared significance of uncertainty in envisioning and imagining the future of both queer
identity and Taiwanese identity. The interconnection of queerness across the past, present,
and future can be invaluable in contemplating Taiwan's longstanding geopolitical dilemma.
José Esteban Muñoz inaugurated Cruising Utopia with a poetic opening paragraph, imbued
with proclamations associating queerness with hope:
Queerness is an ideality…. Queerness is a structuring and educated mode of desiring
that allows us to see and feel beyond the quagmire of the present…. Queerness is
essentially about the rejection of a here and now and an insistence on potentiality or
concrete possibility for another world.97
While it may function primarily as an ideological tool or a mode of thinking rather
than a strategic approach in practice, this ideality serves to guide the positioning of the
97 Muñoz, J. E. (2009). Cruising Utopia: The Then and There of Queer Futurity. NYU Press.

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future of a de facto but de jure country. It reframes the operation and prospects,
transforming what might be perceived as a limbo or dilemma into an opening for alternative
existence. Importantly, this is not conceived as a means to an end but is recognized as a
process that carries intrinsic significance. This opportunity is not confined solely to the
future but extends backward in time as well. In a similar fashion to how Heidegger
approached historicity, Muñoz also stated, “queerness as a temporal arrangement in which
the past is a field of possibility in which subjects can act in the present in the service of a
new futurity” (16). At least within the realm of queer cinema in Taiwan’s post-marriageequality judgment, there has been a discernible effort to unearth and repurpose past
residues and remnants, including elements often labeled superstition or conservatism.
These elements, typically seen as incompatible with liberal discourse, are being employed
for a more positive and affirmative narrative. This narrative extends beyond the confines of
queer discourse, influencing and contributing to the national discourse as well.
The exploration of the “potentiality or concrete possibility for another world”98 within
the queer discourse, within the context of Taiwan, prompts a series of questions: What does
queer futurity mean today? Similarly, how could one view the future of the national and
queer identity discourses specific to Taiwan? The film discussed in Chapter 4 incorporates
the concept of ghost marriage, which opens avenues for contemplation. This suggests a
potential trajectory or opportunity for thinking about the future without adhering to the
overarching narrative of progressiveness and teleology constrained by capital logic, which
98 Ibid.

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involves a reorientation from looking backward to looking forward, yet not necessarily in a
spirit of celebration and promise.
The debate between Muñoz and Edelman99 on the topic of queer futurity has long
been a focal point in queer studies. Considering the status quo in Taiwan, the introduction
of the concept of death into discussions about futurity and hope could offer a novel
perspective. This intersection provides insight into the imagination or even construction of
an alternative future grounded in nuanced considerations of notions such as mortality. In
the light of queerness not being sustained through bloodlines and family heritage, a
pertinent question arises: Why fixate on the figure of the child as the locus of the future?
Instead, an alternative lies in shifting the focus toward concepts such as disappointment,
disillusionment, negativity, spectral presence, mortality, and endurance of dilemmas as
potential sources of hope in the process of imaging and imagining utopias.
Cinematic creations have been engaging with a tradition often deemed
unconventional for sources of inspiration in thinking forward. However, possibilities do
exist for a forward-thinking approach tinged with sentiments and connotations commonly
regarded as somewhat negative, with the Rabbit God standing out as a particularly
significant case. Andrew Thomas Huang’s short film, “Kiss of the Rabbit God” (2019), is a
noteworthy example in which a poignant narrative unfolds, invoking the figure of the Rabbit
God from 18th-century Qing dynasty folklore. This symbolic representation serves to
illuminate the sexual-awakening journey of the protagonist, an ethnic Chinese American
diligently involved in his family’s restaurant enterprise—undeniably one of the stereotypical
99 Edelman, L. (2004). No future: Queer Theory and the Death Drive. Duke University Press.

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images of characters of Chinese descent. Based on the Chinese mythology, the Rabbit God
emerges from an 18th-century folktale: A soldier falls in love with his commanding officer
and bravely expresses his affections. However, the officer becomes outraged and orders to
punish him, sentencing him to death. In a divine twist, the gods of the underworld display
compassion and mercy, absolving the soldier of his “crime of passion.” This divine decision
subsequently turns the soldier into the Rabbit God, or more explicitly, the guardian deity of
gay men—and now more broadly of the queer community.
Although “Kiss of the Rabbit God” can hardly be classified as a Taiwanese film
because of its nature as a U.S.-based production, it stands out as a representative Sinophone
example of contemporary filmmaking employing historical narratives to envision the present
and the future. This exploration of the queer experience resonates not only with the
evocation of spectral presences, a recurring motif in recent Taiwanese queer cinema, but
also within the socio-cultural sphere, as exemplified by the establishment and renovation of
Taoist temples such as Wei-Ming Tang in Taiwan, being the first specifically dedicated to
worshipping the Rabbit God. Within this cinematic narrative, the Rabbit God emerges as a
multifaceted symbol, weaving together threads of religion (particularly Taoism), traditional
folklore, and the complexities of transnational and transcultural identity. This interweaving
is notably represented by the protagonist, an American of Chinese descent. These layered
implications reveal a profound connection to his ancestral heritage, as a figure from his
cultural past comes to life in the modern era (and across regions), liberating him from
ongoing self-questioning and self-doubt, especially from the confines of the closet, and
emancipating him on his journey of self-discovery. For Matt, a young man navigating the
intricacies of growing up and living in a Western context, the traditional and religious

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aspects of his ancestral and familial heritage, which are somewhat non-mainstream, serve as
guiding beacons on the complex path of sexual awakening. In this context, these elements
exert a more profound influence over him than do Westernized values, doctrines, and the
field of queer theory, shaping a poignant narrative that transcends geographical boundaries
and temporal constraints.
The manifestation of the past in the present is chiefly exemplified through the faceto-face encounter between the Rabbit God, emerging from an unknown somewhere, and
Matt, remaining relatively confined in a highly realistic contemporary setting, set against an
abstract atmosphere filled with vibrant colors and charged with sexual undertones. Tension
permeates their interactions as the Rabbit God keenly observes and perceives Matt, while
Matt, in turn, grapples with self-perception and contemplates various facets of his identity,
including his sexuality and cultural belonging. Their dialogue, spanning time, space, and
culture, eventually awakens Matt to an enigmatic, almost mystical force from his ancestral
past. A pivotal moment unfolds when the Rabbit God entrusts Matt with a knife, which the
latter then uses to pierce the center of his chest, allowing blood to trickle slowly down. This
act explicitly refers to the visceral belief of piercing a vital part of one’s own body as a means
to break free and attain deeper self-realization.
Huang confesses that “Kiss of the Rabbit God” is deeply autobiographical, reflecting
his journey of acknowledging and reconciling his sexuality within a cultural context rooted
in his heritage, rather than his upbringing in the West. By alluding to a historically intricate
figure—a being who, for confessing his love, was sentenced to death by the very person he
confessed his love to, only to be deified in the underground world for the very same
affection—the film also deviates from the conventional narrative within its original cultural

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milieu. Within the Chinese cultural sphere, this reference distinctly treads the path of
alternative histories rather than conforming to mainstream records, narratives, or
representations. In this context, the juxtaposition of “the other”—encompassing the queer
and the foreign—with the otherness in the film’s original, seemingly ingrained, sociocultural context serves to emphasize the potential for alternative interpretations and
unexpected narratives within a fading yet evolving archive.
Unearthing alternatives from the past to deviate from the existing paradigm does not
necessarily imply a rescue mission for queer politics from the risk of demise. Instead, it
involves recognizing potentialities inherent in the threat of the demise—or the death grip.
Foucault viewed modernity as “an attitude rather than as a period of history,”100 and the
duration for which such an attitude can sustain or satisfy our existence remains uncertain.
Postmodernism opens us to hybridity and diversity, fostering an attitude that does not
adhere to the teleology of modernity. However, within the fatigue of postmodernism, it is
plausible that abnormality and mortality could provide new inspirations that surpass both
the notion of progress and the reduced call for plurality.
Perhaps one could ask this: Has society truly ever moved toward progress in the
discourse of modernism? The answer might be no. In light of this, one should reject the
conception of the future as inherently promising. What is often regarded as progress is only
measured in relation to a problematic standard established in the past. This purported
progress frequently serves as a corrective response to an exclusivity that was unjust when
initially instituted. Human beings are the architects of these problems. Attributing progress
100 Foucault, Michel. “What is Enlightenment?” The Foucault Reader, edited by Paul Rabinow, translated by
Catherine Porter, New York: Pantheon Books, 1984, pp. 32–50.

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to the correction of unfairness or the resolution of problems does not, in itself, constitute
substantial progress. Consider, for instance, queers striving for acknowledgment merely to
achieve equality with heterosexuals or Taiwan seeking nationhood simply to be on par with
the hundreds of countries already with full sovereignty. Is such a future truly indicative of
progress? It is an idea that, when yet to materialize, is labeled as an aspiration or an
imaginative projection. If it becomes a reality one day, it transforms into a fact, just like any
other factual existence or occurrence.
One of the potentials arising from queerness lies in its intrinsic opposition to the
notion of heredity and also in its inherent randomness. Queer individuals do not come
exclusively from queer families; they come from families of heterosexual couples, queer
couples, and many more varieties, defying clear-cut rules. The power inherent in queerness
lies in its indelible presence on the human map—a force impervious to eradication.
Acknowledging this sense of randomness and uncertainty opens pathways to a future that
rejects rigid definitions of one’s identity and the constraints imposed by and on such
identity. This ethos of randomness and uncertainty is inevitably tied to flexibility and
fluidity, a state of perpetual change, for better or worse. Stuart Hall’s concept of “becoming”
within the realm of culture applies in this context, suggesting that not only is an individual’s
identity an ongoing process of “becoming,” but the very concept of identity itself is in a
constant state of transformation.101 This also aligns with what Gilles Deleuze called
“becoming,” a ceaseless movement of being that is not coordinated by teleology and which
101 Hall, S. (2007). Cultural Identity and Diaspora. In S. Manning & A. Taylor (Eds.), Transatlantic Literary
Studies (pp. 131–138). Edinburgh University Press. https://doi.org/10.1515/9781474470674-024

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never results in anything resembling an identity.102 Indeed, queerness inherently and
intrinsically rejects a finality, an endpoint to this ongoing process of “becoming,” but invites
a perspective that views the process of “becoming” as a sort of an end with meaningful
significance.
In exploring the intersection of queerness and nationhood, my aim was to transcend
and break the binary distinction between political and personal struggles. In the context of
Taiwan, it becomes increasingly evident that elevating the political struggle above the
personal one is neither realistic nor equitable, for the personal and political realms are
inextricably interwoven. Politicians often harness personal narratives of struggle as a means
to advance broader claims, typically related to human rights and democracy, on the
international stage. This practice prevails over other forms of struggle traditionally
categorized as political, such as class-based social issues. A central challenge I contended
with through the course of this project is the tension between the local, the regional, and the
global of my study. I have thus explored avenues to broaden the scope of my case study of
Taiwanese queer cinema to encompass implications that can hold relevance on a broader
scale, be it inter-Asia or beyond. This expansion focuses less on the consideration of
historical facts, social realities, and geopolitical struggles but more on the realm of ideology
and thought and how the future can be conceptualized, especially considering the future of
humans and humanity, communities, the structuring of states, and ways of organizing both
oneself and others.
102 Deleuze, G., & Guattari, F. (1988). A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Bloomsbury
Publishing.

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The concept of scale adds a crucial dimension to the discourse. As Steve Pile has
articulated, “the local and the global are not natural scales but formed precisely out of the
struggles that seemingly they only contain.”103 In practical terms, however, the challenge is to
discern how Taiwan’s trajectory can be seen as having international implications,
particularly in the nation’s endeavor not to reincorporate queer subjects and the citizenship
status of a de facto, but not de jure, state into the flexible economy of postmodern culture,
given that society itself has always been long entangled within the framework and structure
of capitalism, teleology, and globalization. In this project, I not only attempt to examine the
possibility of global impact through the lens of cinematic works with an overwhelming focus
on representation. Instead, I focus on examining a tangible geographical location where
representation plays only a small role in the dynamic landscape of real-life existence and
challenges. Is it conceivable for one to envision a physical existence that transcends the
constraints of reproductive and familial temporal logic? I acknowledge that this area may
indeed lie beyond the confines of the current project and may seem overly expansive.
Nonetheless, reflection on the potential inherent in such a concept and way of thinking
serves as a source of inspiration to venture into future imagination, a form of imagination
that finds solace and strength in unconventionality, non-reproduction, and mortality.
Further, Judith/Jack Halberstam's reference to Samuel Delany's writing about
opportunities for “interclass contact and communication conducted in a mode of goodwill”
prompts reflection on recent analogous occurrences in Taiwan.104 This contemplation can be
103 Pile, S. (2013). Introduction: Opposition, Political Identities, and Spaces of Resistance. In Geographies of
Resistance (pp. 15–46). https://doi.org/10.4324/9781315824659-1 104 Halberstam, J. (2005). In a Queer Time and Place: Transgender Bodies, Subcultural Lives. NYU Press.

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placed alongside the discourse on queerness, in the spirit of remaining critical toward a
queer inclination to capitalism. An incident that readily comes to mind is the news of
renowned Taiwanese filmmaker Hou Hsiao-hsien’s retirement due to dementia, which
became widely known on the internet. Hou’s final public appearance occurred at the close of
2021, marked by a brief video message. In this fleeting clip, he urges the public to vote
affirmatively for Question No. 20 in the 2021 Taiwanese referendum. This question
concerned the relocation of the CPC Third LNG Receiving Terminal away from the coastal
and sea areas of Taoyuan’s Datan Algae Reef. While the relocation was aimed at protecting
the reef, it posed challenges as well, such as increased pressure on public electricity usage
and significant financial burdens for the government. This question presented a poignant
dilemma to the populace, who had to choose between accessible and ample electricity or the
preservation of the reef and its fragile ecosystem. When discussing the future of Taiwan, one
must contemplate whether one is addressing the survival of Taiwan as an autonomous
nation, the preservation of the physical Taiwan island along with its surrounding
environment, or a combination of both. Considering the future and the concept of futurity
within the context of social organizations and activist groupings, can ecological issues, given
their complex position at the intersection of politics and business while being rooted in the
nonhuman sphere, offer an opportunity for "interclass contact and communication
conducted in a mode of goodwill"? This opportunity is intriguing, as it invites individuals to
take a step out of their personal identities and contemplate their shared identity as human
beings, a specifies that consists of only a small part within the vastness of nature.
Two discernible trends within Taiwanese cinema, reflective of social dynamics, echo
with such a contemplation: the incorporation of the nonhuman and the integration of the

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non-Han humans. The former could range from the incorporation of cultural symbols from
historical contexts, including ghosts and gods, to active discussions on ecological issues. The
latter, integration of the non-Han humans, unfolds across multiple layers, involving the
representation of aboriginals, foreigners, and others. The incorporation of cultural ideas
from the past in recent Taiwanese queer cinema resonates as an exploration of finding the
future within the usually-considered-as-being-neglected-and-forgotten-chapter-of-the-past.
This approach opens avenues to reusing or appropriating historical residues, a practice often
deemed negative within the cultural domain, as its positive potential tends to be overlooked.
Another approach is to perceive these cultural elements as aspects not yet systematized or
politicized within specific cultural contexts, thus enabling alternative histories and provoking
nonconventional imaginations. In the case of ghost marriages, previous studies have focused
on their role in the continuation of family lines; yet it is evident that this is already the result
of a series of ghost marriage practices. Returning to ghost marriages as a source for
storytelling and filmmaking adding queer elements involves revisiting its position and
significance in history before being systemized as a cultural practice and being historicized
as a cultural fact—let alone the hierarchy involved in the production of historical knowledge
and cultural narratives. This exploration must delve into the potentialities of ghost marriages
even before their historical existence was being officially recognized and established and
before they were uniformly understood and theoretically analyzed. A retracement of its wild
existence before its historiography would not only open opportunities for cinematic creations
but also encourage future imaginations of queerness and statuses outside the existing social
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This project does not feature a detailed discussion of the inclusion of non-Han
people, and my remarks here, I acknowledge, rather take the form of references that may
run the risk of remaining on the surface. Taiwan has long positioned itself and has been
perceived by the Sinophone world, and now increasingly by Southeast Asia, as a beacon of
democratic values and practices and human rights, in which queer equality takes on a
prominent position. This positioning attracts numerous immigrants, who are drawn to both
economic opportunities and shared ideological beliefs. The growing inclusion of people of
Southeast Asian descent in the socio-cultural sphere in recent times is worth noting here.
Initially, this inclusion began with migrant workers, the majority coming from Southeast
Asia, but it now increasingly extends to Taiwan-born second-generation persons and those of
mixed heritage. This trend aligns with the governmental shift away from Sinicization and
functions as a key element within the de-Sinicization narrative, a gradual departure from the
Han domination associated with the rule of KMT since 1949. This narrative stands in
distinct opposition to mainland China’s ongoing, and possibly strengthening, Sinicization
process, encompassing policies aimed at Sinicizing ethnic minorities. This trend can be
interpreted as a prioritization of ideology over race and ethnicity, particularly as the deemphasis on the Han identity aligns with the imperative to counter geopolitical tensions and
the persistent threat across the strait. The historical discussion of what constitutes
Taiwanese identity is dynamic, evolving from the displaced government representing a
China dominated by Han Chinese during the KMT authoritarian rule. It transitioned to
advocating for harmony among people from different ethnicities and cultural backgrounds
during the bourgeoning democratic era and further expanded to embrace a broader
Taiwanese identity and circumvent Taiwan’s dilemma in the geopolitics of state recognition

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through promoting a more world-oriented national image, as well as associating itself with
progressive ideologies.
Paolo Virno’s writings, which advocate for the usefulness of “the multitude”—with
its emphasis on plurality—rather than “the people,” with its emphasis on unity, resonate to
some extent in this context.105 Virno states that in our contemporary condition, where the
boundaries between what is public and what is not are blurring and old categories are
disintegrating, “the multitude” can offer us new ways of thinking about how to navigate the
landscape of cognitive capitalism, which is increasingly dominated by the exchange of
information rather than merely goods.106 Here, I use the notion of “the multitude” not to
suggest a future trajectory for the evolution of capitalism in human society, but to explore
how this conceptual framework can enrich the imagination of queer identity and Taiwanese
identity. The uncertainty and indeterminacy hidden within the non-unity create the potential
for connecting through ideology rather than nationality, through abstract beliefs rather than
concrete materials—enlarging ideological inclination rather than fixing identities. Within
this framework, it is imperative to acknowledge a potentially weaker connection but, in the
meantime, also reinforce a resilience that transcends force and power interference in the
political and military sense.
My intent with this project is not to assert the existence of a future, whether
promising or not, for queers or for Taiwan. Instead, I emphasize the significance of
alternatives in shaping our imaginative constructs of the future, which I believe may be
105 Virno, P. (2004). A Grammar of the Multitude: For an Analysis of Contemporary Forms of Life.
Semiotext(e).
106 Ibid.

164
among the few factors capable of maintaining an open pathway to real progress. More
importantly, I aspire for this project to transcend the confines of history despite its
dependence on analyzing cinematic representations from the past. Every word I have written
has now become part of the past, inevitably—fortunately and unfortunately. My vision is for
this project to evolve into a discourse about a future doomed to be in motion and never
arriving, a pursuit of a permanent yet-to-come—a future that feels a shame to be categorized
as good or bad but can only exist in its fullness as distinct, fluid, and vital to our conscious
existence.

165
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Creator Zheng, Yayu (author)

Core Title The popularizing and politicizing of queer media images in Taiwan: 1997 to the present

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Publication Date 04/23/2024

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