I was very grateful for the opportunity to study in Taiwan, and the amazing experiences and relationships that I built there. However, I did experience some discomfort surrounding my affiliation with the American State Department through the Critical Language Scholarship program. We were often told that our conduct reflected back on our nation and its government, and that we should be mindful of how we represent our country. However, I felt unsure of how to represent a body whose policies I disagree with, and whose actions I felt I had little say in influencing. These thoughts came to the forefront as I reflected on our government’s continued role in the genocide of Palistinians. It felt irreconcilable to represent an ideal that had been tarnished beyond recognition in my eyes. To me, it seemed that I would better honor my fellow Americans by condemning our imperialistic foreign policy decisions, to show that we are not a monolith in support of our government. Indeed, when an official of the State Department gave my cohort a presentation on his career, he relayed that many had stopped working with the foreign service because of objections to the US government’s stance on Palestine. I had come to Taiwan to study Mandarin because I believed proficiency in the language could empower me to help reduce barriers to healthcare access in the United States, but my political beliefs and identity as an American complicated my experience with the program beyond grammatical rules and confusing characters. Moreover, my limited vocabulary meant that I could hardly represent much of anything. When Trump was shot in the ear and my host family watched the news on television, I could do little more than assure them that it was “not good.” I wanted to tell them that I was concerned that these events would strengthen Trump’s image and allow him to become reelected, and that I disagreed with his policies, but that there hadn’t been assassination attempts on high-profile political figures for many years in our country, so I was concerned about what these events would mean moving forward. But I didn’t have the words. It was often a bit frustrating to be called on to be an authority on my country’s culture and events, when I felt that I could only speak for myself and my beliefs, and was still learning Mandarin. I wasn’t always able to come across the way I wished, but I came to recognize that all I could do was my best. These feelings resurfaced upon my return home, when I received a survey from American Councils which asked me a variety of questions, some of which required me to rank my commitment to democracy before and after the program. I felt taken aback upon reaching that question, and wondered at the implication that simply by learning Mandarin I might have lost faith in American democracy. Ironically, I felt that I was more at risk of losing that faith within my country’s borders, by turning on the television to watch Congress in session or looking around at the inequality in the city where I grew up. I remember thinking to myself that our elected officials are those who should be interrogated on whether or not they continue to uphold democratic values.
