Has the rice harvest taken place yet?

 

“Has the rice harvest taken place at home yet?” This was a question that mid-19th century Chinese immigrants commonly wrote in letters home. The question was not asked out of mere curiosity — it was a way for these migrants, living far away from home, to express care and concern for their families and loved ones. 

 

The Hakka Chinese, along with the Teochew and the Fujianese, suffered economic hardship in Teochew, a rural area in Guangdong Province in Southern China. So when a key port city in the area, Shantou (also known as “Swatou”) opened up to trade with the West in 1860, a number of Chinese took the opportunity to migrate. They journeyed to Southeast Asia—some even as far as India—to work and make money to send back home. With their earnings, these Chinese became a backbone of economic support for their extended families.  

 

We know the stories of these Chinese migrants thanks to the letters they wrote home. These letters, called qiaopi (lit. Letters from Overseas Chinese, also known as “Teochew Letters”), were unique because they served as more than just correspondence with family -- they were the primary way to send money home. Qiaopi gave birth to a postal-banking remittance system run by agencies in Shantou and throughout the Teochew region.

 

In this light, qiaopi are important historical documents. The personal stories contained within these letters give us a better understanding of the conditions that compelled Chinese migration during the mid-1800s, not to mention the labor these Chinese undertook, the difficulties they endured and how they viewed their relationships with their native home. The qiaopi postal-banking network was sophisticated for its time, with an important role played by the “Shui-ke” (lit. water travelers), businesspeople who transported the letters and remittance receipts back and forth between Southeast Asia and the Teochew region. The large volume of qiaopi and the system it created would not exist if not for the deep emotional ties and profound sense of responsibility felt by these migrants so far away from home.   

 

In Taiwan today, the idea of one’s “homeland” or one’s “roots” is already complicated enough, given the island’s unusual geo-political history. The number of new immigrants and migrant laborers is higher than ever, which has prompted Taiwan to consider the idea of a multicultural society. One issue is the question of identity, as faced by so-called “new immigrant children,” or children of marriages between Taiwanese men and Southeast Asian and Chinese women, who have been coming to Taiwan through matchmaking services for the past several decades. The presence of immigrants and migrant laborers in Taiwan is also considered to be a product of the rapid pace of globalization. To be a part of such a world, we have the responsibility to ask: What is the nature of their plight? What is their psychological state? Has today’s mantra of globalized development and the idea of a “global village” changed our sense of belonging and identification with a homeland? 

 

And how does their situation compare with the Chinese immigrants of the mid-19th century? This first edition of the New Narratives Film Festival is in part inspired by the spirit of qiaopi, with their moving stories told by people who felt they had no choice but to leave home. We hope that this exhibition, in conjunction with the film program, will help viewers gain a deeper understanding of the Hakka Chinese and their history of migration, but we also our hope that these films and document will encourage a deeper consideration of the situation of immigrants and economic migrants in a Taiwan that is becoming more ethnically diverse. I believe it necessary to engage in a constant practice in which we think about and try to identify with other people’s experiences and feelings if we truly believe in the right to freedom and equality for all.