Seeing Cross-Strait Relations Through "Lusheng" Policies: A Decade-Long Perspective

2021 marks the tenth anniversary of Mainland Chinese students (lusheng) pursuing degrees at Taiwan's higher education institutions. However, in fall 2021 China’s Ministry of Education will suspend their enrolment.

How might we address the changing political economy that shapes and contests policies for lusheng? What will become of these students? Introducing the second piece of our special series: Lusheng in Taiwan: Contradictions and Anticipations.

By Lee Yi An (李易安) and Chen Li Ya (陳莉雅)
Photography by Chan Cheuk Fai (陳焯煇)
Translated by Sabrina Teng-io Chung
Edited by Yu-Han Huang and Elizabeth Shaw

This piece first appeared in Initium Media and is translated with permission of the publisher.

(Except for Wang Horng-luen, all the interviewees in this article used aliases.)

It was Lunar New Year's Eve on January 24, 2020.  Wuhan—the epicenter of the first wave of COVID-19 outbreak in China—entered its second day of lockdown. Having just returned to his hometown in northern Jiangsu for the new year holidays, Yang Gang remained vigilant about the latest development of the outbreak and discussed with his family the possibility of returning to Taiwan straight away via Shanghai. Yang was about to enter the second semester of his PhD studies at National Taiwan University. Not only did his Taiwanese colleagues urged him to seek entrance to Taiwan as soon as possible, his family members also expressed concerns over the potential disruption of his studies, suggesting that he might possibly get infected by friends and relatives visiting home during the holidays.

At that moment, a few confirmed cases of infection from Wuhan residents travelling in Shanghai had been reported. In Yang’s estimation, taking a direct flight to Taipei from Yancheng—a city closer to his hometown—seemed to be a better option than flying from Shanghai. Besides, travelling afar on the New Year’s Day was considered taboo, the violation of which would bring him misfortune. In this way, Yang missed the very last day where he could be allowed entrance into Taiwan.  On January 26, Taiwan’s Central Epidemic Command Center (CECC) imposed entry restrictions on travelers from mainland China (陸籍人士來臺限制), suspending lusheng’s (Mainland Chinese student; 陸生) entrance to the country until February 9. Yet the intensification of the COVID-19 outbreak, alongside a series of indeterminate factors, created further obstacles for lusheng to travel from China across the other side of the Taiwan Strait.

Unable to return to Taiwan and having no means but to take online seminars, Yang began to count his days on Facebook using two opposite methods. One recorded the number of days he remained absent from Taiwan. The numbers ascended as days passed by, scoring the three-digit figure of two-hundred and more. Another method speculated the time of his eventual return. Out of a mixed sense of agitation and anticipation, Yang kept telling himself: “If I am not allowed to enter Taiwan by the next month, I might as well not go back at all.”

I can’t be sure if I can achieve anything (related to my future study in Taiwan) by filing these charges (against the government). For the time being, they have already made me a response. What’s more, any discussion concerning cross-strait issues has been severely restricted.

-- Chen Xin, a Mainland Chinese student who had plans to study in Taiwan

On August 19, lusheng caught the first glimpse of hope regarding their return to Taiwan. Mainland Affairs Council (MAC) Minister Chen Ming-Tong (陳明通) revealed to legislators that following President Tsai Ing-wen’s (蔡英文) instruction, lusheng were to “return to Taiwan for the new academic year on time.” On August 21, Yang Gang, having lost all sense of anticipation, wrote on Facebook: “You won’t be too disappointed if you are not expecting much in the first place. This is what I learned from [the land of] freedom, democracy, and human rights in the past six months.”

For almost half a year in 2020, not only did Taiwan imposed entry restrictions on lusheng; on April 19, China’s Ministry of Education also made an announcement on its website, stating that “In consideration of the current pandemic control measures and shifting cross-strait relations, all ‘pilot work’ concerning students from various parts of China and with various degree of education seeking further studies in Taiwan will be temporarily suspended in 2020.” Current lusheng studying in Taiwan were however allowed to continue and further advance their studies there.

The year 2020 also marked the tenth anniversary of the historic arrival of the first wave of degree-pursuing Mainland Chinese students to Taiwan’s higher education institutions. Cai Boyi was one of them. Her publication, entitled My Youth in Taiwan: Recollections of a First-Generation Lusheng in Taiwan (我在臺灣，我正青春：第一屆陸生來臺求學記事), chronicles the myriad newcomer’s experiences a lusheng could have observed while studying in Taiwan. The past decade witnessed the historical emergence and demise of cross-strait negotiations over lusheng policies.

A few would-be lusheng chose to take proactive measurements over the future of their studies. Chen Xin was one of them. To secure her opportunity to study in Taiwan, Chen decided to “appeal” her case to the Chinese government.

Chen recollected, “I was shocked and puzzled when I learned about the information that day. That information was first released when a government official responded to certain inquiries from a journalist. But was there legal basis for that?” The day following her initial puzzlement, Chen requested for the disclosure of information from the Ministry of Education, pressing the government to verify the legal validity of the latest changes of their policy.

According to “the Regulation of the People's Republic of China on the Disclosure of Government Information” (中華人民共和國政府信息公開條例), citizens, legal persons, and other organizations can obtain government information in accordance with this law, including information produced, obtained, and recorded by government agencies while performing administrative functions.

In fact, activists in mainland China have in recent years mobilized the means of information disclosure when requesting government agencies to publicize their reasons for issuing various prohibitions and restrictions on citizen rights. This has been an indirect means of rights protection known among activists in China.

Chen Xin recalled that many years ago, she had seen a female college student who applied for information disclosure. The cause of that case concerned the misguided information on homosexuality found in college textbooks. In the end, the case entered the stage of litigation and garnered widespread attention from the public. Chen was hoping that she could achieve similar results for the case of lusheng.

Chen requested the Ministry of Education to disclose four items of information: (1) The legal or regulatory basis for the Ministry of Education’s decision to “suspend work concerning students from various parts of China and with various degree of education pursuing further studies in Taiwan in 2020”; (2) The timeline by which the Ministry of Education reopens the application process for students to pursue studies in Taiwan; (3) The full text and issue number of the relevant documents related to the Ministry of Education’s policy of suspension; (4) The correlation between the implementation of such a policy and the protection of rights for students returning to Taiwan for their studies.

“The Regulation of the People's Republic of China on the Disclosure of Government Information” stipulates that once a request for information disclosure is filed, government agencies are given twenty business days to make appropriate responses to the claimant, should immediate responses be unavailable. In cases where the release of appropriate responses is further delayed, notifications should be issued to the claimant who filed the request. On May 11, Chen received an official response from the Ministry of Education that states, “A response for your request will be further delayed until June 8, 2020.”

On June 2, Chen received another notice from the Ministry of Education: “according to Article 14 of ‘the Regulation of the People's Republic of China on the Disclosure of Government Information,’ the first and third item of your request involve state secrets and shall not be disclosed. The second and fourth item of your request are not directly concerned with the disclosure of information from the Ministry of Education. Please refer to the response that our spokesman of the Office of Hong Kong, Macao and Taiwan Affairs made in an interview on April 7.”

In other words, China’s Ministry of Education referred to its decision of and relevant documents related to the suspension of lusheng’s studies in Taiwan as state secrets on the one hand, and refused to answer other inquiries about the changes of its policy on the other.

Based on past experiences, claimants unsatisfied with the response from government agencies can appeal their cases and forward them to the Court of First Instance. Yet, most of these efforts of litigation were eventually doomed to failure. Glancing over the document that she received, Chen exclaimed in frustration, “I can’t be sure if I can achieve anything by filing these charges. For the time being, they have already made me a response. What’s more, any discussion concerning cross-strait issues has been severely restricted.”

LUSHENG POLICIES: HISTORICAL EMERGENCE AND DEMISE

Insofar as the goal of “the promotion of [cross-strait] peaceful exchange” is concerned, lusheng policies might have failed to generate its anticipated results. Even worse, it sometimes brought forward negative consequences. Numerous lusheng have openly admitted that they were “a bit disappointed” by their experiences in Taiwan. Having experienced exclusion there, some of them no longer viewed Taiwan in a positive light and became “little pink” (xiao fenghong) themselves.

-- Wang Horng‐luen, a Research Fellow at the Academia Sinica’s Institute of Sociology

Ten years earlier, on August 19, 2010, Taiwan’s Legislative Yuan revised three existing pieces of legislation (陸生三法)—“the Act Governing Relations between the People of Taiwan Area and the Mainland Area” (臺灣地區與大陸地區人民關係條例), “the University Act” (大學法), and “the Junior College Act” (專科學校法)—laying the juridical foundation for the ratification of lusheng policies.

On January 6 the following year, Taiwan’s Ministry of Education promulgated “the Regulation Governing the Enrollment of People from Mainland Area in Taiwanese Colleges and Above”(大陸地區人民來臺就讀專科以上學校辦法) in accordance with the juridical framework set by the three revised pieces of legislation. The passage of this regulation officially inaugurated a new era where degree-pursuing mainland Chinese students were allowed into Taiwan’s higher education scene. In addition to lusheng policies, several other pieces of legislation were introduced in the years when cross-strait relations were relatively friendly and stable. Those included “the Cross-Strait Economic Cooperation Framework Agreement” (ECFA; 兩岸經濟合作架構協議) and other regulations that aimed to better enhance the rights of mainland Chinese spouses of Taiwanese citizens.

In those years, many believed that the policies related to lusheng, ECFA, and Chinese spouses could open a new beginning of cross-strait relations, marking another point of departure for the promotion of peace between Taiwan and China.

Looking back over the past decade, it is however not difficult to observe that of all the policies promoting cross-strait exchanges and communications, lusheng policies were fraught with unanticipated twists and consequences.

Take, for instance, “the Cross-Strait Economic Cooperation Framework Agreement” (ECFA). In the international arena, free trade agreements are always highly controversial, with complex sets of interests involved. At its early stage of negotiation, ECFA had already been involved with a whiff of controversies. The hasty ratification of “the Cross-Strait Service Trade Agreement” (CSSTA; 海峽兩岸服務貿易協議)—a follow-up treaty under the framework of ECFA—further fueled a nation-wide student protest known as the Sunflower Movement, indirectly leading the then ruling party KMT to lose the presidential and parliamentary election to its opposition rivalry, the DPP, in 2016. Given the highly controversial nature of ECFA and CSSTA, the chain of public reaction and political outcome that followed was not at all surprising. On the other hand, policies governing cross-strait marriages were akin to “policies promoting peaceful cohabitation among civilians.” Literally speaking, such policies promoted “kinship intimacy” across the strait, mobilizing “humanitarian concerns” to overcome the tense relationships between Taiwan and China.

The taken-for-grantedness of “kinship intimacy” that guided the policies concerning cross-strait marriages were not easily translatable to lusheng policies, however.

Wang Horng‐luen, a Research Fellow at the Academia Sinica’s Institute of Sociology, pointed out that insofar as the goal of “the promotion of [cross-strait] peaceful exchange” is concerned, lusheng policies might have failed to generate its anticipated results; even worse, it sometimes brought forward negative consequences. Numerous lusheng have openly admitted that they were “a bit disappointed” by their experiences in Taiwan. Having experienced not only exclusion but also xenophobic sentiments from the public because of their possible inclusion in the national health insurance system in Taiwan, some of the lusheng no longer viewed Taiwan in a positive light and became “little pink” (xiao fenghong) themselves.

Furthermore, China’s Ministry of Education announced on April 9, 2020 that due to the COVID-19 pandemic and exasperating cross-strait relations, it would suspend the “pilot work” regarding mainland Chinese students pursuing further studies in Taiwan. It remained uncertain whether this decade-long “pilot work” could be reinitiated in the future. In a sardonic way, some lusheng claimed that it had never occurred to them that they would one day become the “last generation of lusheng” in Taiwan. From our current vantage point, why have the well-intentioned lusheng policies and seemingly innocuous bodies of students attracted consequences that went far beyond initial anticipations?

February 2020, the campus of National Taiwan University. Photography: Chan Cheuk Fai/Initium Media

LUSHENG IN TAIWAN: A HISTORICAL SYNECDOCHE OF CROSS-STRAIT “PEACEFUL DEVELOPMENT” 

While it was generally believed that the year 2011 marked the historical beginning of lusheng policies, in fact, as early as 2008 when the former President Ma Ying-jeou (馬英九) took office, Taiwan had already launched a visiting student program (研修生) for Mainland Chinese students.

There was little difference in meaning between the so-called “visiting students” and “exchange students.” However, in the Taiwanese government’s official terminology, the category of “exchange students” referred specifically to “international exchange students.” Legally speaking, Mainland Chinese students could not be counted as “foreigners.” Though they received treatments from Taiwanese government agencies as if they were “international exchange students” (國際交換生), these Mainland Chinese students were officially referred to as “short-term visiting students” (短期研修生).

The Mainland Affairs Council (MAC) stated that the Taiwanese government’s rationale to implement lusheng policies lied in the enhancement of mutual understanding between students across the strait, as well as the promotion of peace and stability between Taiwan and China. However, it was a commonly acknowledged fact that the real purpose behind the government’s enactment of lusheng policies was to resolve issues concerning the shortage of higher education students and other financial difficulties facing universities in Taiwan.  To further elaborate on this observation, attention can be directed at the various application restrictions posed on degree-pursuing Mainland Chinese students.

In the beginning, “the Regulation Governing the Enrollment of People from Mainland Area in Taiwanese Colleges and Above” stipulated that public universities opened for application only to Mainland Chinese students at the graduate level. Undergraduate students were only allowed to apply for private universities. This kind of restriction was enacted so that private universities lacking sufficient financial resources could avail themselves of lusheng’s arrival at Taiwan’s higher education institutions.

Among the incoming lusheng, “visiting students” were the most welcomed group of students in private universities. No limitations for recruitment or academic qualification were set on “visiting students.” Moreover, given the relatively short span of time they spent in Taiwan, these students were considered to have little impact on Taiwanese society. According to the statistics released by MAC, from the 2011 to 2019 academic year, there were a total of 204,959 visiting Mainland Chinese students in Taiwan, a figure eleven times higher than that of degree students.

Zhang Xixi from Jiangsu was one among the more than 200,000 visiting students.

Having been a visiting student at I-Shou University in 2012, Zhang confessed that she chose to study in Taiwan by purely coincidence. “It just happened that I received admission to a university in Taiwan. I wasn’t dying to study there,” she explained. The spirit of hospitality of the people from southern Taiwan was touching to her, however. “I was often invited to people’s homes and I also made a lot of friends. I grew especially fond of the affectionate and hospitable spirit of the people in southern Taiwan,” Zhang recalled.

Upon her return to mainland China, Zhang joined the news outlet Caixin.com as an intern reporter—a position that allowed her to think and write in a more critical manner. “But later, the team I was working with was sacked, and I wasn’t thinking of joining a new team. I just wasn’t sure if I should stay in the company.” During this moment of hesitation, her previous encounter with a Taiwanese exchange student at Nanjing University crossed her mind. That student shared with her the lecture notes edited by a professor from Taiwan—teaching materials that benefited her academic learning in significant ways. “I actually missed my life as a visiting student there. When I noticed that the application process for graduate studies in Taiwan was about to close that year, I hastily got my application package ready and applied to the academic institute where that professor holds a teaching position.”

After completing her M.A. studies, Zhang pursued a PhD degree at an American university in New York State. Her current roommates are from Taiwan. “I feel more like a Taiwanese these days, and I’m no longer used to hanging out with people from mainland China. I can’t stand their blunt and ruthless manners.” During the pandemic, Zhang received little words of concern from her Mainland Chinese friends. On the contrary, the Taiwanese Student Association helped her in many ways, buttressing a sense of intimacy Zhang cultivated towards the people of Taiwan.  “If I can’t secure a teaching position in the U.S. when I am done with my PhD degree, I still want to return to my life in Taiwan.”

Positive impressions of Taiwan were shared not only among students who, like Zhang, had first-hand experiences travelling and studying in the country. Real life experiences aside, fictitious imaginaries of Taiwan also prompted students to pursue studies there. 

“Basically, graduate students from mainland China choose to study in Taiwan for two main reasons. One is that they are fond of Taiwan's popular culture and have a positive perception of Taiwan. The other is that students in the humanities see Taiwan as offering a better cultural environment and open academic space for their studies. Take the field of women and gender studies for example. In the Sinosphere, you really have no choice but to study in Taiwan,” explained Huang Ying, a lusheng who has spent eight years in Taiwan pursuing graduate studies, from MA to PhD degree.

Huang herself belongs to the second type of students.

She started off with a major in International Relations. Having graduated from a top university in mainland China in 2012, she entertained the idea of becoming an actress and eventually made up her mind to pursue further research in cultural studies. However, “Given the conservative environment in mainland China’s academic institutions, students with interdisciplinary academic backgrounds are not particularly welcomed. I applied to but did not get an offer from a graduate program in cultural studies.”

At that time, a friend who was studying in Tunghai University’s graduate program in sociology recommended Taiwan to her. She eventually applied to and got admitted into a renowned graduate program in cultural studies in Taiwan.

“I’ve heard that most lusheng experienced and underwent lots of changes while studying in Taiwan. I don’t really feel that way myself. Before attending school there, I had always been very ‘politically mobilized.’ My mind was always occupied with leftist thoughts, but basically most of them were empty in content and meaning. I was considering refurbishing these leftist ideas with my experiences in Taiwan.”

Hong Mei was one of the first-generation lusheng who studied in Taiwan. In her view, fundamental differences existed between the earlier and later generations of lusheng. “The first few generations of lusheng had exceptional academic accomplishments. Not only could most of them receive offers from top universities in mainland China, they also even received education in Western institutions before studying in Taiwan. In particular, students who wanted to pursue studies in the field of political science, sociology, and history were full of ambition and courage. Most of them disagreed with the political system in mainland China.”

Before coming to Taiwan, Hong worked as a journalist for a news agency in mainland China. She chose to study in Taiwan so that she could understand politics better; besides, Taiwan was generally regarded as the “beacon of democracy in Chinese society.” Furthermore, she was promised a Taiwanese entrepreneur-funded scholarship by the director of a graduate program to which she wished to apply.

“In the end, I didn't get the scholarship. Some said that the director had tampered with the distribution of funding and kept the money at his disposal. But because of his political and business connections, the issue was never brought to the light.” The various issues surrounding her scholarship opportunities revealed to Hong the ways lusheng interests could be abused and appropriated to serve personal interests in the arena of cross-strait academic exchange. Disappointed, she decided to shift the focus of her dissertation project from issues related to contemporary politics to political thinking in pre-modern times.

“Still, studying in Taiwan for me was a very rewarding experience.” During her stay in Taiwan, Hong became interested in the development of sustainable agriculture, community building, and everyday aesthetics in Taiwan. She also became more tolerant and open towards people and things around her. “Youth in mainland China tend to invoke macroscopic perspectives such as the nation and the state in their thinking; in contrast, Taiwanese are more likely to draw references from the quotidian or practical aspects of everyday life.”

SHIFTING BALANCE OF POWER ACROSS THE STRAIT: DO MAINLAND CHINESE STUDENTS STILL FIND TAIWAN ATTRACTIVE? 

However, underlying the general assumption that sees Taiwan as reaching a maturity stage of civic and cultural development is the fact that the country is losing its competitive edge in terms of its economic achievements.

“When I first arrived in Taipei, the cost of living in the city was way higher than that in mainland China. Each year when I visited the mainland though, I realized that the cost of living there was soring, eventually surpassing that of Taipei. It felt like Taiwan was not as well-off as China after all.” To avoid being misunderstood, Zhang Xixi added, “well, Taiwanese culture is still great!”

Zhang’s additional comment spoke to the fact that a shifting balance of power between Taiwan and mainland China—in terms of their economic competitiveness, cultural power, and more—has emerged since 2011 when lusheng policies were first implemented.  Dramatic changes have taken place in the past decade.

Many lusheng acknowledged that Taiwan’s shrinking sphere of influence has indeed affected student’s willingness to study in the country. Having studied as a M.A. student in Taiwan from 2012 to 2014, Lei Fangfang aptly observed, “I came to this striking realization after studying in Taiwan: people strive for better lives. Why should I go to Taiwan at all [if it’s not offering me anything better]?”

A journalism major, Lei revealed that the expertise she gained in Taiwan would not benefit her career development in mainland China, especially because of “the poor quality of Taiwan’s journalism.” Moreover, the university in which she was enrolled in Taiwan was not well-known among mainland Chinese companies. When seeking employment in China, she only put on her resume the bachelor’s degree she received from Shanghai Jiaotong University. “If I were given another chance, I wouldn’t have pursued a degree in Taiwan. I’d rather be an exchange student.”

Is Taiwan losing its attractiveness to Mainland Chinese students? Official data might suggest otherwise.

According to the statistics released by the Mainland Affairs Council (MAC), the number of registered Mainland Chinese degree students in Taiwan has gradually declined after reaching a peak in 2015. In 2017, the year after President Tsai Ing-wen was elected into office, the number of registered degree students sharply declined by one-third when compared to the figure in 2015. As for visiting Mainland Chinese students in Taiwan, their number similarly reached a peak in 2015—a time following the conclusion of the Sunflower movement in 2014 and preceding Tsai Ing-wen’s presidential victory in 2016.

Image: The Initium Media Design Team

However, if the statistical figures released by the University Entrance Committee for Mainland Chinese Students (大學校院招收大陸地區學生聯合招生委員會) are considered, it becomes apparent that while the number of Mainland Chinese students applying to Taiwanese higher education institutions started to decline in 2016, as of 2019, the number has already returned to the level before Tsai Ing-wen came to power. In fact, the true cause of such a decline lies in the sharp reduction in the enrollment quota for undergraduate students after Tsai Ing-wen was elected president. In 2016, the enrollment quota for undergraduate Mainland Chinese students was 2,136, whereas by 2019, this number was reduced to 800.

While the enrollment quota for Mainland Chinese students seeking education in Taiwan is bound by cross-strait negotiations, the Chinese government retains the de facto “veto power” over lusheng policies. In other words, the recent decline in the number of lusheng in Taiwan has more to do with the Chinese government’s restriction on the enrollment quota than Chinese student’s willingness to pursue higher education in Taiwan. It has been commonly believed that the Chinese government enacted such a restriction to put pressure on the Tsai administration, especially regarding Taiwan’s handling of lusheng policies and its private university’s reliance on the financial benefit this body of students generated.

However, according to Wang Horng‐luen, a Research Fellow at the Academia Sinica’s Institute of Sociology, the Sunflower movement in 2014 could still be regarded as a turning point which reflects lusheng’s shifting perception of Taiwan.

Image: The Initium Media Design Team

“The Sunflower movement was not only a street protest but also a student demonstration. It had an incalculable repercussion over lusheng in Taiwan, most of whom inevitably got socially and politically engaged during the process. In addition, the Chou Tzu-yu incident in 2015—an incident in which the Taiwan-born, South Korea-based singer was made to publicly apologize by mainland Chinese netizens for her ‘separatist’ motives in holding the national flag of Taiwan in a Korean variety show—also revealed to lusheng that the symbol of Chineseness is not particularly welcomed in Taiwan.”

Following this observation, how have Taiwanese attitudes towards mainland China and lusheng affected the lusheng community itself? In his journal article, “RIP, 426: Analyzing ‘National Experiences’ of the Degree-Pursuing Mainland Students in Taiwan,” Wang has charted three types of impacts lusheng face when studying in Taiwan.

The first type of impact concerns the increasing student support towards the Chinese Communist Party; concomitant with this development is the student’s growing disapproval towards Taiwanese independence.  The second type is more moderate in terms of how political stances are shifted. The student becomes less critical of the political system in mainland China while maintaining a strong disapproval towards the issue of independence in Taiwan. Nevertheless, the student expresses yearnings for freedom and democracy. The third type of impact demonstrates the intensification of a student’s distrust over China as well as his or her support and understanding over Taiwan’s call for independence.

“Students who came to Taiwan in the early days experienced a kind of ‘cultural shock’ when facing what they could not understand—the dominant trend of national identification among Taiwanese youth. Furthermore, the hostility they faced in Taiwan further reinforced their identification with the Chinese Communist party. Some claimed that it was because of their experience in Taiwan that they started to embrace ‘Chinese ethnic nationalism.’”

Wang has recently observed that if the year 2014 could be identified as a watershed moment [where different types of impact facing lusheng in Taiwan became more easily discernible], incoming lusheng in the following years might not have experienced that much of shock, considering how stories and experiences shared by senior lusheng could have prepared them for their student experiences and studies in Taiwan. This might even give rise to a “filtering mechanism” among students who choose to study in Taiwan. This body of students might more likely express a keen interest over social movements and civic participation and less likely to reduce conversations into issues of the nation. Gradually, there might be an increased number of students who exhibit distrust over China’s political system while showing support over Taiwanese independence.

“Apparently, the Chinese government hesitates to see an increased number of such students. Especially after Tsai Ing-wen came to power in 2016, Beijing has also made a lot of adjustments in terms of its student policies. On the one hand, they treat lusheng as ‘bargaining chips’ in cross-strait issues; on the other, they are worried that lusheng will become politically mobilized by the DDP. I’ve heard that in recent years, [China’s] Taiwan Affairs Office has even tried to dissuade students from studying in Taiwan. This was a step unimaginable when the [pro-China] KMT party was in power.”

STUDENT LIFE TORN ASUNDER? LUSHENG’S SELF AWARENESS AS A BARGAINING CHIP IN CROSS-STRAIT AFFAIRS

Wang Horng‐luen pointed out that lusheng policies have in fact met its anticipated results, if its aims lie in “solving the problem regarding the insufficient enrollment of students in private universities.”  This observation can be made in connection with the financial complications that Taiwanese private universities faced when the Chinese government announced its suspension of lusheng-related work in 2020.

From another perspective, lusheng have expressed growing dissatisfaction towards the strategic manipulation of policies related to their studies. In Taiwan, they serve only the instrumental purpose of alleviating the financial difficulties and instabilities of higher education institutions; in mainland China, they are used as bargaining chips for the government to exert pressure on and extract profit from Taiwan.

The Chinese government’s official stance towards lusheng policies could be understood as such: precisely because no Chinese government agency is established in Taiwan, China’s Taiwan Affairs Office (TAO; 國務院臺灣事務辦公室) found it difficult to exert influence over lusheng during their stay in Taiwan. In other words, lusheng are able to escape TAO’s surveillance so long as they do not return to China. Facing  this restrictive condition, the Chinese government has been deploying the idea of “pilot work” to access and retain the feasibility and flexibility of its lusheng-related policies. By extension, the experimental and flexible nature of “pilot work” allowed the Chinese government to abruptly bring lusheng policies to a standstill in 2020. On the contrary, the Taiwanese government has been seeking to regularize and normalize lusheng policies through legislative efforts.

As a first-generation lusheng who is now pursuing graduate research at National Taiwan University’s Department of Political Science, Yu Zelin left this observation when the controversy surrounding lusheng’s coverage in the national health insurance system erupted in 2016: “Without their own subjectivity, lusheng can only passively await or accept the fate of being spoken for or accused by public opinion and social commentary. Never has any legislative bodies consulted lusheng about their concerns over health insurance-related issues.”

From our current vantage point, lusheng’s “lack of subjectivity” and the power to speak for themselves serve as a mirror reflecting a reversed reality: that lusheng are always hypervisualized and instrumentalized as a “bargaining chip” in the negotiations of cross-strait affairs. Few have ever considered lusheng as a body of students in and of itself.

Having experienced the Sunflower movement in Taiwan, Hong Mei reflected upon the peculiar status of lusheng. On the one hand, lusheng do not want to be neglected and stigmatized. They have to express their thoughts on certain matters. On the other hand, such expressions must be made with prudent calculations. Hesitant to offend different parties across the strait, lusheng must negotiate their survival within the discursive framework set by both Taiwan and China.

According to Wang Horng-luen, the cause of lusheng’s predicament lies in Taiwan’s indeterminate status as a sovereign nation-state within the international community.

“Taiwan’s indeterminate status as a sovereign nation will always provoke irresolvable disputes with China, whenever the question of the nation is brought to the fore. In Taiwan’s constitution, mainland China is positioned neither within nor outside of the sovereign territory of the state. Within the framework of modern nationalism, however, a clear line of separation must be drawn between citizens and non-citizens. It is along these lines of separation that social welfare policies are formulated. From this perspective, we can understand why the issue of lusheng can attract so much controversy.”

Wang further pointed out that because of Taiwan’s parliamentary democratic structure, the former Ma Ying-jeou administration had to take into consideration criticism from the oppositional parties when drafting and formulating lusheng policies. This resulted in the introduction of exceptional restrictions on lusheng, namely, the “three limits and six no policy” (「三限六不」政策).

The three limits in question involve the number of recognized mainland Chinese universities in Taiwan, the number of inbound Chinese students, and the types of qualifications available to these students; whereas the six no concern the bonus scores students could have received while undertaking college entrance exams, the influence this student body poses on the rights to education of local Taiwanese students, the availability of part-time jobs, work upon graduation, and government-funded scholarships for these students, and the possibility of Chinese students taking civil service examinations in Taiwan.

Under such restrictions, lusheng policies—however well-intentioned it might seem—failed to create a win-win situation for governments across the strait. Furthermore, it fueled lusheng’s dissatisfaction towards Taiwan’s democratic system—a system which, as a few lusheng contended, is Janus-faced in nature, reserving the rights to freedom, democracy, and human rights for Taiwanese citizens while exposing mainland Chinese students to discrimination.

Faced with the question concerning “why lusheng policy failed to promote peaceful exchanges and communication across the strait,” it is necessary to assess the changes such policies brought to Taiwanese society. Wang observed that such changes were effectuated by the operation of what can be called “a politics of division.” Since the implementation of lusheng policies, Taiwanese found the opportunity to demarcate a line of division separating the self and the other, sameness and difference in their everyday life. Positioned as the other, lusheng were oftentimes targeted as objects of hatred and retaliation on campus.

More importantly, this politics of division exerted its forces on the quotidian, everyday life. Ostensibly, it seldom wrecked physical or devastating damages on its targets. Yet the violent traces it left behind remained palpable to those who have been othered and ostracized.

Huang Ying recalled her past experience of accompanying her Hong Kong partner to the hospital for a medical examination necessary for the residence permit renewal. She offered her partner a rather causal suggestion, “Wouldn’t it be better if you first smoke a cigarette or drink a cup of coffee? You poop easier that way.” Surprised, her partner replied, “Stool tests are not required for students from Hong Kong and Macao. You guys [lusheng] need to get your feces tested?”

This is how Huang came to understand the difference between lusheng and students from Hong Kong and Macao—difference in terms not only of [legal] identity, but also the tests required to complete a medical examination. Saddened and amused, Huang suggested that when added together, these fragments of quotidian experiences exacerbated the sense of alienation and exclusion she felt in Taiwan.

Unable to return to Taiwan due to the pandemic, political science major Lin Hengfeng made an analogy: the assimilation process that lusheng undertook while studying in Taiwan is more akin to the ritual of “self-sacrifice.” You are required to sacrifice the values and customs that you learned and accepted in the past. You are asked to denounce the very country from which you spent your entire life, only to plead for acceptance and understanding from Taiwanese society.

“Taiwan is like the worst type of ex-partner that you can ever get. The more you like it, the farther you should stay away from it. That sense of distance will let you reexamine the details of your life there in a better light. And every tiny bit of memory will stir a profound feeling of nostalgia in you,” Lin explained.