Taiwan and the geopolitical uses of lesbian romcoms

[I wrote this as a pseudonymous Twitter thread back in 2020 and then published it as a cohost post in 2022. Given the ongoing discourse about China and Taiwan, I thought it was worth publishing it on my own site. I’m a total newbie when it comes to China, Taiwan, and international relations, so consider this as published for amusement purposes only.]

A while back I watched various films and dramas on the Taiwanese LGBTQ streaming service GagaooLala. If I were an academic and actually knew something about this topic, I’d write a paper “The Geopolitical Uses of Lesbian Romcoms: Zero Chou’s Six Asian Cities Rainbow Project as Taiwanese Soft Power Projection.” But I’m not, so this post will have to do.

As of 2020 when I originally wrote this, Zero Chou’s project consisted of two films and two TV series featuring ethnic Chinese across East Asia: We Are Gamily (“Gamily” presumably from “Gay Family”) (2017, filmed in Chengdu in Sichuan), The Substitute (2017, Beijing), Handsome Stewardess (2019, Singapore), and Wrath of Desire (2020, Hong Kong). I watched the first three of these on GagaooLala.

These films were “advised by” the Taiwan Ministry of Culture, and I believe partially funded directly or indirectly by the Ministry of Culture as well, along with a wider Taiwanese LGBTQ media ecosystem (headed by entrepreneur Jay Lin) that includes GOL Studios, the GagaTai and LalaTai websites, and GagaooLala itself. Why would the Taiwanese government do this?

The answer presumably lies in geopolitics, and specifically in Taiwan’s fraught relations with China. Some claim that Xi Jinping and the Chinese Communist Party envision not only an expanded China restored to greatness, but a world remade to China’s liking. In this vision, Western powers like the US and the EU would be sidelined, and other powers would acknowledge the superiority of (and seek to emulate) China and the CCP (which would be seen as one and the same).

This goal would be accomplished via political, military, economic, and cultural means: ensuring internal order within China, following up the absorption of Hong Kong by annexing Taiwan, alternately overawing and subsidizing China’s Asian neighbors, winning the cooperation of Western businesses in exchange for access to the Chinese market, and attempting to influence Western culture and politics through various means.

Presumably the CCP wishes that the ascendance of China and the identification of China with the CCP be seen as desirable by as many people and powers as possible. But if that is not always possible, the CCP presumably wishes the rise of China to be seen as inevitable: that there is and can only be “one China,” with the CCP seen as the only true and correct ruler of China and the Chinese people, wherever they might live.

Because of its much smaller population and economy, Taiwan cannot match the People’s Republic in most spheres. However, in its sponsorship of GagaooLala and similar ventures, the Taiwanese government can be seen as pursuing an asymmetric strategy to “queer” the (for now, metaphorical) battlefield: promoting an alternative that is culturally Chinese but open to other cultures and ethnicities, and that respects and even celebrates differences.

For example: in We Are Gamily a Chinese lesbian in a marriage of convenience with a gay friend works under a CCP member who repeats bland slogans about social harmony. The young lesbian has internalized these slogans, but after falling in love with her husband’s sister she opts for truth to oneself over “harmony.”

Taiwan is not mentioned in We Are Gamily. The only non-PRC influence is in the form of her husband’s white South African lover, who discusses same-sex marriage in his home country. However the Chengdu setting may be a tell: not only is Chengdu supposedly a relatively friendly city for LGBTQ people, the city was the last redoubt of the Chinese Nationalist Party before fleeing to Taiwan in 1949.

Handsome Stewardess goes to one-party-ruled Singapore, as a Taiwanese lesbian joins an airline based in the city-state and proceeds to agitate against harassment and company policies. Her girlfriend claims that Singapore’s rules promote “stability,” but at the conclusion of the series ends up siding with her Taiwanese partner.

Both these series foreground family: In We Are Gamily the LGBTQ siblings’ desire to live true to themselves is ultimately accepted by their mother, while in Handsome Stewardess the titular character’s parents encourage her to find a nice girl and marry, now that Taiwan law permits it. (However, her mother does have to remind her that the current law permits such marriages only if both individuals are citizens of jurisdictions with marriage equality.)

Finally, The Substitute features cross-strait relations, as a Beijing judo star is bested and seduced by a Taiwanese exchange student, is set to double for her in an action film, then becomes a star herself upon the other girl’s disappearance. The finale sees them reconciled in Taiwan.

In sum, the “Six Asian Cities Rainbow Project” presents a vision of “liberal democracy with Taiwanese characteristics,” one that is rooted in and respectful of tradition (see also Chou’s earlier film Splendid Float). This vision is compatible with “family values,” but also allows for individual freedom and differences.

The presumed goals are multiple: First, to heighten the perceived differences between Taiwan and the PRC, and position Taiwan as a potential model for young Chinese people to emulate. If even 2% of China’s 1.4 billion people are LGBTQ, they would outnumber the entire population of Taiwan; presumably they are a key audience for Taiwanese cultural outreach. There is also a large population of young people in China who are fans of LGBTQ-related (or at least LGBTQ-adjacent) content, like danmei novels.

Second, to promote a positive image of Taiwan among young people (Chinese or otherwise) living in countries in Southeast Asia that are potential allies of Taiwan. Again, we can see this effort as in part targeted to the large BL and (to a lesser extent) yuri fan communities in countries like Thailand and the Philippines.

And finally (aided by GagaooLala’s global expansion), to give Westerners more knowledge of Taiwan and reasons to care about its fate (as, for example, many in the West—and in Taiwan itself—now care about the fate of Ukraine).

We now come to Stalin’s famous question: How many divisions does GagaooLala have? If the CCP decides that force is the only way to “unify” China, will the people of Taiwan be able and willing to do the things necessary to defend their country, including reorganizing the Taiwanese armed forces to be more effective? Certainly some have questioned this.

But political will follows popular will. If Taiwan’s autonomy is to be defended, its people—and its young people in particular—must see it as worth defending. And if Taiwan’s army is disadvantaged by being seen as the past enabler of authoritarian rule, then it must evolve to become an institution seen as the guarantor of Taiwanese democracy and freedom—including the freedoms celebrated in Chou’s films and TV series.

Taiwan may never be truly sovereign and independent, but a combination of cultural change, military reform, and support from the US and other nations may enable it to survive as a country unto itself, and not as a mere province of an expanded China. As Adam Chen-Dedman asks, “Might Taiwan’s embrace of democracy and respect for human rights—as a radical people-centered form of ‘warm’ power—offer a way to decolonize its own ‘inevitable’ extinction at the hands of its neo-imperial neighbor?” The answer remains unclear, but the question is a critical one for the future of Taiwan, Asia, and the world.