A Debate on Indigenous peoples, Universities, and Reparations of History

No matter which corner of the world you reside in, one fact remains unchanged: it’s a free-for-all battlefield in the climb for getting into a top university.

In Taiwan, where college acceptance largely depends on the GSAT (General Ability Scholastic Test) or the so-called “Appoint Test” (Advanced Subject Test) and no essay nor extracurricular activity can save a floundering GPA, the grind is even more pronounced. One extra mistake, one extra mark deducted, and a student could find themselves looking at a drop far down the educational ladder.

Understandably, this meant that a legislation some interpreted as “to allow a 35% score increase” for “eligible indigenous students” inevitably led to public outcry. There was dissent from both sides of the deal: the majority, Han (漢人, people of Mandarin descent) students, were angered that their peers had such a significant leg up when they themselves had fought just as hard to attain the same scores; on the other hand, some indigenous students were upset at the fact that they were hence looked down upon by fellow students even if they had nothing to do with –– nor any need for –– such a boost.

In many cases, discussions on this topic would deteriorate into outright discrimination. It isn’t uncommon to see memes making fun of indigenous students being passed around, with “35%” being the perpetual punchline.

However, there are many misconceptions about this legislation and its many amends. Searching online, you’d come across endless rants from both sides of the argument, each of them offering contradicting explanations. (No, the real answer isn’t anywhere to be found on page 2 of Google Search.) Even the phrasing of the law in question is itself somewhat ambiguous. Just about every stakeholder and their family are angry, but let’s try to briefly clarify things here.

For one, not every indigene stands to benefit from this perk. Only the students who take and pass what is commonly described as an “indigenous mother tongue qualification” can receive the 35% boost. Those who are of indigenous descent but do not earn a qualification certificate are eligible for only 10%, if any at all.

And then there is the most commonly overlooked clause: indigenous students, when making use of this score increase, will be competing only with their indigenous peers. Basically, when their scores are compared to other (Han) students who don’t benefit from this legislation, the score boost is not applied. The 35% boost only benefits students within a much more crowded applicant pool: an additional 2% of additional seats, reserved for indigenes, much like how there are minority-only seats in political establishments. In a sense the legislation functions as a second chance away from the wider competition. There is no “unfairness” from the score bonus itself.

Without getting into the details of lawmaking and legislative details, the long and short of it is that while mild outcry is understandable –– an extra 2% of seats is a very enviable perk after all –– the anger is mostly misdirected. And while Taiwanese laws still have a long way to go before all chinks are ironed out, the issue hints at a much bigger problem that doesn’t seem to garner enough attention: the history, culture, and proper reparations for indigenous tribes.

Let’s start with the roots. How did this law come to be?

In short, it is an apology to once-oppressed minorities. Throughout Taiwan’s history of being colonized by one country after another, a common theme was to make Taiwanese citizens conform, and eradicate original cultures. Mostly keeping to themselves and hence severely underrepresented, indigenes got the worst part of the deal. While the Han were relatively more vocal in the oppressed society, many indigenous traditions, languages, and even tribes themselves were driven to extinction. Come today, what better way to make amends than to “ensure a better future” for them all through promises of higher, enriched education?

Another aspect of this issue is modern development.

While the actual reason for the legislation will always be open for interpretation, the most widely accepted analysis is that the government is trying to compensate for unequal resource distribution. As most cities have far more advanced education facilities and opportunities, supporters say it is only fair for indigenes in lesser-developed areas to have an artificially equal chance to compete.

Combining the two reasons above led to the decision to establish benefits for indigenous students.

Moving on, we need a deeper look at the implementation.

What led to this particular score increase policy? In particular, what’s up with the eligibility requirements?

On the surface, it seems just there to deter ineligible students from abusing the policy and attempting to claim a score bonus without actual heritage, much less connections, to their respective tribes. But deeper scrutiny yields another question: why does the difference between 35% and 10% exist?

One way of looking at it is that the government is using this score boost to encourage adoption and preservation of indigenous students’ mother tongues. Those who are fluent get a massively supplemented university application. Those that are not actively contributing to their tribal roots do not. Through this, one can hope to achieve the end goal of preserving indigenous culture.

Think of this as how universities in the U.S. often say applicants are “considered within the context of their schools”. Indigenous students here, too, are considered within the context of “disadvantaged, minority students” by legislature. And this conclusion leads us to the last, broadest topic: discrimination and contemporary conflicts.

Some indigenous students feel that this legislation implies they are seen as inferior to Han students. Their achievements now seem to always be doubted; did they really do what they claim to have done, or did they get an unfair leg-up too? Others feel humiliated, especially those who feel they were already fully capable of hiking up the education hierarchy before getting the bonus. The legislation seems to have cheapened the value of their accomplishment.

Still there are those who have accepted it as it is. Most Han students who recognize the actual policy are painfully aware that objectively, just one or two extra seats probably wouldn’t have done them much good. And fellow indigenous students are glad to have this chance at all.

Finally, let us address the elephant in the room.

Is this policy actually as good an idea as politicians and lawmakers make it out to be?

Objectively, I see a use for it. But subjectively, like many others, it feels more like a temporary solution than actual attempt at preserving indigenous culture. There simply is no direct correlation between exam scores and the stated goal of letting indigenous culture proliferate. Sure, this brings higher education to rural locations and disadvantaged peoples. Perhaps after fetching a good university degree, indigenous students will return to their tribes and initiate development. But I can’t help but think that this is too little, too late, and in the process creates an even larger divide between domestic groups.

And let’s look beyond exam score bonuses. There still exists the problem of indigenous students’ education after getting their foot in the door. The benefits end along with exams, and after getting into their respective schools and majors, they are left to fend for themselves just like their Han peers. While this is fair in the sense that everyone has to do equal amounts of work, this has also led to students with artificially elevated scores facing even more stress, floundering like fish out of water. This doesn’t seem to particularly align with the ideals of ensuring higher education, either.

At the end of the day, the true purpose and effectiveness of this score increase law is up for debate. The many amends have left all stakeholders confused, and controversy needs to be quelled. But for now, the existence of this legislation is a necessary stepping stone. One can only hope that simultaneously, more efforts to preserve tribal culture and increase their involvement in modern society are demonstrated, and perhaps one day, all these troubles and arguments will remain frozen in the past.