Earlier this year, a man with political opinions differing from those of the current President of the United States vented some frustrations by using his graphic designer skills. He mocked up a presidential seal by swapping a Russian two-headed eagle for the American single-headed one, and putting golf clubs in the place of the olive branch. He also reworded the motto and changed it from Latin to Spanish. He marketed this seal as a gag gift. This was not a flag burning, so even though we may not appreciate the joke, Americans have to support his right to do it.
Last summer the president spoke at an event hosted by a conservative political organization. His remarks were not made at from a lectern, but standing on a stage. A staff member of the organization arranged for an image of the presidential seal to be projected on the wall beside him. But in setting things up, he or she failed to look closely at the image found on a google search. The result was an interesting juxtaposition of the President and a sign that mocked him. You can read about it at: https://www.nytimes.com/2019/07/26/business/media/fake-presidential-seal-trump.html
This brings us to Taiwan, which lost another ally last week. Years ago the government of China and the government of Taiwan began playing a game called, “No, you can’t have both.” A nation which has formal diplomatic ties with China cannot have an “embassy” of Taiwan, but merely a “Trade and Cultural Office” or something of the sort. Taiwan has many such offices around the world, but few embassies. Last week, the Solomon Islands (home to Guadalcanal of WWII fame) switched. In response, diplomats like Taiwan’s “unofficial ambassador” in the USA made speeches. The report in the Taiwan News https://www.taiwannews.com.tw/en/news/3772930 was accompanied by a stock photo of Stanley Kao (高碩泰) speaking to a group while standing in front of the flag that Taiwan uses in international situations. The photo sent almost the right message. Diplomat and flag both well represented. But because the lectern at which he stood had paint peeling off of it, the appearance was of shabbiness.
As early as 1944, economic leaders of the governments in Western Europe and North America began meeting to devise systems to regulate trade and monetary systems in the wake of the war that was going on at the time. The agreements forged then, in a conference at the Bretton Woods Hotel in America, have been regularly supplemented and updated since. Regular conferences are held at hotels and conference centers to decide things, and each ends with a declaration named for the location at which it was negotiated. Hotel names are often used for the declarations. None are named for the Holiday Inn or the Best Western. Hotel based conference centers come equipped with all the things needed for meetings, including lecterns, often prominently displaying the venue’s name. A google search for images of lecterns and podiums will quickly yield several pictures bearing hotel logos. That can sometimes be a problem, especially when the image one wishes to project when speaking is not necessarily that of a NASCAR driver.
Across my years in Taiwan, I attended many meetings and heard many speeches from flower-decked podiums. Only rarely has much attention been paid to the appearance or condition of the podium itself. In 1982 at an event at a government-run guesthouse, the speaker wanted a podium to hold his speaking notes. The highest thing there was a table at which he could sit. It was early on a Sunday morning. The speaker wanted to stand, but and the person with the key to the room where the guest house’s lectern was kept had the day off. Someone got into a janitor’s closet and found a mop bucket, which was inverted and covered with a dirty dish towel. The visual appearance detracted from the quality of the words spoken on that occasion.
Sometime in the 90s I visited a local Toastmasters club meeting at a big hotel in Kaohsiung. I was impressed by the quality of the speakers and the the club’s regard for the method promoted by the organization. What DIDN’T impress me was hotel’s lectern. The microphone was on a wobbly stand that shook and sent crackles through the room whenever a speaker so much as touched the table.
Between 2011 and 2015 I was an adjunct lecturer at the southern campus of a private university headquartered “up north”. I attended graduation ceremonies a few times. The podium they used was high and wide. It was on wheels for convenient rolling onto and off of the stage as needed. When not needed, it stood in the wings of the stage. Apparently nobody at the university was responsible to maintain it. Seated with faculty in the front row, I could see how dirty and dented it had become over the years. From year to year, I noticed, its condition declined.
Once, on retreat at a facility that had once served as a Bible college in central Taiwan, I began reading the words embossed on the front of the pulpit and comparing them to the words carved into a nearby communion table. Each phrase was a statement about Jesus; each was taken from the Bible. In one of them, the pronoun was “I”, in the other “He”. No matter WHAT anyone standing behind either of them may have spoken, an interesting conversation was going on in that room.
Back to the ambassador’s lectern and the President’s seal. These guys don’t have to carry their own furniture around with them. They have every right to expect that the venues at which they deliver remarks to be free of distractions that will detract from what they attempt to say. Someone has to pay attention. If not someone on the venue’s staff, then someone on their own.
David Alexander resides in Holland, MI after 39 years in Taiwan.
A few years ago a friend found some old maps of Tainan City, where I was living. They indicated that, before renaming, one narrow twisty lane that ran along the back sides of buildings facing two wider roads and following a drainage ditch had been called “Canine Excretia Lane”. (Taiwanese is an earthy language. You can imagine a better translation.) The next day I went out to find it. It’s still there. I’d even wandered along it in years past. By 2017 it had a number instead of a name. At its far end I noticed that it seemed to continue as a dead-end alley between two buildings across a road. As I entered that part, I met a man on his way out. He asked what I was looking for, and when I told him, he said, “No, that’s on the other side of the road. This is NOT that.” 
When we took up residence in Taiwan in 1982 we wanted a telephone. I went to the phone company with my newly issued Alien Resident Certificate, a name chop, and lots of money in my pocket. As best I could, I filled out forms, but all was put on hold because I didn’t know the number of the telephone pole nearest to the apartment that I’d rented. 
Aboksu 