David Lawson
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   Lawson is a licensed clinical psychologist and professor of psychology in the graduate department of Liberty University.
   As I sit watching the election results with a Taiwanese family, I am amazed at what is occurring on this tiny fluorescent island.
   I am in Taiwan to assess the mental health issues impacting the people and to help universities in Taiwan develop degree programs in psychology and counseling. In the midst of these responsibilities, I am swept into the island's political and personal identity.
   As Taiwan is struggling to define itself through elections and referendums, the media are distracting the world from understanding the real story. Television networks focus on lines of people waving green or red and blue flags, representing the two parties.
   Yet another, more important event is happening on the island. In the background, completely hidden to the ratings-oriented reporters, modern Taiwan is returning to its past and engaging in millennia-old traditions - traditions that should remind many of us in the Western world of significant life issues not only during election years but every year.
   I encounter these traditions in a serendipitous way: I am stuck in Taiwan. I cannot go home; I cannot fly out of the country. Although jets are moving in and out of the country as usual, they are filled with Taiwanese citizens from around the world, returning for the election, or so it would seem.
   That is the popular explanation. When I ask the Taiwanese person on the street about the great numbers of their people entering and exiting the country, they talk about elections and votes.
   However, as I patiently watch events unfold and talk with the families, the deeper story is revealed: Age-old traditions are moving these people. Traditions of food and family.
   On this constantly bright, industrious little island, families have learned to cope with change by moving and living where they find work. As the island moved from an agrarian society to industry to business and service, the family needed to adapt, to survive.
   Families that lived near or with each other for generations now live on opposite sides of the island and around the world. Although moving away from home and family is normal for the average Westerner, these changes have created great stress for the families in Taiwan.
   This culture has always honored the family above all things or traditions. Embedded in the culture is the belief that success is directly related to the amount of honor bestowed on family members, both present and past.
   Because the culture associates family togetherness with food, great honor is felt by family members as they cook and eat together. Many Westerners would be surprised to learn that in this "male-oriented" society, cooking is usually shared equally by men and women, and cooking is one of the primary methods men use to express love and concern for their families.
   Honor and love are given to guests in the same manner, around the table. Culture dictates that the family members eat with the guest and make certain the guest is full.
   As a guest on the island, I am constantly greeted by the smell of food. Families compete with each other to welcome me at their tables. Even though I am a vegetarian and exercise daily, I struggle to maintain my weight. Although I knew before I arrived that the Taiwanese people express love and nurture through food, I could not imagine the depth of this tradition.
   As I settle in, unable to leave Taiwan, I ponder the diligence of the people. Why are the Taiwanese people so committed to expending this much time, energy and money to return for an election?
   Now I discover the truth. As I sit down to the table with families, as I meet with university faculty, as I talk to shop owners and as I attend religious services, I discover what drives these people to return home.
   Some who have returned are no longer eligible to vote. But they return anyway. The election is an excuse for families once again to eat together and fulfill time-honored traditions.
   As the Taiwanese people grab world headlines by holding election rallies day and night, displaced Taiwanese families methodically return. In the quiet side streets and in the country homes, families are slowly congregating around the table and sharing in love. Here, the bright fluorescent lights and the industry vanish, and tradition returns.
   I, too, am returning home, in a way. Around the table, my hosts learn that my dad came here from Roanoke 15 years ago to help build a power plant.
   Word of this spreads into the universities. They insist. I must go to the power plant.
   We travel south to Sun and Moon Lake. Everyone in the power plant knows we are coming. As we enter the plant, I am greeted as a returning son, a family member.
   I read "General Electric" on some equipment. Everyone cheers.
   They hand me a cell phone and insist I call home. I wake Dad at midnight. Half asleep, he answers that, yes, he was here. More cheers. Then we eat.
   As we sit together at the table, we are no longer a fast-paced, dislocated or industrialized society, but one large family returning home to eat. This miracle occurs in spite of the attention given to the election and the rhetoric. It occurs despite the fact the president and vice president are shot less than 24 hours before the election.
   I watch their outrage at this event, but then more family members arrive and we begin to eat again. The election has given them a reason to get together one more time, and oh, yes, share a little about politics and voting. This is the real story of Taiwan's election.