On November 17, 2000, local newspapers reported the return visit to Taiwan by an Irish Catholic priest and labor activist, Father Neil Magill. Nothing I saw in print about that story, however, reflected anything near the sensation that surrounded this man when he was literally picked up and thrown out of the country back in 1989. No missionary here at the time, regardless of religious denomination, could forget that event.

 Father Magill had worked in Taiwan for nine years, until the day came for his removal. Late one afternoon he was unceremoniously ordered into a patrol car and whisked to the airport, where, with burly policemen at his side, he was given a free flight to Hong Kong. He was back in Europe a few hours later.

 Magill was an unusual missionary priest by any standard. He spoke fluent Taiwanese, and not the more customary Mandarin, for example, and for years lived not at a church, but beside a service center for workers that he had founded in Taoyuan. There he devoted himself both to a life of prayer and to a variety of programs designed to meet the needs and interests of ordinary laborers, most of whom did not share his religious faith. They gathered there for rest, friendship, and education.

 At the time of his eviction, it was more or less common knowledge that Magill was practically walking on glass shards in bare feet, because some government authorities considered his ministry not spiritual, but political in nature. After all, he spoke openly of laborer's rights and benifits, and of the need for safe and humane conditions for factory and other workers, didn't he?

 The government's refusal to renew his residence permit (effectively denying Magill permission to stay in Taiwan) angered social activists across the island. But what particularly galvanized thinking citizens, activists or not, was how the decision was executed. Restraining him by force, cramming him into the back of a police car as if he were a hardened criminal, and throwing him into an airplane seat like a sack of potatoes seemed needlessly high handed.

 The whole scenario sent shock waves through Taiwan's wide spread foreign missionary community. I know because I was, and still am, a member of that community.

 In the days that followed, when some in the media condemned Father Magill, and implied that authentic missionaries stay in the church buildings, caring more for prayer than social problems, I thought of priests like him, but also of sisters and brothers, ministers, and lay people of many religious beliefs. Men and women of deep spiritual values, these missionaries had worked happily in Taiwan for many years. Their lives and projects upheld the importance and dignity of all persons, regardless of social or economic status. They ran schools and hospitals, homes for the aged, programs for the handicapped and mentally retarded, and human service centers, much like Magill's in Taoyuan. In a range of ministries, these foreign friends served the needs of the socially marginalized, of people without voices in the hallowed corridors of politics and big business.

 How Taiwan has changed! Once a pariah, Father Neil Magill was welcomed back on November 16, 2000, and treated, if not as a hero, perhaps as a bit of a prophet. Once given the boot, he now was given the opportunity to shake hands with the president of the Republic of China.

 We still live with the sensitive questions this man's life in Taiwan in the '80s highlighted so clearly. How do we distinguish between religious and secular concerns, especially when certain activities involve persons or groups that define themselves as religious? Are there differences between spiritual and political values? Should missionaries be players on the field of social change?

 Questions about "foreignness" also linger. In 1989 the Irish Father Magill was not treated more harshly than activists of Chinese ethnic nationality, and may have been treated more gently. Well, what rights do foreigners have in Taiwan to speak publicly about social issues and social reform? What are the boundaries of discourse for those among us who love and respect the people of Taiwan, but live and perhaps even die here as guests, not citizens?
 
 

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