There is an organization in the ROC on Taiwan that has three million members, me than any political party or labor confederation. It is the Tsu-chi Merit Association.

Since its inception in 1966, the Tsu-chi Merit Association has worked to achieve the ideal of "rescuing people and saving the world." This organization shines its light into the corners of society where social welfare and health insurance do not run; it is a miracle even beyond the economic one realized in Taiwan.

Beginning by giving food and money to needy households on a regular basis, this organization has grown to encompass emergency assistance, disaster relief, and help for the poor and ill. The funds come from the vegetable money of housewives, the loose change of schoolchildren, the savings of salarymen, and generous donations by the wealthy . . . . By the end of 1992, it had helped out more than 246,000 poor people in need of medical assistance and reached a total of NT$2.66 billion (over US$100 million).

The Tsu-chi Buddhist General Hospital, located in Hualien, was opened with the support of the Merit Association.

Its credo of "Compassion finds joy in giving" has attracted many medical personnel to eastern Taiwan, which is as lacking in wealth and cultural activities as it is in medical resources. And there is an endless stream of volunteer workers, with a waiting list of two or three years.

Hospitals have always been seen as "money-making ventures. "Doe Tsu-chi, driven instead by "compassion," also in the end have to toe the bottom line? Or do patients come first, no matter what the cost?

The answer is clear. In the seven years since its opening, Tsu-chi has run up a huge backlog of unpaid patients' bills reaching staggering amounts. There are many reasons why:

* No patients are turned away, regardless of whether they have money with them.

* Poor patients are treated free of charge.

* Need, not cost, is the only consideration in purchasing new equipment.

* The hospital refuses to resort to legal action to pursue those who skip out on their bills. . . .

Many people assume Tsu-chi is a charitable institution, and have the erroneous idea that they needn't pay for their treatment, thus drawing down its financial resources. But Tsu-chi Merit Association founder Master Cheng Yen would rather wait for these patients to come forward on their own, and will take no confrontational measures. For those charged with keeping the books, this puts them in a difficult position. Can they keep this up for long?

Tsu-chi's unpaid bills reveal the generosity of the givers and the selfishness of the takers. The truly needy can receive assistance simply by applying for it; most of the unpaid bills belong to those who could pay, but won't. They are well-versed in the tolerant attitudes at Tsu-chi and take advantage to skip out.

Perhaps the unpaid bills at Tsu-chi will only decline when human conscience shows some improvement.

A young woman of marriageable age is hesitating. Her problem is that she doesn't know which of two pretty good men to choose. Her family thinks that by finding someone of similar provincial origin, communication will be easier and customs will be closer. But for this young woman, considerations of values, character, personality, and philosophy of life all far outweigh that of provincial origin. After considerable thought, this Taiwanese woman decides to marry a "provincial outsider," who nevertheless was, as she was, born in Taiwan.

In the past, intergroup marriages between Taiwanese and mainlanders were sensitive matters. There were often stereotypes the two sides held about the other. Taiwanese often thought mainlanders live on a diet of "garlic, hot peppers, and dog meat," and have short fuses. Meanwhile mainlanders have thought of Taiwanese as "male chauvinists," or as "crude." Intermarriage is in fact the hardest form of intergroup melding, because it can only be achieved voluntarily through the efforts of the parties concerned. With the added historical burden of the February 28 and other incidents, intergroup marriages were likely to face a lot of pressures.

Times change. Society is increasingly pluralistic. Will political liberalization draw a more distinct line between the "yams" of Taiwan and the "taros" of mainland China? Will "yaro" households hold together harmoniously or divide? Do the products of these marriages have a problem of identity? What is the role of provincial differentiation in their lives?

As previously taboo subjects are aired out one after the other, it is time to take a closer and more concerned look at the question of Taiwanese-mainlander relations.