The Restored Taipei Heritage Building Megapost

First, a quick life update: I have COVID! So, depending on how that turns out, you can either expect lots of posts as I don't have much to do, or nothing because I don't feel well (right now I'm doing alright). 

Now, on to the actual post.

In recent years, Taipei has been working practically in overdrive not just to preserve the heritage architecture that remains, but (for the most part) turn these old buildings into useful or interesting public spaces. 

You surely know some of these already -- Huashan and Songyan Creative Parks, Bopiliao, Dihua Street and -- well, so many that it'd be impossible to list them all. A few are privately owned: Leputing is housed in a Japanese-era dormitory for government officials, built in the 1920s and renovated with government subsidies. Fireweeds offers more traditionally Japanese fare, in a smaller-scale building. I used to frequent Cafe Monument when I had a reason to be in that area. Nobody who knows a thing about Taiwanese history is unaware of Wistaria House (though it can be hard to get a table). 

Others have been more recently renovated. As such, they're less well-known. 

I've been spending a lot of time these past few years writing about these places (among other topics) for Taipei Magazine. That's not a plug -- the point is, I spend a lot of time visiting these places because the city government wants to get the word out. It's been an enjoyable enough series of assignments that I thought I'd summarize some of my favorites, with a few picks of my own. 

Some of the links lead back to my own writing, some to other sites -- I wanted to offer a list of my favorites (including places I've visited on assignment) rather than just hawk my own work. Not every item comes with photographs: I simply can't find all of my own pictures. I'm not sure it matters much -- I'm not the best photographer.

This is by no means a definitive list. I'm giving the places above the short shrift, and leaving out Beitou and Shezi completely. Old favorites, like the Xiahai City God Temple, Bao'an Temple and Qingshan Temple didn't make it in. There are enough Japanese-era residences around NTU and Shi-da alone to create an entire post. I didn't include the 228 Museum because I wanted to add at least one picture to that, but I don't have any (it will feature in an upcoming post on all the museums you can visit if you don't want to go to the National Palace Museum again). 

That's okay -- I can't cover everything, so let's focus on what I can do! 

Kishu An

Also called the "Literature Forest", this renovated section of a 1917 Japanese riverside banquet hall -- much of which was destroyed in a fire decades ago -- offers a calm spot for relaxation, a shop, cafe and event space. The massive banyan trees lend themselves to the 'forest' part of the site's name, and novelist Wang Wen-hsing lived here for a time, hence the connection to literature. In fact, much of the Taiwanese novel Family Catastrophe was set here.

Taiwan Literature Base and surrounding neighborhood (same link as above)

Near Huashan Creative Park, the Taiwan Literature Base is housed in a series of dormitories once occupied by Japanese civil servants, first in the Japanese era and for a period, ROC government workers as well. It was left abandoned for some time before being designated as a historic site and renovated. Qidong (Chitung) Street is much older, however: it was used as a transit route for goods headed to the port of Keelung during the Qing Dynasty and Japanese colonial era. Now, the dormitories house exhibits, spots for reading -- including one filled with books in Taiwanese and Hakka -- or just places to hang out, in a quiet complex with plenty of outdoor seating. 

There's more to this neighborhood than just the dormitories, however. Other renovated Japanese era buildings house the Taipei Qin Hall (also called Taipei Calligraphy Academy) the residence of Li Gwoh-ting. Both of these host events, exhibits and activities.

Tip: for this and Kishu An, bring bug spray. It turns out that shady banyans attract mosquitoes.

Railway Department Park

This has gotten quite a bit of press since opening in 2020, but I wanted to include it as not only a recent renovation, but also one of my favorite visits. With an Art Deco entrance, cypress from Alishan, a Beaux Arts conference room, and exhibits on railway history, there's a lot to see here. Buildings outside have a lot of history to explore as well. It's become one of my top recommendations for very hot or rainy days, if you want to get out of the house, explore a historic site, and have enough to keep you engaged for the day. 

Futai Street Mansion

Walking down Yanping Street one day, I passed this smallish historical building and found, to my surprise, that it was open to the public. This simple European-style commercial building (it was built in 1910 to house the offices of a Japanese construction company) holds a place in my memory in part because I found it on my own; no guidebook or brochure mentioned it, and I wasn't asked to go there to write about it.  Constructed of stone from Qili'an in northern Taipei with a ceiling of Taiwanese cypress, it's the only commercial building left on Yanping Road, which was once lined with them. It houses a gift shop and as of my last visit, a small cafe as well. Renovation and management was conducted by the same person who manages the Taipei Story House near the Fine Arts Museum. I appreciate the warm cypress scent that wafts through the building; you'd hardly think that this was used as accommodations for high-level ROC officials -- it looks like it was always meant to be a commercial building on a commercial street.


Nishihonganji

Built in the early 1900s, was originally a Buddhist monastery and temple that served as a Taiwan-based chapter of a Japanese Shin (or Pure Land) Buddhist order. When I first moved to Taiwan in 2006, I remember coming across it in disrepair, but in the years since it's been renovated and turned into a popular attraction. The bell tower is especially nice, though I remember it most fondly as one of the first historic sites I came across in Taiwan that was later renovated. The architectural designs are eclectic, and the head priest's residence (the rinbansho or rinbansyo)

is now a teahouse called, predictably, Rinbansyo and is built and decorated in a thoroughly traditional Japanese style. I've been, and I recommend it! 

(On a personal note, Rinbansyo holds a lot of sad and nostalgic memory for me, as the one time I went, I was with a friend who later passed away of a heart condition. It was the last time I saw her. I should go back, but I haven't yet.) 

North Gate

In my first years in Taiwan, North Gate was that incongruous little square building with the traditional-style roof that few paid attention to. Why? Because it sat right next to a massive highway ramp. When I had a class in Wugu, a student would drive me back to Taipei Main Station and I'd always notice how pretty that old Minnan-style roof looked, silhouetted by the city lights beyond. It was hard to get close to the actual gate, though, and on the ground its surroundings drained its attractiveness.

Friends began pointing out the gate's significance. As one of the only relics of the Taipei city walls (constructed just before the Sino-Japanese war in the late 1900s, and demolished very soon after by the incoming Japanese), and as the only Taipei surviving city gate retaining its original southern Chinese form. The others were renovated (retconned) into the bright red-and orange northern Chinese style buildings the KMT plonked on Taiwan to make it seem not just 'Chinese' but the specific kind of "Chinese" aesthetics they preferred. That is, not simple, elegant Southern Min brick. 

Imagine my shock when one day I walked by that intersection to see the ramp gone, and pedestrian friendly walkways allowing one to truly admire this forgotten old gate in the shadow of an overpass. But of course people hadn't forgotten; it took awhile to do the right thing and give North Gate its due.It took breaking the KMT domination of the Taipei mayorship and showing that in fact, a simple, local-style gate can be more lovely than the most firecracker-red columns you can out up to push your view of history on the people.

It's small, and takes just a moment to walk through. But you can walk through it now, and that wasn't always the case. And that's what matters.

Taipei Info Hub

Not far from Futai Street Mansion (you can walk between the two by crossing under North Gate), Taipei Info Hub is a recently-renovated warehouse building housing various exhibits on the first floor, with a second floor event space. Built in 1913 for the erstwhile Mitsui & Co (no relation to the current company), Taipei Info Hub also houses a cafe with ample seating in an area where there were once very few food and drink options. Interestingly, the semicircular gable that graces the building now isn'r original; the original was deemed too vulnerable to be left in position and is now on display inside the building.


National Center of Photography and Images

In the same article linked above, I wrote about NCPI -- the National Center of Photography and Images. In the same neighborhood as the Railway Department Park, North Gate, Futai Street Mansion and Taipei Info Hub. 

You probably know this building; very near Taipei Main Station, it was designed by architect Setsu Watanabe and built in 1937. It's certainly got Japanese influences in the roof design -- note the distinctive turret -- but was also designed to be simple and modern. Originally an office for the Osaka Mercantile Co., the turret was eventually lopped off in order to build a fourth story, during the period when it housed the Provincial Highway Bureau. During renovations, Watanabe's original intent was coaxed back into existence, with the turret replaced. 

Now, NCPI hosts rotating exhibits on photography in Taiwan's history. Not everything is subtitled in English, but enough is to enjoy yourself. While enjoying the exhibits, be sure to take in some of the other Art Deco details of the building, especially the stairway.

The first floor also houses a minimalist cafe and interesting gift shop. (I bought a Furoshiki Shiki miscellaneous goods bag, because I thought the design was cool.) 

New Culture Movement Museum

One thing I love about Taiwan: when dealing with the renovation of historic sites that evoke painful memories of colonialism and brutality, the current government has not shied away from re-imagining them as spaces to talk about Taiwan's history on its own terms, while reminding people of the original purpose of the sites. Nowhere is this more evident than in the Japanese-era police stations in Taipei and Tainan. Tainan uses its old police station as part of a fine arts museum complex, exhibiting fine artwork specifically from Taiwan which evokes the Taiwanese experience through history and today. 

In Taipei, this means using an old police building to house a New Culture Movement museum. When I went, the current COVID outbreak was just starting to become a concern, and the place was deserted. While that's probably due to the pandemic, I also worry that news of the museum's existence hasn't gotten around yet, either. That's a shame, because in addition to exhibits about the New Culture Movement (which was strongly tied to the Home Rule movement of the time), the building itself is of historic interest. From my article: 

Built in 1933, the station also served as a detention center. In the ensuing decades, the edifice was replaced with red tiles and a third story was added. Renovations began in 2014, and the choice of exhibit was intentional: Taiwan Cultural Association (台灣文化協會) founder Chiang Wei-shui (蔣渭水) had been imprisoned at the station’s former site in the 1920s. The New Cultural Movement in Taiwan encouraged understanding of Taiwanese culture and history through performances, lectures, essays and a newspaper, the Taiwan People’s News (台灣民報).

POPOP Taipei

This is another one of those city government initiatives aiming to renovate Taipei's historic sites and re-make them into usable spaces for contemporary times. POPOP was once a bottle cap factory in Nangang, a part of the city that, to be honest, doesn't have a lot going on (though if you find yourself there, the Academia Historica museum is interesting, and there's an old family mansion near the Academia Sinica). 

Unlike, say, the creative parks at Huashan and Songshan, POPOP is a fairly new project, and hasn't quite taken off yet thanks to the pandemic -- but hopefully, it will. Instead of following the old 'creative and culture park' model, POPOP was conceived as a 'maker space', with the main part of the old factory buildings turned into a single long workspace with tables, counters, outlets -- you know, a space for makers. There's not a lot going on yet, but check back in a few years.

For the casual visitor, there's also a cafe, a sake bar and an antique shop in addition to some small but pleasant outdoor spaces. 

U-mkt

From the same article above, the Shintomicho Cultural Market (U-mkt) can be found at the other end of the MRT's blue line, near Longshan Temple and Bopiliao. Built in 1935, commercial operations ceased in the unique U-shaped building in the 1990s. Xinfu Market, however, still bustles around it, and is interesting both when open and closed (as the pull-down garage doors on the shops are covered in colorful graffiti). Today, U-mkt has exhibits on the building's past, kitchen and lecture spaces and two cafes, one in the curve of the "U" and the other in the Japanese-era office just outside. 

Neihu Assembly Hall

This Art Deco building caught my eye in a book of Taipei heritage buildings. Looking one weekend day for something to do, I suggested to Brendan that we head up to Neihu just to have a look. After all, we rarely get up that way; there just isn't that much to do in Neihu if you don't live there! We weren't able to enter the building, and frankly, the façade is probably the most interesting thing about it. Built in 1930, it's one of the few Japanese-era buildings that isn't done in the "baroque" style reminiscent of British colonialism, but straight-up Art Deco, complete with 'air defense' tiles which were probably more for decoration than actual camouflage.

It's worth coming up here, though, as you can combine it with a visit to visit the Kuo ancestral shrine (below). 

Kuo Family Shrine

This gem of a building is designed more in the Japanese Baroque style that is so common in Taiwan than the Neihu Assembly Hall, and is linked with it above. Hiking up the steps to get to this hilltop mansion, you'd never know that it's right next to an MRT station. Unlike the assembly hall, the family mansion is open most days, and is pleasant to wander around. It's also the headquarters of the World Kuo Family Association, has some Tang-dynasty tablet rubbings, and features a shrine to the most famous Kuo -- Kuo Ziyi. Though he's claimed as the ancestor to all people surnamed Kuo, that's likely not the actual case. 

Sun Yat-sen Memorial House / Yixian Park / Umeyashiki

Can you imagine someone living in Taiwan for almost 15 years, and not visiting this site? Well, that was me. Next to Taipei Main Station, this was a restaurant and guesthouse during the Japanese Era, where Sun Yat-sen apparently spent a night (also, it's apparently been relocated from its original site nearby). 

After so many years of seeing the walls keeping this small park and building from the noise and traffic outside, I finally popped in one day when I had nothing else going on, and had just had lunch with a friend nearby. I ended up spending much of the afternoon just sitting and relaxing. The Japanese-style building itself houses a small exhibition related to Dr. Sun, and the garden around it is landscaped in a Chinese style. A brochure describes it as a fusion of the two styles -- Japanese and Chinese -- with some sort of metaphorical link to Taiwan and fusion of the two cultures. 

            

I don't care much for the metaphor, but it is a pleasant spot. Perhaps sit and reflect on how the "father of modern China" (or something) visited Taiwan, stayed here, and never said a thing about Taiwan being Chinese. To Sun, Taiwan was very obviously Japanese. Now consider how China views its 'claim' to Taiwan as something historic -- the evidence is apparently 'antiquity' itself. 

Does that claim seem particularly legitimate in light of what you've just learned? I hope not! 


The Lin Antai Mansion

Competing with other old family mansions such as the Banqiao Lin Family Garden in New Taipei, the Li Family House in Xinzhuang and the Wufeng Lin Mansion just outside Taichung city, the Lin Antai house is probably the best-preserved old mansion in Taipei. It took me years to visit, simply because it's not close to anything else and not particularly close to an MRT (some bus lines run up to that corner of the city, but that's about it). I enjoyed it immensely when I did, however. Fun fact: the house used to be located on what is now Dunhua South Road. I saw the original site on an old map once, and it wasn't far from MRT Technology Building -- it's surreal to think the whole thing got moved up to the riverside.

Ciyun Temple (慈雲寺)

We found this temple so many years ago that the photos I took got lost somewhere in the shuffling of files from old computers to new. I remember it though, because in a district full of flashier and more famous temples, this simple brick structure felt like a throwback, or at least a very unpretentious example of its type. The old brick arcades certainly give the area the feel of a time long past. Built in 1924 with private funds, it was on newly reclaimed land behind what is now Ximenting when first constructed. Now, the temple lives on, but seems to be bookended with hip-looking cafes. I don't mind, that, really. 

If you make your way from some of the sites around Taipei Main to Ciyun Temple, you'll find yourself walking through Ximen, which is an interesting way to spend a day regardless of your destination. There's plenty to see in the area, and if you aim your walk in the direction of Zhongshan Hall and some of the other historical sites and temples I've skipped, you'll also pass one of my favorite old houses:

 

I don't think there's anything especially historic about it, I just think it looks cool. 

In fact, although it's often labeled an unattractive city, Taipei has lots of architecture that is in fact quite interesting:

Taiwanese education is not particularly "Confucian"

It sure looks traditional but they've also got bags on their heads.

Happy Teachers' Day! I happen to be off today for reasons completely unrelated to the holiday. So I wanted to circle back to a topic I've hit on before, but bears repeating for emphasis: 

There's a cliche popular in Taiwan that Taiwanese education is "Confucian" or based on the philosophy of Confucianism.

This is used as praise where it succeeds: high standards, high societal respect for education, universal secondary school and near-universal tertiary education, educating some of the world's best engineers, inventors and medical researchers. It's also used as a criticism for the system's failures: an over-emphasis on testing and lack of critical thinking or creativity, uninspiring lecture-style teaching, slavish devotion to scores, sticking students in classrooms for hours longer each day than their Western counterparts, sometimes seven days a week, a dearth of chances to simply ask questions. 

It is, however, false. It's straight-up historically inaccurate. In addition to having little historical basis, "Confucianism" as the fundamental belief behind Taiwanese education doesn't even accurately describe the system that exists.

So why does this myth persist? Partly because it's been around so long, and educators themselves like to trot it out. It's made its way into writing about Taiwanese education, which then gets cited as historical and sociological fact, and repeated yet again. For years it was an easy way for the old KMT dictatorship to obscure what they were really doing with education in Taiwan: turning it into a system to churn out competent workers who didn't ask too many questions, and as a locus of Sinocentric indoctrination. Even they knew that sounded bad, but "Confucian" sounds good -- wholesome, traditional, local, back-to-basics. 

By repeating it, you're only helping that myth persist. 

What are the roots of Taiwanese education, then? Mostly, they're Japanese. 

Under the Qing, there was no centralized or universal education system in Taiwan. The wealthy sent their sons to Confucian academies; some of the buildings these were housed in still exist, but the schools themselves have been gone for over a century. Girls were either educated at home, if the family was wealthy and inclined to think it was "worth" educating them, or not at all. These young, rich men formed a base of Taiwanese literati, but there weren't very many of them. The Qing themselves did nothing at all to develop education (or much of anything) in Taiwan. 

How do we know this? Because at its worst, "Confucian education" is reduced to memorization and regurgitation in order to pass imperial civil service exams. And how many Taiwanese actually took these exams in the Qing era? According to Manthorpe (Forbidden Nation), in all those centuries the total was 251. Of those, only 11 made it to the third-level examination in Beijing. Of those, only one or two -- I'm not exactly sure, but fewer than 5 -- ever qualified to become a Qing official. No Taiwanese ever served as Qing officials in Taiwan.

In Chou and Ching's Taiwan Education at the Crossroad, a historical overview of education in Taiwan completely skips the Qing era. It simply was not emphasized at that time.

That's not to say that Confucian education has to be bad. At its best, it does in fact prioritize questioning, the teacher-student learning relationship, and application. As I've said before, while I won't defend Koxinga as a person, he was a very good military tactician: this was not because he'd memorized and regurgitated the classics. It was because he was able to apply the teachings of the classics to real-world military situations. 

If you're thinking hmm, okay, but that doesn't sound like Taiwanese education, you're correct. Because Taiwanese education is not particularly Confucian.

To what extent Confucian education existed in Taiwan a century or two ago, it was only for a very few wealthy boys.  Of course, that changed -- what did Japan do differently?

Taiwanese education under the Japanese was based on Meiji-era education in Japan itself. Meiji education in Japan was conceived as bell-shaped: basic literacy and numeracy for the masses, perhaps some secondary education or further vocational training for emerging middle classes, and high-level education for the elites. This was based both on Western and Japanese notions of universal education: roughly put, some level of universality from the former, study of classics and moral codes from the latter.

This isn't a perfect way of putting it, of course: in the 19th century not all Western societies had embarked on projects of universal education -- it might be said that Japan beat them to it. Now, the West tends to look at universal education as a foundation of liberal democracy, but it seems more likely that leaders in these societies felt that a better-educated population would increase the supply of competent labor, leading to greater economic prosperity (and thus more money for the elites who employed them). The connection to Western thought in Meiji education, however, is quite direct, and well-documented.

This was the system that the Japanese colonial authorities slowly imported to Taiwan.

It is true that traditional Japanese notions of education, including the more scholarly pursuits of the samurai class, did influence the system as well. The moral codes embedded within these do have connections to Confucian thought. But to take that connection and say that Taiwanese education is therefore Confucian is like saying the Taiwanese language is influenced by English because the word for truck is turaku -- which came from the Japanese adoption of the English word "truck". Technically correct, but a rather long chain of connections to base a belief on.

This isn't what most people mean when they say "Taiwanese education is Confucian", though. What they're usually trying to imply is that Taiwanese society is inherently culturally and historically Chinese, and therefore the foundational orientation of education is, too. They're (often unintentionally) trying to push the historical narrative away from Japanese influence and toward Chinese. This is also exactly what the KMT sought to do when Taiwan was in its jaws.

Japanese education in Taiwan started out by enrolling elites, with very few schools opening in the early years. Then it rolled out to universal elementary education. Junior high school followed. By the early 20th century, girls' schools had opened, and some young Taiwanese women from wealthy families were going to Japan to study, or at least aspiring to it. Higher education gradually became available to a few elites, although it was difficult to gain entry as Taiwanese. In fact, many would-be teachers and doctors opted to study in Japan instead, as admission requirements were easier and such study would certainly lead to good jobs back in Taiwan.

The goal of this system was, again, to give everyone a nominal education in order to produce good workers for the empire. It most certainly was not to teach them to inquire, think critically, question their place or consider themselves equal to their Japanese leaders, though some members of the elite did indeed gain a more critical political consciousness. 

Because Taiwanese were not Japanese and most had no emotional attachment to Japan, another goal was included: a civic education intended to acculturate Taiwanese into Japanese norms and instill (blind) patriotism for the Japanese empire. In other words, political and cultural indoctrination.

It did employ some of the morality of Confucianism, however, this was intentionally divorced from any sort of Chinese cultural context, and only encouraged where it served the Japanese rulers. That is, it was implemented for political reasons only. From Tsurumi's Japanese Colonial Education in Taiwan: 

But because Chinese classical studies had been associated with Taiwan's past under Chinese rule, many Japanese regarded them with suspicion. Great care was taken to lift Confucian morality from its historical context. Where the classical tradition urged loyalty and obedience to one's superiors it was to be strengthened; where it encouraged identification with China it was to be forbidden. Confucian principles, colonial educators thought, could be taught through all-important Japanese language studies, which would emphasize loyalty to Japan as they improved communication between ruled and ruler....(p. 12)

Loyalty, filial piety, obedience to legitimate authority -- all found within the Chinese Confucian tradition -- were emphasized with this end [keeping rural Taiwanese in the same occupations as their parents] in view. At the same time, great efforts were made to instill a very non-Confucian idea in Taiwanese schoolchildren. This was that manual labor was a dignified and honorable pastime for a scholar as well as for anyone else. Again and again, educational authorities urged teachers to show that the man who worked with his head also worked with his hands. Children were taught to clean and tidy their schoolrooms and work in their school vegetable patches. (p. 214)

This did not change meaningfully when the KMT took over Taiwan. 

In fact, where Japanese rule had improved Taiwan, the new government simply kept what was working. In some cases, they retained the Japanese -- often engineers -- who had worked on these projects for some time, until they had the expertise to run these systems themselves. All they really did was re-brand and take over. 

With education, this worked by keeping the fundamental system in place, but re-orienting the national education/taught patriotism towards Chinese culture rather than Japanese. The language switched to Mandarin, and lectures on the importance of loving one's country now focused on the Republic of China's vision of China, complete with Sun Yat-sen's philosophies and chanting slogans while raising the new national flag. 

As far as I can tell, no re-introduction of Confucianism took place, and certainly Confucian styles of education did not replace the system that was already there. Why would it? What they had already suited their purposes, just as it had the Japanese: just enough education to create good workers who wouldn't ask questions, with a hefty dose of authoritarian indoctrination. All they really needed to do was teach obedience to legitimate authority, and then lecture endlessly about how and why their own authority was legitimate.

The only thing that had changed was the colonizer doing it.

There were some relevant shifts. One might charitably say that the old Confucian morality that the Japanese used to their own ends was re-attached to its cultural context. I take a more critical view, however: the KMT simply took the Confucian morals that the Japanese had worked so hard to engineer for their own purposes, and simply applied them to KMT dogma instead. Because the KMT came from China, they could claim that this morality was in fact Chinese culture, and such a claim would have a very surface-level plausibility. Even the punitive and traumatizing bevy of exams, both national exams and those given at the individual school level, could be said to be "Confucian", but as discussed above, this is Confucian thought only in its worst, most dogmatic, most base form. 

As an example of how thin this veneer is: in Chou and Ching's Taiwan Education at the Crossroads, they mention Confucianism in Taiwanese education five times. Each time, they tie it back to "the mainland", although to their credit, they don't pretend the first several decades of the Republic of China on Taiwan wasn't authoritarian. However, at no point do they dive into exactly what is so "Confucian" about this system, or how the Japanese structure was tied in with "Confucianism" in the 20th century. They state it was the case, but provide little or no evidence.

It suits the government to continue to cite Confucianism in relation to Taiwanese education, and so there hasn't been much effort to change these stale narratives. It makes it easier for the bureaucrats currently in charge to either not enact change, or do it so achingly slowly that it seems to have little effect. It makes it easier to leave the traumatizing, soul-destroying testing system in place because of "culture" rather than actually do something about it -- which would be harder.

Some people in the Ministry of Education do have more progressive views. However, they face a deeply entrenched bureaucracy as well as critics who think an orientation towards education appropriate for a democracy (that is, one that teaches you to actually think) and learning about Taiwan is the same as the old KMT authoritarian indoctrination, even though they are not at all equivalent.

For the pan-blue camp, it makes it easier to put a soft-focus lens on history. "A system designed to quash independent thought, create good workers and legitimize authoritarian leadership" isn't a good look. "Confucian!" is much better branding. It plays into their bottom line: that Taiwanese culture is Chinese, and diverts attention away from their 20th century dictatorial brutality in Taiwan.

For teachers, it makes it easier to square the cognitive dissonance of how they were trained -- through fairly modern methods that do help them understand the ideals of education -- with how they must teach in a system that badly needs reform. "We know this doesn't work but it's very difficult to change, and we have little power to do so" is depressing. "Well, Taiwanese education is Confucian and therefore it's traditional" is a little easier to live with.

That does not, however, mean it is accurate.

Book Review: Taipei, City of Displacements

Taipei, City of Displacements

Joseph R. Allen

During Taiwan's Level 3 restrictions, I've been enjoying diving into books that have been around for awhile. Taipei, City of Displacements was the first book I grabbed, because it came so highly recommended and the premise intrigued me. A book all about the historic movements and displacements in the Taipei basin -- from the Ketagalan Indigenous through the Qing, Japanese and KMT colonial eras, which can help one understand why the city is the way it is? Sign me up! 

I'm not quite sure what to make of it, though. I was absolutely entranced by parts of this narrative of displacements throughout the history of Taipei, and found others a bit of a slog. The author is obviously passionate and deeply knowledgeable about his subject and the city, and anyone writing from a place of such dedication about a city I also hold dear is certainly going to engage me. 

A displacement within a displacement: the reason for my ambivalent review is that I'm not exactly sure what audience the book is aiming for. The first chapter, which is a quick history of Taiwan, can be skipped by anyone already knowledgeable about this topic. But soon, one gets to the real meat for a person like me: the little gibs and gobs of deep history that make the city tick. Curious about why Hsiaonanmen exists? Why the Taipei City walls seemed to go up and come down so quickly, and why they were built where they were? Why the city fans out from its riverside historical core into what is more or less a grid, and why many of the parks exist where they do? Then this is the book for you. 

I was enthralled by the chapters on the history of statuary, including the fairly well-known Mystery Horse of 228 Park (I knew about the horse before I ever read the book, but the level of detail provided is astounding) as well as the aforementioned history of the roadways and parks. 

Less interesting was the story of 'displacement' through the National Palace Museum, mostly because the treatment of the subject is more surface-level and didn't cover much that was new. Hence the ambivalence: a reader for whom the history of the National Palace Museum is new information will probably be bored to tears hearing about statues in parks or random museum alcoves. But the person -- me! -- who wants to know about the statues probably doesn't need the Palace Museum chapter. The comparison to the historically neglected National Taiwan Museum is an interesting angle, however. (Even more out of the public eye? The Nylon Deng Memorial Museum). Why some old buildings in the historic center are two stories and some three? Why some of the land plots are so oddly shaped? Fascinating. A surface-level treatment of the general push eastward of the 'downtown' area? Perhaps useful for the newcomer, but again -- who is the book for, when it tries to be for everyone?

I was also a bit less interested in the discussions of film and photography: film is fine but I want to know about geography, and a lot of the photographs discussed were displayed in exhibitions long since closed. It's not clear how or if they are viewable now. More illustrations -- especially in the photography chapter but also locations of maps, roads, gates and walls -- would have also made the book come alive a bit more.

Throughout, I also wish proper names -- especially of books -- had come complete with their names in both Chinese characters and Romanization. Anyone wanting to dig a little deeper into any of the tempting rabbit holes this book offers has to go to extra effort because this information is not always included. For example, Allen mentions Greater Taipei: Investigations of an Old Map. No Chinese name -- Romanized or not -- is offered. It almost implies the monograph is available in English (as far as I can tell it isn't). I had to do some asking around, but apparently it's 大臺北古地圖考釋, with the full text available here. You would have a hard time finding it by the information offered in City of Displacements, however.

Because of this, while I want to rave about this book for its most entrancing content, I found it a bit too uneven to give it a perfect review. So instead I'll say this: do buy this book (in Taipei it's available at Southern Materials 南天書局 and possibly the Taiwan Store 台灣个店, as well as on Amazon). Overall, the parts I liked outweighed those that held less interest, and I suspect the chapters I was not as captivated by are also the ones which haven't aged as well, about photo exhibitions long closed or films I'll never see (is there any reason to try to watch Twenty Something Taipei? Doubt it.)

But, pick and choose what you read based on what you're interested in, and your own knowledge level. Don't feel like it's necessary to pick through every chapter. 

I will leave you with an interesting story, however. The book takes a cool detour of the displacement of the statue of General Claire Lee Chennault from central Taipei to the outskirts and finally Hualien.

Chennault, you say? 

I've heard of that guy before! From my post on Green Island: 

In 1937, the SS President Hoover was diverted from Hong Kong to Shanghai to evacuate US nationals living there during the Sino-Japanese war. Despite draping a massive US flag draped across the deck to identify to both sides that they were a neutral US ship (they were at war with neither side as of 1937), the ROC air force mistook them for a Japanese ship and bombed them, wounding 8 and killing 1. The ship aborted the mission and returned to San Francisco for repairs. The Americans were evacuated by other ships, as this Transatlantic Accent Guy will tell you.

Wondering who could be so stupid as to bomb the President Hoover, Chiang Kai-shek vowed to execute whomever had given the order. Apparently, this wasn't because it was a US ship so much as that it was owned by Dollar Lines, and Chiang had known Robert Dollar. This was strictly a "you hurt my dead rich friend's toy, and I am also rich!" sort of anger. 

Robert Dollar, by the way, not only seems like he looked and acted just like a robber baron, but here's a quote for you:

He travelled himself all over the Orient, seeking products to take back to the US in empty timber ships. In doing so, he made friends with all the key people in business and politics. One observer said that the ordinary people of China idolised him and that on one of his trips a three hour procession of thousands of men and women passed by his hotel to honour him! “A power in his own land, he was all but a god in the Orient”.

BARF. 

Anyway, it turned out that the person who gave the order was Claire Lee Chennault, who had been hired by Chiang's wife Soong Mei-ling just months prior. So, instead he paid him a bonus! My opinion of Soong is highly unfavorable, but instead of harping on how bad she was for Taiwan, let's take a look at how unqualified Chennault was instead:

Poor health (deafness and chronic bronchitis), disputes with superiors, and the fact that he was passed over as unqualified for promotion led Chennault to resign from the military on April 30, 1937; he separated from the service at the rank of major. As a civilian, he was recruited to go to China and join a small group of American civilians training Chinese airmen.

It seems he got a little better at his job later on, but at this point he was basically a dude who bumbled into his job and mucked it up. But "well, my wife hired you, so here's ten thousand dollars" was just how Chiang rolled. Seriously: instead of executing him, Chiang paid Chennault a $10,000 bonus. That was 10 months' worth of his regular salary!

Anyone who thinks a guy like Chiang was a brilliant military strategist against the Communists is sorely mistaken.

By all means, go read up on the fate of the Hoover in that post. Liquored seamen are involved. 

So it turns out the not-great military strategist Chiang's brutal dictatorship on Taiwan installed a statue of also-not-great General Claire Chennault in what is now 228 Park in 1960, in a ceremony presided over by Chiang's wife, who hired Chennault in the first place. Then it was moved to Xinsheng Park in 1995 for unknown reasons, and then to a Flying Tigers memorial in Hualien. And of course many of Chiang's own statues -- of himself, because he loved himself -- now reside at Cihu where their utter mediocrity (they all kind of look the same) is made more obvious by their proximity.

That's a hell of a lot of statues of crappy and kinda-crappy men being maneuvered around northern Taiwan's parks, I'll tell you that.

You don't read every history book for history: a review of Su Beng's "Taiwan's 400-Year History"

I bought the anniversary edition of Taiwan's 400-Year History at Su Beng's 100th birthday celebration on Ketagalan Boulevard a few years ago, but having already read up on Taiwanese history, I hadn't actually read it. I knew Su Beng's life story - the whole Taiwan-Japan-China-Taiwan-Japan-Taiwan saga of it. I knew that he was not only beloved almost universally among active supporters of Taiwanese independence, but that he'd been much 'redder' in his youth (that is, Marxist/leftist, not pro-CCP).

So, of course I knew the story of the writing of this book: penning it after work in his Tokyo noodle shop, with the sense that Taiwanese should know their history. They should have access to a historical narrative that the KMT was trying to eradicate in Taiwan itself.  I was aware copies were banned in Taiwan itself, and it had to be smuggled in (I had not known, however, that Nylon Deng had been the one to do the smuggling, according to one of the prefaces of the book).

When he died earlier this year, I regretted not reading it earlier, and picked it up as a tribute to one of the greats. The English edition is heavily abridged from the Chinese - one slim volume instead of several fat ones - so it didn't take long.

Having finished it, I'm not sure what to say exactly. I guess I'd say this: this may be a history book, but these days, you don't read it to learn history. You read it to understand Su Beng's perspective on Taiwan's history.

That wasn't always true: when the text first became available to Taiwanese, it was so different from the China-centric narratives peddled by the KMT that it must have felt like after years of gaslighting, Taiwan was finally charged with electricity.

For those who felt no connection to China and had been bored in school learning about "other provinces", learning about their national history as one of colonialism - including calling the current regime "colonizers" - I cannot imagine how empowering and enlightening it must have been. Even though 'Taiwanese history' is more broadly accessible now and covered from a range of perspectives, we still read it now to understand more deeply what that initial rush of Aha! This is who we are! would have been like. 

A few things stand out in this book: the first is that Su Beng structures his narrative not strictly linearly (though the sections are ordered in a broadly linear way), but rather telling history as a way to make points about class warfare: the KMT and other colonial oppressors such as Japan, the Qing, the Zhengs and the Dutch and the wealthy Taiwanese who backed them, and the oppressed. That is, the proletariat, or working Taiwanese, with a focus on Hoklo Taiwanese. Although indigenous people are mentioned and, to put it charitably, Hakka people are not 'excluded' so much as not differentiated from Hoklo. Hey, I told you he'd been more Marxist in his youth. 

That's why you read it, to be honest. Using words like "vile" and "evil" to describe the oppressors (and I agree, they were oppressors and in many cases still are), and "hardworking" and "from their blood and sweat" to describe the indigenous and working-class Taiwanese farmers, you aren't reading straight history so much as an extended editorial on Su Beng's particular perspective on it.

Is that such a bad thing, though? While it's perhaps not ideal for the first 'history of Taiwan' that Taiwanese might read to 'know their own history' to be so ideological, is anything non-ideological? Would a straight history, without emotionality and strongly connotative adjectives, have been as engaging as Su Beng's editorial style? Would a text that aimed to be more objective have simply hidden its ideological bias better? At least Su Beng didn't pretend to believe anything other than what he truly believed in order to seem 'neutral'. That sort of honest critical perspective is actually kind of refreshing. 

The second, to me, is a bigger problem: the English edition is so abridged as to make you wonder what was left out. This is exacerbated by the fact that several parts are highly repetitive. Thanks to the semi-non-linear structure, sometimes that repetition occurs across chapters. I understand that this is a stylistic feature of Mandarin and was surely present in the Mandarin edition (I think the Japanese edition, however, was the original), but for an abridged English edition, it might have been smart to cut it in favor of more content.

Here's an example. Towards the beginning, the chapter on Dutch colonialism in Taiwan includes several paragraphs that state, in different ways, that the wealth the Dutch extracted from Taiwan was created by the hard work of Taiwanese laborers. That theme is repeated - with the same wording - in the chapter on Qing colonialism, when discussing how it was hard-working Taiwanese farmers who opened the land to agriculture. Then, later in the book, there's a throwaway line about how Lin Shaomao "gave his life for his nation", with absolutely no backstory. Now, I know who Lin Shaomao was, but someone who didn't wouldn't learn his story from this book.

In several places, this or that specific person, or group, is accused of being evil, thieving, bourgeois...whatever. Some names were familiar to me; others I had to look up. They probably were, and I love that Su Beng pointed fingers and named names, but no background is provided. No buttressing of the argument. No support. They're evil, these other people are good, and that's it. I don't know if those details are present in the longer original, but the academic in me wants to scream at its absence in English.

Of course, early Taiwanese readers would probably already know who those people were, and reading the names of people who had probably been portrayed as wealthy community leaders and scions of industry being called thieving  compradore collaborators and oppressors must have felt like the surge of a new zeitgeist.

This makes me wonder - why was it cut down so much? Was the original so repetitive that you basically get the point from the abridged English edition, or do they think foreigners don't care and don't need the details? I'm not sure. It doesn't help that the English has several typos and at least one wrong fact (saying Magellan died in Manila, when in fact he died in Cebu) that I hope are corrected in a future edition.

This leads to the deepest problem of all: sometimes Su Beng's ideology gets in the way of good history. I'm sorry, you old hero, but it's true (and I think Su Beng as an older man who was more pink than red might actually have agreed).

Towards the beginning, though the theme also echoes later in the book, Su Beng characterizes the class struggle as indigenous Taiwanese and Hoklo (and Hakka) farmers and laborers as 'the oppressed', who struggled against consecutive foreign governments and wealthy local 'oppressors'. Without using these words explicitly, he implied strongly that these oppressed groups made common cause in fighting against their aristocratic and bourgeois oppressors.

And I'm sorry, Su Beng, I don't care how 'Marxist' or 'revolutionary' such a reading of history sounds. It's just not true. Hoklo farmers and laborers treated indigenous Taiwanese just as badly as the wealthy ruling classes and landlords. They were just as oppressive and, frankly, racist. What those wealthy oppressors said about indigenous people, laboring Hoklo bought and upheld. They weren't very kind to the Hakka either.

It does no favors to anyone to pretend that wasn't the case.

Later in the book, he goes so far as to say that wealthy Taiwanese 'compradore' families could not be considered 'Taiwanese', as they were in the pockets of the wealthy KMT diaspora. While the latter is true, the accusation of not being Taiwanese reeks of a 'No True Scotsman' fallacy. If you decide that Taiwanese bad guys aren't Taiwanese, implying that all Taiwanese are noble-hearted and support a certain vision of Taiwanese identity, you take away the chance for Taiwan to reckon with the fact that as a nation and society, it has assholes just like everywhere else. And if you don't reckon with it, you can't do anything about it.

That's not to say that the book is a total failure. I appreciated that unlike Ong Iok-tek in Taiwan: A History of Agonies, Su Beng never uses derogatory language to describe indigenous people. Understanding the mid-life thinking of one of the greatest Taiwan independence activists is a worthwhile activity, and it does help one understand how Taiwanese identity has such a strong leftist/Marxist component (when you'd think those who support a free and independent Taiwan would be wary of anything that had even a whiff of Communism about it). The prefaces and postscripts are interesting as well.

In other words, do read it. But don't think you're reading it to "learn history" - anyone who has a general concept of Taiwanese history already isn't going to learn anything new from it, and in any case it's not so much a history as a very long op-ed. As a narrative of the past 400 years, it leaves a lot to be desired, and yet it was a powerful touchstone at the time - a piece of literature more than an academic work. As a cultural artifact, it's fascinating.

Read it so you can get a sense, even if it's hard to recapture in 2019, that sense of the first lamps of Taiwanese consciousness being lit. 

The Rectification of Colonial Names

This is talked about in Chinese, but not so much in English. 

Everyone agrees that the Japanese era was a colonial one and nobody disputes that the Dutch era was colonial, as well. This is true in all languages: English, Mandarin, Taiwanese, Hakka, any given indigenous language.

It's not new in political discussions in Chinese and Taiwanese to label the Qing era and the ROC era as "colonial", as well. It happens occasionally in English too: see here and here. Yet I've noticed that in English, such references still seem quite rare. The more nonfiction I read about Taiwan in English the more I notice this: the Dutch and the Japanese are "colonial", but the Qing and the ROC are rarely referred to as such. The way we talk about them lends these regimes legitimacy, a sense of being less "foreign", or a sense that if the colonizers come from China, they are somehow not just as colonial as any other invading force. They are simply "the Qing" or "the Qing era" or "the ROC on Taiwan" - as though they belong here, or it is their destiny, or Taiwan is somehow conceptually a part of China and that somehow makes it acceptable.

Calling the two Chinese regimes in Taiwan "colonial", however, is an idea I agree with. The Qing and the ROC came and extracted what they wanted from Taiwan rather than attempting to rule it as an integral part of their territory. The Qing used it as a place from which to take resources rather than a place to develop by pouring resources in - exactly what a colonial power does. At their best, they treated it as a mere defensive perimeter, a "ball of mud beyond the pale of civilization" (海外泥丸，不足為中國加廣) that they controlled simply to keep other invaders who might cause trouble for China out, not a part of China itself (only in the last decade or so of their rule over Taiwan was Taiwan upgraded to individual province).

The Qing had to be convinced it was worth taking, and the whole notion that China could rule lands beyond its natural borders (mountains, desert and sea) is actually quite modern. The Ming and everyone before them believed China's borders ended at the sea, and therefore that 'Island of Women' populated by 'savages' was simply not Chinese.

The argument put forward to the Qing by Shi Lang was not "hey this should be a part of China" but "you can use this island to cultivate sugar, rice and wood and hunt deer and it's a good defensive barrier." You know, a colonial argument. They didn't even bother taking over the whole island or to map the eastern half until some other colonial power (Japan) showed a stronger interest in it. Or, in other words, they treated it like a colony.

So why don't we call it that? Why not the Qing Colonial Era in English? Hell, why isn't it more common in Chinese?

This treatment of Taiwan hurts us even today. When it comes to the ROC, the main argument against the idea that they too are a colonial power is a historical one: Taiwan used to be a part of China under the Qing, and therefore it can't be considered 'colonial' in the same way as the two were 'historically' united.

Otherwise, the only difference between Japan or the Dutch and the ROC is that the ROC comes from the same country as the ancestors of many Taiwanese. Even if this were definitively true (with many Taiwanese children born to a foreign parent these days - looking for a clear source on that - and Taiwan's genetic makeup being more similar to Southeast Asia than China, I doubt it is), it doesn't matter. If your only argument for being a legitimate government is "we're the same ethnicity" (whatever that means - ethnicity is a cultural construct, not a scientific grouping based on genetics), you simply do not have an argument. Ethnicity doesn't determine political destiny. We figured that out in the 20th century and it's time to apply a more modern understanding of what it means to be a nation to Taiwan.

I mean, what do we call a foreign government that takes over a piece of land and declares itself the sole legitimate government of that land without the consent of the local population? We call it colonialism.

That same power extracted resources from the land it rules - as the ROC did by gobbling up resources, putting its own in charge of large state monopolies under a command economy, expropriating land (much of which was taken for their own benefit), and using revenue from Taiwan - at one point over 90% of it - to fund the building of a military that could accomplish its real goal: "retaking the Mainland". At no point was it concerned with ruling Taiwan for its own sake. You can see that legacy in the haphazard and "who cares this is just a backwater" infrastructure development - if you could call the crumbling craphouses they built even that - that still plagues Taiwanese skylines. As Taiwan took a generation to recover from the economic double-blow of World War II and the KMT invasion, the KMT itself grew rich. As they hunted down and murdered a generation of local Taiwanese leaders and intellectuals, they themselves grew in stature and power.

What do we call such a system? Colonialism.

This is doubly true when the people are at no point allowed to vote or exercise self-determination as to whether they'd like to keep that government (even if elections are held within its framework - that's not the same as voting on the fate of the system as a whole). That it came from China makes no difference. It's still colonialism.

So why aren't we, English-speaking supporters of Taiwan, calling the ROC era, the era in which we live, the "ROC Colonial Era"? Why are we not calling it what it is?

These two ideas are intertwined: if we call the Qing era by what it really was we strike a blow against the 'historical' argument for the ROC not being 'colonial' as well. If the only other time China held Taiwan was also colonial, there is no basis for a non-colonial Chinese government in Taiwan.

In short, why aren't we more commonly telling the truth about Taiwan: that since the 1600s it has, with almost total continuity, been a colonial territory of three countries: the Netherlands, Japan and China (twice)?

I know I've got a tough hill to climb on this one: I'm still riding people's butts about not calling China "Mainland China" or the "Mainland", even among people who are pro-Taiwan. We are ceding semantic ground we really ought not to be ceding to the CCP and to annexationism in general (related: can we please stop calling it 'reunification' or even 'unification'? It's annexation. Make your names for things reflect reality). The fewer linguistic footholds we give for justification of annexation by China, the better.

But if we can't even kick that ridiculous 'Mainland' habit, I wonder how long it will be before we start using English to make reality plain.

China's designs on Taiwan are just as colonial as anyone else's. The only non-colonial government of Taiwan can come from Taiwanese self-determination, which entails voting not just within an "ROC" system Taiwan didn't choose, but voting on the fate of that system.

Until then, we live in a colonial state. 

The Republic of Tayovan

From Jerome Keating's book, The Mapping of Taiwan. p. 76-77.
I have seen (reprints of) maps that spell it as "Tayovan" but I don't have access to them right now. 

Let's say you have a beautiful island. It's so beautiful that some random Europeans sailing by one day named it "The Beautiful Island".

Let's say that since that time, your island has never quite been free of colonialism.

First, the Dutch came. They called your island Formosa, just as the Portuguese named it. They imported immigrants from China to work for them, who called it "Tai'ouan", a Hokkien rejiggering of the indigenous - Siraya - name for bit of land near present-day Tainan, which was established as the capital. This can also be written as 臺員, and I've seen it written as 代員. This is the foundation for the modern name "Taiwan". That name was "Tayovan", and it can be seen on maps from that era.

Taiwan has been known by a number of names. There's Tungning (東寧), Tungtu (東都), Taiwan, The Republic of Taiwan (also sometimes called the Republic of Formosa), Ryukyu, Takasago (高砂), Taiwan Prefecture, Taiwan Province, The Republic of China - not in that order. In all cases, Taiwan was treated as a colony: Koxinga, the Qing, the Japanese, the ROC. Every last one is a colonizing power, in that they came from a foreign land and claimed ownership of Taiwan, without the consent of the locals. It's not common to call the Qing or the ROC colonizers, at least not in English - some sort of deference to ethnic chauvinism there maybe - but they most certainly are.

Now, there is an ongoing social discussion of what to call Taiwan. Die-hard blues with roots in China cling to "the Republic of China", but nobody who is even nominally forward-thinking takes this idea seriously. One of the main points of this discussion is that Taiwan is not a part of China, and deserves its own name.

Taiwan? I know someone who refuses to use the word, and insists on being referred to as "Formosan", because "Taiwan" is a "Chinese" name and he is not Chinese. (Of course, the name is an indigenous borrowing, it's not originally Chinese...but, that's cool.) In any case, he's not wrong that China would love for everyone to call this island "Taiwan", as in "Taiwan, Province of China".

He is not young, but a lot of young politically-minded Taiwanese have also landed on "Formosa" as the ideal name for Taiwan. It seems like a nice choice - it was a name given by Portuguese explorers, and Portugal never colonized Taiwan. It's a compliment, a reminder that while Taiwanese cities are not particularly attractive, the island as a whole is very beautiful indeed.

But I'd like to make the case for "Tayovan" (or "Taivan", but "Tayovan" makes it clearer that this is a departure from "Taiwan"). The Republic of Tayovan. Has a nice ring to it, no?

First, although it was originally a name for only a small bit of land around Tainan, it was the basis for which "Taiwan" came to be.

Second, this idea is not unheard-of in Mandarin and Taiwanese language discourse. I searched and can't find any links, but I know I've heard it discussed. I don't hear anyone talking about it in English, though.

Next, it has indigenous roots. No colonization involved. No other name has that pedigree - the Portuguese never colonized Taiwan, but they did brutally colonize other parts of the world. They were not Taiwanese - it's still a name bestowed on this island by Europeans (just as 'Taiwan' was bestowed on this island by Chinese).

There are a number of indigenous tribes in Taiwan (don't let the 'officially recognized' number fool you), all with their unique history, language and culture. All might wish to be the group honored in the hypothetical choosing of a new name for the country in recognition of its first inhabitants. However, because this is the specific name that came to be used for the whole island, it makes the most sense. It also comes from a language that is no longer spoken natively, so it's harder to accuse the government of giving preferential treatment to a currently-used language.

Finally, wouldn't be a big change - just switch your pronunciation, a little adjustment to spelling, maybe change the characters - and honors a deeper history that is uniquely Taiwanese. The waves of colonizers - the Dutch, the Zhengs, the Qing, the Japanese, the ROC - cannot lay claim to this. It doesn't speak to their history, it speaks to the history of this island. It recalls an Austronesian history that is so often overlooked.

And, y'know, it just sounds super cool.

Somehow I doubt I'm going to convince the entire nation to get on board. But, if I'm ever allowed to cast a vote on this, count me in for Republic of Tayovan.

Come on guys - Tayovan!