Contemporary Taiwanese Cultural Nationalism (Routledge Studies in the Modern History of Asia)

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Author: A-Chin Hsiau

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Contemporary Taiwanese Cultural Nationalism

“An excellent work, informative and enjoyable, showing outstanding scholarship.” Christopher Hughes, Department of International Relations, London School of Economics Contemporary Taiwanese Cultural Nationalism analyses the development of Taiwanese cultural ideology and its role in Taiwan’s political change. It examines how the concept of a “Taiwanese nation” has been created by intellectuals who challenge Taiwan’s political structure and are opposed to reunification with China. These intellectuals include writers, literary critics, local language revivalists, and both amateur and professional historians. Hsiau examines the ways in such these groups articulate the uniqueness of Taiwanese culture by reclaiming a distinctive literary heritage, linguistic tradition and historical development, in order to justify a nationalist project of political restructuring. Historically, political nationalism has usually be preceded by a long period of cultural nationalism. In the case of Taiwan, however, the author argues that cultural nationalism emerged almost simultaneously with its political counterpart. Hsiau examines the implications for our theoretical understanding of nationalist movements of this reversal of historical sequence and provides a systematic analysis of the role played by humanist intellectuals in nation building. Drawing on a wide range of Chinese historical and contemporary texts Contemporary Taiwanese Cultural Nationalism addresses diverse subjects including nationalist literature, language ideology, the crafting of a national history, the impact of Japanese colonialism and the increasingly strained relationship between China and Taiwan. This book is essential reading for all scholars of the history of culture and politics of Taiwan. A-chin Hsiau is Assistant Research Fellow at the Institute of Taiwan History, Academia Sinica, based in Taipei, Taiwan.

Routledge Studies in the Modern History of Asia

1 The Police in Occupation Japan Control, corruption and resistance to reform Christopher Aldous 2 Chinese Workers A new history Jackie Sheehan 3 The Aftermath of Partition in South Africa Tan Tai Yong and Gyanesh Kudaisya 4 The Australia-Japan Political Alignment 1952 to the present Alan Rix 5 Japan and Singapore in the World Economy Japan’s economic advance into Singapore, 1870–1965 Shimizu Hiroshi and Hirakawa Hitoshi 6 Triads as Business Yiu Kong Chu 7 Contemporary Taiwanese Cultural Nationalism A-chin Hsiau 8 Religion and Nationalism in India The case of the Punjab Harnik Deol

Contemporary Taiwanese Cultural Nationalism A-chin Hsiau

London and New York

First published 2000 by Routledge 11 New Fetter Lane, London EC4P 4EE Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 29 West 35th Street, New York, NY 10001 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2005. “To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk.” © 2000 A-chin Hsiau All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Hsiau, A-chin Contemporary Taiwanese cultural nationalism/A-chin Hsiau p. cm.—(Routledge studies in the modern history of Asia) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Chinese literature—Tawian—History and criticism. 2. Chinese literature–20th century—History and criticism. 3. Nationalism and literature—Taiwan—History–20th century. 4. Language and culture—Taiwan—History–20th century. 5. Chinese language—Dialects—Taiwan—History–20th century. I. Title II. Series. PL3031.T32 H725 2000 320.54′0951249–dc21 99–053813 ISBN 0-203-40264-2 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN 0-203-40831-4 (Adobe eReader Format) ISBN 0-415-22648-1 (Print Edition)

To my mother, wife, and son: Li Yen, Yang Jin-shi, and Yün-chung

Contents

List of abbreviations

ix

Acknowledgements

x

Note on the romanization of Taiwanese and Chinese words 1

2

3

xii

Introduction

1

The people, language, and history: an outline

3

Contemporary scholarship on nationalism and the study of Taiwanese nationalism

7

Domimated ethnic groups, nationalism, and humanist intellectuals

11

Cultural nationalism and political nationalism

14

The politics of cultural uniqueness

16

Modernization ideology and cultural nationalism

19

The question of dissemination channels

21

The organization of the book

22

Japanese colonialism and literary and linguistic reforms in colonial Taiwan

29

Japanese colonialism and Taiwanese resistance in the 1920s

29

Japanese linguistic assimilationism

34

Literary and linguistic reforms in colonial Taiwan

36

Conclusion

44

Postwar linguistic problems, literary development, and the Debate on Hsiang-t’u Literature

51

Early Mainlander-Taiwanese contact and the linguistic problem

51

EarlyKMTruleandthe2–28Incident

56

The 1947–49 literary discussion

58

vii

4

5

6

7

KMT rule in the 1950s and 1960s

64

Combat literature, KMT ideology, and the development of modernist literature in the 1950s and 1960s

65

The Debate on Hsiang-t’u Literature

67

Conclusion

74

Crafiting a national literature

79

Native Taiwanese writers in the 1950s

80

The early history of Taiwan Literature and Li Poetry Magazine

81

KMT rule and the rising of the Taiwanese opposition movement in the 1970s

87

The Debate on Taiwanese Consciousness and hsiang-t’u Literature

89

Ch’en Ying-Chen, Yeh Shih-T’ao, and hsiang-t’u Literature: “pro-China” versus “pro-Taiwan”

92

“De-Sinocizing” Taiwanese literature: the first half of the 1980s

95

Political changes since 1986

101

Crafting a national culture: the second half of the 1980s and after

104

Crafting a national literature

108

Conclusion

112

Crafting a national language

125

The official language policy and its consequences

127

Crafting a national language

133

The Hoklo writing system and Taiwanese nationalism

134

Hoklo literature and Taiwanese literature redefined: bringing language in

139

Conclusion

142

Crafting a national history

147

KMT rule and the pro-China view of history

150

The development of the pro-Taiwan view of history and Taiwanese nationalism

156

Conclusion

170

Conclusion

177

Taiwanese nationalism as an historical “latecomer”

177

Taiwanese cultural nationalism reconsidered

180

viii

Bibliography

189

Index

213

Abbreviations

CCP CNP DPP KMT PRC ROC TAIP TWWI UN

Chinese Communist Party Chinese New Party (Hsin-tang) Democratic Progressive Party (Min-chu Chin-pu Tang) Kuomintang (Chinese Nationalist Party) People’s Republic of China Republic of China Taiwanese Independence Party (Chien-kuo-tang) T’ai-wan Wen-i (Taiwan Literature) United Nations

Acknowledgements

This book draws on research I completed for my PhD dissertation. Although it was I who had the pleasure of doing research on Taiwanese cultural nationalism, the completion of the dissertation and the book reflects the support, effort, and contributions of many people both in Taiwan and in the United States. A complete acknowledgement of all those who have helped me over the past years would require an additional chapter. The following list is necessarily incomplete. My greatest thanks go to my advisor, Professor Richard Madsen, for his invaluable guidance. He has been my mentor since I came to study at the University of California, San Diego. I doubt that I would have continued to pursue my studies at UCSD without his encouragement and support. I also want to express my deepest appreciation to the other four members of my committee, Professors Michael Schudson, Juan Diez-Medrano, Stephen Cornell, and William Tay. Their patience, advice, and guidance have been instrumental in the writing and completion of the dissertation. I would also like to thank Professors Gershon Shafir and Kathryn Woolard for introducing me in their seminars to sociological research in the areas of nationalism and language respectively. During the writing of the dissertation I was a visiting student at the Institute of Sociology, Academia Sinica in Taiwan. After I received my doctoral degree, I held a position as a postdoctoral research fellow at the Institute. I am thankful to the Institute for providing me with office space, computer facilities, and library resources. One could not hope for a more stimulating environment in which to write one’s dissertation and book. Among those at the Institute, I wish to convey my special and sincere thanks to Professors Wang Fuch’ang and Chang Mau-kuei. Professor Wang has been a source of tremendous inspiration, giving very generously of his time in reading drafts and providing useful feedback. The post-doctoral position allowed me the luxury of time to read, write, and think more about Taiwanese cultural nationalism. Professor Chang made it happen. I am thankful to him for his unflagging encouragement and support. While doing the dissertation research, I also received a China Times Cultural Foundation Dissertation Fellowship and financial support form the National Youth Commission, Executive Yuan of the Republic of China. Alvin Lu and Mark Jones generously helped me polish the writing of the entire dissertation. Alvin also translated the two poems by Wu Yung-fu quoted in Chapter 4.

xi

My heartfelt thanks to them for their enduring friendship and cordial assistance. Michael Gilmore’s editing the manuscript of the book has made the book better. I thank him for that. The single individual whose support was most critical during my study of sociology in the past eleven years is my wife, Yang Jin-shi (Amy). I could not have gone to the United States to study without her support. Her persistent encouragement and selfless tenderness kept me going in some darker hours. Since we met in 1982, she has been my best friend. The fatiguing work of typing and editing the dissertation was undertaken by her. During the writing of the dissertation my son, Yün-chung, was born and has brought my wife and me the sweetest joy of life. My mother, Li Yen has helped with baby-sitting and done all heavy, routine housework. The completion of the book definitely reflects their contributions. To them, I dedicate this volume in token of affection and gratitude. Part of Chapter 4 was published in Chinese in T’ai-wan she-huei-hsuehyenchiu (Taiwanese Sociological Review). A version of Chapter 5 was published in Journal of Multilingual and Multicultural Development. Permission to use them here is gratefully acknowledged.

Note on the romanization of Taiwanese and Chinese words

This book uses the Wade-Giles system commonly used in Taiwan to render Mandarin Chinese words into the Roman alphabet. Proper names begin with family names followed by given names (e.g., Yeh Shih-t’ao). Some Taiwanese of Hoklo origin prefer their names to be romanized according to Hoklo pronunciation. The book respects this preference. The romanization of the names of people from the People’s Republic of China, or Mainland China, follows the Pinyin form adopted by that country.

1 Introduction

Taiwan, or the Republic of China (hereafter ROC), held its first direct election for the presidency on March 23, 1996. This election can be regarded as the culmination of a political liberalization process begun fifteen years ago. Under threat of missile tests and military maneuvers carried out by Communist Mainland China, or the People’s Republic of China (hereafter PRC), the election also represented Taiwan’s challenge to the PRC’s claim to sovereignty over the island. Two days before the election, a group of members from several university-student Hoklo language revival organizations protested what they called the “Chinese chauvinism” that dominated Taiwan’s education system. The students also condemned the PRC’s missile tests and military maneuvers which were intended to intimidate Taiwanese voters into not choosing any candidate opposed to reuniting Taiwan with China and who instead, favored Taiwan independence. The students burned official textbooks—such as “History of Chinese Culture,” “National Language” (Mandarin Chinese), “Three Principles of the People” (Sun Yat-sen’s doctrine about Chinese nationbuilding), and the like—outside the Ministry of Education. They shouted slogans: “We Want to Be Taiwanese, not Chinese!” “Study Taiwanese History, not Chinese History!” “Study Taiwanese Geography, not Chinese Geography!”1 Two weeks after the presidential election, P’eng Ming-min, the defeated candidate of Taiwan’s largest opposition party, the Democratic Progressive Party (Min-chu chin-pu tang, hereafter DPP), set up his own organization, the Nation Building Union of Taiwan (Chienkuo-hui), to promote the cause of Taiwan independence through social activism. P’eng had long been a major leader of the overseas Taiwan independence movements.2 Blacklisted by the ROC government, he was not allowed to return to Taiwan until recently. P’eng’s action was deemed a symptom of intraparty clashes between members who supported the relatively “fundamentalist” line and members who supported the “pragmatic” line concerning pro-independence policy. P’eng made it clear that the Union had nothing to do with the DPP. In fact, it was an open secret that there had been discord between the central leading body of the DPP and P’eng’s headquarters during the campaign. An important disagreement was whether the idea of Taiwan independence should be used as the major, if not only, appeal to voters. Independence had been the theme of P’eng’s campaign, though the central leading body tended to play it down in an attempt to draw more support from moderate voters.3 P’eng’s campaign and his establishment of the Nation Building Union of Taiwan was enthusiastically supported by members of the Taiwan

2 CONTEMPORARY TAIWANESE CULTURAL NATIONALISM

Association of University Professors (T’ai-wan chiaoshou hsieh-hui), the Taiwan Pen Association (T’ai-wanpi-hui), and several Hoklo language revival organizations.4 At the end of April, dozens of leading members of these associations, who were also the major organizers of P’eng’s Union, along with other activists, set up the Coalition for Taiwanizing Education (Chiaoyü t’ai-wan-hua lien-meng), campaigning against what they called “Chinaas-the-core-and-Taiwan-as-the-margin” principle of education and the official cultural policy.5 This book is a study of a primary version of Taiwanese nationalism that has been articulated mainly by such humanist intellectuals as writers, literary critics, linguists, activists of language revival movements, and amateur and professional historians. These intellectuals constitute a major part of the “fundamentalist” Taiwanese nationalists. Their vision contributes much to the ideology regarding Taiwan independence and nation building. Underlying this version of nationalism is a concern, if not an obsession, with the uniqueness of “Taiwanese culture” set against “Chinese culture.” The humanist intellectuals’ discourse on Taiwanese cultural particularity has played an important role in shaping a set of distinct conceptions of nationality and forms an integral part of the uncoordinated project of crafting a nation. This study focuses on these questions: How does the idea of cultural uniqueness contribute to the development of Taiwanese “cultural nationalism? “How does ideology about Taiwanese cultural distinctiveness influence nationalist politics through three important realms of intellectual activity, namely, literature, linguistics, and history? What is the role played by humanist intellectuals in the development of Taiwanese nationalism? And how does the articulation of the uniqueness of Taiwanese culture discursively create the concept of a “Taiwanese nation?” Situated in the context of Taiwan’s political dynamics, Taiwanese cultural nationalism as an important approach to Taiwanese nation building enlists popular support through particular strategies, organizations, and ideology. The essence of this nationalism is a “politics of cultural uniqueness”—an endeavor to construct a new national identity which involves considerable symbolism and rhetoric concerning Taiwanese cultural distinctiveness and includes various political maneuvers to institutionalize these ideas. As the backbone of the project, pro-independence humanist intellectuals articulate the components of Taiwanese cultural uniqueness and pursue the establishment of a new state capable of representing these traits. Viewed from a historical perspective, Taiwanese cultural nationalism has emerged in the last fifteen years or so and can be regarded as the apex of the modern crisis of Chinese consciousness, which emerged in the late nineteenth century when China was forced to open her doors to the West. Moreover, Taiwanese cultural nationalism has developed not only in the fields of literature, language, and history, but has also made its appearance in other domains of cultural activity, such as the fine arts.6 Compared to the three realms on which this book focuses, however, the other fields are much less significant, as far as their contributions to the development of Taiwanese cultural nationalism are concerned. Since the early 1980s, the locus of the politics of Taiwanese cultural uniqueness has been in literature, language, and history. The rest of this chapter is organized as follows. First, a brief description of the people, language, and history of the island is provided. Second, I make a brief criticism of the

INTRODUCTION 3

current study of the historical development of Taiwanese nationalism, the major approaches of which can be categorized into the “imagined community” and the “political competition” models. The proponents of both approaches have not addressed cultural nationalism as a significant part of the Taiwanese nationalist project because of their limited concern with “political nationalism.” Third, the relationships between dominated ethnic groups, nationalism, and humanist intellectuals are examined. The role of humanist intellectuals of oppressed ethnic groups constitutes the focus of the analysis of Taiwanese cultural nationalism in this book. Fourth, I move to the discussion of the difference between cultural nationalism and political nationalism. Fifth, a brief account of the nature of the politics of cultural uniqueness is given. Sixth, I address the issue of the relationship between modernization ideology and cultural nationalism. This discussion concerns Taiwanese cultural nationalism as both a general Third-World phenomenon wherein modernization is at issue and as a particular experience on the island. Seventh, the channels through which cultural nationalists disseminate their ideas are briefly dealt with. The last part of the chapter is about the organization of the book. The people, language, and history: an outline The ancient history of Taiwan is still unknown. Scholars are not sure when the Chinese acquired knowledge of the island and began to sail there (Hsu 1980:3, 5). Fragmentary historical records show that since the second half of the sixteenth century, fishermen, peddlers, and adventurers migrated into Taiwan from Fukien, a southeastern province of China close to the island (Ch’en [1966] 1979a:452). Before that time several groups of aborigines of southeast Asian origin whose languages belong to the Malayo-Polynesian family had inhabited Taiwan. Ethnic conflicts occurred frequently between the Chinese immigrants and the aboriginal people. During the past four centuries the aborigines’ languages diminished as a result of the assimilation policies under different regimes, the decrease of the aboriginal population, and the decline of their socio-economic status. It was not until the end of the seventeenth century that Han Chinese settlers dominated the island. The Han Chinese population has been increasing since then (Ch’en [1966] 1979a: 453). In 1683 the forces of China’s Manchurian Ch’ing Empire invaded Taiwan to purge loyalists of the ruined Ming Dynasty who had fled to the island. The Ch’ing ruled the island from 1683 to 1895. During the Ch’ing period, poor Han Chinese kept moving to Taiwan to seize land, while the Empire forbade official immigration lest the island once again become a refuge of its challengers. Almost all of Taiwan’s immigrants were drawn from two provinces of southern China: Fukien and Kwangtung. Those who came from Fukien were divided into two groups according to their respective hometown prefecture: “Changchou people” and “Chüanchou people.” These two groups were lumped together and called “Hoklo” (or “Fuklo”) despite the fact that they spoke different accents of Southern Min. The language has also been called “Hoklo” (or “Fuklo”). The third group was the Hakka, who migrated primarily from Kwangtung and spoke the Hakka language.


By the turn of the nineteenth century, about eighty per cent of the Han Chinese immigrants were from Changchou and Chüanchou. As a result, the Hoklo language dominated Taiwan’s linguistic makeup. By contrast, the people of Kwangtung origin made up about fifteen per cent of the population and the Hakka language occupied a marginal position in society. In the Ch’ing era, Changchou, Chüanchou, and Kwangtung immigrants treated one another as distinct ethnic groups. The competition for land and other economic resources was usually based on ethnic identity. Competition caused frequent and intense armed conflicts among the three groups during the period from the late seventeenth century to the mid-nineteenth century (Huang 1992:52–4). In 1895 the Ch’ing Empire and Japan signed the Treaty of Shimonoseki. Taiwan was ceded to the victor of the Sino-Japanese War of 1894–95. Before Japanese colonial rule, the Han Chinese on the island referred to themselves and one another as “Fukienese,” “Kwangtung people,” “Changchou people,” “Fuch’eng people,” “Luk’ang people,” and the like, which were all based on localism. It was primarily because of the confrontation between the colonized and the colonizer that the categories of “‘tai-oan-lang” (which means “Taiwanese people” in Hoklo) and “tai-gu” or “tai-oan-oe” (which means “Taiwanese language” in Hoklo) were created. The first term referred to the people of Han Chinese origin, despite their different Mainland home towns. The latter term mainly signified the major local language, Hoklo. In some contexts it also included Hakka. For the Han Chinese these classifications represented a sense of identity under the alien rule (Hsu 1993:40–3). Japan ruled Taiwan from 1895 to 1945. As a result of military suppression in the first two decades of colonial rule, Taiwanese armed resistance was successfully crushed. The 1920s saw the development of Taiwanese non-violent anticolonialism influenced by such modern political concepts as democracy, socialism, and national self-determination. By the end of the 1920s, however, all Taiwanese radical, left-leaning anticolonial organizations, which typically demanded the complete emancipation of the Taiwanese from colonialism, were crushed. The moderate, reformist anticolonialists continued pressing for the home rule of the Taiwanese under the colonial administration with a lowkey approach. They were forced to cease their campaign when Japan and China went to war again in 1937 (see Chapter 2). Meanwhile, the non-Han Ch’ing Empire was overthrown by the revolution of 1911, led by Sun Yat-sen, and the ROC was established. The Chinese Nationalist Party (Kuomintang, hereafter KMT), which was founded in 1919 and traced its origins to several political organizations founded by Sun, was led by Chiang Kai-shek after Sun’s death and became the ruling party of China. As far as the relationship between Taiwan and republican China is concerned, the KMT’s policy toward Taiwan was still unclear after the SinoJapanese War erupted in July 1937. In the Cairo Declaration of December 1943, President Franklin D.Roosevelt, Prime Minister Winston Churchill, and Generalissimo Chiang Kaishek announced that “all the territories Japan has stolen from the Chinese, such as Manchuria, Formosa [Taiwan], and the Pescadores, shall be restored to the Republic of China.” While China’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs had made a similar announcement the previous year, it was at the Cairo Conference that China’s decision to recover lost territories was internationally recognized (Woody Cheng 1991:218–19).

INTRODUCTION 5

Following Japan’s defeat, Taiwan was taken over by Chiang Kai-shek’s military forces and made a province of the ROC in the fall of 1945.7 Taiwan’s population generally welcomed the arrival of KMT government officials and troops. Before long, however, the Taiwanese became disappointed with the KMT’s rule because of political suppression, economic chaos, and the policy of discrimination against them. A sequence of violent antiKMT actions took place in the spring of 1947 and culminated in bloody suppression—in an event now known as the “Taiwanese Uprising of February 28, 1947” or the “2–28 Incident” (Erh-erh-pa shih-chieh). This incident soured the relationship between the Taiwanese and the Chinese newly arrived from the Mainland (hereafter “Mainlanders”). The distrust bred by this event has dominated ethnic politics on the island ever since. In fact, the 2–28 Incident is a major source of Taiwanese nationalism. In December 1949, the KMT-controlled ROC government retreated to Taiwan because it lost the civil war to the Chinese Communist Party (hereafter CCP). In the 1950s and 1960s, the US protection of the island, based on a mutual security treaty, offered a guarantee of security under which political stability could be maintained and economic development could proceed, though the KMT reiterated their determination to “destroy the Communist bandits and return to the Mainland.” The political system was basically a centralized single-party system modeled on a Leninist Party-State. Chiang Kai-shek was the head of the KMT, president of the ROC, and commander in chief of the armed forces, retaining the final authority for all important decisions. The introduction of democratic elections in local politics, which provided a limited avenue for Taiwanese engagement in political activity, did not fundamentally change the authoritarian character of the KMT government. Political opposition was successfully suppressed. Civil and political rights were limited by martial law and wartime regulations (see Chapter 3). After enjoying two decades of political stability and economic prosperity, Taiwan encountered a series of diplomatic setbacks in the early 1970s. The major diplomatic challenge to the KMT government, among others, was that American support for the preservation of Taiwan’s seat in the United Nations was withdrawn because the US was seeking a rapprochement with the PRC. In October 1971, the UN voted to admit the PRC and to expel Taiwan, and thus Taiwan failed in its struggle for legitimacy in representing all China. Chiang Ching-kuo became chairman of the KMT and president of the ROC after his father, Chiang Kai-shek, died in 1975. Despite moderate reforms, the authoritarian nature of the political system offered little change in the early years of Chiang Ching-kuo’s rule. Taiwanese political opposition, however, began to develop during this period. In the beginning of 1979 the US eventually severed diplomatic relations with Taiwan and recognized the PRC, acknowledging that there was only one China—the PRC. During the political turmoil caused by this sudden change, Taiwanese opposition activists were still trying to organize and mobilize support across the island. However, in 1979, a Human Rights Day demonstration in Kaohsiung, a major city in southern Taiwan, resulted in arrests of a large number of the opposition leaders and local activists. The Kaohsiung Incident paved the way for the radicalization of the opposition movement in the first half of the 1980s. The rising militant wing of the opposition began to adopt a confrontational


line in their promotion of Taiwanese nationalism. The mobilization strategy and ideology gradually inspired nationalist sentiments in an increasing number of Taiwanese writers, literary critics, linguists, and historians. Hence Taiwanese cultural nationalism emerged during this period. In September 1986, Taiwan’s first postwar opposition party, the DPP, was eventually established, which was legalized in 1987 when martial law was lifted. The KMT government’s tolerance toward the DPP harbingered a sequence of political reforms conducted in the ensuing years in response to the opposition’s challenge. These reforms resulted in an environment much more favorable to political competition than before. Not only were the vast majority of the DPP’s supporters Taiwanese, but the leadership of the opposition movement was also overwhelmingly composed of Taiwanese. Since its establishment, the DPP has pressed for Taiwan’s independence and challenged the KMT government’s Chinese nationalism, which justified the Mainlanders’ domination of the island and the suppression of civil and political rights in the name of the anticommunist wartime expedience. The DPP’s platform advocates the reentrance of Taiwan into the United Nations and self-determination for Taiwan’s residents regarding their political future. In spite of official suppression, the second half of the 1980s saw the rapid development of the drive for Taiwan independence. KMT political control was gradually liberated during this period. As the PRC played an increasingly active role in the international political arena in the name of the sole legitimate government representative of all China, so the DPP emphasized the importance of rejecting the PRC’s claim of sovereignty over Taiwan as well as their opposition to the ROC’s political framework. Meanwhile pro-independence humanist intellectuals became further politicized and a wave of Taiwanese nationalist cultural discourse was started. As a result of increasing freedom of speech and the dramatic development of Taiwanese nationalism, the conflict between those who favored reuniting Taiwan with China and those who advocated Taiwanese independence became relatively serious in the early 1990s. Since then the tension caused by the two conflicting senses of national identity has dominated social, political, and cultural issues on the island. In the early 1970s, Chiang Ching-kuo recruited pro-KMT members of the Taiwanese elite into the higher echelons of the party and the government in response to the crisis of legitimacy of KMT rule in Taiwan. Lee Teng-hui, a native Taiwanese technocrat, became Chiang’s vice-president in 1984, and succeeded him as chairman of the KMT and President of the ROC after Chiang died in January 1988. Political liberalization and the development of the opposition movement were accompanied by a dramatic “Taiwanization” of the ruling KMT, in the sense that an increasing number of Taiwanese were assigned to important party and government posts after Lee assumed power. Taiwanese began to outnumber Mainlanders in decision-making circles. Moreover, in 1991, all permanent Mainlander members of the three national parliamentary institutions retired, and new delegates were elected. Feeling threatened by the challenge from both the DPP and Taiwanese opponents within their own party, the Mainlander elite of the KMT who favored reuniting Taiwan with China began to reorganize themselves and eventually formed the Chinese New Party (Hsintang, hereafter CNP) in 1993. From 1993 to 1995 the CNP and the DPP mobilized their

INTRODUCTION 7

respective supporters and the KMT continued “Taiwanizing” itself. The strife between advocates of reunification and advocates of independence reached its zenith. However, since the early 1990s, while the political interests of the people have grown more and more complex in the freer political climate, the number who identify themselves as Taiwanese increases remarkably and the number who regard themselves as Chinese decreases sharply. Meanwhile the DPP’s policy becomes more pragmatic (see Chapter 4). The major opposition party began to adopt a less strident attitude on the question of Taiwanese independence in order to draw support from moderate voters. By contrast, since it was initiated in the first half of the 1980s by anti-KMT political activists who later became the organizers of the DPP, Taiwanese cultural nationalism gains its own momentum. Among writers, literary critics, Hoklo language revivalists, amateur and professional historians, folklorists, and the like, Taiwanese nationalism has developed rapidly. After the first presidential election in the spring of 1996, the Nation Building Union of Taiwan voiced discontent among stalwart supporters of the Taiwan independence cause that included many of the pro-independence humanist intellectuals in question over the transformation of the DPP Six months after the establishment of the Union in October 1996, a portion of its leaders organized the Taiwan Independence Party (Chien-kuo-tang, hereafter TAIP). The party platform calls for the establishment of a new, independent Taiwanese republic and denounced the PRC’s intention to invade in the face of such an event. As the DPP softens its attitude toward these issues, the TAIP, as well as the Nation Building Union of Taiwan, becomes the new rallying point for outspoken advocates of Taiwan independence. Contemporary scholarship on nationalism and the study of Taiwanese nationalism A major endeavor of contemporary scholarship on nationalism is to demonstrate the modernity of nations. While scholars disagree on exactly when nationalism originated, it is traced back no earlier than the seventeenth-century British rebellion against the monarchy (Calhoun 1993:212). To account for the emergence of nationalism, scholars have assigned degrees of importance to explanatory factors, such as the rise of the modern state as a centralized administrative power in the context of a competitive state system (Giddens 1984; Tilly 1990; Mann 1992); the development of the modern state that creates a distinction between state and society (Breuilly 1982); industrialization requiring a mobile, literate, and culturally homogeneous population (Gellner 1983);8 the “print-capitalism” of newspapers and novels enabling individuals within a specific administrative territory who do not have social contacts to develop a sense of linkage among themselves and finally to form an “imagined” national community (Anderson 1983);9 and a need to belong to a coherent, stable community which has been fragmented by weakening familial, communal, and religious ties (Kedourie [1960] 1993). Despite the disagreement on the importance of these different explanatory factors, most theorists accept that nationalism is a peculiarly modern phenomenon. Nationalism and national identity, some note, can only arise out of


the convergence of political, economic, technological, and other developments on the modern stage (Hobsbawm 1990: 9–10; Eriksen 1993:101–7; Calhoun 1994:315).10 A major effect of the modernity-of-nationalism argument is the treatment of the nation as a type of collective identity whose development typically relies on the work of cultural construction carried out by nationalists seeking to create their own countries or by established states. The proposition that “It is nationalism which engenders nations, and not the other way round,” (Gellner 1983: 55) or that “Nations do not make states and nationalisms but the other way round,” (Hobsbawm 1990:10) has become the conventional wisdom. This view marks the zenith of the postwar reaction against an “evolutionary determinism” that regards the emergence of the nation as a necessary process of historical development (Smith 1993:10). The non-evolutionary-determinism view is exemplified by Benedict Anderson’s theory of “imagined communities.” For Anderson, any category of communal identity is a construct of the imagination. He writes: In fact, all communities larger than primordial villages of face-to-face contact (and perhaps even these) are imagined. Communities are to be distinguished, not by their falsity/genuineness, but by the style in which they are imagined. (Anderson 1983:6) The chief purpose of Anderson’s well-known book, Imagined Communities, is to explain how the nation—defined by him as “an imagined political community”—is imagined and how it originated. To account for why and how the nation has been imagined as “both inherently limited and sovereign,” Anderson first mentions general conditions such as the decline of great religions, the waning of a dynastic monarchy, and the formation of the concept of homogeneous, empty time. More specifically, he addresses himself to the experience of the new American states that were established between 1776 and 1838, which he thinks provided the first models of the nation as an imagined community. According to Anderson, three socio-historical factors combined and contributed to the creation of this novel consciousness. First, the fact that each of the new South American republics had been a colonial administrative unit for centuries gave them a self-contained character. Second, the career pilgrimages of creole functionaries within an administrative region helped generate a sense of connectedness among them. Third, the print-capitalism of newspapers created a consciousness of community among fellow readers within an administrative territory (Anderson 1983:9–36, 47–65). Once established in South America, Anderson notes, the model of the nation was followed everywhere. “The ‘nation’ thus became something capable of being consciously aspired to from early on rather than a slowly sharpening frame of vision” (Anderson 1983:67). To be sure, Anderson’s central concern is with why this new category of collective identity has taken the form it has, and how such a style of imagining came about, rather than with more concrete questions such as “Whose nationalism is it?” His focus is on nationality and nationalism as “new kinds of ideas about communities and how they should be organized (Breuilly [1994] 1996:159), instead of on the character and content of

INTRODUCTION 9

nationalist ideology developed in a specific society, though his analysis is based primarily on the examples of South America.11 As Anthony Smith comments, Anderson’s formulation ignores the questions: “Who is the nation? Why these and not other nations?” (Smith 1993:20) Smith’s criticism of Anderson’s approach is appropriate in light of current studies on the origins of Taiwanese nationalism. Let me move to the discussion of these studies. Many investigations of the historical development of Taiwanese nationalism are dominated by their authors’ political convictions, which advocate certain official policies (e.g., Hsiao 1990; Ma 1992; Lin 1993; Huang 1994). These works can be placed in the category of political commentary. In addition to these, there have only been a few focused, theory-oriented studies on this issue, whose approaches generally fall into two categories: which I term the “imagined community” model and the “political competition” model. The studies that adopt the “imagined community” model have been inspired by Anderson’s theory. The Japanese scholar, Masahiro Wakabayashi, pioneered this approach to Taiwanese nationalism. To account for the formation of the concept of the “Taiwanese nation” in the Japanese colonial period and the dramatic development of the Taiwan Independence Movement on the island after the mid-1980s, this approach primarily addresses two factors. First, it argues that the modernization of transportation, communication, administration, and education launched by the Japanese colonial government as the first modern state apparatus on the island, penetrated the premodern local communities. The modernization had to a certain degree blurred the ethnic boundary between the Hoklo and the Hakka within the Han people. Thus local and ethnic communities were integrated into an island-wide “imagined political community” in embryo.12 Equally important, according to Wakabayashi, is the fact that in the early 1920s Taiwanese students who studied in Japan organized anticolonial movements. The organs published by them became the pioneer of Taiwanese “print-capitalism.” The traditional Han national consciousness, Wakabayashi stresses, was politicized through the propaganda of these publications and the numerous anti-colonial struggles during the 1920s. This consciousness was thus transformed into a sense of identification with the Taiwanese, as opposed to the colonizer. The Han people on the island underwent the experience of belonging to a Taiwanese “imagined community.” (Wu and Wakabayashi 1989:186–7; Wakabayashi 1994:50, 52–5) The second element on which the “imagined community” approach draws on to explain the emergence of Taiwanese national identity is postwar KMT rule. This approach emphasizes the significance of KMT rule to the formation of Taiwanese identity as opposed to Chinese identity Before the end of the 1980s the KMT government regulated social forces in a “corporatist authoritarian” manner in order to establish itself on the island, on the one hand, and to struggle against the PRC, on the other. Contact between people across the strait was officially forbidden until 1987, when Taiwan began to allow citizens to visit Mainland China. The concept of the island as a self-contained political community, which emerged during the Japanese colonial period, Wakabayashi argues, developed further under KMT rule, despite the fact that the government consistently preached “Chinese nationalism,” a kind of “official nationalism” according to Anderson’s


categorization (Wakabayashi 1994:55–6). Moreover, Wakabayashi applies Anderson’s notion of “pilgrimage” to the explanation of the rise of Taiwanese nationalism: both the Japanese colonial rule and the ROC-PRC antagonism contributed to the creation of an island-wide pilgrimage sphere, a matrix in which Taiwanese nationalism could form (Wakabayashi 1995). The merit of the “imagined community” model is that it provides a good description of the economic, social, and political contexts in which the sense of identification with the island as a self-contained political community could develop on the level of the masses.13 However, as John Breuilly notes, “nationalist doctrines and nationalist politics frequently arise in societies and regions where much of the population lacks any strong or distinct sense of national identity.” We also can find cases “where there are widely shared national sentiments but where these have not been associated either with the elaboration of nationalist doctrines or the emergence of significant nationalist political movements” (Breuilly [1994] 1996:147–8). The development of nationalist doctrines and nationalist political movements are typically contingent on specific political changes in which cultural intellectuals and political activists mobilize and/or are mobilized. In other words, the formulation based on the “imagined community” approach presents an emerging identity that appears monolithic and its social agency is quite unclear. Taiwanese nationalism is treated as a single voice that sings the song of the nation. As to such a question as “Whose Taiwanese nationalism is it?”, the “imagined community” model provides few answers. By contrast, the “political competition” approach to Taiwanese nationalism has given more satisfactory accounts of the social agency of the nationalist project. A model work of the “political competition” approach, Wang Fu-ch’ang’s study (1996) notes that the chief goal of the Taiwanese oppositional movement before the Kaohsiung Incident of 1979 is political democratization within the given political framework of the ROC. Somewhat unexpectedly, the movement developed into a nationalist project during the early 1980s. Wang explains why this metamorphosis happened and how the opposition resorted to nationalism as an alternative political strategy. The Kaohsiung Incident, Wang notes, was a major setback in the opposition’s pursuit of political liberalization, in which ethnic equality between the Taiwanese and the Mainlanders was the central issue. The opposition’s strong sense of depression and the relentless suppression by the KMT government in the first half of the 1980s contributed to the radicalization of the opposition’s political ideology and mobilization strategy. Taiwanese opposition recognized that the very foundation of KMT rule was an officially preached chauvinistic Chinese consciousness. The official Chinese nationalism, they believed, had justified the socio-political configuration that resulted in a Mainlander-Taiwanese ethnic inequality. To challenge such an ideology, the opposition began to develop a discourse of Taiwanese nationalism. Moreover, Wang points out that after 1986 the opposition, who rallied to the newlyestablished DPP, launched numerous mass rallies and street protests to mobilize support. Taiwanese nationalism became the major appeal of the mobilization, and contributed to a significant increase of support for the DPP (Wang 1996). It is true that Taiwanese nationalism developed as a result of long-term political confrontation between the KMT government and the Taiwanese opposition. The advantage

INTRODUCTION 11

of the “political competition” model is that it shows that national identity cannot be taken for granted. Instead, it is emerging, and political struggle often plays the role of catalyst in the transformation from ethnicity to nationality. Focusing on political conflict, the approach displays how Taiwanese national identity has been constructed by specific political actors to mobilize mass support in establishing a new country. It has shed light on how the Taiwanese as a dominated ethnic group draws on nationalist ideology to challenge the ruling state. Domimated ethnic groups, nationalism, and humanist intellectuals This book adopts the definition of “nationalism” given by Ernest Gellner: “Nationalism is primarily a political principle, which holds that the political and national unit should be congruent.” By this definition, nationalist sentiment is “the feeling of anger aroused by the violation of the principle,” or “the feeling of satisfaction aroused by its fulfillment,” and a nationalist movement is one prompted by a sentiment of this kind (Gellner 1983:1). Taking on Gellner’s definition, Eric Hobsbawm adds that this principle also implies that the political duty of the members of a nation to the polity that represents this nation overrides all other public obligations. This imperative element, Hobsbawm notes, has distinguished modern nationalism from other and less demanding forms of national or group identification (Hobsbawm 1990:9). Gellner also points out that there is one particular form of the violation of the nationalist principle which nationalists think is especially intolerable: “if the rulers of the political unit belong to a nation other than that of the majority of the ruled” because of “the incorporation of the national territory in a large empire” or “the local domination of an alien group” (Gellner 1983:1). From the Taiwanese nationalists’ point of view, postwar Taiwan’s sociopolitical development constitutes a quite unacceptable breach of nationalist political propriety. For these nationalists, to oppose the ROC’s political framework and the PRC’s claim to her sovereignty over Taiwan is to combat Chinese nationalism represented by the two ruling states across the Taiwan Strait and to fight against the domination of the Mainlanders/Chinese. The thrust of Taiwanese nationalism is to achieve the congruity between ethnic/national boundaries (the Taiwanese) and political boundaries (an independent island country). Historically, Taiwanese nationalism can be compared with other nationalist movements launched by oppressed ethnic groups, such as the nationalist movements of Central and Eastern Europe in the nineteenth or early twentieth century and of colonies in the twentieth century. In terms of the study of the development of Taiwanese cultural nationalism and the role of humanist intellectuals as members of the cultural elite in this development, the nationalist movements of dominated ethnic groups in Central and Eastern Europe and their processes of nation-building bear much relevance. In contrast, the general path to a modern nation in most of Western Europe was quite different from that in Central and Eastern Europe. The routes by which western European nations were created proceeded from


relatively contrasted socio-political situations. Czech historian, Miroslav Hroch describes the marked difference: Over much of Western Europe—England, France, Spain, Portugal, Sweden, the Netherlands—but also farther east in Poland, the early modern state developed under the domination of one ethnic culture, either in absolutist form or in a representative-estates system. In the majority of such cases, the late feudal regime was subsequently transformed, by reforms or revolution, into a modern civil society in parallel with the construction of a nation-state as a community of equal citizens. In most of Central and Eastern Europe, on the other hand, an “exogenous” ruling class dominated ethnic groups which occupied a compact territory but lacked “their own” nobility, political unit or continuous literary tradition. (Hroch [1993] 1996:80) Differences and inequalities between the Mainlanders and the Taiwanese have shaped the course of the postwar socio-political developments. Ethnic differences and inequalities, like those in Central and Eastern Europe, have set the scene for the political mobilization of Taiwanese nationalists. Different ethnic and socio-political conditions, as Hroch notes, led to two main routes by which European modern nations developed. The different bases shaped the forms and mechanisms through which the nation was developed. The differences not only influenced the roles played by the state and the social groups in the movement towards nationhood; they also had an influence on the character and content of the ensuing national culture (Smith [1989] 1996: 124–5). In his long series of works on nationalism and nationality, Anthony Smith, who began writing on these issues in the early 1970s, has addressed the two major paths to a modern nation in Europe by drawing a distinction between “lateral ethnie” (or aristocratic ethnie) and “vertical ethnie” (or demotic ethnie). Smith argues that in England, France, and Spain, the early modern state developed on the basis of an “lateral” ethnic community or “ethnic core” composed primarily of the upper, aristocratic strata. In these cases, the lower strata and peripheral regions were gradually incorporated into the state, which was grounded on a dominant, upper-class ethnic core, through the mechanism of “bureaucratic incorporation” including administration, taxation, and mobilization for inter-state warfare. It was through this mechanism, Smith argues, that the aristocratic ethnic core extended the idea of common ethnicity—namely, the sense of common descent and belonging represented and supported by a complex of myths, symbols, memories, and values regarding ancestry and cultural origin—into the lower strata and outlying regions. This process encouraged the development of a wide and largely homogenous cultural identity and hence the relatively novel concept of the nation was formed. By contrast, in the Middle East, Southeast Asia, and parts of Africa as well as in Central and Eastern Europe, modern nations developed on the basis of “vertical” or demotic ethnies, namely, ethnic communities ruled or colonized by large empires. Among these subordinate ethnies, the state, unlike that in Western Europe, was culturally an alien state and was typically a target for attack. It was educator-intellectuals that provided the cultural

INTRODUCTION 13

framework essential for developing national identity and thus supplied the driving force for political transformation. Relying chiefly on “rediscovering” the ethnic past, these educator-intellectuals turned elements of an existing culture into components of a national cultural tradition in order to furnish a moral guide to collective action. Usually they also celebrated models of “authentic” national behavior and promoted moral purification of the members of the potential nation. As Smith points out, by these efforts, the educatorintellectuals defined the nature, genealogy, and purpose of the nation and hence created a “community of history and destiny” (Smith 1986; [1989] 1996; 1991). Smith’s theory of the role played by educator-intellectuals in the development of the nationality of dominated ethnic communities in areas where ethnic boundaries separate the power-holders from the ruled is especially enlightening in the study of Taiwanese cultural nationalism. It is very difficult to completely separate nationalism from ethnicity.14 As mentioned above, ethnic difference and inequality afford ready-made bases of support for nationalist movements seeking political autonomy. It is also true that nationalist intellectuals and politicians draw on myths and symbols inherited from a common ethnic past and weave them into arguments promoting national identity and thus justifying national claims (Breuilly [1994] 1996:151). It is wrong, however, to explain nationalism simply as a continuation of ethnicity. A crucial difference between these two forms of collective identity lies in their relationship to the state. The nation is regarded as a political community, as the source of sovereignty, but this is not central to the definition of ethnicity (Calhoun 1993:235). A nationalist believes that political boundaries should be coterminous with national boundaries (Gellner 1983:1), whereas many ethnic groups do not claim command over a state. A nationalist project calls for a major discursive jump—from the insistence on equal citizenship based on ethnic distinctiveness to the insistence on establishing a new country based on a unique national culture. In Taiwan—where native Taiwanese have long been defined as racially and culturally “Chinese” not only by outsiders but also by most of themselves—the articulation of the distinctiveness of Taiwanese national culture is essential for Taiwanese nationalism. As analysis in this book shows, the articulation of nationalist cultural ideology has relied primarily on the cultural work of pro-Taiwan independence humanist intellectuals. The role played by such humanist intellectuals as writers, artists, historians, linguists in the establishment of national movements has been indispensable. Scholarly literature on nationalism is now considerable, but systematic analyses of the role played by humanist intellectuals in nation-building are rare.13 In addition to the rhetoric and symbolism created by opposition political leaders, the cultural activities carried on by nationalist humanist intellectuals played a major role in the transformation of the Taiwanese anti-KMT movement from an ethnic project seeking equality to a nationalist project seeking an independent country. Taiwanese cultural nationalism in literature, language, and history was inspired by the opposition’s challenge to KMT rule during the early 1980s. Whether through creating a literary tradition, reviving a major local language, or forging a new sense of the past, the cultural work done by these intellectuals has contributed much to the development of a specific Taiwanese national consciousness and to the dramatization


of a nationalist movement. This book departs from current studies on Taiwanese nationalism, most of which— especially those falling under the “political competition” approach—have concentrated on party politics, by shifting the focus to the activities of a nationalist cultural elite. The focus of my study is on how this ideology of cultural peculiarity has been developed and its role in political change. Distinguishing between “political” nationalism and “cultural” nationalism will contribute to the further understanding of the subject in question. The formulation of the difference between nationalism in the following section draws mainly on John Hutchinson’s study on Irish cultural nationalism (Hutchinson 1987). Cultural nationalism and political nationalism In this study cultural nationalism is understood as follows. The central concept of cultural nationalism is that the public life of the nation should express or be penetrated by its unique culture, however defined. When cultural nationalism, like political nationalism, claims an autonomous state, its goal is more than that. Whether it is stated or implied, the ultimate object of cultural nationalism is to create a “new man” by instilling a distinctive culture into those who are regarded as members of the nation. For cultural nationalists, an independent state is not so much a primary goal as the most effective means of achieving such an end, especially since the state is seen as the single legitimate agency of modern formal education. Cultural nationalists believe that national identity is mainly a matter of consciousness which rests on internalizing a particular way of life as a result of unique national history and geography, rather than on simply participating in contemporary sociopolitical processes under the rule of a state. Therefore cultural nationalists often devote themselves to preserving, rediscovering, and even “creating” the distinctiveness of their “national culture” as the foundation of their identity. In contrast, political nationalists embrace the establishment of an autonomous state as their prime object. They seek to ensure citizenship of the members of their community by achieving a representative, accountable state. Although political nationalists may address themselves to the issue of the distinctiveness of national culture, such an issue is not their major concern. Studying the case of Ireland, John Hutchinson notes that political nationalists often organize on legal-rational lines, forming centralized apparatuses to mobilize different groups against the existing state. Thus political nationalism usually develops into a mass movement. The proponents of cultural nationalism, by contrast, are usually not politicians, but humanist intellectuals such as historical scholars, artists, writers, linguists, and the like. They typically organize informal, decentralized cultural and academic societies and journals meant to inspire a spontaneous love of national community in the people who are supposed to be the members of the nation. This is usually done by educating people in the common heritage of a unique culture. Normally, cultural nationalism remains a small-scale movement and is often unable to extend beyond the educated strata (Hutchinson 1987: 12–17). The difference between political nationalism and cultural nationalism as formulated above can only be seen as ideal-typed. In reality the two groups, mingling in a nationalist

INTRODUCTION 15

movement, may be difficult to distinguish from one another. In a significant number of cases humanist intellectuals become political leaders, especially in the early phases of national mobilization (Hann 1995: 106). Both groups are nationalist in terms of their common belief in the idea that the nation is the repository of sovereignty and their common attempt to gain state power in the name of the nation, even if they have different conceptions of the nation (Hutchinson 1987:12–13). Nevertheless, the distinction drawn between the two aspects of nationalism brings to the fore the question about the different roles played by cultural and political elites in a specific nationalist movement. Another important study of nationalism that addresses the role of humanist intellectuals in nationalist movements is in the works of Miroslav Hroch published in Prague at the turn of the 1960s.16 His works still remain a prominent historical-sociological comparative study of the development of small, oppressed ethnic groups into nations in Europe, especially in the central and eastern parts of the continent. Three structural phases, Hroch argues, can be distinguished in any given nationalist movement, according to the character and role of the social groups active in it, and the degree of national consciousness emergent in the ethnic community at large.17 Hroch describes these periods in a nationalist movement: During an initial period, which I have called Phase A, the energies of the activists were all above devoted to scholarly inquiry into and dissemination of an awareness of the linguistic, cultural, social and sometimes historical attributes of the nondominant group—but without, on the whole, pressing specially national demands to remedy deficits (some did not even believe their group could develop into a nation). In a second period, or Phase B, a new range of activists emerged, who now sought to win over as many of their ethnic group as possible to the project of creating a future nation, by patriotic agitation to “awaken” national consciousness among them Once the major part of the population came to set special store by their national identity, a mass movement was formed, which I have termed Phase C. (Hroch [1993] 1996:81)18 Hroch’s original theory of the three fundamental stages in a nationalist movement—from the elaboration by intellectuals of the cultural attributes of the nation-to-be, to the organized political action of small groups of activists, to the rise of mass mobilization— has been accepted by many scholars and employed in a number of studies of nation-building cases outside Central and Eastern Europe (e.g., Gross 1981; Hobsbawm 1990:12, 104; Kellas 1992; Eley and Suny 1996:16–18; Woolf 1996:23). Hroch makes it clear that the process whereby nations were built was not preordained or irreversible and that it could be interrupted or resumed after a long break. He also points out that each of the three stages proceeded with an intensity and length which varied considerably from case to case (Hroch 1985: 178; [1993] 1996:79). After he makes a systematic comparison of the nationalist movements of eight small, oppressed ethnic groups in Central and Eastern Europe in the nineteenth and early twentieth century, Hroch concludes that the beginning of the modern nation-forming process is marked by a


passionate concern on the part of intellectuals for the culture, language, and history of the oppressed ethnic group. The enthusiastic intellectuals of Phase A, he argues, “discovered” the ethnic group and laid a basis for the subsequent formation of a “national identity,” though their intellectual activity was far from being an organized social or political movement that articulated explicitly “national” demands (Hroch 1985:22–3; [1993] 1996: 84–5). Like Hroch, Hutchinson argues that “the struggle for nationhood in the modern world has everywhere been preceded by emerging cultural nationalist movements” which take the form of historic-cultural revivals (Hutchinson 1987:2). For instance, in Tsarist Russia a group of Jewish writers created a Hebrew literary culture during the period from 1881 to 1917 that acted as midwife to the birth of Zionism and the State of Israel. Hebrew literature became the main cultural catalyst to the rise of modern Jewish nationalism. Similar cases include such cultural nationalisms as those of the Slovaks within the Habsburg Empire, the Greeks within the Ottoman Empire, and the Irish within the British Empire (Aberbach 1997). As Hutchinson’s study shows, in Ireland it was the followers of cultural nationalism rather than political nationalism who constructed the modern nation-state (Hutchinson 1987). By contrast, the Taiwanese dissident cultural elite joined in the nationalist movement later than the political oppositionists. The sequence of the developmental stages of Taiwanese nationalism is different from that formulated by Hroch. It was primarily Taiwanese political oppositionists’ nationalist challenge to the KMT government in the first half of the 1980s that inspired cultural nationalism in writers, literary critics, historians, and language revival activists. The fact that the political activists preceded the humanist intellectuals as the prime movers of the nationalist project says much for the nature of Taiwanese nationalism as a historical “latecomer” when viewed in the perspective of the development of nationalism in the world (see Chapter 7). Moreover, the cultural elite’s delay suggests that their Taiwanese national identity is hardly—as these cultural elite have repeatedly claimed and many scholars have assumed—a constant force which has long existed like a seed in the ground waiting to grow. Rather, the identity is best understood as a politically inspired consciousness, emerging in the island’s sociopolitical contexts in the last fifteen years or so. The developmental sequence of Taiwanese nationalism points to the hegemony of a Chinese national identity among the cultural elite in question (see Chapters 4, 5, 6, and 7). The politics of cultural uniqueness The locus classicus of nationalism is its insistence on the importance of a special cultural group identity as the basis of political claims and action: Whatever aspect of nationalism one refers to and whatever form nationalism may take, the common denominators of nationalism are the belief among a people that it comprises a distinct community with distinctive characteristics and the will to maintain and enhance that distinctiveness within an autonomous state (Yoshino 1992:6)

INTRODUCTION 17

That is, to claim a right to their territory and self-determination, a group of people usually has to demonstrate that they form a unique people. Ideas about culture, especially as a particular way of life, have been crucial to every defense of self-determination. Culture is used to confirm the existence of a distinctive group of people deserving the right to plan their own political future. In this manner, culture as a particular way of life becomes a means for attaining power (Penrose 1995). Nationalists believe that political and cultural matters are inseparable, and that no culture can live if it is not crowned with a sovereign state of its own. In nationalist politics artistic, literary, and linguistic matters typically become the subject of bitter disputes and are used as weapons in nationalist struggles (Kedourie [1960] 1993:112), as in the case of Taiwanese cultural nationalism. The realm of culture thus involves processes that are central to political order. Assertions about the existence of a distinctive culture primarily concern the production of collective symbols and the representation of historical memory and cultural tradition. As Pierre Bourdieu argues, political struggles are basically about “the representation of the social world” which “can be uttered and constructed in different ways” (Bourdieu 1985:723, 726). It has been said that nationalism is “a politics of culture” (Duara 1993a). To be precise, it is “a politics of cultural uniqueness.” As Elie Kedourie pointed out decades ago, nationalists try to prove that nations are obvious and natural divisions of the human race by appealing to history, religions, languages, political traditions, and so on, though the world is indeed much too diverse for the classifications of a nationalist anthropology Despite the rhetoric, there is no convincing reason why the fact that people speak the same language or share common historical experience should by itself entitle them to enjoy an independent country. Kedourie argues: For such a claim [nationalism] to be convincing, it must also be proved that similarity in one respect absolutely overrides differences in other respects. What remains in the doctrine is an affirmation that men have the right to stand on their differences from others, be these differences what they may, fancied or real, important or not, and to make of these differences their first political principle. (Kedourie [1960] 1993:74)

Standing on the differences from others and making the differences a fundamental political principle are the thrust of nationalist politics of cultural uniqueness. In the nationalist politics of cultural uniqueness, people are self-consciously aware that they have a culture. Culture is treated as a right. As Gellner puts it, in the old days “it made no sense to ask whether the peasants loved their own culture: they took it for granted, like the air they breathed, and were not conscious of either” (Gellner 1983:61). The kind of cultural tradition that a nationalist endeavors to revive has a different content, and a different function, from that of one’s great-grandparents, who never objectified their culture as something detachable from themselves. Cultural innocence has been lost in this kind of cultural politics (Eriksen 1992:10). Eric Hobsbawm has addressed these differences by distinguishing “custom” which dominates so-called “traditional” societies clearly from


“(invented) tradition,” such as that rediscovered and celebrated by nationalists. Cultural tradition in this sense, Hobsbawm argues, is typically constructed as one with invariance (Hobsbawm 1983:2). Nationalists’ discourse of cultural uniqueness, as it were, involves a process of fixing and formalizing a historical past and an existing culture whereby national differences are established. Discourse, or language statements, in the case of Taiwanese cultural nationalism, are central to understanding the construction of ethnicity or nationality As the social process of making and reproducing senses, discursive practices construct their own objects of knowledge, create their own subjects, and determine what is rational, right, and true (Foucault 1972). This study of Taiwanese cultural nationalism shows that discourse, or the circulation of words, has played a major role in constructing Taiwanese national identity. As Denis-Constant Martin remarks, the identity narrative channels political emotions so that they can fuel efforts to modify the balance of power; it transforms the perception of the past and the present; it changes the organization of human groups and creates new ones; it alters cultures by emphasizing certain traits and skewing its meanings and logic. The identity narrative brings forth a new interpretation of the world in order to modify it. (Martin 1995:13) Analyses of pro-independence humanist intellectuals’ literary, linguistic, and historical discourses show that identity discourses are often more a battleground of meaning than a shared point of departure. Ethnicity or nationality is best understood as a dynamic social process operating in contested terrains in which different voices are more or less hegemonic in their interpretations of the world; they are not static, reified homogeneous phenomena common to all members of ethnic and national collectivities. However, the chief purpose of discursive analysis is not so much to expose beneath discourse some objective, empirically verifiable truth as it is to understand how meaning is given and assigned, and how “truth” or knowledge is linked to power (Croucher 1996:355). Staking a claim to an identity within a political movement or as part of making a political statement is often most forcibly defined by difference, by the marking of “us” and “them.” Sameness and difference are marked both symbolically through representational practice and socially through the inclusion or exclusion of certain groups of people (Woodward 1997:4). The articulation of cultural particularity serves the purpose of demarcating “us” and “them”—“us Taiwanese” and “them Mainlanders/Chinese” in the case of Taiwanese nationalism. Because identity politics involves claiming one’s identity as a member of an oppressed or marginalized group as a moral justification for political action, the discourse about cultural uniqueness is usually focused on an analysis of a group’s particular oppression as well as a celebration of its uniqueness. As later chapters show, the articulation of a distinct Taiwanese historical experience—being colonized by and struggling against different alien regimes—constitutes an important part of Taiwanese nationalist discourse. More important is the fact that historical understanding is an essential cultural enterprise, and historical imagination an important human faculty. As historian Hans

INTRODUCTION 19

Kellner argues, our ways of making sense of history must emphasize the making, for the sources of history include the fundamental human practice of rhetoric. The rhetorical invention of stories is the most important part of human self-understanding and selfcreation (Kellner 1989: xi). Social actors’ articulation of collective identities involve both purposefully “invented” and non-deliberately constructed products of the social process of representing. Symbolic construction may be largely unconscious and is an ongoing activity in all human societies, while invention emphasizes creativity and implies a degree of conscious reflection about culture (Linnekin 1992:252). Recognizing that social actors’ representations of collective identities involve not only non-deliberate construction, but also deliberate invention, preempts essentialist conceptualizing of identity in terms of the “authentic/false” dualism. The notion of authenticity assumes a fixed, essential, unitary construct of identity and denies the possibility of reflection and imagination (see Chapter 7). This book argues that cultural nationalism is basically a politically induced phenomenon. The study recognizes the paramount importance of political struggle in evoking nationalism. It accepts that—as the “political competition” approach to Taiwanese nationalism shows—politics is of key importance to the development of nationalism in Taiwan’s case. The purpose of this book is not to provide a general account of either the origins of Taiwanese national sentiments or of the nationalist movement, rather, it is concerned with a primary version of the development of Taiwanese nationalism in which empowerment through cultural uniqueness has been the leitmotif. It views how the ideology of Taiwanese cultural peculiarity has been articulated and how this ideology articulates various socio-political experiences in the context of Taiwan’s particular historical development. In this study ideology is treated not simply as the “reflection” of social and historical reality, but as a means for contesting the representation and interpretation of that reality In such a contest, alternative conceptions of Taiwanese culture enter into conflict, and different national identities form and jostle for recognition. Modernization ideology and cultural nationalism Cultural nationalism has usually been regarded as a “regressive” response to modernization, or a transient phenomenon destined to disappear with full modernization (Hutchinson 1987:8–9). However, the relationship between cultural nationalism and modernization ideology, particularly that occurring in non-Western areas, calls for further discussion. Anderson has argued that once created, the concept of the nation and its related phenomena became “modular,” capable of being transplanted to a great variety of social terrains and merging with an equally wide variety of political and ideological constellations. They are inventions without a patent (Anderson 1983:4, 67). In the non-Western context, nationalism has often been combined with an aspiration to modernizing traditional culture in order to compete with Western “advanced” civilizations. The state is usually regarded as the single, leading agent of such a modernization project. This view is based on the awareness that the native culture of the national community does not provide their members the necessary elements that enable them to achieve the progress of modernization in the Western sense. This kind of conception has engendered among non-Western


nationalists a profoundly ambivalent interpretation of their own cultural legacy (Chatterjee 1986:2). In non-Western areas, cultural nationalists’ discourse on cultural distinctiveness usually involves not only criticizing inherited factors which have made their national community lag behind others, especially Western nations, but more often than not, it focuses on discovering or rediscovering cultural elements which are compatible with modernization and can equip their community for competition with others. This tendency often produces a distinct tradition of discourse on the relationship between native cultural heritage and modernization. This ambivalent cultural discourse usually shapes local concepts of nationality. The Taiwanese cultural elite’s reflections upon native cultural distinctiveness and its relationship to modernization date back to the 1920s, during the period when Taiwan was under Japanese rule (see Chapter 2). In the emerging anti-colonial consciousness, cultural awareness campaigns launched by the Taiwanese cultural elite—such as the promotion of a new literature written in modern Mandarin Chinese and the advocacy of creating a writing system of the local Hoklo language—were strongly influenced by social Darwinism and global nationalist trends. They sought to reform “backward” Taiwanese culture in order to change the Taiwanese people into a “civilized,” robust nation capable of surviving “thesurvival-of-the-fittest” competition. Moreover, the cultural elite believed that a reformed Taiwanese culture would add valuable contributions to world civilization. Underlying these campaigns was an ambivalent attitude toward local cultural tradition when compared with Western civilization, as absorbed and demonstrated by modernized Japan. Similarly, a significant aspect of Taiwanese cultural nationalism emergent in the early 1980s under KMT rule was the disappointment in the slow progress of the native culture toward “full” modernization. Modernization ideology, however, operates in a particular way in Taiwanese cultural nationalism. Claiming that Chinese culture is just one of multiple sources of Taiwanese culture, pro-independence humanist intellectuals attribute political oppression, social maladies, and the moral degradation that occurs on the island to the effect of “evil” Chinese culture. A series of dichotomies are created to mark the striking difference between Chinese culture and Taiwanese culture, with the former perceived as inflexible, feudalistic, reactionary, oppressive, and earth-bound, and the latter perceived as flexible, modern, progressive, democratic, and ocean-oriented. No matter how illdefined these descriptive terms are, the set of dichotomies informs the group of intellectuals’ discourse of Taiwanese national identity. Representing the two cultures in terms of pre-modern/modern polarity, these intellectuals have essentialized the difference between them. Combined with Taiwanese nationalism, modernization ideology serves the practice of marking “us” and “them.” Maintaining that Chinese cultural contaminants must be purged, pro-independence humanist intellectuals display their willing embrace of the values of modernization. This kind of modernization ideology is particularly evident in postwar Hoklo language revivalists’ endeavors to create a standard writing system for this local language. A standardized Hoklo script, the revivalists believe, is vital for making the language a vehicle of contemporary collective life capable of dealing with modern science, technology, commerce, social sciences, and so on. The revivalists’ goal is not only to keep Hoklo alive,

INTRODUCTION 21

but also to make it capable of challenging the hegemony of Mandarin Chinese as the officially defined “national language.” For revivalists who advocate the complete alphabetization of Hoklo, traditional Chinese characters represent antiquated, unwholesome “feudalism,” and by contrast, the romanization system is a symbol of modernity Using phonetic script to write Hoklo, they believe, will not only facilitate the felicitous expression of the Hoklo Taiwanese mind, but would also grant the less-ducated an easier access to various kinds of modern knowledge. In terms of the pursuit of modernity, the aim of the Hoklo revivalists is quite similar to that of other nationalist language revival movements, such as the Basque language movement (Urla 1993). In brief, the appeal of cultural nationalists to historical memory and collective symbols to construct the distinctiveness of a national culture as the bedrock of national identity cannot be simply regarded as a regressive response to modernization. Rather, their ambivalence toward their inherited legacy speaks volumes. It typically involves an aspiration to elevate their national culture to a position capable of vying with “modern” civilizations. For cultural nationalists, laying claims to modernity may be of even greater concern than tradition. If the past serves as a reservoir of symbols for the nation’s imagined community, for cultural nationalists it has also been a prison from which escape is equally important (Urla 1993:101). The question of dissemination channels Any sociological study which relies primarily on printed sources and focuses on an intellectual elite’s activities risks being challenged with the question: “Is anyone listening?” This question concerns the general relation of intellectual discourse to the masses, of which my research provides little analysis. It does ask how an intellectual elite’s discourse or ideology shapes the subjectivities or the consciousness of common people in society. Arguing that national consciousness is primarily a mass, not an elite phenomenon, Walker Connor makes a criticism that scholars in nationalism have been over-reliant upon the recorded statements of a few historical figures to delineate the ethos of the times. There is usually a significant delay, Connor notes, between the appearance of national consciousness among the elite and its extension to the masses (Connor 1990). As to the question about the masses’ response to Taiwanese nationalism, however, I follow Katherine Verdery’s approach to national ideology in socialist Romania: it is not necessary that every interest in public discourse be treated in a whole-societal way. It is legitimate to ask how groups of intellectuals as culture-producers are involved in politics without also asking what the average person thinks of it all. The influence of the intellectual elite’s practice of ideological construction upon the masses can be studied in its own right (Verdery 1991:6). My study does not evade the problem altogether. From the summer of 1995 to the spring of 1996, I interviewed many pro-independence writers, literary critics, historians, activists of language movements, organizers of pirate radio stations, and leaders of college student societies. The interviews were mainly intended to facilitate my understanding of their activities and the connections among themselves, as well’ as to improve my grasp of


their concepts of nationality. The interviews especially contributed to my understanding of channels through which cultural nationalists disseminate their ideas, though the study is in no position to evaluate their effects on the target audiences. Cultural nationalists have taken advantage of frequent mass rallies and street protests to promote their ideology. More important is a variety of seminars and summer or winter workshops organized by cultural nationalists and joined by ordinary people and college, or even high school, students. These kind of seminars and workshops have mushroomed in the 1990s, when writers, literary critics, historians, and local language revivalists began to establish closer connections among themselves and with various college student societies. Among the vehicles through which cultural nationalists preach their tenets, college student societies have played a pivotal role. Quite a number of cultural nationalists helped found these student organizations and work as their advisors. College student societies have functioned as a sort of “informal education institution” through which Taiwanese cultural nationalism can be disseminated among the younger generation of the elite. Since 1994, pirate radio stations have also played a part in promoting Taiwanese cultural nationalism. Many major pro-independence writers, historians, and Hoklo language revivalists host programs for these stations. Almost all of these programs are talk shows or call-in shows. Again, it is hard to evaluate the influence of these programs on the masses. Taiwanese cultural nationalism, like many other cultural nationalisms, such as that in Ireland, is typically small in scale, and ineffectual insofar as its own ambitions are concerned. Nevertheless, one of its major effects is to create a counter-culture, socializing through its complex of organizations an elite devoted to its ideals (Hutchinson 1987:252). The significance of cultural nationalism first lies in the fact that it prepares a force of relatively “fundamentalist” nationalists for future political struggle who are usually not ready to make a compromise in identity politics. Moreover, their importance also lies in the relatively successful attempts to empower their concept of cultural uniqueness by institutionalizing it in school education and official cultural policy, particularly after the dramatic “Taiwanization” of the ruling KMT (see Chapter 4). That is, cultural nationalists can be said to be effective in the sense that they successfully “sneak” their ideas into official policies. The organization of the book This book is a study of the Taiwanese cultural nationalism that has developed since the early 1980s. Drawing on the method of discourse analysis, the study examines how the concept of “Taiwanese nation” has been crafted discursively by pro-independence humanist intellectuals, such as writers, literary critics, Hoklo language revivalists, and amateur and professional historians. The focus of the analysis is on how they articulate the uniqueness of Taiwanese culture by reclaiming a distinctive literary heritage, linguistic tradition, and historical development in order to justify nationalist political action. The study also addresses the issue of the role played by humanist intellectuals compared with political activists in the light of Hroch’s three-stage theory of the development of nationalist movements.

INTRODUCTION 23

Before recent phenomena are analyzed, it is necessary to examine several literary and linguistic issues that came up during the Japanese colonial era and the early postwar years. Hence Chapter 2 deals with literary and linguistic reforms advocated by members of the Taiwanese cultural elite under the Japanese. The promotion of a new literature written in vernacular Mandarin Chinese in the 1920s and the advocacy of “hsiang-t’u literature” and “tai-oan-oe writing system” in the 1930s, revolved around a group of Taiwanese intellectuals and their attitudes on colonial Taiwan’s relationship with China as the source of Taiwan’s culture. They debated the unique nature of local literature and its relation to Chinese literature. At issue were such questions as: Which language was the optimal vehicle by which the peculiarity of the island society could be properly represented, Mandarin or tai-oan-oe (which primarily referred to the Hoklo language)? How could hsiang-t’u literature as a literary variant dealing with the realities of local life and common Taiwanese sentiments under the colonial rule make a contribution to mass enlightenment and to the maintenance of a Taiwanese identity? Taiwanese intellectuals’ debates on these issues reflected their identity dilemma under the Japanese, In general, the advocates of hsiangt’u literature and tai-oan-oe script recognized that the island had little hope of liberation from colonial rule, let alone reinstating close connections with China. Their concern for the distinctiveness of local culture demonstrated that a new sense of identification with the island was emerging. Chapter 3 covers three decades of the postwar period. This chapter begins with a discussion of early Mainlander-Taiwanese contact and the linguistic problem in Taiwan when the Second World War ended and the island was returned to China. The rigid “monolingualism” which gave preference to Mandarin was a hard blow to Taiwanese intellectuals who were used to Japanese information. As a result, Taiwanese writers in general were driven out of literary circles. The provincial government’s monolingualism became even stricter after the 2–28 Incident of 1947. Second, the chapter addresses a heated literary discussion on the development of Taiwanese literature that occurred among a group of left-leaning Mainlander intellectuals and members of the Taiwanese cultural elite during the 1947–49 period. The discussion involved the participants’ concern about the distinctiveness of Taiwanese literature in particular and Taiwanese culture in general, reflecting a strained relationship between the national consciousness and the local consciousness in postcolonial society. Third, Taiwan’s literary development, especially the development of modernist literature, in the 1950s and 1960s is briefly discussed. As a resistance to literary modernism, “hsiang-t’u literature” was promoted in the 1970s. Despite the fact that its authors and advocates were inspired by intense Chinese nationalism, the postwar history of the development of hsiang-t’u literature has been ironically appropriated by Taiwanese nationalists as an important part of their literary discourse. Chapters 4 to 7 form the major part of the study. Chapter 4 examines the development of Taiwanese cultural nationalism in literature. Accompanying the rapid development of Taiwanese nationalist politics in the second half of the 1980s, pro-independence writers and literary critics’ persistent concern about the particularity of Taiwanese literature evolved into an intention to establish a “Taiwanese national literature.” “Taiwanese consciousness” and “Chinese consciousness” came to be regarded as incompatible with each


other. The chapter analyzes how the tradition of “Taiwanese national literature” has been constructed in nationalist writers and critics’ discourse. The native Taiwanese writers and critics rallying around two journals founded in 1964, Taiwan Literature and Li Poetry Magazine, have played a principal role in the radicalization of literary ideology. The chapter highlights the remarkable influence of the 1979 Kaohsiung Incident on these writers and critics’ national identity and views on their literary careers. Chapter 5 studies the Hoklo language revival movement. The use of language has long been politicized in Taiwan. Taiwanese nationalists have challenged Mandarin’s status as the single legitimate official language and tried to rejuvenate native languages, Hoklo in particular. A chief aim of the Hoklo language revival movement is to create a Hoklo writing system, which is regarded as an effective means of purging Taiwanese minds of “Chinese cultural contaminants” and representing “authentic” Taiwanese culture. The nationalists identify Hoklo as a principal local language of Taiwanese culture, the Taiwanese nation, and an independent Taiwanese state. The Hoklo writing experiment has influenced nationalist writers and literary critics’ conceptualization of Taiwanese literature. Hoklo nationalists’ redefining Taiwanese literature in terms of language has upset Hakka nationalists. The Hoklo-Hakka tension among Taiwanese nationalists caused by the linguiliterary issue illustrates a dilemma inherent in the construction of a nation that is inspired by the concept of the modern nation-state, that is, the dilemma regarding how to balance national identity with ethnic equality. The analysis in earlier chapters show how different views on the linguistic problem and the literature developed in Taiwan were closely related to different understandings of the history of the island. Chapter 6 is a study of how the Taiwanese collective memory that was expelled or suppressed by the official, dominant historical narrative was brought to light. The chapter discusses how Taiwanese nationalists have promoted the “pro-Taiwan view of history” to challenge the dominant representation of the past of the island and to remold the national identity of the Taiwanese. Taiwanese oppositionists’ reconstruction of Taiwanese collective memory of victimization and resistance in the post-Kaohsiung Incident years set the tone for the opposition’s rhetoric and symbolism in the following decade. It was a major contributing factor to the rapid development of Taiwanese nationalism after the mid-1980s. Pro independence historians have fervently advocated writing a “Taiwanese history from below,” namely, from “the viewpoint of the people.” This idea was embodied by endeavors to unearth the truth of the 2–28 Incident of 1947, which has been represented as a Taiwanese “national trauma.” Moreover, the intriguing rediscovery of the history and culture of the disappearing “plains aborigines” is analyzed. The increasing identification with the lost tribes has lent itself to the imagination of Taiwan as a multiethnic and multicultural nation. The concluding chapter discusses the significance of the fact that Taiwanese cultural nationalism emerges as a result of political activists’ nationalist mobilization. There is much to be said for the nature of Taiwanese nationalism as a historical “latecomer” when viewed in the perspective of the development of nationalism throughout the world. Moreover, the chapter makes a criticism of the two major views on the nature and development of Taiwanese cultural nationalism: that Taiwanese cultural nationalism is “a false identity”

INTRODUCTION 25

and that Taiwanese cultural nationalism is a “seed in the ground” waiting to grow. The argument is that these two views are based on untenable essentialist assumptions regarding identity formation. Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

See The Commons Daily (Min-chung jih-pao), March 21,1996. See also Chapter 3, note 16. P’eng Ming-min eventually withdrew from the DPP in September of 1998. See The Commons Daily (Min-chung jih-pao), April 8, 10, and 23, 1996. See The Commons Daily (Min-chung jih-pao), April 30, 1996. See Hsieh, 1994; Yang, 1995; Huang Hai-ming, 1995. The terms of the Cairo Declaration were reaffirmed in the 1945 Potsdam Proclamation. In September 1945, Japan signed the Instrument of Surrender and accepted the provisions of the Postsdam Proclamation. The Office of the Supreme Commander for the Allied Powers ordered that Japanese forces in China and Taiwan should “surrender to Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek.” On October 25, 1945, the KMT government took over Taiwan and the surrounding islands and on the next day announced that Taiwan had become a province of the ROC. After the outbreak of the Korean War in mid-1950, however, the United States felt the need for devising a legal basis to justify its intervention and prevent the Chinese Communists form seizing Taiwan. As a result of the initiative and influence of the US, neither the 1951 San Francisco Japanese Peace Treaty nor the 1952 Treaty of Peace between the ROC and Japan explicitly provides for the return of Taiwan to China. That is, these peace treaties did not specify who would have jurisdiction or sovereignty over Taiwan. This is the origin of the idea that Taiwan’s legal status remains “undetermined.” For a useful discussion of the origin and development of the question about Taiwan’s legal status, see Chiu (1979). This idea has long been used by Taiwanese nationalists, especially those outside the island, to support claims that Taiwan was not an integral part of China represented either by the ROC or by the PRC and that Taiwan’s political future should be determined by the residents on the island. For convenience, such phrases as “the island was returned to China” and “the retrocession of Taiwan to China” are used in the following chapters. 8 Karl Deutsch can be regarded as the pioneer of this sort of argument. He deems nationalism to be the result of cultural assimilation occasioned by expanding social communication and economic exchange in modern society. The dynamics of social mobilization and the displacement of villagers and townsmen lead to the cultural assimilation of small ethnic communities into a dominant area. It is through the development of such a network of social communication that national identity is created. See Deutsch (1966). Compared with Deutsch’s argument, Gellner’s is based more on functionality. For Gellner, nationalism is functional for the state because it helps create cultural homogeneity required by industrialization. Cf. Breuilly (1982:418–19). 9 Deutsch (1966) has noted the importance of communication media to national integration. Modern communication technologies such as radio and television, and modern transportation have played a crucial part in integrating people into a national community. See Eriksen (1993: 106).


10 Walker Connor argues that currently recognized European nations emerged only very recently, often centuries after the dates customarily assigned. In some cases, it is problematic whether nationhood has even yet been achieved. See Connor (1990). 11 John Breuilly has noted that Anderson’s argument works better for certain cases and is less convincing in other cases. See Breuilly ([1994] 1996:159). 12 A generation ago American scholar Maurice Meisner developed the idea that Japanese rule prepared the essential social and economic preconditions for the emergence of modern Taiwanese nationalism. See Meisner (1964:151–3). 13 A survey conducted by Global Vieivs Monthly (Yuan-chien tsa-chih) in mid-1987 may be the first islandwide survey that addressed the issue of national identity in Taiwan. 75 per cent of the 1,175 respondents are Taiwanese, and 25 per cent are Mainlanders. The sample roughly reflected the ethnic constitution of the population though the Mainlanders are overrepresented (they constituted about 14 per cent of the population at that time). 54 per cent of the respondents identified themselves as Taiwanese when asked “Who do you think you are [in terms of national identity]?” 35 per cent identified themselves as Chinese. However, it has to be noted that exactly what the terms “Chinese” and “Taiwanese” meant for the respondents at that time remains debatable. 14 A major task of most theorists who address the modernity of nations—those whom Smith calls “modernists”—is to refute the idea that nationalism can be explained by pre-existing ethnicity. For instance, see Hobsbawm (1990: ch. 2). By contrast, Smith is a pre-eminent theorist who emphasizes the significance of ethnicity to nationality. See Smith (1986; 1991). He argues that there are pre-modern ethnic elements within many nations, while he accepts that nations are indeed modern phenomena rather than primordial or natural entities. In a sense, although Smith intends to provide a general account for the origin of nationalism, it can be said that a chief contribution of his project is furnishing a well-grounded explanation of why nationalism has been so powerful an appeal to people, i.e., where “‘non-rational’ elements of explosive power and tenacity in the structure of nations and the outlook and myth of nationalism” stem from (Smith [1989] 1996:125). For Smith the formidable power of nationalism derives mainly from its ethnic origin, namely, its cultural-psychological elements. See Smith (1991: vii, 69). I accept Smith’s view on this point but argue that it is equally important to distinguish between the different effects of ethnicity and nationalism on the justification of political claims and actions. Ethnic elements may play a different role in justifying political claims and actions when incorporated into a nationalist discourse. Cf. Breuilly’s criticism of Smith’s approach (Breuilly [1994] 1996:150–3). Breuilly argues that a most striking thing about national phenomena is the discontinuities between pre-modern ethnicity and modern national identity. 15 Some studies focusing on this issue are Hutchinson, 1987; Yoshino, 1992; Royce, 1993; Hann, 1995; Aberbach, 1997. 16 The major parts of Hroch’s two books on this issue are translated into English and combined into one. See Hroch (1985). 17 It has to be noted that Hroch uses the term “national movement,” instead of “nationalism,” to denote the process of national formations of small, opposed ethnic groups—namely, a sequence of actions to develop a national culture, to achieve civil rights and political selfadministration, and to create their own ruling class and a complete structure of social class— in Central and Eastern Europe in the nineteenth or early twentieth century. The reason, Hroch argues, is that it was far from being the case that all the patriots in these national movements voiced the demand for an independent state, which the term “nationalism” implies by definition. See Hroch ([1993] 1996:80–1). For the purpose of my analysis, however, the

INTRODUCTION 27

distinction between “national movement” and “nationalism” in Hroch’s works is relatively unimportant because some of the cases which he studies did develop the goal of creating an independent state. 18 See also Hroch (1985:22–4).

28

2 Japanese colonialism and literary and linguistic reforms in colonial Taiwan

Taiwanese intellectuals’ articulation of Taiwanese cultural particularity dates back to the pre-Second World War colonial period. The Japanese colonial administration (1895– 1945) tried hard to sever Taiwanese ties with China and to assimilate the colonized. It was precisely this alien rule that stimulated serious reflection on local cultural distinctiveness. Concern over Taiwanese cultural uniqueness formed the foundation of the cultural elite’s concepts of linguistic and literary reforms—especially the advocacy of “hsiang-t’u literature” and a “tai-oan-oe writing system.” The focus of this chapter is on two attempts to effect linguistic and literary reforms that were made in the early 1920s and early 1930s respectively. At issue were the advocates’ views on colonial Taiwan’s relationship with China. These views involved cultural identity as shaped by socio-political changes. The chapter begins with a discussion of the Taiwanese anti-colonial movement. The failure of both “reformist” and “radical” resistances prompted the advocacy of a literature dealing with particular realities of colonial life and the promotion of the writing system of a major local language. The national identity of the political anti-colonialists is examined and compared with that of cultural elites involved in linguistic and literary debates. In general the advocates of hsiang-t’u literature and taioan-oe script recognized that the island had little hope of liberation from colonial rule, let alone reinstating close connections with China. Their concern over local cultural distinctiveness showed that a new sense of identification with the island was emerging. Japanese colonialism and Taiwanese resistance in the 1920s Japan ruled Taiwan from 1895 to 1945. Military rule and armed resistance characterized the first two decades of Japanese colonialism. However, the suppression of the last largescale uprising on the southern part of the island in August 1915 marked the end of armed struggle. In 1920, a different type of resistance was prompted by modern political ideology, and the 1920s saw the heyday of non-violent anti-colonialism. The young generation that received a modern education played a pivotal role.1 Taiwanese who were educated on the island or studied abroad (primarily in Japan or China) constituted the first generation of the elite influenced by Western trends of political, social, and cultural thought. From them emerged the leaders and followers of anti-colonialism (Wakabayashi 1987:40). Generally speaking, the participants in the anti-colonial movement in this decade can be categorized


into two groups in terms of their different political ideologies and mobilization strategies: “reformist” and “radical.” For the purpose of the study, I am especially concerned with their conceptions of Taiwanese identity. Both groups started their activities in Tokyo.2 Before the end of the World War I, Taiwanese students in Tokyo were relatively indifferent to socio-political issues, but eager to adjust themselves to Japanese culture. However, the development of democracy, liberalism, and socialism in Japan, Japan’s government reforms, Woodrow Wilson’s promotion of national self-determination, and nationalist struggles in China and Korea awakened Taiwanese students to anti-colonial consciousness (Chen 1972:481). Reformist anti-colonialism It was under the influence of these factors that the notion of “Taiwan for the Taiwanese” emerged among Taiwanese students and that the New People’s Society (Shinminkai) was established in early 1920. With several wealthy supporters, such as Lin Hsien-t’ang and Ts’ai Hui-ju, the Society was organized by a group of Taiwanese college students in Tokyo. The Society set itself three major tasks: 1) to launch a political movement to press for reforms in Taiwan; 2) to publish a society organ in order to promote their ideas and enlighten Taiwanese; and 3) to effect closer liaison with Chinese friends (TGGPA [1939] 1989a: 20–4; Ts’ai et al. 1971:81–2). As for the third task, the major goal was to solicit support from the KMT, which was based in Canton at that time. However, the Society achieved little in this regard (Chen 1972:482). Before it was banned in 1937, the year when Japan and China went to war again, Taiwan Common Daily (T’ai-wan min-pao) was the successor to the Society’s organ and remained the chief medium giving voice to the suffering of the colonized. The political campaign by the New People’s Society pioneered Taiwanese anticolonialism in the 1920s. It first aimed at repealing “Law No. 63,” from which many discriminatory regulations derived and demanded equal citizenship under the Japanese constitution. When the Imperial Diet made it clear that Law No. 63 would be retained with only minor revisions, the Society called for the establishment of a parliament in Taiwan. The Taiwan parliament would consist of publicly elected members who would have the power to participate in the making of special laws and the enactment of a budget (Ts’ai et al. 1971: 107–9; Chen 1972:482–3; Tsurumi 1977:180–7). The Society’s new effort in pressing for a local legislature marked the turn toward a home rule movement, which became the motif for the reformist group for the next decade and a half.3 From 1921 to 1934, the reformists submitted to the Imperial Diet a total of fifteen petitions requesting the creation of a parliament in Taiwan without success. What the reformists intended throughout their campaign was open to debate as far as political identity is concerned. Writing about their political activities under the Japanese after nearly half a century, several leading members of the home rule movement defined it as the mainstream of the “Taiwanese modern nationalist movement,” which “had been led by bourgeoisie and intellectuals.” The importance of the post-1927 radical, leftist anticolonialism on the island was played down. Moreover, they claimed that “to escape the

JAPANESE COLONIALISM AND LITERARY AND LINGUISTIC REFORMS IN COLONIAL TAIWAN 31

yoke of the Japanese and return to the embrace of the motherland [China] had definitely remained the consistent aim of the movement” (Ts’ai et al. 1971:1). For some, however, such a retrospective overview was only an apology for their relatively moderate anticolonialism. For instance, E.Patricia Tsurumi argues that the leaders of the home rule movement wanted Taiwan to remain in the Japanese Empire and that what they sought was full acceptance as Japanese (Tsurumi 1980:9). The business and other connections of the reformists with Japan, as well as their willing embrace of Japanese education, Tsurumi notes, showed that the changes they asked for were limited reforms not intended to topple the political, economic, and social status quo (Tsurumi 1977:193–5; 1980:4–5). Masahiro Wakabayashi classifies the reformists as a “reform-reunification” group in his oft-cited typology of Taiwanese anti-colonialism. Recognizing that the reformists’ ultimate goal was to “return to the motherland,” Wakabayashi argues that they were “biding their time” in a long, moderate struggle against the colonial regime (Wakabayashi 1987:41–6). It might be politically naive to suppose that the reformists would have shown any commitment to the goal of reunifying the island with China under the efficient censorship of the Japanese police. The reformists’ vision of a future relationship between China and a liberated Taiwan, however, was quite unclear when compared with radical, leftist anticolonialism.4 It is safe to say that it was precisely the refbrmists’ “biding-their-time” tendency that underlay their ambiguous attitude toward the relationship between Taiwan and China. The reformists’ concept of “Taiwan for the Taiwanese” was one shaped by contemporary ideological trends, particularly Wilsonian idealism for liberal democracy and selfdetermination, and the biological-evolutionary notion of “survival of the fittest” in the “struggle for existence.” Influenced by such ideological trends, the reformists viewed the Taiwanese as a “backward” branch of the “Han nation” (Han min-tsu), incapable of surviving bitter racial competition. Concepts of racial hierarchy and survival-of-the-fittest had prevailed in many places of the world since the late nineteenth century (Bowler 1993:59). When Taiwanese students in Tokyo were awakened to political consciousness by Wilsonian principles, they grew anxious over the apparent “backwardness” of the Taiwanese. For the reformists, China, as the home of the Han nation, had confronted the challenges to political and cultural problems in Sun Yat-sen’s Nationalist Revolution of 1912, overthrowing the Manchurian Ch’ing Empire. In the May Fourth Movement of 1919, university students and intellectuals challenged the country’s traditional moral and social order and called for the creation of a “scientific” and “democratic” new culture.5 The reformists typically believed that as part of the Han nation, the Taiwanese culturally lagged far behind the “progressive” Chinese. “Cultural enlightenment” was regarded as the most effective means of promoting the political consciousness of the colonized and mobilizing support for the home rule movement. Hence, reformists organized various civil activities, such as speeches, seminars, theater productions and numerous women and youth societies with a view toward enlightening the masses. From the viewpoint of the reformists the particularity of Taiwanese culture consisted of its “backwardness,” especially when compared with cultural development in China.


Radical anti-colonialism Generally speaking, radical, left-leaning anti-colonial activists were influenced by socialism to a different degree, which had prevailed throughout the world in the early twentieth century The reformists were primarily concerned with the home rule of the Taiwanese, whom they considered an “unenlightened” part of the Han nation under the Japanese. By contrast, the radical activists viewed the Taiwanese as “a weak and small nation”—a concept typical of socialist discourse on colonized peoples—and sought their complete emancipation from colonialism. They opposed the home rule movement, attacking it as a humiliating action and futile effort under a harsh colonial regime. In general, the political independence of the island was the chief aim of radical anti-colonialism. Political activities of the radical group are in general much less traceable than those of the reformists. Radicals typically acted clandestinely in order to avoid Japanese police harassment. Socialism attracted some Taiwanese students in Tokyo as early as the beginning of the 1920s. However, leftist organizations were not developed until early 1927, when a cohort of young activists formed a socialist study group within the Taiwan Youth Association (Taiwan seinen kai), which was founded shortly after the formation of the New People’s Society and functioned as its affiliate. Influenced by Lenin’s concepts of world communist revolution and anti-imperialist struggles in colonies, left-leaning Taiwanese activists in Tokyo viewed the anti-colonial movement as a part of “the global liberation movement of oppressed peoples,” believing that it was essential for these peoples to form a “united front” against imperialism (TGGPA [1939] 1989a: 45). While the socialist study group attempted to “liaise with the KMT and Korean proletariat,” they, like the reformist New People’s Society, had achieved very little in this regard (TGGPA [1939] 1989a:40). In China at that time, the intellectual and political atmosphere appeared encouraging for the Taiwanese students who studied there. The Bolshevik Revolution in Russia inspired young radical Chinese intellectuals who had been vexed by their country’s moral degeneration, political instability, and economic deterioration. Before the momentous May Fourth Movement of 1919, several magazines and newspapers introduced Marxism and reported on the Bolshevik Revolution. As a result of the 1921 organization of the CCP and the KMT-CCP alliance made in 1924, the years between 1924 and 1927 were marked by the spectacular spread of Marxism among urban intellectuals. The Leninist concept of imperialism and that image of the Western world was to gain wide acceptance not only among those close to the CCP but even among intellectuals and politicians connected with the KMT (Schwartz 1983:445–6). It was the post-1919 intellectual and political climate that stimulated and shaped the anti-colonial movement of Taiwanese students in China.6 From 1922 on, numerous antiJapanese Taiwanese student organizations formed in Peking, Nanking, Shanghai, Amoy, and Canton. While it is hard to say that all of their members believed in communism, Leninist tenets about world communist revolution and anti-imperialist struggles in colonies strongly influenced their views of the relationship between the Chinese Nationalist revolution and the Taiwanese anti-colonial movement. The major common aim shared by these organizations was to enlist Chinese help, especially the support of the KMT government in Canton. Generally speaking, they


opposed the home rule movement in Taiwan, maintaining that the campaign for the establishment of a parliament in Taiwan was a temporary expedient for mitigating the harshness of colonial rule. Taiwan, as a weak and small nation, the radical students claimed, must be completely liberated from Japanese control. To achieve this goal, Chinese aid was deemed particularly important for two major reasons. First, Japan was the common enemy of Taiwan and China, for Japan had been encroaching on China territory since their victory over the Ch’ing Empire in the 1894–95 Sino-Japanese War. The Taiwanese student anticolonial organizations tried to capitalize on strong anti-Japanese sentiment in China to draw their support. It was assumed that a powerful China would facilitate the emancipation of the Taiwanese. The second aspect of the Taiwanese activists’ appeal to the Chinese concerned national identity. On the one hand, they represented the Taiwanese as a part of the Han nation or “Chinese people” (Chung-hua min-tsu) that were suffering from colonial control and were longing for emancipation. On the other hand, the Chinese nation was also juxtaposed with the “Taiwanese nation” (T’ai-wan min-tsu), which was in turn lumped with colonized oriental peoples such as the Koreans, the Filipinos, and the Indians. It seemed that the Taiwanese and the Chinese were conceptualized as two distinct nations despite their common racial and cultural backgrounds. Understandably, the radical activists’ identification with the Han nation or the Chinese people served to enlist Chinese support, while the juxtaposition of the Taiwanese nation and the Chinese nation showed the influence of Leninist Marxism and the Wilsonian concept of self-determination. In general, conceptualizing the Taiwanese and the Chinese as two separate “nations” was prevalent among anti-colonial Taiwanese student organizations in China. Partly for this reason most of the organizations emphasized the future political autonomy of the island while calling on China to support the anti-Japanese movement.7 In fact, the radical activists’ view of the Taiwanese as a distinct nation and their notion of a national liberation movement was congruent with the KMT’s and CCP’s views of colonized “weak and small nations” and their policies toward Korea and Taiwan. According to Hsiao and Sullivan’s study, it was only after the Cairo Conference of 1943 that the CCP viewed Taiwan a priori as an integral part of Chinese territory and thus denied any potential political sovereignty to the Taiwanese people. In the Conference, Franklin D. Roosevelt and Winston Churchill endorsed China’s demand for the retrocession of Taiwan and Manchuria to China, and the independence, “in due course,” of Korea.8 Before 1943, Hsiao and Sullivan note, the CCP leaders consistently recognized the Taiwanese as a distinct “nation” or “nationality.” The leaders also regarded the national liberation movement on Taiwan as a struggle of a “weak and small nation” separate from the Chinese revolution and potentially sovereign. Moreover, prior to 1943 even Sun Yat-sen and Chiang Kai-shek treated Taiwan as a peripheral area of China which was culturally and politically different than other parts of China and thus deserved some kind of political independence (Hsiao and Sullivan 1979:446, 462–4). The radical anti-colonial organization that above all advocated the political autonomy of the island was the Taiwanese Communist Party, which was established in Shanghai in April 1928 by a group of Taiwanese intellectuals. The party was founded as a “Nationality


Branch of the Japanese Communist Party” by order of the Communist International and also supported by the CCP Such slogans as “Down with Japanese Imperialism!”, “Establish the Republic of Taiwan!”, and “Long live the Independence of the Taiwanese Nation!” coined in the Party’s 1928 “Political Thesis” had clearly voiced its political commitment (Hsiao and Sullivan 1979:455; 1983:270–1; Lu 1989: 67–70; TGGPA [1939] 1989c: 35). In brief, as far as national identity is concerned, the reformists viewed the Taiwanese as a part of the Han nation. For them, Taiwanese culture differed from Han/Chinese culture mainly in its “backwardness;” the former was not unlike the latter in nature despite its local flavor. By contrast, most radical activists saw the Taiwanese as a weak and small nation separate from the Chinese nation. Despite the differences, neither the reformists nor the radical activists addressed the issue of the uniqueness of Taiwanese culture, nor did they use cultural particularity as a justification for political action. The distinctiveness of Taiwanese culture, however, became a major concern in the debates on literary development and linguistic reform that arose in the early 1930s, when anti-colonial resistance on the island had been suppressed by the colonial government. The two debates were two sides of the same coin. One concerned literature as a primary intellectual activity to represent the distinctiveness of Taiwanese culture and the other was focused on the linguistic tool for such a process of literary representation. Both spoke to the difficult identity dilemmas in which the Taiwanese cultural elite was put under alien rule. To examine the debates, however, it is essential to understand the general linguistic situation during the colonial period. Japanese linguistic assimilationism Education played a central role in the colonial administration’s policy of assimilation. For the administration, education meant Japanizing the colonized primarily through the teaching of Japanese as the “national language.” The use of Japanese was regarded by the colonial government as the foundation of assimilation. In 1898, three years after Japan had annexed Taiwan, sixteen Japanese language institutes and thirty-six branch institutes were in operation. A formal type of elementary school established exclusively for Taiwanese children, the common school (kōgakkō), soon replaced these institutes. The first article of the 1898 Common School Regulations stated that the system had two aims: 1) to give Taiwanese children a good command of the national language and 2) to teach them ethics and practical knowledge in order to cultivate in them qualities of Japanese citizenship. In fact, the courses in Japanese language were 70 per cent of the total of weekly teaching hours. The common school served as the most important institution to popularize Japanese (Tsurumi 1977:18; Wu Wen-hsing 1992:310). Nevertheless, the colonial government’s language policy achieved less than expected. In addition to the serious problem of absenteeism, the percentage of the Taiwanese schoolage population enrolled remained quite low for a long period. In 1919, those who had completed a common school education were only 1.51 per cent of the population (Wu Wen-hsing 1992:317). In 1920 only 2.86 per cent of Taiwanese could in everyday use comprehend and speak Japanese (Chou 1995:119). Although the colonial government


encouraged the Taiwanese to organize a variety of civil Japanese-learning societies during the 1910s and 1920s, linguistic assimilation was still limited (Wu Wen-hsing 1992:323– 30). By the end of the 1920s, the colonial administration began to actively promote Japanese language education. This was closely related to political changes on and off the island. On the one hand, the liberal reforms of the Japanese Empire that had relaxed control over the colonies did not outlast the 1920s. Since the turn of the decade, domestic socio-economic dislocations and instabilities abroad, especially in East Asia, contributed to a shift in Japan and in the colonies toward authoritarianism and the resurgent power of the military to shape policy (Peattie 1984:21–2). On the other hand, as a result of resurgent militarism, the Taiwanese anti-colonial movement on the island, particularly the radical leftist, was completely suppressed by the end of 1931. Since the early 1920s, a number of young Taiwanese intellectuals converted to communism or anarchism under the influence of counterparts in Japan and China. During the second half of the 1920s, several radical anti-colonial organizations appeared. By the end of 1931 all these organizations had disintegrated.9 By contrast, the League for the Attainment of Local Autonomy, led by the reformists, remained active until 1937, the year when the Sino-Japanese War broke. However, the League was devoted mainly to pressing for the establishment of a Taiwan parliament and the reform of the system of local autonomy in a legal, low-key way (Chen 1972:493). As part of the policy of tightening control after the end of the 1920s, the further promotion of Japanese language education progressed. Local colonial governments created Japanese language study groups of different types and launched various Japanese learning campaigns. In addition, a rule was enforced to ban the use of Taiwanese languages in such public places as government offices, banks, and companies, and to require these institutions to employ only those who acquired command of Japanese. More important was the fact that in 1931, the colonial government officially ordered the establishment of Japanese language institutes at different local administration levels. These institutes functioned as a supplement to the formal school education system, targeting those aged between 12 and 25 who did not go to school.10 According to the record of the colonial government, in 1937 the number of the Taiwanese who could “comprehend” Japanese was 1,934,000 or 37.86 per cent of the population (Wu Wen-hsing 1992:353–9).11 Compared with the percentage in 1920 (2.86), the increase was impressive. This was mainly attributable to the establishment of language institutes after 1931. The achievement in Japanese language education, nevertheless, should not be overestimated. On the one hand, many Taiwanese counted among those who could “comprehend” Japanese—especially those who studied at the language institutes—could not actually speak it (Chou 1994:131; 1995:121). On the other hand, Japanese never replaced Taiwanese languages as the major vehicle of communication in daily life. For the colonized, Japanese primarily remained a language of public domain. At best, colonial language education before the kōminka movement changed a proportion of Taiwanese into bilinguals (Chou 1995:122–4).


Literary and linguistic reforms in colonial Taiwan Debates on literary development and linguistic reform rose among the Taiwanese cultural elite in the early 1930s, when the Japanese were tightening control of the colony. Prospects for the resistance movement, whether reformist or radical, were quite dim. Meanwhile the colonial administration made more efforts to impose the Japanese language on the Taiwanese than ever before. The Han identity represented by the reformists’ “biding-theirtime” tendency appeared in jeopardy. The attraction of “progressive” China became less and less relevant. The concept of a Taiwanese nation gradually disappeared at the same time as the communists. For Taiwanese intellectuals who still embraced anti-colonial consciousness and were involved in the debates, the particular social, political, and cultural reality on the island increasingly stood out in clear relief. As a result of the oppressive political climate, grave concern over the uniqueness of Taiwanese culture—especially when contrasted to the cultural life in China—was aroused. This concern represents a distinct sense of identity that distinguished these two debates from earlier discussions of literary and linguistic reforms in Taiwan in the early 1920s. Literary and linguistic reforms in the 1920s: vernacular literature and Mandarin Chinese Taiwanese intellectuals concerned themselves with the linguistic and literary problems as early as anti-colonial political activities started in Tokyo. In the first issue of the organ of the New People’s Society, Taiwan Youth (Taiwan Seinen), appeared an article under the title of “Literature and its Function” (1920) by Ch’en Hsin (1893–1947).12 His argument can be summarized as follows. First of all, literature was “the vanguard of a culture;” literary development provided the index to the rise or fall of a nation. The function of literature was to “further the advance of national culture and facilitate the revival of a nation,”—that is, to “disseminate enlightened ideas, awaken the masses, and promote humane feeling and social reform.” Second, contemporary literary works written in difficult classical Chinese (wen-yen) had lost the noble spirit and function of literature. Third, Taiwanese writers should seek identiflcation between the written and spoken language, as the vernacular literature movement in China had done. Obviously Ch’en’s idea of the proper function of literature was relatively consistent with the reformists’ concept of the Taiwanese as a “backward” part of the Han nation under colonial rule. His interest in literature—or to be precise, a vernacular literature—as an instrument to popular enlightenment and social reformation was also closely related to the reformists’ concern over the promotion of Taiwanese culture. Moreover, Ch’en’s attack on literary works written in classical Chinese style and advocacy of vernacular literature was inspired by the new literature movement carried on in China. In early 1917, China’s new intellectual leaders, particularly Hu Shih and Ch’en Tu-hsiu, launched a “literary revolution.” Their chief goal was to replace the classical style of writing with a vernacular style (pai-hua) based upon Mandarin, which was gradually accepted as the Chinese “national language” (kuo-yü). Hu Shih proclaimed the death of classical literature and advocated creating “a literature in the national language and a


national language suitable for literature.” After the May Fourth Movement of 1919, the new literature movement rapidly spread to wider circles, and the use of the vernacular in writing became far more popular than before all over China. As a result, by 1921, the Ministry of Education decreed that the vernacular would henceforth be used in primary school texts. This policy was also adopted by an increasing number of middle and higher schools. The vernacular was officially and popularly recognized as the “national language” (Chow 1960:271–9). The achievement of the new literature movement in China greatly impressed Ch’en Hsin. As to the principle of identification between the written and spoken language, however, Ch’en noted a difficult situation in Taiwan: the major local language, Hoklo, lacked its own writing system and the language could not be completely signified by traditional Chinese characters. Generally speaking, Ch’en Hsin’s argument indicated the direction of the public discussion about literary reform in Taiwan in the early 1920s, though his pioneering article drew little attention. The discussion going on during this period focused on linguistic issues. For those involved in the discussion, literary reform was primarily a reform of the language tools used for literary expression. Enlightening the masses by means of a written vernacular became the major issue in Taiwan’s social reforms. As Ch’en Hsin pointed out the difficulty in writing in Hoklo, those involved encountered the problem of “which vernacular should be written” and “how to write.” As to this issue, reformist Taiwanese intellectuals, such as Huang Ch’eng-ts’ung (1886–1963) and Huang Ch’ao-ch’in (1897– 1972), argued that Mandarin vernacular, not any Taiwanese language, was the choice, though they would accept a “compromised” version of Mandarin which incorporated components of local languages (Huang Ch’ao-ch’in [1923] 1979; Huang Ch’eng-ts’ung [1923] 1979). Such a perspective says much for their strong identification with Han/ Chinese culture on the one hand and represented their protest against Japanese linguistic assimilationism on the other. The fact that the reformists’ Taiwan Common Daily had used Mandarin vernacular rather than classical Chinese or Japanese since it started publication in 1923 demonstrated their view on Taiwan’s linguistic reform and popular enlightenment. As a single medium giving voice to the distress of the colonized, the publication soon became a forum for promoting literary and linguistic reforms. The advocacy for Mandarin reached its zenith when Chang Wo-chün promoted literary reform in Taiwan. In April 1924, when he was studying in Peking, Chang started a series of attacks on Taiwan’s literature in classical Chinese forms, especially poetry A 22-yearold fervent admirer of Hu Shih, he introduced Hu’s idea of literary reform and listed the impressive achievements of the vernacular movement in China in a series of articles in the Taiwan Common Daily. For Chang, Taiwan’s literature was an offshoot of Chinese literature, and the former should follow the direction in which the latter developed. Compared with the new literature in China, Taiwan’s literature was regarded as an “evil residue” of traditional Chinese literature. Inspired by Hu Shih’s slogan—“a literature in the national language and a national language suitable for literature,” Chang set two tasks for the new literature movement in Taiwan: “to develop a vernacular literature and to reform tai-oanoe” Chang made it clear that what he meant by “the vernacular” was Chinese national language. He believed that it was easy for the educated people who could not even speak


Mandarin to read and write it, for “all other Chinese dialects resembled Mandarin.” Chang thus explained his concept of linguistic reform: Some people who claim to be radical argue: “Classical Chinese no longer works. We must use the vernacular. We must utilize the tai-oan-oe we have used everyday”…. In fact, ninety per cent of tai-oan-oe that we use everyday cannot be signified. The reason is that our language is a patois, an inferior language without a writing system, and a language whose most components are defective. No doubt it is of no literary worth. So our new literature movement has a task to perform: to reform tai-oan-oe. We plan to change our patois into a decent language that can be written down. We decide to draw on Chinese national language to reform the Taiwanese patois. In other words, we plan to make tai-oan-oe correspond to Chinese national language…. If we can achieve this goal, our culture would not be separated from Chinese culture, the foundation of vernacular literature can be built up, and tai-oan-oe can be changed into a reasonable one…. (Chang [1925] 1979:102–3) Chang’s concept of a new literature movement evoked opposition from traditional Taiwanese literati, who believed that this kind of literary revolution would put traditional Han culture as represented by classical Chinese in jeopardy. The opposition, however, was relatively weak. By contrast, young intellectuals supported the literary reform by creating more and more literary works in a colloquial style based on Mandarin, while their writing inevitably included components of local languages. Under the Japanese, Chang Wo-chün and other major literary reformers did not hide their keen Han/Chinese cultural identity. Their enthusiasm for the literary revolution in Taiwan was stimulated by progressive cultural trends in China represented by the May Fourth Movement of 1919. It was also encouraged by the relatively liberal political climate in the colony during the early 1920s. In general, Taiwanese intellectuals who supported literary reform shared this sort of cultural identity. The literary and linguistic reforms in the 1930s: hsiang-t’u literature and tai-oan-oe writing system Compared to the embracing of Chinese national language in the early 1920s, the promotion of “hsiang-t’u literature” (hsiang literally means “village,” “rural area,” or “hometown,” and t’u, “soil,” “local,” or “native”) and a writing system of tai-oan-oe (T’ai-wan hua-wen) in the early 1930s occurred in a more oppressive political situation. As mentioned above, the Japanese were tightening the control of the colony in this period. By the end of 1931, anticolonial resistance, except for the moderate League for the Attainment of Local Autonomy, had been crushed. Meanwhile the further promotion of Japanese education as a major aspect of the colonial assimilation policy was in progress. Under the circumstances, many young Taiwanese intellectuals abandoned politics for cultural activities, especially literature. Moreover, although anti-colonial resistance was completely suppressed, the


influence of socialism on literature remained powerful. As a result of the rapid development of anti-colonial movements after 1927, socialism became prevalent in literary circles. The concept of “proletarian literature” inspired a special concern over the laboring masses in young intellectuals (Huang Ch’i-ch’un 1995:56–7). It was the article, “Why Not Promote Hsiang-t’u Literature?” by Huang Shih-hui—a major leader of the radicalized Taiwan Cultural Association, which was originally established by the reformists (TGGPA [1939] 1989a:337, 422)—that provoked the debate on “hsiang-t’u literature” and a Hoklo writing system that lasted the following two years. Huang wrote in August 1930: You are Taiwanese. Over your head is the Taiwanese sky. Your feet walk on Taiwanese soil. All you see are the conditions of Taiwan. Everything your ears hear is Taiwanese news. What you undergo is Taiwanese experience. That which you speak is also a Taiwanese language. Therefore, that powerful, gifted pen of yours, that productive, brilliant pen should also write Taiwanese literature. … Do you want to create literature that will touch and excite the masses? Do you want the masses to feel your emotions in their hearts? If you don’t, nothing more need to be said. If you do, then whether you are a defender of the ruling class or a leader of the laboring masses, you must create literature whose readers are the laboring masses. Thus you should also stand up for hsiang-t’u literature and create hsiang-t’u literature.13 To be sure, Huang’s concept of creating a sort of popular literature, especially for the laboring masses, was hardly new. Since vernacular literature and Mandarin was promoted in the early 1920s, enlightening the masses by creating a new literature that would be more popular and social in both content and form had been a major concern of young intellectuals. Under the influence of socialist tenets of proletarian literature, however, Huang demanded more radical “localization” of literature. On the one hand, the subject matter must be about the realities of life in Taiwan. It was the representation of the realities of life that Huang believed could attract the laboring masses to literature. On the other hand, however, the popularization of literature concerned not only literary content but also literary tools—the language a writer used. Both classical Chinese and modern Mandarin Chinese, Huang noted, were difficult to understand for the laboring masses whose native tongue was tai-oan-oe. A vernacular literature based on Mandarin might become popular in China. Nevertheless, Huang argued, in Taiwan it would remain an “aristocratic” literature developed and enjoyed exclusively by a small intellectual elite. To promote hsiang-t’u literature, he claimed, was “to write an essay in tai-oan-oe, compose a poem in tai-oan-oe, create a novel in tai-oan-oe, produce a folk song in tai-oan-oe, and deal with things that happened on Taiwan.”14 The debate on hsiang-tu literature did not become heated until July 1931, one year after Huang’s article appeared. The change was attributable to the publication of an article, “A Proposal for Developing a ‘Tai-oan-oe Writing System’,” by Kuo Ch’iu-sheng (1904–80)


and Huang Shih-hui’s article, “On Hsiang-t’u Literature Once Again.” Kuo claimed that “none of the assimilation policies of the colonial powers would achieve ultimate success.” The discriminatory education and suppression of traditional private schools, Kuo noted, had created the serious problem of illiteracy among the Taiwanese. Like Huang’s article published one year before, Kuo’s article pointed to the fact that for the Taiwanese, not only the writing style of classical Chinese but also that of Mandarin Chinese—not to mention Japanese writing—violated the principle of identification between written language and spoken language. To acquire command of any of these languages required tremendous effort; and the overwhelming majority of Taiwanese were isolated from modern knowledge because they could read neither Japanese nor Mandarin. A tai-oan-oe writing form, Kuo believed, was the most effective instrument for solving the problem of illiteracy.15 Compared with his last essay, Huang Shih-hui’s new article focused exclusively on the linguistic tool of hsiang-t’u literature. He reiterated his argument, contending that “we must have hsiang-t’u literature because hsiang-t’u literature represents speaking and each place has its own language.” Huang emphasized once again that Taiwanese writers should use a native language to deal with things happening in Taiwan, for they did not write for people who lived in any remote land.16 The articles by Kuo and Huang provoked a heated discussion on the hsiang- t’u literature and tai-oan-oe script among the Taiwanese cultural elite. Hsiang-t’u literature was now identified with a tai-oan-oe literature. Like the discussion on literary reform in the early 1920s, the debate over hsiang-t’u literature focused on the linguistic aspect. The difference was that the conflict in the early 1920s was primarily between younger intellectuals who promoted a vernacular literature written in Mandarin and the traditional literati who stuck to the literature written in classical Chinese. By contrast, now the clash was mainly between one group of young intellectuals who advocated a tai-oan-oe literature and the other who endorsed a Mandarin literature. Generally speaking, both sides agreed on the need to create a literature more sensitive to local realities. However, they disagreed on the linguistic tools necessary for representing that reality. In fact, the controversy was not confined to the realm of literature. More often than not the debaters concerned themselves with an effective written language for promoting popular education. The arguments of the opponents of a tai-oan-oe writing system did not differ materially from the views embraced by the advocates of Mandarin in the early 1920s who were represented by Chang Wo-chün. Their contentions could be summarized as follows. First, tai-oan-oe was coarse and unformed. It was not qualified to fill the role of a literary tool. Second, there existed such dialects as Hoklo and Hakka in Taiwan. Even the Changchou and Chüanchou accents were still discernible within Hoklo—that is, tai-oan-oe had not yet been standardized. A literature based on Hoklo might not be appreciated by a Hakka speaker. Third, Chinese people could not understand written tai-oan-oe. The island would be alienated from China (Liao [1954, 1955] 1979:493–4). This group of debaters, like their forerunners in the early 1920s, advocated the popularization of spoken and written Mandarin in order to retain connections with China. The opponents’ views obviously testified to their distinct Han/Chinese cultural identity.


Colonialism and the uniqueness of Taiwanese culture In a sense the opponents of tai-oan-oe vernacular literature missed the proponents’ point —if not evading the problem altogether. For supporters it was essential to create a tai-oanoe script because of the particular situation on the island under the colonial rule. As a major champion, Kuo Ch’iu-sheng thus stated: I love Mandarin Chinese very much. In fact, I have never alienated myself from Mandarin, but I am not satisfied with it. To be sure, it is the current situation that does not allow me to use Mandarin! Can Mandarin be freely popularized in Taiwan? Because the identiflcation between written language and spoken language is the principle of vernacular writing, naturally dialectal elements of local literature should be acceptable. Then theoretically the place occupied by Taiwanese literature in the Mandarin-speaking world would be compared to the place occupied by any local [literature] in China. However, now in reality [tai-oan-oe] cannot play the role of a dialect in the Mandarin-speaking world as any dialect in China does, can it? (Kuo 1931:11) Kuo learned classical Chinese from a private tutor while attending a common school. Then he went to China and received his high school education in Amoy (Huang Wu-chung 1980: 62), where he acquired a command of Mandarin. He committed himself to the support of the tai-oan-oe script because he believed that Taiwan had been trapped in colonialism. It appeared impossible for the Taiwanese to escape from alien rule. The heyday of anticolonial resistance was gone. All challenges issued to the colonial regime had proved futile. The idea of reunifying Taiwan with China now sounded like a dream. The hope of an independent country, which was once cherished by the Taiwanese Communist Party, was no more realistic than the possibility of reunification. Hence it can be said that the opponents of hsiang-t’u literature written in tai-oan-oe had missed the advocates’ point— the fact that Taiwan was a particular, colonized area. For those who promoted Mandarin, Taiwan was still a part of the Han Chinese world and would maintain links with China forever. They felt uneasy about the idea of developing a distinctive culture by means of a tai-oan-oewriting system (Liao [1954, 1955] 1979:495). For an advocate of hsiang-t’u literature and tai-oan-oe script such as Kuo Ch’iu-sheng, the essential task at the moment was to secure the integrity of Taiwanese identity The kind of view was clearly expressed by Huang Shih-hui: Taiwan is a peculiar world. Politically, Chinese common language is not allowable. Nationally (in terms of historical experience), Japanese common language is not desirable. Therefore I suggest that we create an independent Taiwanese culture in order to adjust ourselves to the reality in Taiwan.17 The most effective, fundamental means of developing a distinctive culture, the advocates believed, was a tai-oan-oe script. For them it was Taiwanese cultural particularity that marked the identity of the colonized and functioned as an antidote to the assimilationism


of the Japanese. The deep concern over the distinctiveness of the reality in Taiwan indicated the emerging of a novel sense of identity on the island. For the advocates, hsiang-t’u literature played a major role in representing a particular reality. In the first place, writers’ constant experiments in writing tai-oan-oe could facilitate the improvement of the writing form. To promote tai-oan-oe writing, Kuo Ch’iu-sheng argued, was not simply to create a tai-oan-oe script. Kuo, like Chang Wo-chün, who had advocated Mandarin for a decade, was inspired by Hu Shih’s slogan, contending that the true aim of the advocacy of tai-oan-oe writing was to produce not only “a literature in taioan-oe” but also “a tai-oan-oe suitable for literature” (Kuo 1932:25). That is, hsiang-tu literature could make an important contribution to the refinement of tai-oan-oe script, which was deemed the optimal linguistic tool for representing local reality. Yeh Jung-chung (1900–78), an editor of the literary bimonthly, Voice of the South (Nanyin), articulated the distinctive nature of Taiwan reality in a typical fashion. The Taiwanese as “a social collective,” Yeh believed, had developed a sort of common character because of specific race, history, geography, and customs. Such a shared character had been shaped primarily by two factors. Yeh explained: The first factor is Taiwan’s particular culture…. Taiwanese maintained a Han cultural tradition that has developed for four thousand years, but such a heritage has been carried forward in a special region and remolded by Japanese culture. Thus Taiwan must have her own distinctive culture. This is our destiny. We have no choice but to follow this direction of development. Only by doing so can we say that we are loyal to our own vocation and make a contribution to world civilization. The second factor is our social condition. Our special political, economic, and social life and the particular education we receive have formed a unique social environment and have bred our social consciousness. (Yeh 1932a: preface page) Yeh attributed the common, distinct character that distinguished the Taiwanese from the Han Chinese on the Mainland mainly to colonial rule. Like Kuo Ch’iu-sheng and Huang Shih-hui, he accepted that the island was trapped in colonialism and envisioned little hope of liberation. In fact, the major purpose of Yeh’s essay was to criticize the concept of proletarian literature, which had inspired young intellectuals such as Huang Shih-hui to promote hsiang-t’u literature written in tai-oan-oe. Yeh believed that collective character was shaped by particular cultural and social conditions and was shared by the members of every social class. It took priority over class consciousness. Therefore Yeh advocated “the third literature” as an alternative to “aristocratic” and “proletarian” literature. Future “Taiwanese literature”, he argued, should be the third literature based on collective character. The third literature must deal with everyday life, feelings, demands, and the thirst for liberation (Yeh 1932b: preface page). As it turned out, Yeh’s critique on proletarian literature was not quite at odds with Huang Shih-hui’s notion of hsiang-t’u literature. In terms of the concern over representing reality, Yeh’s idea of the third literature had many similarities with Huang’s concept of hsiang-t’u literature. When Yeh


delineated what the collective shared and explained how the common character had evolved historically, he described a unique culture and consciousness. In short, Yeh had developed a notion of Taiwaneseness distinguished from Chineseness (Fix 1993:264). In fact the journal Yeh was editing, Voice of the South, played a major role in the promotion of tai-oan-oe literature. From the publication of its first issue in January 1932, the journal had devoted pages for intellectual debate on tai-oan-oe literature. It also had the “Tai-oanoe Writing Experiment Column” to solicit contributions—especially “folk literature” recorded in tai-oan-oe, such as riddles, folk songs, children’s ballads, and the like. Moreover, the journal remained consistent in calling on writers to create “Taiwanese popular literature” that dealt with local history, customs, and social life.18 The maintenance of Han cultural identity However, the sense of Han/Chinese cultural identity possessed by the proponents of taioan-oe vernacular literature should not be underestimated. Almost without exception the proponents in the early 1930s advocated writing tai-oanoe in Chinese characters, though they might differ over which was the “correct” or “better” character to signify a tai-oan-oe morpheme. They also coined new characters to represent a specific morpheme. Such technical issues became an important concern and aroused much discussion. Nevertheless, almost all the advocates promoted a writing system that consisted of Chinese characters with a view to maintaining Taiwanese connections with China and Han culture. This kind of tai-oan-oe script, they assumed, would also be easy to read for Chinese. For example, Kuo Ch’iu-sheng argued that the writing form was just “a Chinese character system with strong local, dialectal color,” while tai-oan-oe would probably develop beyond the status of a dialect in the Mandarin-speaking world. Therefore written tai-oan-oe would be easy to understand for those who already had a command of classical or Mandarin Chinese.19 Kuo’s view was shared by other important advocates, such as Huang Shih-hui, Fu Jen (Chuang Ch’ui-sheng), Huang Ch’un-ch’ing, and Li Hsien-chang.20 It was precisely because of this kind of Han cultural identity that these advo-cates opposed the alphabetization of tai-oan-oe, particularly the romanization project proposed by the reformist anti-colonial veteran, Ts’ai P’ei-huo (1899– 1983).21 In the late nineteenth century, English and Canadian Presbyterian evangelists introduced alphabetic writing on the island. They romanized tai-oan-oe and published a tai-oan-oe version of the Bible. As a Christian, Ts’ai learned to write tai-oan-oe in the Roman alphabet when he was young. The Japanese rule, Ts’ai argued, had alienated the colonized from the Chinese character system, which might have been used to signify tai-oan-oe. He believed that the phonetic writing form based on twenty-four letters was the most effective instrument for promoting mass literacy and enlightening the masses. Since 1914, Ts’ai devoted himself to advocating the romanization system. He conducted seminars, published a series of articles and pamphlets, and traveled around the island and to Tokyo to enlist support from both the Taiwanese and the Japanese elite. Although the Taiwan Cultural Association once listed the promotion of alphabetic writing as part of its project of cultural enlightenment, it achieved little in practice. Few Taiwanese intellectuals showed interest in Ts’ai’s proposal,


and many felt uneasy about its foreign origin. In addition, the colonial administration suppressed Ts’ai’s activities because it believed that the distribution of a tai-oan-oe romanization system would undermine the policy of linguistic assimilation. Thus by 1935 the promotion of the romanization form had come to a halt.22 While advocates of tai-oan-oe script based on Chinese characters encountered little harassment by the Japanese, they accomplished only a little more than Ts’ai in terms of their ambition to create a tai-oan-oe literature, improve mass literacy, and enlighten the masses. The lack of a standardized tai-oan-oe script had frustrated most authors. To write tai-oan-oe an author usually had to look for appropriate Chinese characters or create new ones. For all one’s pains, there was no guarantee that the reader would accept or understand them. This obstacle even discouraged such brilliant authors as Lai Ho (1894–1943) and Yang K’uei (1905–85) from continuing their experiments with composing in tai-oan-oe (Fix 1993:293). By 1933 the interest in tai-oan-oe literature had died down. Since Chang Wo-chün launched violent attacks on literature written in classical Chinese and advocated using Mandarin in 1924, the majority of Taiwanese authors of modern literature had written in a form of Mandarin with strong local flavor. However, an increasing number of young authors who wrote in Japanese began to gain ground in the early 1930s. Japan had ruled the island for more than three decades at that time. These young writers were products of the colonial formal education as well as education in the metropole (Yeh 1987:50;Fix 1993:292). After the radical Japanization campaign, namely, the kōminka movement, which started in 1937, Mandarin authors were forced to stop writing (Yeh 1987:65). A major task of the kōminka movement as part of wartime mobilization during the Sino-Japanese War (1937–45) was to change the island into a monolingual society. In April of that year the classical Chinese course in the common school, which had been reduced to a peripheral elective since 1922, was officially abolished. Then the colonial government ordered that all Chinese sections of local bilingual newspapers be removed by June 1937. The use of local languages, Hoklo in particular, encountered much more suppression than before, though the colonial administration never completely banned them. As a result of the radical Japanese-language campaign, the number of Taiwanese who could “comprehend” Japanese reached 80 per cent of the total population in 1943, though the official record was obviously exaggerated. Nevertheless, the fact was that those who had mastered the language, especially young Japanese speakers, were increasing. This was attributed primarily to the growth of elementary education. In 1944 the percentage of the Taiwanese school-age population enrolled in elementary schools had reached 71.31 (Chou 1995:124–5, 134, 140).23 Japanese hence became a dominant language, particularly in the public domain. Conclusion Generally speaking, mass enlightenment was a major concern shared by anti-colonial intellectuals in Taiwan. During this period, for the first time the Taiwanese experienced the rule of a modern state apparatus. The effect of social integration caused by the colonial administration and the confrontation between the colonizer and the colonized contributed


greatly to the waning of traditional ethnic identity and to the formation of a “Taiwanese people” identity For anti-colonial intellectuals, enlightenment primarily meant awakening the colonized to political consciousness and heightening their will to counter Japanese assimilation. Enlightenment involved “cultural reformation”, such as reforming traditional customs and manners, encouraging people to take part in public affairs, and diffusing modern knowledge among the masses. The success of the anti-Japanese movement depended heavily on whether or not the Taiwanese could become an “enlightened” people capable of competing with other peoples, including the Japanese, in the racial “struggle for existence.” After the 1920s, the campaign for linguistic and literary reforms was motivated by a concern over cultural reformation as well as anti-colonial consciousness. Linguistic reform became an important issue because the serious problem of the illiteracy of the colonized constituted the chief obstacle to mass enlightenment. What was at issue was which language should be adopted as a vehicle for a writing system that would facilitate the introduction of modern knowledge among the Taiwanese and be used as an effective means of countering Japanese linguistic assimilation. The pioneering campaign for literary revolution in the early 1920s was precisely focused on the issue of linguistic reform, while it also attacked the indifference to socio-political realities—especially the sufferings of the colonized—displayed in literature composed in classical Chinese forms. Since then literature was regarded by anti-colonial intellectuals as an important means toward representing the reality of the island, giving voice to the distress of the colonized, and achieving mass enlightenment. The new literature conceived by anti-colonial intellectuals was characterized by a spirit of “social realism.” However, linguistic reform was not a merely technical problem. Rather, it involved Taiwanese intellectuals’ cultural identity, which was shaped and reshaped by socio-political conjunctions. Compared with political anti-colonial resistances, the campaign for linguistic reform—particularly the promotion of a tai-oan-oe script in the early 1930s—reflected more clearly the cultural identity dilemma in which the Taiwanese elite was placed. As they believed that there was little hope of escaping from alien rule and reinstating close connections with China, a group of young intellectuals shifted toward identifying themselves with the island and advocated a tai-oan-oe writing form. The concept of hsiangt’u literature, which they argued would deal primarily with the peculiar conditions of the colony, was presented. The essence of the new form of identity was a deep concern over the distinctiveness of local culture shaped especially by colonialism. Obviously it was primarily the colonial rule, which had greatly alienated the island from China, that led to the formation of a new identity. Moreover, both the advocacy of Mandarin in the early 1920s and the promotion of a tai-oan-oe script in the early 1930s were inspired by the concept of a national language as an essential part of modern nation-state ideology—the concept that a common linguistic vehicle was indispensable to national collective life. Still, this transition of identity should not be seen in black-and-white terms. The insistence on using Chinese characters to signify tai-oan-oe testified to the advocates’ Han Chinese cultural identity. However, a great difficulty lay in the fact that it became increasingly impossible for the Taiwanese to learn Chinese characters because of the decline of traditional private schools and the cancellation of classical Chinese classes in common


schools. Moreover, the colonial administration tried to sever Taiwanese connections with China by controlling travel to the Chinese Mainland. Similarly, Chinese were discouraged from journeying to the island (Shih [1962] 1980:336–7; Tai 1985:250–5). Still, advocates of tai-oan-oe writing tried to use Chinese characters in order to maintain cultural ties with China, while they claimed that writers should deal with particular realities on the island. It was precisely because of their Han/Chinese cultural identity that Taiwanese intellectuals in general welcomed the return of the island to China when the Second World War ended. The linguistic and literary reforms presented in the colonial period would shed some definitive light on similar issues during the postwar period, which the following chapters focus on. Notes 1 Some scholars trace Taiwanese non-violent resistance back to the formation of the Taiwan Assimilation Society (Taiwan dōkakai) in late 1914. The stated purpose of the society was to promote harmonious Japanese-Taiwanese relations based on the idea of racial equality. Moreover, it advocated cooperation between Japan and China to counter the domination of white races and that the “complete assimilation” of the Taiwanese would facilitate this cooperation. However, the organization of the society was initiated by a liberal Japanese politician, Itagaki Taisuke, though only 44 members were Japanese, out of a total of 3,178 members. Besides, with the exception of a small group, those Taiwanese who supported this movement were traditionally educated literati. The Society was forced to disband by the colonial administration in January 1915. See TGGPA ([1939] 1989a:2–17); Ts’ai P’ei-huo et al. (1971:15–35). 2 Shortly after the Japanese takeover of the island, middle-and upper-class Taiwanese families began sending their children to study in major Japanese cities, especially Tokyo. In 1915 there were about 300 Taiwanese studying in the capital city, and by 1922 the number had increased to 2,400, with more than half enrolled in colleges and universities. See TGGPA ([1939] 1989a: 18– 19); Chen Ching-chih (1988:35). 3 The campaign for a parliament in Taiwan was initiated by the New People’s Society. It was led by such organizations as the pre-1927 Taiwan Cultural Association (Taiwan bunka kyōkai, founded in Taiwan in 1921), the Japanese-based League for the Establishment of a Taiwanese Parliament (Taiwan gikai kisei dōmeikai, established in 1923), the pre-1928 Taiwan Popular Party (Taiwan minsh tō, established in Taiwan in 1927), and the League for the Attainment of Local Autonomy (Taiwan chihōjichi renmei, founded in Taiwan in 1930). These organizations can be regarded as successors to the New People’s Society in the sense that their membership overlapped to a significant degree and that in general, they were under the leadership of Lin Hsien-t’ang, Ts’ai P’ei-huo, and their followers. See Ts’ai et al. (1971:196–9); Shih ([1962] 1980:491–2). 4 A Japanese police report on the political positions of the advocates of the parliament in Taiwan might serve as an explanation of their “biding-their-time” attitude:

It can be said that the leading members of this campaign are relatively moderate and have no immediate intention to pursue Taiwan’s independence or reunification with China, though they are discontented with the colonial


government and claim that the essential reforms must be carried out by Taiwanese themselves. At least they are constant to the demand for the home rule. However, we must pay attention to the fact that most of them act according to their views of China; their ideas and actions vary with such views…. One faction places their ardent hope on future China, believing that China will revive, hold sway over the world, and recover Taiwan. They emphasize that before such an opportunity arises, they would maintain their national character, conserve their strength, and bide their time…. By contrast, another faction expresses slight hope for future China but attach greater importance to the autonomy and viability of the island, maintaining that it is worthless if worse misgovernment is imposed on the island when reunified with China…. However, it is because they are disappointed with the current situation in China that they embrace such a view. It is thus understandable that they may return to the former faction’s idea in case China is regarded as being powerful. (TGGPA [1939] 1989b:13–14) 5 For a brief explanation of the nature of the May Fourth Movement, see Chapter 3 of this book, Note 11. 6 After 1919, China attracted more and more Taiwanese who hoped to study abroad because of the low fees and easy entrance procedures of the new schools and universities that were springing up. According to the Japanese Government-General records, only nine Taiwanese studied in China during 1919. However, in 1921 the number increased to 273. See Tsurumi (1980:6) 7 A pamphlet issued in 1926 by the Sino-Taiwanese Comradeship Association (Chung-t’ai t’ungchih hui) in Nanking can be regarded as an epitome of the anti-colonial Taiwanese student organizations’ general view of the future Taiwan-China relationship. The pamphlet said:

In history, Taiwan has had close connections with the Chinese Mainland. The economy, politics, and culture of these two places all naturally form a system that cannot be separated. This is the natural relationship between Taiwan and China. We establish a principle regarding the future China-Taiwan relationship: “China must not adopt an imperialist policy and treat Taiwan as a colony.” The future China-Taiwan relationship should be based on this principle. One of the rights liberated Taiwan should have is the right to self-determination, which means that, economically and politically, Taiwan becomes a free and autonomous country. That is, in reality it is the same as Taiwan independence. If by any chance and for some reason the peoples of the two places judge that it is better to form a federation, or to unite, the final decision must be made by the entire Taiwanese by their own free choice. It is this principle that we maintain. When the Taiwan liberation movement is pushed forward, China should provide full support because of her special position. Also to seek the freedom and glory of Taiwan, the Taiwanese must insist on self-determination, which


in turn, however, should be based on the voluntariness of the Taiwanese. In other words, although China should be the chief support of Taiwanese liberation movement, the Taiwanese must remove the dependent mentality. First of all, there must be a voluntary mass movement. Also we should pay attention to the Chinese Nationalist revolution, for it directly or indirectly has remarkable influence on the emancipation of weak and small nations in East Asia. Thus we hope that the Taiwanese see the Chinese Nationalist revolution not only as a Chinese issue but also as a matter closely related with us. Therefore we also call on the Taiwanese to lend aid to Chinese Nationalist revolution as soon as they possibly can. (TGGPA [1939] 1989a:150). An organization that embraced a political position different from the above was the Taiwan Revolutionary Youth League in Canton (Kuang-tung t’ai-wan ke-ming ch’ingnien t’uan), which espoused Sun Yat-sen’s Three Principles of the People, claiming that the “Taiwanese Nation Is Chinese Nation! The Land of Taiwan Is the Land of China!” and calling on “the motherland to recover Taiwan.” See TGGPA ([1939] 1989a:163, 167). 8 See Chapter 1, Note 7. 9 In 1927, a group of young communists even took over the leadership of the Taiwan Cultural Association, which was originally founded and led by the reformist anti-colonialists. Meanwhile the communists also established close connections with developing peasant and labor movements or dominated the organization of these movements. However, after early 1929, Japanese suppression of the resistance movement became increasingly vigorous. In February of that year hundreds of members of the island wide Taiwanese farmer organization, the Peasant Union, were arrested (TGGPA [1939] 1989c:279). In February 1931, the colonial regime ordered the radicalized Taiwan People’s Party to disband. See TGGPA ([1939] 1989b: 262–3). Then after June nearly all of the members of the Taiwanese Communist Party were arrested. See TGGPA ([1939] 1989c:192–5). As a result, the Taiwan Cultural Association, which had been affiliated with the Party, also collapsed. See TGGPA ([1939] 1989a:392–3). 10 This generation of Taiwanese young people could study Japanese at the institutes for free, and the length of learning varied from one to four years. In April 1937, right before the colonial regime launched a more radical Japanization campaign, the kōminka movement, as a key component of the wartime mobilization during the Sino-Japanese conflict, the Japanese language institutes had numbered 2,812, and the students, 185,590. A simplified version of the institutes that recruited common Taiwanese and required a much shorter length of learning numbered 1,555, and the students, 77,781. See Wu Wen-hsing (1992:353–9). 11 These Taiwanese consisted of those who had received a common school education, those who had studied at the language institutes, and those who were currently studying at common schools and language institutes. 12 For a biography of Ch’en Hsin, see Li (1996). 13 Cited in Liao ([1954,1955] 1979:488–9). The English translation is based largely on Fix, 1993: 260–261. 14 Cited in Liao ([1954, 1955] 1979:488). 15 Cited in Liao ([1954, 1955] 1979:490). 16 Cited in Liao ([1954, 1955] 1979:489).


17 Citedin Liao ([1954, 1955] 1979:495). 18 Compared with other literary journals in colonial Taiwan, Voice of the South’s relatively long life—nine months—was impressive. Besides, a circulation of 3,000 rivaled the best of the journals published earlier. See Fix (1993:259). In fact, scholars have argued that the publication of the journal represented a high development of Taiwanese modern literature in the colonial period. See Huang ([1954, 1955] 1979:299–304); Wang (1978:5–6); Yeh (1987:38). Cf. Liao (1990:88). 19 Cited in Liao ([1954, 1955] 1979:491). 20 See Voice of the South, vol.1, no.1:13, no.4:15, no.5:8–9 (1932). Cf. Masayoshi (1989:80). 21 See Fu-Jen (1932:13); Liao ([1954, 1955] 1979:491). 22 See Liao ([1954, 1955] 1979:470–82); Liao (1990:32–9). 23 In the wartime atmosphere of 1942 the colony’s common schools and primary schools (shōgakkō, exclusively for Japanese children) were renamed “national schools” (kokumin gakkō) as were the primary schools of Japan. However, they remained essentially two separate types of elementary school—one for Japanese and a few Taiwanese, and the other for the bulk of Taiwanese children. It was still very difficult for Taiwanese to enter the original primary schools. See Tsurumi (1977: 112–13).

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3 Postwar linguistic problems, literary development, and the Debate on Hsiang-t’u Literature

This chapter begins with a discussion on early Mainlander-Taiwanese contact and the linguistic problem in Taiwan when the Second World War ended and the island was returned to China. The National Language Movement launched shortl after the retrocession of Taiwan demonstrated the KMT’s determination to “de-Japanize” and “Sinocize” the island as soon as possible. The provincial government’s policy of rigid monolingualism constituted a blow to Taiwanese intellectuals used to getting their information in Japanese. As a result, Taiwanese writers in general were driven out of literary circles. The monolingualism became even stricter after the 2–28 Incident of 1947. Second, the chapter addresses a heated literary discussion on the development of Taiwanese literature. Following the political turmoil of 1947, a group of left-leaning Mainlander intellectuals espousing literary social realism tried to reinvigorate local literary circles. The Mainlander and Taiwanese concern over the distinctiveness of Taiwanese literature in particular and Taiwanese culture in general reflected a strained relationship between national consciousness and local consciousness in the postcolonial society. Third, Taiwan’s literary development in the 1950s and 1960s is briefly discussed. The prevalence of pro-Western literary modernism represented postwar dependence on foreign powers, particularly the United States, not only in economic and political affairs but also in the cultural realm. The chapter finally focuses on the promotion of “hsiang-t’u literature” in the 1970s as an alternative to literary modernism. It also discusses the debate on this new literary variant. While hsiang-t’u literature’s anti-imperialism, leftism, and localism upset the KMT, the literary genre became widely accepted. Ironically, despite the fact that its authors and advocates were inspired by Chinese nationalism, the postwar development of hsiang-t’u literature has been appropriated by Taiwanese nationalists as an important part of their literary discourse. Early Mainlander-Taiwanese contact and the linguistic problem In April 1944, anticipating victory over Japan, China’s KMT government created the Taiwan Investigation Committee (T’ai-wan tiao-ch’a wei-yüan-hui) to plan the takeover of the island. KMT officials realized that the takeover would be a challenge because under


colonial rule, Taiwan had been modernized to a higher level of economic development and living standard than the Chinese Mainland. The effects of Japanese linguistic assimilationism, in particular, posed a potential threat to the coming Chinese rule. As mentioned in the Chapter 2, in 1941, 71.31 per cent of Taiwanese school-aged children were enrolled in the six-year free and compulsory elementary schools. Around the same time, an official record indicated that more than 80 per cent of Taiwanese could “comprehend” the Japanese language, though this figure was obviously exaggerated. Moreover, statistical information shows that in 1942, more than 1.5 million out of 6.2 million Taiwanese, or about twenty-five per cent, had received at least an elementary school education that trained them to be functionally literate in Japanese (Wu Wen-hsing 1992:360).1 In May 1946, seven months after the KMT government’s takeover, a Taiwanese linguist described the linguistic change as a result of the half-acentury colonial rule: Taiwanese linguistic ability can be divided into three strata according to people’s ages, that is, elderly, middle-aged, and young. Among the elderly stratum,…the speech of the educated of this cohort is based mainly on Taiwanese languages. Their daily languages are also Taiwanese languages. Their speech, however, has contained many Japanese lexical units and syntactic structures. Although a part of the middleaged has not familiarized themselves with Japanese, most members of this stratum can speak, read, and write it. Some of them even think in Japanese because the education they received was Japanese. They have to think in Japanese, though they might still speak fluent native tongues. The use of the native tongues has been confined to the domain of the family. The roots and trunks of the native tongues have not been shaken, but the function of their branches and leaves has changed. As to the young stratum, the members have learned to manipulate Japanese. Some of them simply cannot speak Taiwanese languages.2 The middle-aged and young strata in Wu’s categorization consisted primarily of people under 30 at the end of the war. Among this group of Taiwanese the main vehicle of communication, either speaking or writing, had been Japanese, not their native tongues, especially in the urban areas. Those who could read and write Chinese formed at best only 2 per cent of Taiwanese aged over 30 (Hsü Hsüeh-chi 1991:158). Generally speaking, Japanese and Taiwanese were the major languages of the colonized when the war ended. There is no necessary relationship between acquiring a language and developing a specific form of cultural identity. Mastering Japanese does not necessarily mean identifying with the colonizer. Also it is hard to pin down the exact degree to which the Taiwanese were assimilated. The kōminka movement—the radical “Japanization” or “imperialization” campaign during wartime (1937–45)—fell far short of what had been expected, namely, to rapidly transform all Taiwanese into imperial subjects. However, as part of the radical assimilation campaign, the “national language movement” was successful to some extent, teaching a large percent of Taiwanese to “comprehend” Japanese and creating a young

POSTWAR LINGUISTIC PROBLEMS 53

generation whose major medium of communication had become the colonizer’s tongue (Chou 1994:136, 153).3 Moreover, by 1937 Taiwan had enjoyed decades of peace and economic prosperity The island’s gross domestic product had risen 2.6 times by that year, and thus per capita income was nearly twice that of the Chinese Mainland. Taiwan’s infrastructure of roads, railroads, harbors, telecommunications, health service, and educational institutions far exceeded that of the Mainland. The agricultural improvement had created an expanding food supply that outstripped population growth. People were not afraid to leave their homes unlocked. Criminals were quickly arrested and sentenced. Appreciating Japanese economic achievements and administrative efficiency, most Taiwanese would not hesitate to praise the competence and integrity of civil and military personnel (Lai, et al. 1991:26, 45). In addition, compared with the Koreans, who also underwent the kōminka movement, the Taiwanese showed more compliance and less resistance (Chou 1994:153). In fact, an increasing number behaved like Japanese in dress and manner during the war period. Many in their teens and twenties came to respect, if not admire, Japanese ways. Generally speaking, during half-a-century under colonial rule, many, if not most, members of the Taiwanese elite came to share the Japanese view of the world, though they might continue to take for granted many inherited Chinese norms. For many Taiwanese, whether members of the elite or the masses, the objective grounds for respect and admiration for the Japanese —such as personal integrity, administrative efficiency, economic achievements, social stability—were obvious. However, there remained widespread resentment that Taiwanese were discriminated against (Lai, et al. 1991:41,44–5). In May 1944, the head of the Taiwan investigation Committee, Ch’en I—who later became the first KMT governor-general of Taiwan—expressed his apprehension as to the success of Japanese assimilationism on the island: [The enemy] not only degraded [Taiwanese] minds into servility; they also prohibited the use of [Chinese] national daily and literary languages and imposed Japanese education…. Therefore, Taiwanese who are under 50 hardly have opportunities to learn Chinese culture and Sun-Yat-senism. Naturally, they feel lost. This is extremely dangerous…. [The] very difficult task is to educate them after recovering the island. Taiwan’s [colonial] education is highly progressive…. Taiwan’s population is just over six million, but there are a great many schools, far more than any other province [of China], After the recovery, we must maintain anything necessary and make sure it continues to operate; we must ensure that the Taiwanese appreciate the effect of [our] revolution and that the enemy will not laugh at us. (Chen and Chen 1989:58–9) Ch’en’s view was typical of the mentality of KMT government officials and teachers who were sent to the retroceded island. For them the central task was to “fight Japanese language and thought” (Hsü Hsüeh-chi 1991:173), and education was viewed as the most effective means of re-socializing the Taiwanese. The teaching of Mandarin as well as Chinese history, Ch’en I emphasized, would filled a major role in the education project (Chen and Chen


1989:59). Thus the “Outline of the Plan for the Takeover of Taiwan” (Tai- wan chieh-kuan chi-hua kang-yao) framed by the Committee in March 1945 specified that “after the takeover the cultural policy should be focused on promoting national consciousness and eradicating the slave mentality” and that [a] program about the promotion of the national language should be formulated… and be implemented gradually on a scheduled basis. National Language should be a required course in elementary schools and middle schools; civil servants should be the first to use the national language. The original Japanese language institutes everywhere should be changed into schools where the national language is the only language taught. (Chenand and Chen 1989:54) In a word, the KMT government set itself the demanding task to “de-Japanize” on the one hand, and to “Sinocize” the Taiwanese, on the other. Encouraging and diffusing Mandarin as a national language formed an essential part of the “Sinocization” project. On October 25, 1945 Japan transferred the island to China’s ownership. Taiwan now officially became a part of the ROC. Accompanying this historical drama was the emergence of a new social group boundary on the island, namely, the distinction made between “waisheng-jen” and “pen-sheng-jen.” “Wai-sheng-jen” which literally meant “people from other provinces of China,” referred to the Mainland Chinese who migrated into the island after the retrocession and their children (hereafter “Mainlanders”). Most members of this group were civil servants and the military. By contrast, the concept of “Taiwanese people”—” “tai-oan-lang” in Hoklo or “t’ai-wan-jen” in Mandarin—was still in use as it had been under the Japanese, signifying the people of Han origin on the island (hereafter “Taiwanese”). However, to distinguish the native residents of the island from the newly-arrived Mainlanders, the term “pen-sheng-jen” was created, which literally meant “[Han] people of this province.” The category did not include the non-Han aborigines. In most contexts it only referred to the majority of the population, the Hoklo, and excluded the Hakka. Similarly, the notion of “Taiwanese language”—tai-gu or tai-oan-oe in Hoklo or “t’ai-wanhua” in Mandarin—usually only indicated the major local language, Hoklo, as was the case in the colonial era. Six months after the retrocession the Taiwan Provincial Committee for the Promotion and Propagation of the National Language (T’ai-wan-sheng kuo-yu t’ui-hsing wei-yüan-hui) was organized, and the National Language Movement (Kuo-yü yün-tung) was officially launched. The goals of the committee represented the concepts of “de Japanization” and “Sinocization”: “to recover the Taiwanese dialect so as to enable the public to learn the national language by comparison between the dialect and the national language”: and “to eradicate the influence of Japanese as reflected in the daily speech of the people” (Chang 1974:51; Tse 1986:25–6). According to these goals, it seemed that the provincial administration’s language policy was one of “multi-lingualism,” for the recovery of the “Taiwanese dialect” was specified.


The reality of the policy, however, was rigid “mono-lingualism” where Mandarin alone was sanctioned. Ch’en I, who was now the governor-general of the Taiwan Provincial Administration (T’ai-wan-shenghsing-chengchang-kuari), declared that the Mandarin education must be pursued in a determined fashion and that there should be no flexibility (Hsü Hsüeh-chi 1991:163). Although he was fluent in it, on arriving in Taiwan, he swore that he would never speak a word of Japanese (Lai, et al. 1991:79). The provincial administration recognized that language was a barrier and thus authorized the publication and distribution of materials in Japanese for one year after Taiwan’s retrocession. It demanded the gradual phasing out of Japanese in late 1946 (Lai, et al. 1991:95). In that year schooling began to be conducted in Mandarin. On October 24, one year after the retrocession, Japanese pages in Chinese newspapers and magazines were banned (Chen and Chen 1989:235, 412). The “Mandarin-only” policy was a hard blow to Taiwanese intellectuals, especially those of the young generation who were used to the dissemination of information in Japanese. Authors who had established their reputations and had written exclusively in Japanese since the early 1930s were effectively expelled from literary circles. The literary language on which they had relied on to express themselves was prohibited in the public domain. Compared with Japanese colonial policy, the KMT government’s decision was less merciful. It was after 42 years of colonial rule (that is, in 1937) that the Japanese officially ordered that the Chinese sections in local bilingual newspapers be removed (see Chapter 2). In a sense, those generations that had received education in Japanese suddenly became “illiterate” under the rule of the motherland. To make matters worse, fluency in Mandarin soon became a requirement for attaining a position in the government. Compared with the Japanese colonial bureaucracy, the KMT provincial governmental structure suffered a reduction in size. This had already angered the many Taiwanese officials thrown out of work. Moreover Mainlanders occupied almost all of the top-level positions in the administration. The Taiwanese occupied fewer official positions than they did under the Japanese rule both in absolute and relative terms.4 As for those lucky enough to get a government job, they normally occupied unimportant positions. The provincial administration usually justified their employment policies by arguing that most Taiwanese were not fluent in the national language (Hsü Hsüeh-chi 1991: 166–7; Lai, et al. 1991:65–7, 70). Ch’en I announced in January 1946, that direct elections for the posts of district chiefs and city mayors could not be held until December 1949, though the ROC Constitution would be effective from December 25, 1947. Pointing out that a good many Taiwanese still used Japanese, Ch’en claimed that “[t]o build up China’s Taiwan, first of all, pen-sheng-jen must learn the national language. It is very dangerous to conduct direct elections for the posts of district chiefs and city mayors right now because [the island would thus] become Taiwanese Taiwan” (my emphasis).5 Moreover, regarding the ability to use the national language as a primary criterion of citizenship and a full expression of patriotism, Mainlander officials often claimed that the Taiwanese were still “enslaved” to Japanese culture because they had no command of Mandarin. By contrast, the Taiwanese usually complained that Mainlander officials knew nothing but Mandarin (Hsü Hsüeh-chi 1991:167–8). As a result of this state of affairs, the linguistic barrier was


rapidly politicized and increasingly became one of the major factors that soured the Mainlander-Taiwanese relationship. Early KMT rule and the 2–28 Incident The linguistic problem was an index of the nature of the early Mainlander-Taiwanese contacts. The Taiwanese hated their treatment by the Japanese while simultaneously appreciating many Japanese ways and the material gains made under Japanese rule. At the end of the war, however, the ambivalence quickly gave way to euphoria. The Taiwanese regarded the Mainland as the motherland, the source of their culture, and the home of their ancestors. They enthusiastically welcomed the realignment of the island to China (Clough 1991: 817; Lai, et al. 1991:47). The fact that a great many Taiwanese voluntarily tried to study Mandarin in the early months following retrocession testified to their enthusiasm although some were obviously opportunists who hoped to profit from the new political environment (He, et al. 1948:10–11). The zest for Mandarin, however, was dampened dramatically within the first year of the Ch’en I administration. Resentment at being stigmatized because of Japanese influence and being politically discriminated against proved merely part of the reason (Hsü Hsüeh-chi 1991:167–9). In fact, the central government that the Taiwanese hailed as liberator had long been criticized for its incompetence and corruption, not only by foreigners, but also by its own citizens, even though it led China in winning the anti-Japanese war and made her recognized as one of the great powers (Pepper 1986:738). Moreover, still suffering from the destruction caused by the war, the KMT government was plagued by the communists’ military challenge. On the part of the Taiwanese, it was obviously unrealistic to expect that the government would quickly create better political and economic environments than existed under the Japanese. Unfortunately, a large number of Taiwanese had those expectations. Yeh Jung-chung, the editor of Voice of the South, described the conception of China shared by his generation: We were born after Taiwan was ceded. We had never stepped our feet on the earth of the motherland, and our eyes had never seen the mountains and rivers of the motherland. We have neither relatives nor in-laws who live on the Mainland. We had no connection with the motherland except language, history, and cultural tradition. To us the motherland was just an idealistic construct, and we had no practical experience with the motherland. (Yeh [1964] 1995:419) It was hardly surprising that most Taiwanese grew disappointed with the KMT. To make matters worse, the administrative structure and economic policy framed by the KMT upset the Taiwanese and soon resulted in social disorder. As the Japanese surrendered, the Taiwan Provincial Administrative Executive Office (T’ai-wan-sheng hsingcheng chang-kuan kung-shu) was established, which meant that the island would be governed as a special province under rules different from those for Mainland provinces. Ch’en I was


appointed not only as governor-general of the Taiwan Provincial Administration but also as head of the Garrison Command. Thus both military and civilian authority was centralized in his hands. Moreover, legislative and judicial affairs were subject to the direct administrative control and supervision of the governor-general. Ch’en I wielded much more power than the governors of Mainland provinces who only had authority over civilian affairs under the control of the provincial executive councils. His power corresponded to that of previous Japanese governors-general. As to the structure of the provincial government and local governments, it was nearly an identical copy of Japanese colonial bureaucracy. Many Taiwanese viewed the provincial government as the Japanese colonial administration revived. The Taiwanese usually called the Executive Office “new colonial government,” only finding themselves ruled by a group of new overlords (Woody Cheng 1991). Resentment at the political situation was compounded by the economic disorder. The Executive Office confiscated all Japanese public assets and most private wealth as war booty, which many Taiwanese claimed belonged to them. Too much money was placed in circulation and statist policies were adopted to restrain the free market. By early 1946, inflation, unemployment, and com-modity shortages greatly increased and living standards declined dramatically. A major purpose of the confiscation of Japanese properties and the statist policies was to effectively mobilize Taiwan’s economic resources to support the struggle against the communists on the Mainland. This further angered the Taiwanese (Woody Cheng 1991:258; Lai, et al. 1991:72–3, 80–9). Other factors, such as the inefficiency of the understaffed bureaucracy, frequent corruption, military misbehavior, and the continuing influx of refugees from the Mainland heightened the Mainlander-Taiwanese tensions. Triggered by a street disturbance in Taipei, a series of revolts broke out island wide in the spring of 1947. On the evening of February 27, when a group of official investigators were confiscating the smuggled cigarettes owned by a Taiwanese woman peddler, a crowd was attracted by the argument between the investigators and the woman. In the confusion a Taiwanese man in the crowd was shot by one of the investigators, who tried to run away. The disturbance quickly provoked violent clashes with authorities throughout the island and lasted about two weeks. A large part of the urban population was involved. Crowds assaulted Mainlanders, killing many, occupied government buildings and radio stations, attacked police stations and looted arms. During the chaos Taiwanese members of the elite created several organizations—among them the “resolution committees” (ch’u-li wei-yüan-hui) in cities played a major role—to lead crowds and negotiate with the provincial administration, demanding political reforms and liberalization and the government’s apology for causing the tragedy. While Ch’en I showed an attitude of compromise and promised to fulfill Taiwanese expectations, part of the population became increasingly radical, demanding that military forces disarm and transfer their weapons to the resolution committees, and that a law be created to allow for Taiwanese self-rule. Eventually, a massacre of the Taiwanese accompanied the arrival of reinforcements from the Mainland. By late March the revolts were suppressed and peace and order were restored on the island, though the purge lasted several years. The open


resistance was known as the “Taiwanese Uprising of February 28, 1947” or the “2–28 Incident” (Erh-erh-pa shih-chieh).6 It is difficult to overestimate the influence of the Incident on Taiwan’s politics in the following decades. For one thing, it resulted in constant hostility between the Mainlanders and the Taiwanese. Also a group of dissidents who successfully escaped from the island after the Incident embarked on overseas Taiwan independence movements. As far as the linguistic problem is concerned, the provincial administration’s monolingualism became even stricter after the 2–28 Incident. As mentioned above, Taiwanese enthusiasm for Mandarin had died down by the outbreak of the Incident because of misgovernment. During the Incident it was not unusual that insurrectionists would interrogate a Mainlander using local languages, particularly Hoklo. If he or she could not reply in the languages—which in fact was very common—the insurrectionists would beat, if not kill, him or her. Moreover, the occupied radio stations broadcast in Hoklo or Japanese, and the slogans and notices created by the insurrectionists were almost without exception, in Japanese (Hsü Hsüeh-chi 1991:175–6). While it might seem natural for the Taiwanese to voice their anger in the languages which they had at their command, it convinced Mainlanders that the “contamination” of Taiwanese minds by Japanese influence was more serious than they had originally thought. In fact, in the report on the 2–28 Incident presented by the Executive Office, the “poisonous effects of Japanese education for servility” were viewed as one of the principal factors that caused the revolt.7 Shortly after the successful suppression, Ch’en I claimed: What caused the Incident is the poisonous propaganda and ideas produced by fiftyone years of Japanese rule. Taiwanese behaved as though they should oppose only our country’s people… Those who thought like the Japanese and opposed us were young people under thirty-five years of age, most of whom did not know anything about China and only looked down on the Chinese, soiled the cultural system of China, and considered that nothing was as good as the Japanese. Such people have forgotten that their ancestors were Chinese.8 Hence, after the Incident, private articles related to Japan such as Japanese records, publications, national flags, and the like, were confiscated. The use of the Japanese language was forbidden, especially among government employees and in public domains (Hsü Hsüeh-chi 1991:178–9). Fluency in Mandarin became a requirement for government employment. Promoting the use of Mandarin, banning the use of Japanese and the act of restraining local languages became the official language policy after the 2–28 Incident. The 1947–49 literary discussion The early situation of Taiwanese writers under KMT rule Like most Taiwanese, writers on the island welcomed the retrocession, celebrating liberation from the censorship imposed by the Japanese, which had become much stricter


under the kōminka policy. As mentioned in the last chapter, young authors who wrote in Japanese instead of Mandarin had begun to gain ground since the early 1930s. The group of writers who were born and grew up in the colonial period—such as Wu Chuo-liu (1900– 76), Yang K’uei (1905–85), Chang Wen-huan (1909–78), Lung Ying-tsung (1911–99), Lu He-juo (1914–50)—formed a major part of Taiwanese literary circles during wartime, when the use of Mandarin was banned. The authors who wrote in Mandarin were withdrawing. Cheered by the end of colonialism, many writers who had acquired their reputations during wartime joined in the editing of newly founded newspapers and magazines. The Chinese Daily (Chung-hua jih-pao), a leading newspaper run by the KMT, published many contributions from these writers. The small “Literary and Artistic Column” on the Japanese page of the newspaper became the major place where Japanese literary works could see the light of day (Yeh 1986:104–8; P’eng 1991a:35–41). However, it was only one year from the retrocession of the island to the announcement of the ban on Japanese sections in Chinese newspapers and magazines. Authors, who had written in Japanese, only found that they were silenced by the motherland government just as authors who wrote in Mandarin were muted by the Japanese. Two months before the Japanese pages were ordered removed, a critic said: …Taiwan has been recovered. They [the writers] were full of enthusiasm, preparing to write anything they were not allowed to deal with under the Japanese as much as they liked. Ardor and excitement, however, lasted briefly because the public use of Japanese they had worked hard to learn has been discouraged. They only become first grade students of national language [Mandarin] studying institutes…. Now there emerges a forcible, optimistic view among us. It is the view that our democratic government is different from the Japanese government, so it will respect freedom of speech and freedom of publication. If not so, there are two obstacles to the progress of Taiwanese literature, [that is, linguistic and political obstacles]. Then what kind of literature does Taiwan have now? If we look for it hard, we can only find “a-shan literature.”9 It targets wai-sheng-jen in Taiwan. At best it is just a superficial introduction of Mainland stories. Since most Taiwanese cannot read the national language now, the kind of literature has isolated itself from the masses and was worthless. (Wang [1946] 1984:108–9) Unfortunately the political disorder did compound the linguistic problem. The 2–28 Incident and the consequent suppression further drove the authors who wrote in Japanese out of literary circles. During the suppression the provincial administration closed down many newspapers and magazines. Numerous Taiwanese authors, journalists, scholars, and artists were arrested or killed. A dramatic change within literary circles after the Incident was that newspapers and magazines were controlled by the Mainlanders (P’eng 1991a: 44–6).


The 1947–49 literary discussion: the colonialism and the particularity of Taiwanese literature and culture Nevertheless, recognizing that Taiwan’s literary development had been thwarted since the end of the war, a group of Mainlander cultural intellectuals new to the island, showed their goodwill toward Taiwanese writers by demonstrating an interest in reviving local literary circles. Shortly after the 2–28 Incident, two Mainlander editors of the literary supplement of the New Life Daily (T’ai-wan hsin-sheng-pao) run by the provincial government, He Hsin (1922–) and Ke Lei (Shih Hsi-mei) became concerned with the progress of Taiwan’s literature and with the cooperation between Mainlander and Taiwanese writers. The literary supplement under their editorship drew a great many contributions focusing on how to develop literature from both Mainlander and Taiwanese authors and critics (the articles by Taiwanese authors were usually translated from Japanese into Chinese for publication). In particular the “Bridge” (Ch’iao) supplement edited by Ke Lei, served as a major forum after August 1947. The discussion lasted for about twenty months until the supplement was removed from circulation in April 1949. Generally speaking, the Mainlanders’ good intentions were based on their neglect, if not ignorance, of Taiwanese literary concerns and achievements in the colonial era, as well as on their zeal to preach mainstream literary ideology in post-May Fourth Movement China. Moreover, they usually expressed an uneasiness about particular features of Taiwanese literature, revealing a strong urge to integrate the local tradition into the world of Mainland literature. By contrast, native participants demanded the recognition of the achievements of Taiwanese new literature under the Japanese, while they did not deny that Taiwanese literature would form an integral part of Chinese literature. They called for the appreciation of Taiwanese literature’s “uniqueness” and potential contribution to the future development of Chinese literature. There is little information regarding the backgrounds of the Mainlander authors and critics who opened the discussion. It is sure, however, that they were left-leaning followers of China’s prevailing literary ideology in the 1930s (P’eng 1984:3). Regarding the island as “literary desert” or “literary and artistic virgin territory” (Chiang [1947] 1984:258; T’ien [1948] 1985:178; A-Jui [1948] 1985:198), they preached the kind of literary social realism which dominated China’s writers after the May Fourth Movement. “The people,” “revolution,” “liberation,” “anti-feudalism,” and “anti-imperialism,” were the catchwords.10 To this group of Mainlander intellectuals, Taiwanese literature as a part of Chinese literature had to go along with the main currents in Chinese literature. New Taiwanese literature, they argued, must be “new realistic literature” whose writers “get to the root of the society, mingle with the people, breathe with the people, voice the people’s sentiments, follow the revolutionary tradition of national liberation, and seek to achieve the unfulfilled goal of the ‘May Fourth’ new literature movement: ‘democracy and science'” (Ou-yang [1947] 1984:275).11 The Mainlanders’ goodwill and enthusiasm in reinvigorating local literary circles was in general appreciated. Their anti-imperialist and humanitarian leanings in particular drew the support of the Taiwanese discussants. To those who had experienced the campaign for “hsiang-t’u literature” written in tai-oan-oe in the 1930s, which was initially inspired by


socialist concept of “proletarian literature,” the Mainlander discussants’ discourse on social realism with a socialist bent was hardly foreign. Some Taiwanese participants, such as the notable writers, Yang K’uei and Yeh Shih-t’ao (1925–), and critic, Liao Han-ch’en (LiaoYüwen, 1912–80), echoed the Mainlander view, welcoming the introduction of the “progressive, the people’s literature.” They called on Mainlander and Taiwanese writers to cooperate to “develop new literature as a part of the Chinese new literature movement” (Yü-wen [1947] 1984:268; Yang [1948] 1984:281–2; Yeh [1948] 1984:291). However, the Taiwanese discussants also hinted that the postwar sociopolitical disorder had made many local writers leave their profession. They tried to focus attention on the history of Taiwanese modern literature in the colonial period, emphasizing that local writers had achieved much since Huang Ch’eng-ts’ung and Huang Ch’ao-ch’in advocated literary and linguistic reforms in the early 1920s (Yü-wen [1947] 1984:266–7; Yang [1948] 1984:280; Wang [1947] 1984). The repercussions of the 2–28 Incident in literature were evident. As mentioned above, in the Mainlanders’ view, the revolt was attributed partly to Japanese indoctrination. Taiwanese demand for self-rule was attacked as a symptom of the “contamination.” The Incident led to the further stigmatization of the legacy of the colonialism. Taiwanese discussants’ emphasis on the achievements of local writers aroused the Mainlander critics’ suspicion. The Mainlander discussants felt uneasy about the legacy of the colonialism, calling for the integration of the local literary tradition into the “national” one. Although Taiwanese writers were isolated from the motherland’s literary development in the colonial period, they believed the problem of how to develop Taiwanese literature was precisely the problem of how to develop an integral part of the motherland’s literature; to develop Taiwanese new literature was to develop an important part of Chinese new literature (Ou-yang [1947] 1984: 274–5). In fact, the twenty-month discussions in the literary supplement of New Life Daily centered around the issue of the “distinctiveness” of Taiwanese literature in particular and of Taiwanese culture in general. In an acid tone, a Mainlander made a vigorous attack on the particularity of the literary tradition: Ruling Taiwan for fifty-one years, Japanese imperialists ideologically bequeathed us “a feudal culture of the capitalist imperialists’ colony.” After the retrocession of Taiwan, such a kind of culture is mixed with a semi-slavish culture that has a “bureaucratic character” and a “comprador character.” The combination of these two kinds of cultures becomes a “primitive prostitute culture.” The creation of this sort of “primitive prostitute culture” is based on Taiwanese “particularity.” This kind of parasitic, backward, and degenerate “primitive prostitute culture” is the deadly enemy of Taiwanese new culture. In terms of the “particularity” of Taiwanese literature, the current Taiwanese new literature movement is a campaign for the eradication of the “primitive prostitute culture,” which calls for the unity of progressive literary activities in Taiwan…. It is necessary to establish close connection with the “militant and democratic friendly forces” in literary circles on the Mainland in order to forward


the new realistic literary movement…. Such a kind of “primitive prostitute culture” which highly represents Taiwanese particularity has been evident in Taiwanese ideology, such as the abnormal concepts of “Taiwan independence” and “mandate rule”…. (Wu [1949] 1984:298–300)12 The strong language clearly showed the author’s disgust at the distinctiveness of Taiwanese culture and its supposed relationship with separatism. Taiwanese literature, the editor of the supplement, Ke Lei, claimed, was like any “frontier-region literature” (pien-chiang wenhsüeh) on the Mainland. Its distinctiveness consisted of four elements: a simple narrative technique, the use of Japanese phrases and peculiar Taiwanese idioms and colloquial expressions, the influence of Japanese writers, and a kind of anti-colonial consciousness.13 To Ke Lei and other Mainlander critics, such components of particularity derived mainly from colonialism and formed a barrier to the integration of local literary traditions into the world of Chinese national literature. To break down the barriers, they argued, Taiwanese writers must learn Mandarin. Equally important was that they should apply the social realism that dominated literary circles on the Mainland—to create “the people’s literature” to serve the people. Taiwanese culture in general, the Mainlander critics maintained, must “reach the level of no particularity…. [It is essential] to make Taiwanese culture and Mainland culture reach the same goal by different routes as early as possible.”14 The view that the particularity of Taiwanese literature and culture consisted in the legacy of the colonialism was prevalent among the Mainlander critics. However, some Taiwanese discussants argued that such a view had blinded the Mainlanders to the realities on the island. For example, P’eng Min noted that the colonial experience had become too handy an explanation for everything wrong on Taiwan. “It is due to Japanese influence” was a conclusion the Mainlanders had been ready to jump to, particularly when they were dealing with social ills. This view, said P’eng, generated certain stereotypes of island society (P’eng [1948] 1985:194–5).15 Another Taiwanese discussant under the pen name Lai-nanjen made a similar criticism. He wrote: … [The ideas that] “the obviously peculiar character of Taiwan’s environment, which distinguishes the island from the Mainland, derives from the fifty-year Japanese rule” and that “[the colonial rule] alone constitutes the most salient particular feature of Taiwan” are wrong. I have argued… that the distinctiveness of Taiwan does not only lie in [her colonial history], so people should not put too much emphasis on it. Taiwan’s natural environment—geographical location, terrain, geology, climate, and products—and historical process—the occupation by the Spaniards and the Dutch and the ceding to Japan—has interacted with each other, generating Taiwan’s particularity. It is the kind of particularity that demands the creation of Taiwanese new literature. … I do not deny that Taiwan is one of China’s frontier regions, but I argue that the purpose of Taiwanese literature is not to create a certain frontier-region literature.


I also do not believe that to use a place name to categorize a literary work would detract the value of the work and degrade it into a sort of frontier-region literature. To sum up, it is necessary to forward a Taiwanese new literature movement in order to fit literature into Taiwan’s natural and social environments. However, the purpose of launching a Taiwanese new literature is not to create a frontier-region literature. Our goal is to develop Taiwanese literature into a part of Chinese literature, enrich Chinese literature, and help Chinese literature attain advanced world literature levels. (Lai-nan-jen [1948] 1985:189–90) Lai-nan-jen’s view reminds us of Yeh Jung-chung’s idea of “the third literature” presented under the Japanese in 1932. Yeh advocated creating a literature based on the distinctive character of the Taiwanese as “a social collective.” He attributed their particularity primarily to colonialism as well as the island’s isolation from its cultural source, the Mainland. This kind of distinctiveness, Yeh believed, had separated the Taiwanese from the Han Chinese on the Mainland. The recognition of the entrenchment of the Japanese rule and the hopelessness of liberation had motivated Huang Shih-hui’s promotion of “hsiang-t’u literature,” Kuo Ch’iu-sheng’s proposal for writing tai-oan-oe, and Yeh Jungchung’s advocacy of “the third literature.” The colonialism constituted a principal source of Taiwan’s particularity that had to be taken seriously. In order to secure the integrity of the national identity of the colonized, they all arrived at the conclusion that it was necessary to develop Taiwan’s “distinctive culture” or “independent culture” of which tai-oan-oe literature would be an essential part. By contrast, Taiwanese intellectuals such as P’eng Min and Lainan-jen tried to play down the role of colonialism in the formation of a distinctive culture when the experience became, in Mainlander eyes, the chief source of social ills and political problems. Lai-nan-jen made it clear that the purpose of developing a new Taiwanese literature was to make it a part of Chinese literature. However, demanding a correct assessment of Taiwan’s particularity, he was obviously deeply concerned about the maintenance of local identity. In these terms, the Taiwanese discussants’ viewpoint, as represented by Lai-nan-jen, was quite similar to those of such intellectuals as Huang Shih-hui, Kuo Ch’iu-sheng, and Yeh Jung-chung, all of whom were intellectuals during the Japanese colonial period. Their attitude contrasted sharply with the view embraced in general by the Mainlander critics, who believed that Taiwanese literature and Taiwanese culture should achieve the goal of “no particularity.” Despite the group of Mainlander intellectuals’ goodwill in rejuvenating local literary circles, the twenty-month discussion about the nature and future of Taiwanese literature came to an abrupt end in April 1949, because the “Bridge” supplement was removed from New Life Daily. The editor Ke Lei was arrested for his alleged connection with student protests against the police. As a result the supplement was closed. Its removal marked the end of the development of Taiwanese modern literature that started in the early 1920s and the beginning of a new era of literature on the island (P’eng 1991a:62). The discussion had little effect on the future development of literature in Taiwan. Nevertheless, the


historical significance of the discussion deserves attention. The discussion, which revolved about the “particularity” of Taiwanese literature and Taiwanese culture in general, concerned the problem of how to deal with the cultural legacy of colonialism. For the Mainlander critics (and the KMT government), who had suffered greatly from the Japanese invasion of the Mainland, the legacy was simply a poison left by the national enemy. For the Taiwanese discussants, the experience of the colonial rule constituted a vital factor in the formation of a distinct collective identity To discredit the cultural legacy of the colonialism, in a sense, was to stigmatize the Taiwanese, The legacy was discredited and marginalized in the following decades under KMT rule. It was not until the mid-1970s that Taiwanese political and literary activities in the colonial era re-kindled public and scholarly interest. Since the early 1980s, the narrative of anti-colonial resistance and literary activities under the Japanese has increasingly formed a major part of Taiwanese nationalist historical discourse (see Chapters 4 and 6). KMT rule in the 1950s and 1960s In December 1949, eight months after the “Bridge” supplement was removed from circulation, the KMT-controlled ROC government retreated to Taiwan after losing civil war to the CCP. In fact, two million refugees from the Mainland had fled to the island since 1946. When Chiang Kai-shek resumed the presidency in Taipei in early 1950, there was little prospect for the survival of the ROC. However, the Soviet-backed invasion of South Korea in June 1950 made the US believe that the occupation of Taiwan by Chinese Communist forces would be a threat to security in the Pacific. The United States Seventh Fleet was sent to prevent any attack on the island. In late 1954, the US signed a mutual security treaty with the ROC, creating a formal framework for long-term economic and military aid projects. In the 1950s and 1960s, the US protection of the island offered a guarantee of security under which political stability could be maintained and economic development could proceed (P’eng 1987:69–71). During this time the US used its influence to help the ROC keep its seat in the United Nations and to exclude the PRC. The KMT brought the structure of their government from the Mainland, which was organized according to a constitution adopted at Nanking in 1946. The legislators of the three parliamentary bodies of the National Assembly, the Legislative Yuan, and the Control Yuan were elected in 1947 and 1948 on the Mainland. The emergency measures created in 1960 for “the period of Communist rebellion” extended the terms of the members of the three chambers and maintained their functions, though they had no real electoral constituency and were free of public pressure. In fact, the three chambers were controlled by the KMT (Tien 1989:140). Chiang Kai-shek served as the head of the KMT, president of the nation, and commander-in-chief of the armed forces, and was the final authority for important decisions. Two minor parties moved to Taiwan with the KMT government but had little influence. The organization of any new party was forbidden. The political system was basically a centralized single-party system modeled on a Leninist party-state. Although provincial and local elections provided an important avenue to Taiwanese engagement in political activity, the Mainlander-dominated KMT always had the final say


in selecting local leaders. Mainlanders occupied all strategic positions inside the party-state. The extent of Taiwanese representation decreased significantly toward the higher levels of power (Chang 1994:114). Therefore the introduction of democratic elections in local politics did not fundamentally change the authoritarian character of the KMT government. Moreover, civil rights were limited by, among others, the Provisional Amendments for the Period of Mobilization for the Suppression of Communist Rebellion (Tung-yuan k’anluan shih-ch’i lin-shih t’iao-k’uan, commonly known as the temporary provisions) and martial law. The former enabled the president to enjoy more power than the constitution prescribed. Martial law, enforced since 1949, designated the island a combat area in China’s civil war, permitting secret trials in military courts for anyone accused of sedition (Tien 1989:108– 10). During the first two postwar decades, no basic structural change occurred in the political system in Taiwan. The membership of the KMT approached one million by the end of the 1960s. Its members controlled various civic organizations and schools as well as state apparatus, playing a central role in maintaining political stability. Political opposition was successfully suppressed.16 The Taiwan independence movements proceeded mainly in Japan and the US. However, the movement remained small and trapped in factionalism, having little influence on the politics of the island.17 Political stability formed the essential condition for Taiwan’s rapid economic development during the 1960s and 1970s.18 The decline of agricultural production and the vigorous growth of industry were accompanied by rapid urbanization and a remarkable increase in the working-class population.19 As a result of the dramatic economic growth, urbanization, and changes in the make-up of the labor force, the unequal distribution of wealth, decline of the rural area, and labor relations loomed as serious social problems during the 1960s. These socioeconomic changes set the scene for the development of a new literary genre at the turn of the decade—postwar “hsiang-t’u literature,” which was of great importance to the development of Taiwanese nationalist literary discourse. Before we address postwar “hsiang-t’u literature,” it is necessary to provide a brief discussion of the literary development during the two decades following the war. Combat literature, KMT ideology, and the development of modernist literature in the 1950s and 1960s An essential feature of the post-1949 literary circles was the loss of tradition. On the one hand, the language problem had disabled Taiwanese writers who flourished under colonialism. Suppression following the 2–28 Incident further drove them out of literary circles. Their withdrawal left a great gap in the development of local literature. Thus the heritage of Taiwanese literature developed in the colonial era was not handed down (Mei 1963:73; Lü 1995: 11–14). On the other hand, nearly all the significant writers of modern Chinese literature remained on the Mainland. The works of most of the important authors of the 1930s, such as Lu Hsün, Lao She, and Pa Chin, were systematically banned because of their identification with the Communists. The works spawned by the May Fourth Movement and created by writers in the 1930s that were allowed to be read were only


lyrical and sentimental works by Hsü Chih-mo, Chu Tzu-ching, and so on (Chen 1963: 78; Lau 1973:623). After Ke Lei was arrested and the “Bridge” supplement was removed from circulation, post-May Fourth modern Chinese literary heritage, particularly the leftist social realistic tradition, was lost to the island. Political suppression had intimidated both Taiwanese and Mainlander writers. As an index of the political atmosphere, the government-sponsored “combat literature” (chan-tou wen-i) written by Mainlander authors became prevalent in the early 1950s. It was characterized by strong anti-Communist propaganda and focused on the anti-Communist struggle. The setting was always the Mainland and nostalgia was the ruling emotion (Chen 1963:78). “Combat literature” reflected the KMT’s ideology. The ruling party reiterated the claim that the ROC was the sole legitimate government of all China and expressed its determination to recover the lost Mainland. Furthermore, the KMT government consistently maintained that it was the guardian of traditional Chinese culture (Chun 1994: 55). While traditional Chinese cultural values, symbols, history, art, handcrafts, Mandarin, the Mainland landscape, and the like, were officially extolled, their counterparts native to the island were belittled. In 1966 especially, Chiang Kai-shek initiated the “Chinese Cultural Renaissance Movement” (Chung-hua wen-huaju-hsing yüntung) directed against the rising “Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution” in the PRC. Venerable Chinese historical and cultural traditions of the sages (tao-t’ung), the manifesto of the Movement declared, had been discarded on the Mainland, and a campaign for a “cultural renaissance” was required for maintaining the nation’s cultural heritage. Sun Yat-sen’s Three Principles of the People as the epitome of the Chinese cultural tradition, the manifesto claimed, was the guiding principle of the struggle against the Communists and was essential for protecting national traditions (Tozer 1970:82–3). School education, mass media, military training, and various nominally civic organizations functioned as an important means of preaching the kind of ideology. Typically Mainlanders controlled these agencies of socialization. In the milieu of political suppression and cultural isolation, the Literary Review (Wen-hsüeh tsa-chih), founded in 1956 and edited by Professor Hsia Tsi-an and his colleagues in National Taiwan University, was the first serious literary journal with no obvious political propaganda. It also marked a group of Mainlander intellectuals’ determination to abolish a certain “sojourner mentality” and to reject the excessive escapism of the day (Chen 1963: 80; Lau 1973:624). The journal set realism as a goal for fiction, calling on writers to “reflect for us the Zeitgeist of our time” and to “speak the truth.” The journal, however, eventually ceased publication in 1960, falling short of its own expectations (Lau 1973: 625). Despite the magazine’s minor achievement in promoting its literary belief, Hsia Tsi-an had nurtured a group of talented young writers who were all his students majoring in Western literature at National Taiwan University. Ironically, unlike their mentor, the group of authors showed little interest in portraying the sociopolitical realities (Lee 1980: 9). As second-generation Mainlanders raised in Taiwan, they leaned toward examining their inward experience, dwelling on the individual world of sensory, subconscious, and dream experience. In depicting this kind of psychological experience, the group relied on innuendo found in numerous forms of “modernism” (Lau 1973:626). They started a journal, Modern Literature (Hsien-tai wen-hsüeh), devoted to the systematic introduction of


Western twentieth-century modernistic literature. The magazine set itself the task of “trying, seeking, and creating new artistic forms and styles” and conducting “constructive destruction” vis-à-vis the Chinese tradition.20 The thematic and technical innovations started by Modern Literature were enormously influential in the 1960s. Imported literary ideas and techniques were dominant among most young writers in this decade. The Modern Literature’s experiment focused on fiction. In fact, poets were the pioneers of literary modernism in Taiwan. As early as 1953, a Mainlander poet, Chi Hsien (1913–), founded the journal, Contemporary Poetry (Hsien-tai shih), and in 1956 he organized the “Contemporary” society which was joined by about eighty poets. It can be said that the principal mission of the society was to achieve the total Westernization of poetry in Taiwan. New poetry, Chi Hsien claimed, must rely on direct borrowing from the Western modernistic heritage instead of learning from Chinese classical poetry. Contemporary Poetry was published from 1953 to 1963. Thanks to its promotion, modern poetry abounding with unconventional, if not uncanny, images and symbols became popular in Taiwan. Two pre-eminent societies, the Blue Stars (Lan-hsing) and the Genesis (Ch’uang-shih-chi), both established in 1954, also made major contributions in the spirit of Chi Hsien’s idea: “To lead another revolution in poetry, and to promote the modernization of new poetry.”21 Literary modernism in fiction and poetry represented the modernization consciousness that had been prevalent since the mid-1950s among compara-tively liberal intellectuals in Taiwan.22 The Contemporary group and the Modern Literature group usually advocated eclectic views, calling on writers to assimilate the best in Chinese and Western literary and artistic heritages and to create the kind of work which was both “Chinese-flavored” and “modern.” Despite the self-declared eclecticism, however, the most salient feature of fiction and poetry created during the period from the mid-1950s to the mid-1970s, when the “Debate on Hsiang-t’u Literature” (hsiang-t’u wen-hsüeh lun-chan) erupted, was their proWestern tendency, especially in form and technique. These two decades can be regarded as the modernistic era in the history of Taiwan literature (Lü 1995:3–4). The Debate on Hsiang-t’u Literature The political change in the early 1970s and the “back- to-hsiangt’u” cultural trend Having enjoyed two decades of political stability and economic prosperity, Taiwan encountered a series of diplomatic setbacks in the early 1970s. The first major diplomatic challenge to the KMT government was the jurisdictional dispute on the Tiao-yü-t’ai islets, which lies to the northeast of Taiwan. Both Taiwan and Japan claimed the islets. In April 1971, the US declared that the islets and the Okinawa islands under its administration would be returned to Japan. In Taiwan and abroad the jurisdictional issue aroused the organization of the “Protect Tiao-yü-t’ai Movement” by university students and professors. However, the government kept a low-key position in the jurisdictional dispute (Huang 1976:5–12).


Moreover, as Taiwan’s major supporter, the US began to alter its international political strategy In order to effectively settle the Vietnam War and create more leverage in bargaining with the Soviet Union, the US sought a rapprochement with the PRC. Right after the KMT government weathered the challenge of the Tiao-yü-t’ai dispute, President Richard Nixon announced in July 1971 that he would visit Peking to seek normalization of relations. Meanwhile the US also gradually withdrew support for the preservation of Taiwan’s seat in the United Nations. Eventually in October 1971 the members of the UN voted to admit the PRC and to expel Taiwan. When Taiwan lost American support in her struggle for the legitimacy of representing all China, an increasing number of countries severed their relations with Taiwan and switched diplomatic recognition to the PRC.23 From then on additional de-recognitions took place almost every year (Tien 1989:221–2). The diplomatic setbacks generated the call for a wave of political reforms. The journal, Intellectuals (Ta-hsüeh tsa-chih)—whose organizers included more than fifty young scholars and entrepreneurs of Mainlander or Taiwanese origins—played a central role in arousing the reformist fervency. The journal proposed a wide-ranging program for political reforms that covered various political, social, and economic issues. By January 1973, however, the Intellectuals group broke up because of the KMT’s pressure and some of its members were recruited into its decision-making echelon. The call for political reforms soon subsided (Li Hsiao-feng 1987:91–107). Still, two features of the group’s program for political reforms heralded the beginning of a new cultural trend that prevailed during the 1970s. First, as Mab Huang notes, the overall view of the group could best be described as “realistic,” in the sense that they argued that Taiwan need not spend too much energy on something that could not be achieved at that time. Accepting that to reunify China was the ultimate political goal, they believed that at that time the most important task was to do well in Taiwan. Second, the group emphasized the welfare of the lower classes, especially peasants and workers, who had not shared in the economic prosperity (Huang 1976:23–4, 59). The group drew support from university students, although it had little influence upon society at large. University students were encouraged and became involved with social issues. They went to the countryside, fishing villages, and mining areas to understand the underclass. The reports made by them exposed the plight of the underclass. In this kind of political and social climate, a distinct “back to hsiang-t’u” (hui-kuei hsiang-t’u) cultural trend emerged. It had been characterized by the cultural elite’s interest in the realities of underclass life and local cultural resources. The cultural atmosphere of the 1970s, in general, was different from that of the previous two decades, and literature played a major role in setting new cultural trends. Hsiang-t’u literature and the debate: anti-imperialism, leftism, and localism Compared with other forms of cultural activities, literature was the first to feel the pulse of the new period and address problems caused by socioeconomic changes. Before the Debate on Hsiang-t’u Literature in 1977 arose, Taiwan’s modern poetry encountered a


series of attacks from critics who espoused the principle of “art for life’s sake.” Both the form and content of Taiwan’s modern poetry—including semantic ambiguity, overuse of Western imagery and syntax, overindulgence in individual sentiment, and evasion of contemporary social reality—elicited harsh criticism.24 The attacks on modern poetry marked an open resistance to the dominance of literary modernism. Rising cultural trends were encouraged by sociopolitical changes in the early 1970s. Yü T’ien-ts’ung (a Mainlander) and his colleagues were the editors of the Literary Season (Wen-chi). This is the magazine where the attacks on Taiwan’s modern poetry appeared, and in which a series of harsh criticisms of Taiwan’s modernistic fiction were published. It was the Literary Season that first voiced public criticism of literary modernism in Taiwan and advocated social realism as the tenet of the journal. In fact, the Literary Season and its predecessors, Literary Quarterly (Wen-hsüeh chi-kan) (1966–70) and Literary Bimonthly (Wen-hsüeh shuang-yue-k’ari) (1971), nurtured the major writers of hsiang-t’u literature, Ch’en Ying-chen (1936–), Huang Ch’un-min (1939–), and Wang Chen-ho (1940–90), all Taiwanese. When the Literary Season ceased publication in August 1974, the literary climate had changed noticeably. “Hsiang-t’u” and “reality” (hsieh-shih) became popular key words of literary discourse. During the years before the outbreak of the Debate on Hsiang-t’u Literature in 1977, a large number of articles which endorsed it appeared in various magazines and newspapers. Meanwhile, Wang T’o (1944–) and Yang Ch’ing-chu (1940–) built their reputations as prominent authors (Lü 1995:57). Wang T’o, together with Yü T’ien-ts’ung and Ch’en Ying-chen, became the major articulators of hsiang-t’u literature. Hsiang-t’u literature consisted primarily of works of fiction. What distinguished them was their “engagé spirit.” A typical work depicted the hardships that country folks or smalltown dwellers faced in economic difficulty. The scene of the story was usually set in a factory, a farming village, a fishing port, or a declining town. Nearly all protagonists were of humble origins. These kind of works were also characterized by the common employment of underclass dialogues in “Mandarinized” Hoklo language. Furthermore, the writers and advocates of hsiang-t’u literature claimed that Taiwan had achieved rapid economic growth at the expense of peasants and workers and that the excessive dependency on Japanese and American investment had made the island an “economic colony” (Ch’en [1977] 1978:56; Wang [1977] 1978:109). According to Joseph Lau, the priority of themes in hsiang-tu fiction can be summarized as follows: 1) the resistance against Japanese and American “imperialism” on all levels, particularly cultural and economic; 2) the call for social welfare reforms and the equitable distribution of wealth; 3) the extolling of the essential virtues of the “little man,” whether from a small town or countryside; and 4) the affirmation of the necessity for national self-respect against the effrontery and vulgarity of the “Ugly American” and “Lecher Japanese.” (Lau 1983:147)


Viewed from this anti-imperialist perspective, Taiwan’s imported literary modernism was “produced by declining Western capitalism” and sold by such “cultural compradores” as exemplified by the Modern Literature group. Taiwan’s literary modernism was simply a simulation of an “unwholesome [Western] world outlook emerging at the end of [the last] century” Taiwan’s modernistic literature was criticized because of its extreme elitism, escapism, individualism, and its tenet of “art for art sake” (Chiang 1977:2; Wang [1977] 1978:112; Hsü 1976:77–8). By contrast, the writers and advocates of hsiang-t’u literature called for creating “a literature for the people or the nation,” which “bases itself on the realities of life, speaks for the common people, and gives voice to the sorrow and joy of the society” (Wang [1977] 1978:114). In terms of its realistic mode, engagé spirit, and humanistic concerns, hsiangt’u literature came relatively close to the tradition of modern Chinese fiction developed on the Mainland, especially the legacy of the 1930s (Lee 1980:21). In fact, to the KMT government and many writers and critics who espoused radical antiCommunism (in general, Mainlanders), the developing literature represented a resurgence of leftist, social realistic literature that had overwhelmed the KMT government on the ideological battlefront on the Mainland.25 The first public attack on hsiang-t’u literature was launched in August 1977 by P’eng Ke (1926–), a critic of Mainland origin closely associated with the KMT. In a series of newspaper articles, he criticized the antiimperialism and class analysis embraced by Wang T’o, Ch’en Ying-chen, and Yü T’ients’ung. The purpose of anti-imperialism, P’eng argued, must be to fight “Communist imperialism” of which the PRC was the prime mover, rather than Japanese and American capitalist investment in Taiwan. Moreover, P’eng believed that to deal with social issues in terms of the concept of class—as Wang, Ch’en, and Yü had done—would only stir up more social conflicts. He maintained that such a way of explaining social change existed only in Communism, insinuating that Wang, Ch’en, and Yü were leftist heretics (P’eng 1977). P’eng’s criticism was accompanied by a much graver charge made by Yü Kuang-chung (1928–), a prominent Mainlander poet of the Blue Stars group and a former editor of Modern Literature. Yü identified hsiang-t’u literature with the “literature of the workers, peasants, and soldiers” (kung-nung-ping wen-hsüeh) advocated by Mao Tse-tung at the Yenan Forum on Literature and Art convened in 1942 (Yü 1977). Then a large number of articles which echoed P’eng Ke’s and Yü Kuang-chung’s views appeared in various party-and government-sponsored newspapers and magazines. A wave of criticisms was started in the autumn of 1977 and the supporters of hsiang-t’u literature had to defend themselves. Soon the KMT called a meeting, the “National Symposium of Art and Literary Workers” (Chüan-kuo wen-i hui-t’an), accusing hsiang-t’u literature of corrupting society by instilling in the reader subversive ideas, namely, Communist art and literary heresy.26 In addition, the writers were suspected of promoting “localism,” or even “separatism,” because they dealt exclusively with the socioeconomic reality of the island. The strong language wielded in the Symposium declared the KMT’s determination to suppress the development of hsiang-t’u literature.27 In summary, such literature was not to be tolerated by the KMT


government primarily because of its leftist tendency, its striking resemblance to the Maoist “literature of workers, peasants, and soldiers,” and its strong localism. Defying the charge, Yü T’ien-ts’ung claimed that “there is nothing wrong with the literature of workers, peasants, and soldiers” because literature must speak for these groups.28 Moreover, Wang T’o argued that hsiang-t’u literature was neither “rural literature” (hsiang-ts’un wen-hsüeh) nor “nostalgic literature” (hsiang-ch’ou wen-hsüeh). Wang wrote: …[W]hat “hsiang-t’u” means…is Taiwan, that is, this extensive social environment and the real life of the people who live in this environment. It includes not only villages but also cities. “Hsiang-fu literature” grows in the sense that it is precisely a literature that bases itself on the soil of Taiwan’s real society in order to reflect social reality and people’s life and expectations…. Any kind of person, thing, and phenomenon existing in this society is what such a literature is intended to reflect and describe. They are what a writer of this sort of literature is eager to understand and is concerned about. This kind of literature, I think, should be called “realistic” literature, not “hsiang-t’u literature.” (Wang[1977] 1978:118–9)29

In Wang’s view, the themes should not be confined to workers and peasants. Writers must address different social issues and deal with the psychology of different segments of society. A writer should be concerned with the entirety of social reality. In fact, because all of the major writers of hsiang-t’u literature were born and raised on Taiwan, the island formed the single social environment with which they were familiar. As Wang T’o put it, what “hsiang-t’u” means is precisely Taiwan. The first task before the writer is to employ the technique of social realism to describe the reality of hsiang-t’u. Other leading writers of hsiang-t’u literature such as Ch’en Ying-chen, Huang Ch’un-ming, and Yang Ch’ing-ch’u and the principal mover of the literary variant, Yü T’ien-ts’un, echoed this view (Ch’en [1977] 1978:65; Yang [1977] 1978:297).30 It is only in the early 1980s that Taiwanese oppositionists began to issue a nationalist challenge to KMT rule (Wang 1994). In general, this period might be regarded as “Phase B” according to Hroch’s theory of the three fundamental stages in a nationalist movement. It is true that the first part of the 1980s saw anti-KMT political activists’ promoting Taiwanese nationalism and drawing increasing support from the Taiwanese. For some, the “back-to-hsiang-t’u” cultural trend of the 1970s might well have played the role of “Phase A” as formulated by Hroch—that is, Taiwanese intellectuals’ enthusiastic inquiry into and dissemination of an awareness of the cultural and social attributes of the island laid the foundations for the developments in the 1980s. In terms of the dominant motivations and ideology of literature as the chief part of the back-to-hsiang-t ‘u” cultural phenomena, however, it is misleading to simply treat the cultural activities of the 1970s and their effects as “Phase A” of the Taiwanese nationalist movement.


For one thing, the localism of the authors should not be overemphasized and regarded as separatism incompatible with Chinese nationalism. As noted above, the Taiwan independence movements, which had proceeded abroad after the 2–28 Incident, had little influence on the politics of the island. As the members of the first postwar generation who received education under KMT rule, the major authors of hsiang-t’u literature embraced Chinese consciousness. To counter the criticism that this literature was too narrow to reflect China’s problems, Huang Ch’un-ming argued that because Taiwan is part of China, Taiwan’s problems are also China’s problems. To portray the life and problems on the island, he maintained, was to produce Chinese national literature.31 Another prominent writer, Yang Ch’ing-ch’u, refuted the accusation of promoting provincialism or even separatism: Any work whose scene is set in a place in China and whose main theme is its local reality belongs to Chinese literature. Why must one accuse it of promoting provincialism? Those who write about hsiang-t’u of Taiwan were born here and just understand the social environment in which they find themselves. Motivated by a sense of responsibility, they write of the love and hate existing in their own hsiangt’u. They could not…go to the Mainland to live for a period of time. Thus they did not experience the miseries this greater hsiang-t’u has suffered and cannot act as a spokesman of the present generation of Chinese. They can only describe the hsiangt’u in which they find themselves and do something for it. There is nothing wrong with this. Recently a few intellectuals stir up a wave of writing about hsiang-tu. They just call on the writer to create something for our own society and not to lose himself when he follows the Westerners. Those who promote [the sort of literature] include both wai-sheng-jen and pen-sheng-jen. This fits society’s needs. I believe that no one does this with narrow provincialism. (Yang [1977] 1978:297–8) Yang accurately pointed out the first aim of the advocates of hsiang-t’u literature: to resist the powerful pro-Western and individualistic tendencies represented by modernistic literature and to call on the writer to concern himself with social issues and indigenous cultural resources. In essence, the promotion of hsiang-t’u literature was a reaction to postwar Taiwan’s political and economic dependence on foreign powers, particularly the US. It was also a reaction against cultural Westernization, though the authors and critics did not deal with political issues because of KMT suppression. The literary development was part of the broad “back to hsiang-t’u” cultural trend stimulated by the Tiao-yü-t’ai jurisdictional dispute and the following diplomatic failures. As Wang T’o recognized, the intellectuals of his generation were those who “learned a lesson from the Protect Tiao-yü-t’ai Movement” (Wang [1977] 1978:102). The anti-imperialism espoused by him and others was quite similar to that advocated by the intellectuals of the May-Fourth generation. Both were inspired by moral indignation at the betrayal of the Chinese nation by foreign powers. In fact, in the “Protect Tiao-yü-t’ demonstration, university students borrowed the anti-


imperialist slogans of the May Fourth Movement of 1919, comparing the present political situation to that of half a century ago. To the writers and defenders of hsiang-t’u literature, postwar Taiwan degenerating into an “economic and cultural colony” and the series of diplomatic setbacks in the early 1970s were a continuation of China’s domination and exploitation by foreign powers. They made sense of these experiences in the historical context of China’s “one-hundred-year national humiliation” (pai-nien kuo-ch’ih). In terms of their Chinese nationalism, the charge of provincialism or even separatism that KMT and non-official critics leveled against hsiang-t’u literature was relatively groundless. What really upset them was not so much the localism of hsiang-t’u literature as its criticism of the existing socioeconomic system. To the KMT government, the criticisms, like those made by China’s left-leaning writers of the 1930s, were dangerous because they would undermine KMT authority, particularly in confrontations with the PRC. A typical articulation of the Chinese nationalism espoused by the writers and advocates of hsiang-t’u literature was made by Ch’en Ying-chen in his introduction to Wang T’o’s first collection of stories. Ch’en wrote: China in the twentieth century is a country that has undergone a chain of aggressions and counter-aggressions and a series of revolutions and counterrevolutions. To achieve modernization of the country and to gain national independence and liberty, she has endured great hardships and has had a long and difficult journey. Any Chinese who knows modern Chinese history and has a moral conscience must feel shame at gathering up decadent and escapist Western literary trash to deceive and humiliate himself. Hence as far as the entire history of modern Chinese literature is concerned, realism with a strong inquiring spirit and reformist consciousness is the mainstream. When viewed from this angle, Wang T’o and many young writers who concern themselves with society and dare to look closely into problems, in reality have shouldered this essential task sincerely… and made fundamental efforts to carve out the rosy future of China and the world. (Hsü 1976:34–5) Ch’en’s view represented a resurgence of the “obsessive concern with China”—which characterized China’s literary consciousness in the first half of the twentieth century—on the island after two decades of literary modernism.32 The moral burden of Chinese nationalism was heavy, and the patriotic passion was burning, as they were on the Mainland several decades before. The Debate on Hsiang-t’u Literature lasted about one year and subsided in early 1978. Somewhat unexpectedly, the literary genre did not encounter official suppression, though the process of the KMT’s decision-making is still unknown (Lü 1995:58). After the Debate, hsiang-tu literature became a widely accepted literary variant. An increasing number of writers addressed public issues and socioeconomic realities were scrutinized in literature more than before.


Conclusion Compared with the promotion of modern literature in the colonial era, the postwar debates on literature, whether those occurring in 1947 or in 1977, barely addressed the linguistic issue, because the use of Mandarin as the national language was taken for granted. The 1947–49 discussion involved a confrontation between a group of Taiwanese intellectuals who had lived under Japanese rule and a group of Mainlander intellectuals who were new to the island and were zealous followers of leftist social realism. By contrast, the 1977–78 debate erupted mainly because the works of fiction created by a group of young Taiwanese authors was suspected by the KMT government of promoting leftism and separatism. Both literary debates, in general, involved the conflict between national identity and local identity. As far as the Taiwanese groups in both debates were concerned, their local identity was not necessarily incompatible with their Chinese national identity. While in 1948 Lai-nan-jen maintained that it was essential to launch a new literature movement in order to make literature fit in with Taiwan’s natural and social environments, he also claimed that the ultimate goal of the movement was to develop Taiwanese literature into a part of Chinese literature. A similar tendency was much more evident in the discourse of the postwar writers and advocates of hsiang-t’u literature. In fact, those who defended such a literary genre in general embraced a relatively intense form of Chinese consciousness, showing a great concern for China’s national hardship and destiny. However, the fact is that postwar Taiwan broke off any connection with the Chinese Mainland because of the KMT-CCP struggle. The island had become as separated from the source of its culture and home of its people’s ancestors as it was in the colonial era. As Wang T’o admitted, what “hsiang-t’u” primarily signified was Taiwan. Despite their Chinese nationalistic passion, the immediate reality they were familiar with, as members of the first postwar generation who was educated under KMT, was the island’s society. In terms of this fact, the situation these writers faced was quite similar to the circumstances the promoters of hsiang-t’u literature and the tai-oan-oe writing system faced during the colonial period. It was also similar to circumstances faced by the Taiwanese in the 1947– 49 literary debates, though they hardly emphasized the “particu-larity” of the island society. After hsiang-t’u literature was widely accepted, “reality,” and “the people” became popular catchwords in literary discourse. In terms of the recognition that the island constituted immediate “hsiang-t’u”, it may well be argued that hsiang-t’u literature paved the way for the development of Taiwanese nationalist literary discourse. Yet it is misleading to simply treat the 1970s as “Phase A,” namely, the period that heralded Taiwanese nationalism. This period did witness the cultural elite’s lively interest in, and enthusiastic inquiry into, local social life and cultural resources. These kinds of concerns and sentiments, however, were far from a “Taiwanese consciousness” with explicit political implications. As the analysis in Chapter 4 will show, the emergence of Taiwanese nationalism on the part of writers and literary critics, and the development of their nationalist literary discourse are contingent on the specific political conditions in the early 1980s. Nevertheless, since the 1980s, the controversy over hsiang-t’u literature has been reinterpreted by Taiwanese nationalists as representing a conflict between Taiwanese national identity and Chinese national identity. The development of hsiang-t’u literature


in this period is hailed as a distinct step forward on the road to “a literature for nationbuilding.” Postwar hsiang-t’u literature thus constitutes an important page in the history of the “Taiwanese national literature.” Taking into account the intense Chinese nationalism espoused by the promoters of hsiang-t’u literature, such a development was highly ironic, and this is the issue the next chapter addresses. Notes 1 Few Taiwanese received more than an elementary school education in the colonial period. The Japanese deliberately limited opportunities to enter any kind of post-elementary schools. In 1943, two years before the colonial rule ended, Taiwanese graduates of secondary schools (including middle schools and secondary vocational schools) only amounted to 23,325, and those of higher schools (including agricultural, forestry, commercial, engineering, and teachers colleges, and one university), 9,822. In sum, people who received a post-elementary education formed only 0.54 per cent of the total population (6,133,867) in 1943. See Wu Wen-hsing (1992:101,114). 2 See Wu Shou-li, “Aspects of Taiwanese Linguistic Consciousness” (T’ai-wan-jen yü-yen i-shih tse-mien-kuan), Taiwan New Life Daily (T’ai-wan hsin-sheng-pao), National Language Weekly Supplement (Kuoyü chou-k’an), No.1, May 21, 1946. Cited in Wu (1955:72). 3 The kōminka movement consisted of four major campaigns. As far as the other three campaigns are concerned, religious reforms met with the coldest reception, the name-changing program was not popular, and the military volunteer system seemed to draw a fervent response among Taiwanese youth. See Chou (1994). 4 The Japanese colonial bureaucracy of 84,559 had 46,955 Taiwanese (56 per cent), but under the new government, the bureaucracy of 44,451 had only 9,951 (22 per cent). Thus about 36,000 former Taiwanese officials lost their jobs in 1946. Furthermore, in 1945 and 1946, the Taiwan Provincial Administration appointed the district chiefs, city mayors, and township heads. Almost all of them were Mainlanders. For example, only two of the eight district chiefs were Taiwanese. See Lai, et al. (1991:65–6). 5 Cited in Hsü Hsüeh-chi (1991:174). See also Chen and Chen (1989:571–2). The provincial administration did hold elections in April 1946 to select the members of councils for the province, districts, cities, and townships. As a result, there were more Taiwanese councilmen of different administrative levels than under the Japanese rule. The Taiwanese were given a greater voice in local and provincial governments than were people in other provinces. See Lai, et al. (1991:68). 6 For a detailed description of the Uprising, see Lai, et al. (1991); Ch’en (1995). The estimates of Taiwanese killed in the massacre range from several hundred to one hundred thousand. According to Lai and his colleagues, it was about ten thousand. See Lai, et al. (1991:159). 7 Taiwan Provincial Administrative Executive Office, “Report on the Uprising of February 28” (Kuan-yü t’ai-wan “erh~erh-pa” pao-tung shih-chien pao-kao) (March 30, 1947). See Chen and Chen (1989:598–622). 8 Taiwan New Life Daily (Tai-wan hsin-sheng-pao), April 1, 1947, p. 1. Cited in Lai, et al. (1991: 139). 9 “A-shan” (“people from beyond the mountains”) referred to the Mainlanders. The Taiwanese used the term to show contempt.


10 A prime tendency of the intellectual trend and political development in China after the May Fourth Movement of 1919, was that the reformist and pragmatic approach to China’s sociopolitical problems patterned on Western liberal democracies increasingly gave way to the radical model inspired by Soviet Russia. This change in turn shaped the development of Chinese literature. The decade 1928–37—from the unification of China under the leadership of the KMT-controlled Nationalist government to the beginnings of the Sino-Japanese War—saw the steady ascendancy of the Communists in cultural circles even though the CCP had undergone political suppression and military defeats. In March 1930, with the support of Lu Hsün (1881–1936)—who has been widely regarded by literary historians as the best modern Chinese writer—and another major author, Mao Tun (1896–1981), more than forty writers created the League of Chinese Left-wing Writers (Chung-kuo tso-i tso-chia lian-meng) in Shanghai. Most of the founders were members of recently outlawed Communist literary societies. See Hsia (1971:117–9, 124). The League called on its members to “stand on the battle line of the proletarians’ struggle for emancipation” and to “assist and engage in the birth of proletarian art.” Moreover, it claimed that literature “must be simple and understandable to the workers and peasants. When necessary, dialects can be used.” This leftist united front thereafter, dominated literary circles during the decade. See Lee (1986: 429). 11 China’s May Forth Movement, in a broad sense, included the students and intellectuals’ social and political protests in 1919. These were caused by Peking’s warlord government’s diplomatic failures. It also included the new literature revolution and new thought movements, which started in 1917, later came to be called the “new culture movement.” See Chow (1960: 2–5). See also Chapter 2 of this book, the section on “Literary and linguistic reforms in the 1920s: vernacular literature and Mandarin Chinese.” The intellectual campaign for a totally “new culture,” which was represented by the May Fourth demonstrations of 1919, was based on severe criticism of the traditional moral and social orders. The leadership of the new culture movement was drawn from the newly modernized universities and schools. In addition to anti-imperialism, the goal of the movement was the creation of a scientific and democratic “new culture” freed of all relics from the old country’s feudal past. See Furth (1983:322). 12 After the 2–28 Incident, some Taiwanese dissidents and American politicians had even advocated that Taiwan be turned into a mandated territory under the United States or United Nations. See Ch’en (1995:408–23). 13 Cited in P’eng (1984:10). 14 CitedinP’eng (1984:11). 15 P’eng Min was P’eng Ming-min’s pen name. He was born in 1923 and was twenty-five years old when he published this article. 16 There were two important opposition activities during the two decades, though both ended with failure. Lei Chen, a Mainlander editor of the political journal Free China (Tzu-you chungkuo), attempted to establish an opposition party made up of both Mainlanders and Taiwanese. He was eventually sentenced to ten years in jail in 1960. For a detailed description of the “Free China Incident,” see Mendel (1970:114–7); Li Hsiao-feng (1987:55–84). P’eng Ming-min, the former chairman of the Department of Political Science at National Taiwan University, and his two students secretly prepared a manifesto, the “Taiwanese People’s Self-Preservation Declaration” (T’ai-wan jen-min tzu-chiu hsüng-yen), calling on the Taiwanese to rise up against “Chiang Kai-shek’s dictatorial regime.” They were arrested in 1964, but P’eng later fled the island. See P’eng’s autobiography, A Taste of Freedom: Memoirs of A Formosan IndependenceLeader (1972). For the English translation of the Declaration, see Mendel (1970:249–60). 17 For the overseas Taiwan independence movements, see Ch’en Ming-ch’eng (1992); Ch’en Chiahung (1998).


18 The land reform started in 1949 not only made a significant contribution to agricultural production and industrialization but also paved the way for the rapid economic growth that followed. The decade of the 1960s saw an overall economic boom. The annual rate of increase in per capita income grew from 2.7 per cent in the 1950s to 5.8 per cent in the 1960s. The fast increase of the export of manufactured goods, the principal cause of the high growth rate, engendered basic structural changes in the economy. Agricultural production dropped from 33 per cent of net domestic production in 1960 to 18 per cent in 1970, while industrial production climbed from 25 per cent to 35 per cent. See Clough (1991:836–49); P’eng (1987: 75–8). 19 The population of large cities grew by 87 per cent during the 1960s and that of the towns by 73 per cent, though Taiwan’s population as a whole increased by only 35 per cent. Moreover, the number employed in agriculture, fisheries, and forestry increased only 16 per cent during the 1960s, while workers in commerce, manufacturing, and service industry grew by 43, 82, and 115 per cent respectively. See Clough (1991:842, 848–49). It has to be noted that while the major capitalists included both Mainlanders and Taiwanese, medium and small enterprises formed the main forces driving economic growth and were primarily owned by Taiwanese. Moreover, Mainlanders and Taiwanese had different mobility channels. In general, Taiwanese flocked to private sector occupations, where daily business was conducted in their native languages, especially Hoklo. By contrast, Mainlanders normally found jobs in the public sector, including the KMT, the government, the military, and other state-run businesses. See Chang (1994:118–20). 20 Cited in Lee (1980:14–15). 21 Cited in Lee (1980:11). 22 In terms of this study, two other literary genres, essay and drama, occupied a place of much less historical significance than fiction and poetry. Hence I do not deal with them. 23 In 1971, Taiwan still maintained diplomatic ties with 68 countries, and only 53 recognized the PRC. Before the UN made the decision to expel Taiwan, a few countries severed their relations with Taiwan and recognized the PRC as the sole legitimate government of China. Once Taiwan was expelled from the UN, the situation worsened. In total, twelve countries broke diplomatic ties with Taiwan in 1971. After President Nixon’s visit to the PRC in 1972, another fifteen countries switched diplomatic recognition to Peking. The severance of diplomatic relations with Japan, Taiwan’s most important trading partner except for the US, was a particularly hard blow. See Tien (1989:221–22). 24 The series of scathing criticisms were made primarily by two scholars, John Kwan-Terry, an overseas Chinese professor of English literature, and T’ang Wen-piao, a visiting math professor in Taipei. Kwan-Terry and T’ang fired off their criticism in February 1972 and August 1973 respectively. See Kwan-Terry (1972); T’ang ([1973] 1976). 25 See Note 10 of this chapter. 26 The Symposium called together more than 270 participants including the party, government, and military officials responsible for art and literary affairs, the leaders of civil art and literary societies, the editors of newspaper literary supplements and literary magazines, the hosts of radio and television literary programs, the chairmen of the departments of literature in colleges and universities, and domestic and overseas writers. For the attack on hsiang-t’u literature, see the manifesto of the Symposium cited in Wang (1980:45–6). 27 An example of the suspicion that hsiang-t’u writers promoted localism was an editorial in the United Daily (Lien-he-pao), August 29, 1977. Cited in P’eng P’in-kuang ed. (1977:286–7). 28 See Ming Feng-ying ed. ([1977] 1979:29). 29 The English translation is based partly on Wang (1980:55).


30 For Huang’s view, see Yü T’ien-ts’un, et al. ([1977] 1978:777); for Yü’s idea, see Ming Fengying ed. ([1977] 1979:31). 31 See Yü Tien-ts’un et al. ([1977] 1978:777). 32 C.T.Hsia, a well-known historian of modern Chinese literature, notes that what distinguished the modern phase of Chinese literature—which began with the literary revolution of 1917 and ended with the establishment of the PRC in 1949—was a sort of “moral burden,” that is, “its obsessive concern with China as a nation afflicted with a spiritual disease and therefore unable to strengthen itself or change its set ways of inhumanity.” The major writers of the period—novelists, playwrights, poets, and essayists—in general embraced patriotism. Patriotism in turn generated a certain “patriotic provinciality,” which encouraged the belief that the conditions of China were peculiarly Chinese and not applicable elsewhere (Hsia 1971: 533–4, 536). Possessed by the sort of concern about their country’s adverse fate, these modern Chinese writers were much more interested in literary content than form and biased toward social realism as they tried to make sense of the sociopolitical chaos in their society (Lee 1983: 451).

4 Crafting a national literature

As shown in the Chapters 2 and 3, native Taiwanese writers and critics have been persistently concerned with the particularity of Taiwanese literature since the Japanese colonial era. A great number of writers and literary critics in the colonial and postwar periods have addressed this issue. Underlying the concern is an interest in the distinctiveness of the history and culture of the island and in the role of literature as an optimal means of representing these particular characteristics. Pre-and postwar discussions and debates on the nature and development of literature on the island showed that native writers and literary critics entertained the idea of a distinctive Taiwanese local identity. These writers and critics favored a pragmatic view of literature, regarding it as an effective means of maintaining and accentuating readers’ sense of Taiwanese identity. Still, for them, Taiwanese local identity and Han/Chinese national identity were not necessarily in conflict. They also demonstrated a lucid Han/Chinese national consciousness. This held true especially in the case of hsiang-t’u writers and their advocates in the 1970s. However, accompanying the rapid development of Taiwanese nationalist politics in the second half of the 1980s, the persistent concern about the particularity of Taiwanese literature evolved dramatically into the intention of establishing a “Taiwanese national literature.” “Taiwanese consciousness” and “Chinese consciousness” came to be regarded as incompatible. The purpose of this chapter is to analyze how the tradition of a “Taiwanese national literature” has been constructed. The native Taiwanese writers and critics who rallied around two journals founded in 1964, Taiwan Literature and Li Poetry Magazine have played a principal role in the radicalization of literary ideology. This chapter begins with an examination of the early history of the Li and Taiwan Literature groups. Until the outbreak of the Debate on Hsiang-t’u Literature in 1977, the main concern of the two groups, especially that of the Li poets, had been with how to create works that were “both Chinese and modern.” Second, the chapter moves to a discussion of the rise of the Taiwanese opposition movement in the 1970s. After the Kaohsiung Incident of 1979, the movement assumed a distinct nationalist character, and the Li and Taiwan Literature groups began to associate with oppositionists. Their literary activity and works became highly politicized. The third part of the chapter concerns the “de-Sinocization” of Taiwanese literature launched by the Li and Taiwan Literature groups in the first half of the 1980s. During the polemical confrontation between advocates of “Taiwanese consciousness” and advocates of “Chinese consciousness,” opposition critics began to group postwar hsiang-t’u literature


and the opposition movement together, representing both as the outcome of the development of Taiwanese consciousness, despite hsiang-t’u writers championing Chinese consciousness. The opposition critics embarked on a reinterpretation of the history of Taiwanese literature. What was at issue for the Li and Taiwan Literature groups was whether Taiwanese literature could be regarded as a distinct literary tradition independent from Chinese literature. Finally, the chapter deals with the political changes since 1986, especially the development of Taiwanese nationalism. As a major part of nationalist cultural discourse, literary discourse has focused on the issue of a “Taiwanese national literature.” A less Hoklo-centric and more multicultural concept of the tradition of “Taiwanese national literature” has been constructed. Native Taiwanese writers in the 1950s In the 1950s native Taiwanese writers occupied a relatively marginal position in literary circles in terms of number and visibility. As noted in the last chapter, a major feature of post-1949 literary circles was the loss of tradition. The heritage of Taiwanese literature developed in the colonial era was not handed down. Besides, the modern (post-May Fourth) Chinese literary tradition, especially leftist social realistic literature, was suppressed. During the 1950s the prevailing literary genre was nostalgic, propagandist “combat literature” written primarily by Mainlander authors. As far as Taiwanese fiction writers were concerned, those who established their reputations in the late colonial period, such as Wu Chuo-liu, Yang-k’uei, Chang Wen-huan, Lun Ying-tsung, and Lü He-juo, had retreated.1 During this decade there were only about ten Taiwanese fiction writers continuing with their profession. This group can be regarded as the “first post-war generation of Taiwanese fiction writers.“2 When the Second World War ended, their average age was twenty. While they all received a colonial education and acquired command of Japanese, they taught themselves Mandarin when Taiwan was retroceded to China. Generally speaking, they had little experience writing under Japanese rule and did not begin their literary careers until the early 1950s.3 This group was not only cut off from the literary heritage of the colonial era on the island, they also had little knowledge of post-May Fourth literary developments on the Mainland. Writing in Mandarin, they learned a plain, homely style and did not display any specific ideological concerns in their works (Yeh 1984:139). For one thing, a brief discussion in a newsletter issued by them (Newsletter of Literary Comrades, or Wen-iou t’ung-hsün, April 1957– September 1958) showed that they had little interest in “dialectical literature” (fang-yang wen-hsüeh). Taking the use of the national language for granted, they regarded writing in Taiwanese languages as unnecessary.4 As for native Taiwanese poets, they had more connection with Mainlander writers than fiction writers had during the 1950s. The poets who started their careers in the colonial period, like the veteran fiction writers, withdrew from literary circles. However, three poets, Wu Ying-t’ao (1916–71), Lin Heng-t’ai (1924–), and Chin Lien (1928–), who shared a common educational background with the “first post-war generation of Taiwanese fiction writers,” joined the “Contemporary” society led by Chi Hsien. A younger generation

CRAFTING A NATIONAL LITERATURE 81

of Taiwanese poets who grew up and received an education under KMT rule, such as Lin Tsung-yuan (1935–), Pai Chiu (1937–), Li K’ui-hsien (1937–), Huang He-sheng (1938–), and Hsüeh Po-ku, also contributed to Contemporary Poetry. Lin Heng-t’ai, Chin Lien, and Pai Chiu later joined the Genesis group. During the 1950s, these poets sought, together with a host of Mainlander poets, the “modernization of Chinese poetry” initially advocated by Chi Hsien. The early history of Taiwan Literature and Li Poetry Magazine In April 1964, the veteran fiction writer, Wu Chuo-liu, founded a literary journal, Taiwan Literature (T’ai-wan wen-i, hereafter TWWI, 1964–), with the support of a group of Taiwanese writers, such as Wu Yung-fu (1913-), Ch’en Ch’ien-wu (1922–), Chang Yenhsün (1925–), Yeh Shih-t’ao, and Chung Chao-cheng. In March of that year, twelve Taiwanese poets, including Wu Ying-t’ao, Ch’en Ch’ien-wu, Lin Heng-t’ai, Chin Lien, Pai Chiu, Huang He-sheng, Chao T’ien-i (1935–), and so on, organized the Li Poetic Society.5 In June, they started the publication of the Li Poetry Magazine (Li shih-k’an, hereafter Li, 1964–). These two journals have rallied most native writers ever since, including those who grew up in the colonial period and the postwar generations. Since the late 1980s, Taiwanese nationalists have hailed the creation of the two magazines as the revival of Taiwanese literature under the dominance of “combat literature.” In their literary discourses, the foundation of the two journals marked a major development in Taiwanese national consciousness. In the nationalists’ view, these two journals played a key role in the development of a “national literature,” especially because they bridged the gap between the pre-and postwar generations of writers. Because of their importance in the nationalists’ discourse on Taiwanese literature, it is essential to examine the early history of the two magazines, especially that of the Li Poetry Magazine. Wu Chuo-liu and Taiwan Literature: absorbing the essence of Chinese culture Contrasting sharply with the literary modernism that prevailed in the 1950s and 1960s, the most striking feature of the first issue of TWWI was Wu Chuo-liu’s advocacy of composing classical Chinese poems (Wu 1964a). Like many Taiwanese intellectuals who grew under Japanese rule, Wu not only received an official colonial education, but also learned classical Chinese from a private tutor. As a fiction writer who used to write in Japanese, he also composed Chinese poems in classical forms. In the journal’s inaugural issue, Wu criticized Hu Shih’s bias toward the colloquial style of writing and hostility to those who still wrote poems in the classical style. Regarding classical Chinese poetry as the epitome of Han/Chinese culture, he attacked modern Taiwanese poetry influenced by foreign works, especially in the use of Western syntax. On the one hand, Wu promoted the reform of the technique for writing a classical poem, such as the abolition of some restrictions on verse form, in order to make the composition easier for his contemporaries. On the other hand, he called on those who wrote modern poems in the colloquial style to


fight off an unmanly dependence on Western writing techniques and to create poems with “the essence of Chinese culture.” In fact, the major task Wu set TWWI was to encourage writers to create “literature with the essence of Chinese culture” and to work together to “forward the development of Chinese culture.”6 Embracing an eclectic view on the modernization of Chinese culture, which was typical of Taiwan’s reformist intellectuals in the 1960s, Wu stressed the importance of assimilating beneficial elements of traditional Chinese culture, such as classical poetry (Wu 1971:14). Although Wu maintained that the writer must address the particularities of social reality in Taiwan and cultivate Taiwanese literature’s unique character, he claimed that such a character must also fit both “Chinese universality” and “world universality” (Wu 1964b). Wu Chuo-liu died in October 1976, some ten months before the Debate on Hsiang-t’u Literature broke out. TWWI had featured poems in classical forms until his death. The journal under his editorship had elicited contributions primarily from Taiwanese writers, including the poets of the Li group. The journal became a rallying point for Taiwanese fiction writers, poets, essayists, and literary critics. It is hard to say that these authors shared any common, specific concern, despite Wu’s strong literary beliefs. Even the “backto-hsiang-t’u” trend in the early 1970s had little influence on the magazine. It was only after Wu died, and Chung Chao-cheng became the new editor-in-chief, that the journal devoted itself to the introduction and criticism of works by such major hsiang-t’u writers as Huang Ch’un-min and Yang Ch’ing-chu. It also republished stories written during the colonial period by Taiwanese authors like Yang-K’uei, Chang Wen-huan, Lun Ying-tsung, Wu Yung-fu, and Yeh Shih-t’ao. Moreover, the journal under Chung Chao-cheng’s editorship created a series of features dealing with important Taiwanese writers, such as Chung Liho, Cheng Ch’ing-wen (1932–), Li Ch’iao (1937–), and Chung Chao-cheng himself. By introducing these local literary resources to the reader, TWWI gave support to the advocates of hsiang-t’u literature. Li poets: creating modern Chinese poems Like TWWI, Li filled a special niche for Taiwanese poets. By the end of 1960s, the Li Poetic Society had recruited more than thirty members. All the members except one or two were Taiwanese. Compared to the contributors of TWWI, they shared similar views on poetry. The major motivation for the organization of the society was relatively moderate: to create a poetic journal which upheld “proper” principles of literary criticism with a view to “saving the poetical arena from deteriorating” (Ch’en 1969:21). The announcement in the first issue of Li states: The May Fourth [heritage] is no longer of significance to us. We can see the May Fourth [heritage] as something which has passed, as we see the T’ang Dynasty and Sung Dynasty. This is because, we claim, we have had poetry completely different from that of the past era. This [new] era has created the phenomenon of “isolation” naturally in the poetical arena. Such an “isolation” phenomenon represents a radical reformation and even abandonment of the poetry of the past era. Hence it shows


that the young generation has vigorous creativity. Anyway, the present generation eventually has the poetry of the times. This is worth praise more than anything else is. There is no doubt about this.7 It is not that, as Li members have claimed after the 1980s, the foundation of Li and TJ4W7was motivated by an rising autonomous “Taiwanese spirit” as opposed to “Chinese consciousness” (Ch’en Ch’ien-wu 1989:2; Pai 1989:6).8 The journal called for the creation and careful appraisal of “Chinese poetry of the present generation” in order to “improve the reader’s ability in appreciating poetry and to carry national culture forward.” It is even hard to say that the organization of the Li Poetic Society was motivated by a determination to counter the radical “Westernization” of new poetry in Taiwan.9 By the end of the 1950s, the Contemporary group led by Chi Hsien as the headquarters for the “Westernization” of new poetry in the past decade had nearly disbanded. However, the Genesis group rose rapidly and became the major supporter of the cause for a pro-Western literary modernism. It claimed that “narrow provincialism” must be abandoned, emphasizing poetic “globality,” “super-realism,” “originality,” and “pureness” (Chang and Hsiao 1979). Devoting themselves to experimentation with avantgarde literary forms and to an inquiry into individual “pure experience,” the Genesis group had a great influence on poets. It can be said that the decade from 1959 to 1969 was the heyday of the society. As for the Li group, it made little resistance to the influence of the Genesis group. Li even officially recommended the Genesis journal, among others, to its readers.10 As an index of the Li group’s comparatively weak opposition to pro-Western literary modernism, its members hardly ever participated in attacks on Taiwan’s modern poetry in the early 1970s. During this period, criticism of the excessive use of Western imagery and syntax, undue indulgence in individual sentiment, evasion of contemporary social reality, semantic ambiguity, and so on, was directed mainly at the Genesis poets. During the Debate on Hsiang-t’u Literature in the mid-1970s—as a few veteran members of the Li group admitted at the time—the group played a very minor role, and the Debate in turn had little influence on their creations.11 In brief, the organization of the Li Poetic Society and the foundation of Li Poetry Magazine, like the creation of TWWI, had little to do with the development of political localism, let alone Taiwanese nationalism. By contrast, both journals displayed their Chinese consciousness in different ways. The Li group also showed little deliberate resistance to prevailing pro-Western literary modernism. It can be said that, like other major poetic societies in the two postwar decades, the Li group was concerned with how to “modernize” poetry and create “modern Chinese poetry” under the dominance of a consciousness of modernization. On the one hand, Taiwan’s poets of this period, whether Mainlander or Taiwanese, abandoned restrictions on classical Chinese verse form, especially in tones and rhymes, and classical styles of writing, composing instead in a colloquial style. Moreover, generally speaking, like fiction writers of this period, they were cut off from China’s postMay Fourth literary tradition, reading few of pre-1949 modern poems created on the Mainland and showing little reverence for such a tradition, despite their Chinese consciousness. On the other hand, in order to achieve the “modernization” of Chinese


poetry, Taiwan’s poets introduced Western literary techniques loosely grouped together under the name “modernism.” As far as the enthusiasm for “modernizing” Chinese poetry is concerned, the Li group was not unlike other major poetic societies that were composed primarily of Mainlanders in the 1960s. Li, TWWI, and hsiang-t’u literature: a coincidence Nevertheless, what distinguished the Li group from others was its members’ fairly plain style of writing and interest in dealing with the subject of everyday life. Unlike those who were keen on modernistic avant-garde experimentation, this group deliberately avoided the overuse of Western imagery and semantic ambiguity. This was especially the case with the generation of poets who grew up under Japanese rule and taught themselves Mandarin during the postwar years. To write in a familiar, unpretentious style seemed to be a safe way to express themselves and make themselves understood. Compared with most contemporary poets who dwelled on their inward experiences, the Li group placed more emphasis on the subject of everyday life. This kind of subject matter, like their plain style of writing, made their poems more down-to-earth and approachable than those of the modernists. It was for this reason that the Li was regarded by some as embodying “hsiangt’u spirit” when hsiang-t’u literature became a popular genre (Ch’en 1975), even though it played a very minor role in the development of that literary variant. As for TWWI, the prominent veteran fiction writer and critic, Yeh Shih-t’ao, commended it for its “hsiangt’u flavor” as early as 1968 (Yeh 1968:37). As two major members of the Li group admitted, the close stylistic affinities of the journal with the realistic tendencies of hsiang-t’u literature was purely coincidental, and the Li poetry’s “hsiang-t’u spirit,” unlike that of hsiang-t’u fictions prevalent after the late 1960s, lacked socio-political implications.12 However, as noted in the last chapter, the major writers of hsiang-t’u literature were Ch’en Ying-chen, Huang Ch’un-min, Wang Chen-ho, Wang T’o, and Yang Ch’ing-ch’u. The Literary Quarterly and the Literary Season under the editorship of Yü T’ien-ts’ung and his colleagues nurtured the first three. It was this group of writers and their realistic works that the KMT government attacked and caused the Debate on Hsiang-t’u Literature. As Yeh Shih-t’ao later indicated, this group of young writers had little connection with the older generation of native Taiwanese writers like Wu Chuo-liu, and their works had nothing to do with the “old-fashioned” hsiang-t’u literature created by Taiwanese authors in the colonial period (Yeh 1984:146). In summary, neither TWWI nor Li made major contributions to the development of hsiang-t’u literature in the late 1960s and early 1970s. They played a marginal role in the “back-to-hsiang-t’u” trend.13 Li: hsiang-t’u spirit and the creation of modern Chinese poems Although the rising influence of hsiang-t’u literature made little impact upon the creations of the Li group, the emergence of the new literary genre did affect the members’ reappraisal of the historical significance of their organization and journal. It gave them the expectation that they would play an important role in the changing cultural atmosphere of the 1970s.


In the climate of “back-to-hsiang-t’u” triggered primarily by Taiwan’s diplomatic setbacks in the early 1970s, the Li group increasingly distanced themselves from the two major poetic societies, the Genesis and the Blue Stars, by emphasizing their “realistic” tendency. When Taiwan’s modern poetry encountered sharp criticism, the Li group expressed their discontent with the “super-realism” of the Genesis group and the Blue Stars group’s recent leaning toward “classical lyricism.” Criticizing the indifference to reality prevalent among poets, the editorials of Li published in April and October 1973 reiterated their concern about the reality of life and society and interest in creating “poems of the times” that voiced “the sentiments of the times.”14 Meanwhile the Li group began to introduce modern verses composed by Taiwanese poets during the colonial era with a view to “pointing out the correct way to poets by reappraising the tradition.“15 Since October 1972, Li had published an occasional column to introduce and discuss such poets as Wang Pai-yuan (1901–65), Wu Hsin-jung (1907– 67), Kuo Shui-t’an (1908–), and Wu Yung-fu (1913–), among others, trying to focus the reader’s attention on the achievements made by Taiwanese poets during Japanese rule. The Li group increasingly emphasized the importance of the colonial legacy in the development of postwar modern poetry. Chi Hsien once claimed that it was he who introduced the “seeds of modern poetry” into Taiwan from the Mainland, professing himself a sort of avant-courier.16 By contrast, the Li group stressed that during the colonial period, Taiwanese poets had learned from the Japanese the techniques of Western modern poetry that derived from modernism, symbolism, and super-realism, and had thus established a distinct poetic tradi-tion. Without denying Chin Hsien’s contribution to the development of Taiwan’s modern poetry, the Li group claimed that several Taiwanese poets, such as Lin Heng-t’ai, took the colonial poetic art with them into the Contemporary society led by Chi Hsien. Despite the fact that in the colonial era Taiwanese poets had familiarized themselves with the art and techniques of modern Western poetry, the Li group argued, the reigning feature of the colonial poetic tradition was a consistent concern with the reality of life and society.17 Composed of pre-and postwar generations of poets, the Li group presented itself as a defender of the tradition of Taiwanese modern poetry developed after the colonial era. Moreover, against the background of popular hsiang-t’u literature, the Li group eulogized the simple, unpretentious style and a concern with the reality of life and society as the essence of the tradition of modern Taiwanese poetry. To them, this essence epitomized “hsiang-t’u spirit,” and their own journal, Li, unlike other poetry magazines, was the sole embodiment of this spirit.18 Right after the Debate on Hsiang-t’u Literature, the Li group set itself the task of cultivating “the art of pen-t’u poetry” (pen-t’u shih-wen-hsüeh).19 The term “pen-t’u” literally means “native” or “one’s native country.” Compared with “hsiangt’u” “pen-t’u” in the context of the Li group’s discourse, clearly signified the island instead of the Mainland.20 Setting a “realistic, artistic tendency” as a goal for writing, the Li group declared that the balanced combination of artistry, social concern, and hsiang-t’u spirit was a bedrock principle.21 The Li group echoed the view entertained by the advocates of hsiangt’u literature, calling for the creation of poems which represented “our soil and our time.”22


Since the mid-1970s “t’u-ti” (literally, “land,” “soil,” or “territory”) and “hsieh- shih” (“write realistically”) had become the catchwords of the Li group. However, the localism of the Li group, like that of hsiang-t’u writers, should not be exaggerated or viewed as a separatism conflicting with Chinese nationalism. As noted above, criticizing the acceptance of Westernization and the indifference to social reality prevalent among poets, Li had devoted itself to introducing the heritage of colonial Taiwan’s modern poetry. Against the background of the major diplomatic failures in the early 1970s, the Li group highlighted Taiwanese poets’ Chinese national consciousness and longing for liberation by the “motherland” when under Japanese rule. Two poems by Wu Yung-fu, “Orphan’s Longing” (“Ku-erh chih lien”) and “Motherland” (“Tsu-kuo”), were singled out as an example of these sentiments.23 Moreover, the Li group included members of the prewar generation and presented itself as the defender of the colonial tradition of Taiwanese modern poetry. The group also maintained close connections with postwar Japanese poets. Hence, Li was labeled as a “Japanese poets’ colony” by some critics. A number of critics felt uneasy about the fact that the Li group was composed almost entirely of native Taiwanese and they were also concerned about its increasing localist tendencies. To counter this criticism, the female chief of the Li Poetic Society, Ch’en Hsiu-hsi (1921–91) wrote: I received a Japanese colonial education. I can speak Japanese and write poems in Japanese. But why have I worked hard to learn Chinese and compose poems in it? It is because I regretted that I was a colonial. I am Chinese, and Li Poetry Magazine is definitely a journal belonging to the Chinese…What extremely disturbs me is that I had been a colonial. So I ardently love the nation and hsiang-t’u…. The blood that circulates through my body is Chinese, and my works are a part of Chinese literature. I am Chinese, so I follow the Chinese way I cannot allow the criticism that we are still colonials.24 To the Li group, “hsiang-t’u culture is a part of Chinese culture,” and despite its distinctive elements, “Taiwanese literature,” including that created in the colonial period, “is a part of Chinese literature.”20 What the Li: group devoted itself to, as two of its founders, Lin Heng-t’ai and Chao T’ien-i put it, was not only creating “modern poems” but “modern Chinese poems;” what they aimed at becoming was not only “modern poets” but “modern Chinese poets.”26 Like hsiang-t’u writers, the Li group had developed Chinese consciousness. Nevertheless, after the early 1980s, the Li group had become, together with the TWWI group, the major articulators of “Taiwanese pen-t’u literature” (T’ai-wan pen-t’u wen-hsüeh) as a distinctive literary tradition. By the end of the decade the notion of “pen-t’u literature” had been further developed into “Taiwanese national literature” (T’ai-wan min-tsu wenhsüeh). The discourse on national literature forms a significant part of Taiwanese nationalism, which has developed rapidly since the mid-1980s. The Kaohsiung Incident of 1979 catalyzed the development of nationalist politics and the politicization of literature. To understand the dynamic of this politicization, it is essential to examine Taiwan’s


dramatic political change and the rapid development of opposition to the KMT in particular, after the early 1970s. KMT rule and the rising of the Taiwanese opposition movement in the 1970s Mainlanders’ dominance in politics and Taiwanese advancement Until the second half of the 1980s, Taiwan remained an authoritarian one-party state dominated by Mainlanders. During the postwar years an increasing number of Taiwanese joined the KMT. At the beginning of the 1970s, party membership reached one million, and at roughly that time Taiwanese began to outnumber Mainlanders. In May 1972 Chiang Kai-shek’s eldest son, Chiang Ching-kuo, was made premier. Against the background of a series of diplomatic failures following the Tiao-yü-t’ai jurisdictional dispute, he began to address the ethnic issue by appointing more Taiwanese to important party and government posts in order to secure the support of the Taiwanese. Moreover, the three national representative bodies, the National Assembly, Legislative Yuan, and Control Yuan, had served as a principal source of legiti-macy for the regime. Elected on the Mainland during 1947–48, the old delegates of these institutions signified the regime’s historic continuity and helped perpetuate the doctrine of the ROC’s representation of all China. Toward the end of the 1960s, however, aging and deaths among the old delegates became a serious problem. Thus, in 1966, the National Assembly amended the temporary provisions of the constitution to allow the president to call “supplementary elections” to fill seats in the three parliamentary organs. Since 1969, supplementary elections have been held from time to time and new delegates representing Taiwan added. Despite an increasing share of power for native Taiwanese, Mainlanders still outnumbered Taiwanese at the higher echelons of the KMT, the government, and in the national representative bodies. The Mainlanders dominated society.27 However, the improvements began to provide Taiwanese with channels to more political power. Taiwanese advancement within the KMT and the government and their challenging the KMT on the hustings, as well as their success in business, gave them have more influence than before. Chiang Kai-shek died in 1975. Chiang Ching-kuo was elected chairman of the KMT soon after his father’s death. In 1978, the National Assembly elected him president of the ROC. Despite some moderate reforms, the authoritarian nature of the political system changed little during the early years of Chiang Ching-kuo’s rule. Martial law remained in force and other forms of firm political control continued. The rise of tang-wai As Chiang Ching-kuo assumed power, however, Taiwanese political opposition was also developing. Political opposition had been successfully suppressed for two decades.28 In


November 1969, a worker with a university degree, K’ang Ning-hsiang, was elected to the Taipei city council. In the first national supplementary election held in December of that year, a veteran member of the Taipei city council, Huang Hsin-chieh, with K’ang’s support, was elected to the Legislative Yuan. K’ang himself was also elected as a legislator in 1972. Since the rise of Huang and K’ang in the national political-arena, the term “tangwai” (literally “outside the [KMT] Party”) had been used to refer to independent, non-KMT politicians and created a sense of alliance (Li Hsiao-feng 1987:122). Opposition politics in Taiwan had always centered on political magazines. Until the 1970s the editors and writers of intellectual journals, such as Free China and Apollo (Wenhsing), were usually Mainlander intelligentsia who lacked a potential voter base (Tien 1989: 95).29 In August 1975, K’ang Ning-hsiang, Huang Hsin-chieh, and their associates started a political magazine, Taiwanese Political Review (Tai-wan cheng-lun). The journal rallied most tang-wai activists and made a fresh departure in opposition politics. The authorities closed it down after only a few months. Nonetheless, in local elections held in late 1977, a large number of candidates ran under the banner of tang-wai thanks to K’ang and Huang’s coordination. An island-wide anti-KMT political coalition emerged in Taiwan for the first time. The tang-wai group eventually won 21 of the 77 seats in the Taiwan Provincial Assembly and four of the twenty country magistrate and mayor posts in what was perceived as an unprecedented victory over the KMT. The Kaohsiung Incident and the radicalization of the opposition movement In December 1978, President Jimmy Carter announced that the USA would sever diplomatic ties with Taiwan in order to recognize the PRC, acknowledging that there was only one China—the PRC. The island was shocked. However, encouraged by their electoral success in 1977, tang-wai activists were trying to organize even more. Also the Chungli Incident (Chung-lishih-chien), a mass protest that occurred during the 1977 elections, brought them the power of a mass movement (Li Hsiao-feng 1987:125; Wang 1996:151).30 From the spring of 1979, tang-wai activists began to hold a series of lectures and rallies to mobilize support. In August of that year, Huang Hsin-chieh and a group of activists organized a new political magazine, Formosa (Mei-li-tad), which represented the tang-wai group’s efforts to organize further. The sponsors of the journal included nearly all important opposition activists, and the “service offices” for the journal functioned as local headquarters across the island. The magazine soon boasted a circulation of over 100, 000 and was regarded as the organ of the tang-wai group (Li Hsiao-feng 1987:145; Tien 1989:96; Wang 1996:151–2). On December 10, Formosa’s office in the southern metropolis of Kaohsiung held a rally to promote human rights. The rally developed into a serious confrontation between participants and the police. Scores of policemen and civilians were injured. Almost immediately leaders of the Formosa group and a large number of local opposition activists were arrested.31 While the Kaohsiung Incident was a serious setback for the tang-wai group, it paved the way for the radicalization of the opposition movement. During the period from the


organization of the Taiwan Political Review to Formosa, the tang-wai activists played the role of “loyal opposition” and promoted “democratization.” They pressed for fundamental reforms of a political system which they felt was twisted by temporary provisions and martial law. The two reformist journals hardly ever demanded a nonsupplemental or plenary election to expel the old delegates from the three national representative bodies completely, let alone Taiwan independence. In a word, they did not challenge the KMT’s doctrine that the ROC was the sole legitimate government representing all China. However, after the Kaohsiung Incident, the imprisonment of opposition leaders set the scene for the rise of militants within the tang-wai group. The KMT’s suppression of opposition activities in the first half of the 1980s justified the militants’ more confrontational line and encouraged the promulgation of more radical concepts of political restructuring (Wang 1996:155–68). In addition, the first half of the 1980s saw a boom in tang-wai political magazines.32 Journals organized by militants, especially Cultivate (Sheng-ken) and its successors, began to challenge the legitimacy of the KMT government and promote “Taiwanese consciousness” (T’ai-wan i-shih) by addressing the taboo issue of the 2–28 Incident, depicting resistance heroes under different regimes in Taiwanese history, and eulogizing “Taiwanese glories.” Unlike the opposition before the 1980s, radical tang-wai activists began to develop and advocate the concept of “Taiwanese nationalism.” As witness to the radicalization of opposition ideology, the first plank of the common platform shared by tang-wai candidates for legislators in 1983 national supplementary election defiantly claimed: “Taiwan’s future must depend on common decisions made by all citizens of Taiwan.” That is, the candidates maintained that the Taiwanese should enjoy the right to “self-determination.” This claim was also the primary plank in tang-wai candidates’ platforms for local elections in 1985 (Wang 1996: 169, 171).

The Debate on Taiwanese Consciousness and hsiang-t’u literature During the first half of the 1980s, tang-wai advocates of “Taiwanese consciousness” targeted their attacks not only on the KMT’s “Chinese consciousness” (Chung-kuo i-shih), but also on the kind of “Chinese consciousness” embraced by left-leaning activists in opposition circles. Their attacks centered on a semi-political magazine entitled “China Tide Review” (Hsia-ch’ao lun-t’an) which was represented by one of the most prominent hsiang-t’u writers, Ch’en Ying-chen.33 A pop-star’s emigration to Mainland China in 1983 provoked a controversy on the contents and the justification of a Taiwanese or Chinese orientation as a guiding principle for socio-political action.34 This polemical confrontation, later known as the “Debate on Taiwanese Consciousness” (Tai-wan i-shih lun-chan), occurred mainly between the Cultivate group and the China Tide Review group.


Chinese consciousness versus Taiwanese consciousness As a spokesman for “Chinese consciousness,” Ch’en Ying-chen interpreted the pop-star’s action as motivated by a “natural nationalist sentiment” based on a commitment to a “cultural, historical China” instead of any past or present Chinese regime, such as the ROC and the PRC. Such an “affection for China’s history, culture, and geography,” Ch’en argued, went beyond an identification with any “secular, transient regime” and was shared by all Chinese, be they Taiwanese or Mainlanders. He denied that substantial differences existed between the Taiwanese and Mainlanders living on the island and he denied that, as advocates of Taiwanese consciousness claimed, Chinese were “a ruling and oppressing people,” while Taiwanese were “a ruled and oppressed people.” Ch’en thus explicated “Chinese consciousness” as: [a] cultural, historical China, which evolved over thousands of years and was been built by billions of Chinese people. …Nationalism is the kind of Chinese selfperception; it is the struggle for Chinese advancement, progress, development, solidarity, and peace. After countless bitter sacrifices more and more Chinese on both sides of the Taiwan Straits are becoming aware of this necessity and are willing to fight for China’s freedom, democracy, and national solidarity. (Ch’en [1984] 1988:36–7)35 Drawing on a somewhat deterministic and materialistic conception of subjective consciousness as immediately conditioned by objective conditions, adherents of Taiwanese consciousness denounced the sort of Chinese consciousness espoused by people like Ch’en Ying-chen as being “false.”36 Despite their disagreements over details, such as when Taiwanese consciousness emerged and which historical experience had more influence on its development, all proponents of Taiwanese consciousness shared the view that the island society had evolved an identity distinct from that of Mainland China as a result of an independent path of socio-economic development as well as different historical influences (Halbeisen 1991). Most of the advocates of Taiwanese consciousness regarded the fifty years of Japanese colonial rule as a formative period of Taiwanese (national) consciousness, arguing that Japanese economic development projects changed the island into an integrated area. As a result, they noted, the old ethnic boundaries between Changchou, Chüanchou, and Kwangtung immigrants became blurred and a sense of community among the population emerged.37 To many adherents of Taiwanese consciousness, Han immigrant resistance to different “alien rulers” in Taiwan’s history—including the Spanish, the Dutch, the loyalists from China’s fallen Ming Dynasty (Koxinga’s regime), and the Ch’ing Empire—had remarkably facilitated the development of a sense of community. In their view, Taiwan’s history of colonization and anti-colonialism was one of exploitation and resistance. Taiwanese consciousness was thus seen as mainly a sense of resistance.38


Hsiang-t’u literature and Taiwanese consciousness In the tang-wai activists’ discourse on Taiwanese consciousness, hsiang-t’u literature was first lumped together with the opposition movement. Both were viewed as the natural outcome of a long-standing Taiwanese consciousness which, the activists believed, had been evident in all layers of Taiwan’s society as a result of the overall economic development that occurred in the 1970s. Borrowing the Marxist notion of the relationship between infrastructure and superstructure, both the literary activity and the political movement of the times were regarded as the faithful reflection of political and economic conditions on the island.39 A statement typical of such a view could be found in Ch’en Shuhung’s article:

What is Taiwan’s hsiang-t’u literature all about? Its subject matter is precisely the life of Taiwanese people linked together by common political and economic conditions. It exposes the oppression and injustices they suffer; it depicts their advancement and progress. The driving force behind the hsiang-t’u literature movement is the critique which is based on Taiwanese consciousness and directed against non-hsiang-t’u literature; and it is the interest of creating a literary world which corresponds to and reflects Taiwan’s real existence. As the goal of Taiwan’s hsiang-t’u literature movement is to create a literary world reflecting the reality of Taiwan’s objective existence, the purpose of the tangwai democratic movement is to establish a corresponding democracy on the basis of this objective existence. The motivational power of the movement is the attack based on Taiwanese consciousness and fired against the undemocratic system that renounces Taiwan’s reality. (Ch’en [1983] 1988:198–9) In this kind of discourse, the intense Chinese consciousness entertained by hsiang-t’u writers and advocates was neglected utterly. Hsiang-t’u writers’ recognition that the island formed prime “hsiang-t’u” was highlighted, but their deep concern with issues of Chinese nationalism was not mentioned. Taiwanese consciousness began to be viewed as incompatible with Chinese consciousness when the thinking about Taiwan’s future followed the nation-state principle. This sort of discourse represented tang-wai activists’ newly-emerging Taiwanese nationalism after the Kaohsiung Incident, rather than the view embraced by hsiang-tu advocates. An interest in reconstructing the past according to present concerns and aspirations is evident in the nationalist discourse.


Ch’en Ying-Chen, Yeh Shih-T’ao, and hsiang-t’u literature: “pro-China” versus “pro-Taiwan” Yeh Shih-t’ao: seeking a balance between Taiwanese local identity and Chinese national identity Tang-wai activists’ interpretation of the nature of hsiang-t’u literature was directed primarily against Ch’en Ying-chen’s view.40 As noted in the last chapter, Ch’en, like other hsiang-t’u supporters, promoted the new literary genre with a view to reinvigorating Chinese consciousness among the Taiwanese. Ch’en has been an enthusiastic spokesman of non-KMT Chinese nationalism ever since. In fact, during the “Debate on Hsiang-t’u Literature,” Ch’en, gave voice to his suspicion that Yeh Shih-t’ao’s view was “separatist.” As a veteran whose career spanned the late colonial period and postwar years, Yeh has been the leading proponent of hsiang-t’u literature. He is probably the first literary critic who addressed the issue in the postwar era. In his essay, “Taiwan’s Hsiang-t’u Literature” (T’ai-wan te hsiang-t’u wen-hsüeh)—published in 1965, about a decade before hsiang-t’u fictions became popular, Yeh used the term to signify modern literature developed after the colonial era in order to distinguish this provincial heritage from the national tradition of “Chinese literature.”41 Taiwanese authors from Lai Ho to Yang K’uei to Wu Chuo-liu, from Chung Li-ho to Chung Chao-cheng to Li poets, were grouped together as writers of hsiang-tu literature. Arguing that this literature must be accepted as a part of Chinese literature, Yeh sought a balance between Taiwanese local identity and Chinese national identity in literary expression. In that pioneering article, he contemplated the future: In our province during the period of Japanese rule it was indeed necessary to advocate hsiang-t’u literature in order to rekindle national consciousness … However, is it worthwhile now to treasure, develop, or fervently promote it specially? The answer is certainly negative…. The younger generation of writers is not only free from the bondage of the Japanese language. They also entertain little parochialism, naturally integrating into the community of Chinese literature and further working hard to become a part of world literature. This is the worthiest end of hsiang-t’u literature and what the older generation of writers have dreamed about. Still, should we discard the fine tradition of hsiang-t’u literature? The answer is also negative. The province is different from the Mainland because of its particular history, semitropical geography shaped by typhoon, relics of Japanese language and culture, customs developed in isolation from the Mainland, and the like. Doesn’t this form a fascinating subject for the writer? To discover these features and explore the distinctiveness [of the island], I think, would broaden the horizons of Chinese literature. (Yeh 1965:73) Yeh Shih-t’ao’s idea reminds us of Yeh Jung-chung’s “third literature” presented in the colonial period and Lai-nan-jen’s notion of a “Taiwanese new literature” conceived shortly


after the island was returned to China. They shared a common interest in encouraging writers to deal with the particularity of the island society. Their views represented a persistent concern with the identity of the literature developed under different regimes. For Lai-nan-jen and Yeh Shih-t’ao in particular, it was essential for writers to maintain a Taiwanese consciousness while seeking a balance between local identity and Chinese national identity. As a veteran writer and critic, Yeh Shih-t’ao was searching for the identity of “hsiangt’u literature” in the tradition of Taiwanese intellectuals’ distinct “obsession” with the particularity of island society. Yet in the period when literary modernism was exerting a marked influence, his pioneering essay drew little attention. This kind of obsession was expressed most clearly in Yeh’s well-known 1977 article entided “An Introduction to the History of Taiwan’s Hsiang-t’u Literature” (Tai-wan hsiangt’u wen-hsüeh-shih tao-lun). The article was published three months before the Debate on Hsiang-t’u Literature began. Yeh emphasized Taiwan’s specific natural environment and the legacies of different cultures on the island. While admitting that Taiwanese culture remained a branch of Han culture despite its intense hsiang-t’u flavor, Yeh highlighted Taiwan’s experience of being ruled by successive oppressive regimes. He defined “Taiwanese consciousness”: Since the whole history of social change on Taiwan is a history of oppression and humiliation, the so-called Taiwanese consciousness—the common experience of the Chinese living on Taiwan—is nothing but the common experience of being colonized and oppressed. (Yeh [1977] 1978:73)42 Making sense of the development of Taiwan’s modern literature in terms of the “history of colonization and oppression,” Yeh asserted that Taiwanese writers must entertain a specific sort of consciousness, siding with the people, rather than the ruler; and Taiwan’s hsiang-t’u literature must be “anti-imperialist and anti-feudalistic.” In fact, the entirety of Taiwanese modern literature developed under the Japanese since the advocacy of writing in vernacular Mandarin in the early 1920s was characterized as “an anti-imperialist and anti-feudalistic literary tradition.” In Yeh’s view, engagé spirit, resistance consciousness, and the technique of social realism had been the hallmark of Taiwan’s hsiang-t’u literature (Yeh [1977] 1978). In this characterization of hsiang-t’u literature, Taiwan’s unhappy experience of being colonized and oppressed formed the central element of its particularity, with which writers must deal. Ch’en Ying-chen: Chinese nationalism and “Chinese literature in Taiwan” Like Taiwanese participants in the 1947–49 argument on the development of Taiwan’s new literature and the advocates of hsiang-t’u literature in the early 1970s, Yeh Shih-t’ao did not regard local consciousness as necessarily irreconcilable with Chinese national


consciousness. Still, for critics who entertained a strong association with China, such as Ch’en Ying-chen, Yeh’s emphasis on Taiwanese consciousness and his characterization of hsiang-t’u literature was quite dubious. In an essay published shortly after Yeh’s, Ch’en expressed his uneasiness at Yeh’s downplaying of the Chinese nationalist sentiments displayed by Taiwanese writers in the colonial era. Agreeing that modern Taiwanese literature in this period was “and-imperialist and anti-feudalistic,” Ch’en stressed that this sort of cultural resistance was “pro-China.” Modern Taiwanese literature developed during the colonial period, Ch’en maintained, was an integral part of modern Chinese literature, which was characterized by intense anti-imperialism and anti-feudalism. The Taiwanese anti-Japanese movement was an essential part of the Chinese struggle for national liberation. The essence of anticolonial Taiwanese consciousness, Ch’en claimed, was precisely a lofty Chinese consciousness; and what Yeh Shih-t’ao termed as “Taiwan’s hsiangt’u literature” was in fact “Chinese literature in Taiwan” (tsai t’ai-wan te chung-kuo wen-hsüeh) (Hsü [1977] 1978). Although they shared common attitudes of anti-imperialism and anti-feudalism, it is obvious that Ch’en Ying-chen’s idea of hsiang-t’u literature was different from Yeh Shiht’ao’s. As indicated in the Chapter 3, against the background of political, economic, and cultural dependence upon foreign powers in the postwar period and diplomatic failures in the early 1970s, the promotion of hsiang-t’u literature in the mid-1970s was directed against the uncritical acceptance of Westernization as represented by modernistic literature. Champions of the new literary variant, like Ch’en Ying-chen, made sense of socio-political changes in terms of China’s long-term national trauma caused by foreign invasions and oppression in particular. They advocated hsiang-t’u literature with a view to heightening Chinese nationalism among Taiwanese people. For the bulk of supporters, whether Mainlander or Taiwanese, hsiang-t’u spirit consisted primarily in awakening to the national humiliation and determining to make a contribution to the strengthening of China, be it the ROC as “Free China” or a “reunified China” in the future. It can be said that the view represented by Ch’en Ying-chen was “pro-China,” while Yeh Shih-t’ao’s perspective was “pro-Taiwan.” These were two distinct tendencies within hsiang-t’u literature in the mid-1970s. The conflict between the two tendencies, however, drew little attention during the Debate on Hsiang-t’u Literature. The controversy had been evoked between advocates of this literary genre and critics closely connected to the KMT. The major target of the criticism was the fiction written by Ch’en Ying-chen, Huang Ch’un-min, Wan Chen-ho, Wang T’o, and Yang Ch’ing-ch’u, and Yü T’ien-ts’ung’s favorable view on hsiang-tu literature. Like Li and the TWWI writers’ efforts, which made little contribution to the development of the “back-to-hsiang-t’u” trend, Yeh’s concept of hsiang-t’u literature produced little effect. However, after the Kaohsiung Incident, or to be more precise, when militant tang-wai activists promoted Taiwanese consciousness in the first half of the 1980s, Yeh Shih-t’ao’s view was gaining ascendancy over that of Ch’en Ying-chen. Although Yeh pioneered the advocacy of Taiwanese consciousness, it seemed that militant tang-wai activists did not draw on his idea. However, these activists shared with Yeh a common understanding of


Taiwanese history and the definition of Taiwanese consciousness. The major difference lay in the fact that while Yeh sought a balance between local consciousness and Chinese national identity in literary expression, the opposition activists were much more radical than Yeh, claiming that “Taiwanese do not want Chinese conscious-ness.”43 When tangwai authors began to lump hsiang-t’u literature together with the opposition movement, pro-independence Taiwanese writers and literary critics rediscovered Yeh’s early essays and carried his idea one step further. For them Yeh’s pioneering article “Taiwan’s Hsiangt’u Literature” brought to light the fact that the pre-and postwar Taiwanese writers were closely linked by “hsiang-t’u” spirit (P’eng 1983:48); and “An Introduction to the History of Taiwan’s Hsiang-t’u Literature” provided an excellent definition of “Taiwanese literature” by correctly noting that Taiwanese literature was premised on Taiwanese consciousness (Sung 1984a: 14–19).44 Generally speaking, in the 1980s, pro-independence critics followed Yeh Shih-t’ao’s line of argument when characterizing Taiwanese literature, but his concern for maintaining an adequate balance between Taiwanese local identity and Chinese national identity in literary expression was neglected. The vestigial traces of Chinese consciousness in Yeh’s idea eventually vanished in the pro independence critics’ reformulation. “De-Sinocizing” Taiwanese literature: the first half of the 1980s The politicization of literature The Kaohsiung Incident acted as a catalyst, it set the scene for the radicalization of the opposition movement and initiated the politicization of literature. In fact, two major hsiangt’u writers, Wang T’o and Yang Ch’ing-ch’u, shortly after the polemic on hsiang-t’u literature subsided, abandoned their careers to devote their time to opposition politics. Both became tang-wai candidates in the national supplementary election scheduled for December 1978, which was abruptly canceled when the US broke off diplomatic relations with Taiwan. Wang and Yang later joined the Formosa group and were sentenced to jail because of involvement in the Kaohsiung Incident. The Incident profoundly influenced the Li and the TWWI writers. Many of them admitted that this drama awakened them to political consciousness and recognition of the autocratic nature of KMT rule. Chung Chaocheng, one of the “first post-war generation of Taiwanese fiction writers” and a senior member of the TWWI group, looked back on the “Debate on Taiwanese Consciousness” of 1983–84 following the Kaohsiung Incident and how it crystallized his ideas of being a Taiwanese writer. He stated that: After the great trial of the Formosa group by military court, the pen-t’u spirit was heightened. …Therefore the “Debate on Taiwanese Consciousness” of 1983–84 occurred, and it was highly heated. …To be honest, I benefited from this Debate, too. I went into retreat in the countryside during this period. I was not concerned about anything that happened in literary circles any longer and just devoted myself


to writing a novel. However, the ideas that originally lurked in my mind—the sentiments and yearnings of a proponent of Taiwanese literature—became crystallized and formulated, thanks to the occurrence of the Debate. These ideas also have taken root in my mind. (Chung 1989:333–4) Another eminent novelist, Li Ch’iao, who has long been a member of the TWWI group and who became the chief editor of the journal in February 1994, clearly expressed a similar awakening. He confessed: Now I think I have “grown up.” Today I know what I want, what I want to do, and what I can do. What I wrote were novels whose scenes were laid in historical Taiwan. It is because of major social events that I grasped the kernel of the meaning of life. Social conflicts in this great epoch have stimulated my life into maturity. Conflicts like the Chungli Incident and the Kaohsiung Incident have made me mature. Otherwise I would never have found my life’s real purpose and hence the purpose of literature…. I once claimed that art is independent of reality, having nothing to do with politics…. [Now] I have passed beyond that stage…. It is evident that Taiwan’s writers have to tell black from white and to distinguish injustice from justice. It is a shame for a writer to try to “disentangle himself from political affairs.” It is impossible to have literature without politics, especially for Taiwan’s contemporary writers. (Li and Chao 1988:30–1) Another younger, notable fiction writer and an editor of TWWI, Sung Tse-lai, vividly described the personal impact of the Kaohsiung Incident: For us young people, the end of 1979 probably enlightened us in an important way. I still remember that before then, I was a person from whom the truth of the world was completely hidden…. It was only in a single night that we were totally changed. Look! How stupid we used to be! Our answer is right there; the true colors of human beings are shown right there; and the whole historical truth is just like that. How silly we were before! But now we have wised up.45 The statements made by Chung Chao-cheng, Li Ch’iao, and Sung Tse-lai fully display the dramatic impact that the Kaohsiung Incident made on Taiwanese fiction writers of the postwar first, second, and third generations respectively. The influence of the Kaohsiung Incident was also evident in important Li poets, such as Cheng Chiung-ming and Li Min-yung.46 The impact of this major political drama forced Li and TWWI writers to address various sensitive socio-political issues, such as the 2–28 Incident, life under martial law, and the problem of national identity. Since the beginning of 1980s, the work of these fiction writers and poets often contested KMT rule in both subtle and not so subtle ways. As the then head of the TWWI Society, Ch’en Yung-hsing


noted, because the fiction writers and poets were encouraged by tang-wafs challenge to the KMT, “there is no subject with which a writer dare not deal, and there is no article which TWWI dare not publish.”47 Both the Li and TWWI groups are composed of almost exclusively Taiwanese. Thus their protests carry strong ethno-political implications. These two groups maintained close connections with each other. Since the foundation of TWWI, Li poets have been its major contributors and sponsors. After Wu Chuo-liu died in 1976, a veteran member of Li the group, Wu Yung-fu, succeeded him as publisher of TWWI. In January 1983, the TWWI Society had 46 members, of whom 13 also belonged to the Li group. They included two founders of the Li Poetic Society, Ch’en Ch’ien-wu and Chao T’ien-i.48 During the first half of the 1980s the two groups began their public association with opposition activists. Yang Ch’ing-ch’u and Wang T’o joined the TWWI Society after they were released from prison in December 1983 and November 1984 respectively The sponsors of the journal also included such important tang-wai leaders as Chiang P’eng-chien (who later became the first chairman of the Democratic Progressive Party), Chou Ch’ing-yü (a member of the National Assembly), and Hung Ch’i-ch’ang (who was later elected a member of the National Assembly).49 In September 1984, upon his release, the magazine ran a feature on Lin Yi-hsiung, one of the eight major leaders of the Formosa group who were imprisoned because of the Kaohsiung Incident.50 In early 1982, in Kaohsiung, three veteran members of the Li and TWWI groups, Cheng Chiung-ming, Tseng Kui-hai, and Ch’en K’un-lun organized a new journal, Literary Taiwan (Wen-hsüeh chieh, 1982–8). During the 1980s, this journal, together with Li and TWWI, served as a principal forum for the two groups’ politicized ideas of Taiwanese literature. What is “Taiwanese literature?”: engage spirit, resistance consciousness, and indigenization As the Li and TWWI groups became politicized, defining “Taiwanese literature” became increasingly important. Following Yeh Shih-t’ao’s idea that the essence of Taiwanese literature was Taiwanese consciousness (Yeh has long been a major patron and contributor of TWWI), young critics of the TWWI group, such as Kao T’ien-sheng, P’eng Jui-chin, and Ch’en Fang-ming, played a major role in the politicization of Taiwanese literature in the first half of the 1980s. Compared with Yeh’s view, their discourse exhibited the rather radical tendency of “de-Sinocizing” Taiwanese literature. The redefinition of Taiwanese literature started with criticism aimed at the conceptualization of writing on the island as a “frontier-region literature.” In January 1981, a well-known critic, Chan Hung-chih, asked “how will a person describe us and whom will he mention, if after three hundred of years he writes a history of Chinese literature and wants to employ a hundred words to deal with us, who live in this thirty-year period?” For this critic, all literary works produced on the island in postwar years were probably futile, because in the future they might be relegated to the category of “frontier-region literature” (Chan 1981:23–4). Chan’s view soon elicited criticism from Kao T’ien-sheng. Like Yeh Shih-t’ao, Kao did not deny that “Taiwanese literature was an offshoot of Chinese literature,” rather, he thought that Taiwanese literature must be treated as a specific


tradition because of its particular historical development and character. The works by Taiwan’s authors, Kao argued, must be judged from the viewpoint of the history of Taiwanese literature per se, instead of the history of Chinese literature (Kao 1981:297–8). One might find that Kao’s argument was quite similar to Lai-nan-jen’s 1948 criticism of the Mainlanders’ view of Taiwanese literature. Advanced in the early 1980s, Kao’s view represented the resurgence of a concern with the distinctiveness of Taiwanese literature in particular and Taiwanese culture in general. This kind of concern, in P’eng Jui-chin’s phrase, is about “whether Taiwanese literature can be regarded as a unique, independent literary tradition.” The answer to this question, P’eng believed, depended on whether one valued the distinctive character of literature developed on the island. Such a particular character consisted mainly in the quality of “indigenization” (pen-t’u-hua), that is, Taiwanese writers’ identification with the island and their determination to defend it. For P’eng, a work that belonged to the field of authentic “Taiwanese literature,” must have this quality; and the existence of the particular spirit definitely showed that Taiwanese literature had formed a distinctive tradition. To further “indigenize” literature by addressing the misery the Taiwanese suffered in the past centuries and to the present realities of life and society on the island, P’eng asserted, was a Taiwanese writer’s major task (P’eng, 1982). P’eng’s concept of “indigenization” can be regarded as the further development of Yeh Shih-t’ao’s notion of “Taiwanese consciousness.” Both critics characterized the development of literature in terms of the history of alien rule on the island. For them the spirit of resistance against alien oppression formed the motif of Taiwanese literature. The term “Taiwanese literature” assumed increasing political significance in the first half of the 1980s. In his oft-cited article, “The Present Problem of the Indigenization of Taiwanese Literature,” Ch’en Fang-ming under the pen name of Sung Tung-yang, rediscovered the neglected disagreement between Yeh shih-t’ao and Ch’en Ying-chen presented during the controversy over hsiang-t’u literature. Ch’en Fang-ming noted that Yeh’s concept of “Taiwanese [hsiang-t’u] literature” was based on a wholesome “Taiwanese consciousness,” while Ch’en Ying-chen’s notion of “Chinese literature in Taiwan” showed unrealistic “Chinese consciousness.” For Ch’en Fang-ming the two kind of consciousness were incompatible. He thought that Ch’en Ying-chen wrongly put the blame for adversities suffered by China in the past century on Western imperialist powers. The oppressive character of Chinese nationalism itself, which had justified the KMT’s authoritarian rule and the Mainlander-Taiwanese inequality, Ch’en Fang-ming maintained, must also be criticized. He believed that when the opposition movement was rapidly developing, any writer who identified himself with the island must pursue the “indigenization” and “autonomy” (tsu-chu-hsing) of Taiwanese literature (Sung, 1984a). The most thorough politicized definition of Taiwanese literature was probably framed by Li Ch’iao. Drawing on Yeh Shih-t’ao’s and P’eng Juichin’s ideas, Li defined it in this way: Taiwanese literature is the literature that is written from a Taiwanese standpoint and deals with Taiwanese experience.


The “Taiwanese standpoint” is the standpoint of the people who place their feet on Taiwan’s soil. It is an attitude of sympathizing with, identifying with, and acknowledging their sufferings, plight, and hopes, and their cause of democratization and liberalization…. The “Taiwanese experience” includes the experience of struggling and getting along with nature, the experience of fighting against feudalism, oppression, political colonialism, and economic colonialism, and the experience of striving for democracy and freedom. (Li 1983:7) In this formulation, Yeh Shih-t’ao’s notion of “Taiwanese consciousness” represented by Taiwanese literature developed during the colonial era was carried a step further to incorporate the postwar period under KMT rule. Postwar Taiwanese, like their ancestors on the island, also shared the experience of oppression and the spirit of resistance. For Li Ch’iao, to write for Taiwanese and to write about Taiwan must be the guidelines for the writer who identifies himself with the island. It can be said that in the early 1980s an “obsession with Taiwan” formed among TWWI and Li writers—to borrow historian C.T. Hsia’s idea that the moral burden of modern Chinese writers (mainly referring to writers of the pre-1949 period) consisted in their deep-seated “obsession with China.”51 Their concerns for the destiny of the island made them carry the socio-political emphasis of hsiang-t’u literature to the extreme. Yet the obsessive concern with China’s resurgence among hsiang-t’u supporters was dispelled and replaced by a preoccupation with Taiwan. This view was diametrically opposed to the belief in the autonomous status of art, in the intrinsic value of literary work independent of social use—which had inspired Taiwan’s modernists to resist pressures to write according to political and moral prescriptions (Chang 1993:12). When the TWWI and Li groups developed the engagé spirit of hsiang-t’u literature they posed as pioneers of this literary genre. The engagé tendency and social realism of hsiang-t’u literature, the editor of Li Poetry Magazine argued, derived from the Li group’s concern with the reality of life and society.52 Images of the Taiwanese Defining Taiwanese literature in politicized terms, the TWWI and Li groups constructed an image of the Taiwanese as victims of the oppressive rule of different regimes. The Ch’ing Empire’s ceding Taiwan to Japan was highlighted as evidence that the motherland had abandoned the island. Drawing on The Orphan of Asia (a novel written in 1945 by the founder of the TWWI, Wu Chouliu), the TWWI and Li groups also portrayed the Taiwanese as orphans (P’eng 1983; Li 1984; Sung 1984b). Based on Wu’s experiences travelling in Shanghai and Nanking during the war, the novel focuses on the problem of Taiwanese identity under colonial rule. A young Taiwanese, Hu Tai-ming, goes to Japan to study and finds that he is discriminated against by the Japanese despite his fluency in the Japanese language. Embracing Confucianism, the protagonist moves to China, the home of his


ancestors, to seek a meaningful life. Yet he finds that, for all Chinese, being Taiwanese is synonymous with being a running dog of the Japanese. The Taiwanese are suspect and discriminated against not only by the Japanese but also by the Chinese. This makes Hu feel as if he were an orphan. Disillusioned with China, he returns to Taiwan and goes mad in the end.53 For the TWWI and Li groups the lesson of the story was that Taiwanese must awake to the fact that they are Taiwanese, not Chinese, and that the orphan must create self-confidence on his own. Constructing the image of the Taiwanese as victims of tyrannical rulers and orphans deserted by China, the TWWI and Li groups presented themselves as the spokesman of the Taiwanese. Li poets began to claim that they were the only group who could voice the aspirations of the Taiwanese, and that their works epitomized “Taiwanese spirit.” They believed their poems represented authentic Taiwanese literature, as defined by Li Ch’iao (Tu 1985). Similarly, since 1983 the slogan of the TWWI had been “Speak the Taiwanese Mind” (yung-pao t’ai-wan te hsin-ling). The journal produced a series of features dealing with local languages, folk songs, historical events and characters, with a view to accentuating the readers’ sense of Taiwanese identity by increasing their knowledge of the island. Japanese colonialism as an asset To distinguish Taiwanese historical experience and collective memory from those shared by Chinese, the TWWI and Li groups stressed the importance of the Japanese colonial period. For instance, in October 1982, TWWI and Li featured examinations of how Taiwanese fiction writers and poets addressed the experience of Japanese colonialism, especially the hardships endured during the war. For these two groups, the historical experience of Japanese colonialism formed an important part of the foundation of the indigenization of Taiwanese literature. Colonialism, they argued, had lent Taiwanese literature a distinctive quality, a kind of “resistance spirit” in particular, which should not be viewed as something derived from the character of Han nationality.34 In the early 1980s, such an emphasis on the colonial factor contrasted with the Li group’s downplaying the influence of colonialism during the Debate on Hsiang-t’u Literature. Now colonial history became more of an asset than a liability. For the TWWI and Li groups, the colonial factor served to justify their argument that Taiwanese literature had departed from the tradition of Chinese literature and formed a distinctive heritage. Re-evaluating modern poems composed by Taiwanese writers during the colonial era, Ch’en Fang-ming maintained that modern Taiwanese literature had developed into a particular tradition despite the initial influence of China’s May Fourth Movement. Because of Taiwanese writers’ concern with the injustices of colonialism, Ch’en remarked, Taiwanese modern literature had been characterized by an engagé spirit and devoted to exposing the reality of hsiang-t’u from the very beginning. The entirety of Taiwanese modern literature, Ch’en believed, could be regarded as a “realistic” literary tradition (Sung 1983:14–15). The TWWI group and Li group devoted themselves to “de-Sinocizing” Taiwanese literature during the first half of the 1980s. Since the second half of that decade, they have


been “nationalizing” Taiwanese literature, in the sense that they endow it with a distinctive form of nationality and represent it as the literary tradition of a separate nation. This definition of literary tradition is much wider than the notion of “Taiwanese literature” presented in the first half of the 1980s. It incorporates the various types of literature created before the Japanese colonial period and by the different ethnic groups on the island. Taiwanese literature had been represented as the literature of a distinct “Taiwanese nation.” Their discourse on literature is further politicized. The radicalization of literary ideology occurs as a consequence of dramatic political changes on the island since late 1986. The creation of the first postwar Taiwanese opposition party, the continuing liberation of political control, the rapid development of the drive for Taiwanese independence, the “Taiwanization” of the ruling elite, and the increasing interaction with the PRC, all combine to spur the “nationalization” of literature. Political changes since 1986 While during the first half of the 1980s the tang-wai opposition group was plagued by internal conflicts between militants and moderates—represented by the Cultivate group and by K’ang Ning-hsiang and his associates respectively—they attempted to organize themselves to achieve unity (Tien 1989:98–9). In September 1986 they announced the formal organization of the Democratic Progressive Party (Min-chu chin-pu tang, hereafter DPP), which was illegal under the martial law at that time. Although the KMT government declared the DPP to be illegal, it did not take formal action against the new party. The tolerance toward the DPP heralded a series of political reforms conducted in the following year by the KMT in response to the opposition’s challenges. These reforms resulted in an environment more favorable to political competition than before.55 The rapid development of Taiwanese nationalism As Taiwan’s first postwar opposition party, the DPP was devoted to challenging the KMT’s promotion of “Chinese consciousness.” The KMT had long relied on its version of Chinese nationalism to justify its rule on the island, especially the claim that the KMT-controlled ROC was the sole legitimate government of all China. It also had the ultimate goal of recovering the lost Mainland, and designated the island as a combat area for the duration of the “communist rebellion.” It enforced the temporary provisions of the constitution and martial law and it extended the terms of representatives in the three parliamentary bodies elected on the Mainland during 1947–8. Since its establishment, the DPP has pressed for Taiwanese independence, and during the second half of the 1980s, it devoted itself to the complete replacement of the old members of the three parliamentary organs by delegates representative of the residents on the island. Following the radical tang-wai activists’ idea developed after the Kaohsiung Incident, the party platform advocates, among other things, Taiwan’s re-entering the United Nations and political self-determination for Taiwan. Because militants dominated the DPP after its establishment, the party’s chief approach to opposition during the second half of the 1980s was to launch mass rallies and street


protests. The primary ideological guideline of these mass movements was based on Taiwanese nationalism. The major native language, Hoklo, became the dominant language in mass movements. Hoklo slang, music, folk songs, and the like, were typically used to heighten participants’ Taiwanese consciousness. In addition, moralistic arguments about the victimization of Taiwanese under different regimes, especially that caused by the 2– 28 Incident and the Kaohsiung Incident, and about the grandiose historical destiny of Taiwanese to be master of their political future were reiterated. All this rhetoric and symbolism carried strong nationalist implications (Wang 1996:174–88). While political control was relatively liberated during this period, the KMT government still employed everything in its power to suppress the opposition movement, including launching propaganda to demobilize support for the DPP and taking legal action against leaders of mass movements. Despite official suppression, the second half of the 1980s saw the dramatic development of a drive for Taiwan independence.56 The drive for Taiwan independence culminated in the DPP’s adding a new plank to its revised party platform in October 1991. Claiming that Taiwan and the PRC are two separate countries, the plank calls for the creation of the “Republic of Taiwan” as an independent sovereignty. Thus, the DPP became a party formally upholding the cause of Taiwan independence, though moderate leaders within the party have often shown uneasiness about such a radical idea. In May 1992, the Criminal Law was revised as a result of street protests. Hence, nonviolent activities like the advocating of Taiwanese independence would no longer be defined as sedition. A major effect of the abolition of regulations against nonviolent antigovernment activities was the intensification of the “conflict between advocates of reunification and advocates of independence” (t’ung-tu chih cheng). Tension caused by conflicting attitudes toward the political status of Taiwan and the national identity of its people prompted discourse about various political, social, and cultural issues that ordinarily might have been regarded as irrelevant. Thus, in the early 1990s the “national identification problem” (kuo-chiajen-t’ung wen-t’i) became a salient public issue and a focus of ethnic conflict.57 Toward the end of the 1980s, the DPP garnered on average about 30 per cent of the votes in various elections, though the KMT still won the majority. Although the DPP denied that it was a “Taiwanese-only” party, the vast majority of its supporters were Taiwanese. Numerous studies have noted that less than 10 per cent of Mainlanders’ votes have been given to the DPP By contrast, while not all Taiwanese championed the opposition movement, more than 95 per cent of the votes the DPP obtained were from Taiwanese (e.g., Chang [1989]; Lin Chia-lung [1989]; Wu [1993]; Wang [1994]). In addition, the leadership of the opposition movement was overwhelmingly composed of Taiwanese.58 Moreover, the strategy the DPP used to mobilize support was characterized by demands, rhetoric, and symbolism based on Taiwanese nationalism with a Hoklo ethnic color. Predictably, this strategy has alienated Mainlanders.59


The “Taiwanization” of the KMT Political liberalization and the development of the opposition movement were accompanied by a dramatic “Taiwanization” of the ruling KMT. Since the early 1970s, “supplementary elections” for members of the three national representative organs and President Chiang Ching-kuo’s recruitment of more Taiwanese into the higher echelons of the KMT and the government provided Taiwanese with channels for a more influential role in the national political arena. Lee Teng-hui, a native Taiwanese technocrat, advanced rapidly under Chiang Ching-kuo’s recruiting practices. In 1984, Lee became Chiang’s vicepresident. Chiang died in January 1988, and Lee succeeded him as chairman of the KMT and president of the state. As the first native-born leader of the party-state, Lee enlisted the support of the Taiwanese elite. Increasingly, Taiwanese were assigned to important party and government posts, and Taiwanese began to outnumber Mainlanders in decisionmaking circles.60 Moreover, a constitutional amendment adopted in 1991 eventually legalized the retirement of all permanent Mainlander members of the three national parliamentary institutions. Districts throughout the island elected new delegates of the National Assembly and the Legislative Yuan in 1991 and 1992 respectively Feeling threatened by challenges from the DPP and Taiwanese opponents within their party, KMT Mainlanders began to organize. Intense intra-party factionalism based primarily on ethnicity often occurred.61 A group of leaders composed mostly of Mainlanders eventually withdrew from the KMT and formed their own party, the Chinese New Party (Hsin-tang, hereafter CNP) in 1993. Opposing the “Taiwanized KMT” under Lee Teng-hui, the party professed to be the “orthodox” KMT, firmly championing Chinese nationalism, “defending the ROC,” and pursuing China’s reunification.62 During the period from 1993 to 1995, the CNP and the DPP mobilized their respective supporters, and the KMT continued “Taiwanizing” itself. Hence the strife between advocates of reunification and advocates of independence reached its zenith (Chang 1994; 1996). A new ethnic classification and a new national identification As a result of the dramatic “Taiwanization” of the ruling party, the DPP was no longer able to monopolize the support of those who entertained Taiwanese sentiments in general. While the great majority of supporters of the DPP possessed a clear Taiwanese consciousness, people who harbored a distinct Taiwanese consciousness did not necessarily endorse the DPP Among them, the KMT’s supporters were more numerous than the DPP’s, though the ruling party still supported China’s reunification (Wang 1994).63 The political interests of the people had grown more and more complex in the freer political climate. Still, in the first half of the 1990s, people who identified themselves as Taiwanese increased remarkably, while those who regarded themselves as Chinese decreased sharply.64 Meanwhile the DPP’s policy became more elastic and pragmatic. To downplay Hoklo dominance of the party and to enlist the support of other ethnic groups, around 1989, the DPP’s leaders began to refer to the residents of different origins on the island as the “four great ethnic groups” (ssu-ta tsu-ch’ün).65 Recently the term “four great ethnic groups” has been widely accepted by the public, including the KMT and the CNP,


and has overshadowed the old reigning Mainlander-Taiwanese dichotomy The emergence of the new term has been accompanied by public promotion of ethnic equality On the one hand, the prevalence of the new classification represents the public’s increasing recognition of the differences between the four ethnic groups downplayed under the dominance of the KMT’s Chinese nationalism in the past. On the other hand, the pro-Independence activists’ promotion of conceptualizing Taiwan as a “community of fate” (ming-yun kung-t’ung-t’i) is intended to convince people that they are united under a national framework even though divided by ethnic boundaries. These activists have been promoting the sense of a new Taiwanese identity with a nationalist color (Chang 1996). John Breuilly has distinguished three different functions that the use of nationalist ideas can serve: coordination, mobilization and legitimacy. Not only may different nationalisms achieve different effects, but also nationalism may perform different functions in different periods (Breuilly [1994] 1996:166–7). It can be said that the major effect of Taiwanese nationalism promoted by the tang-wai group in the first half of the 1980s was mobilizing support for their challenge to KMT rule from the Hoklo Taiwanese. By contrast, with the end of the 1980s, Taiwanese nationalists increasingly expected that their ideas would fulfil the functions of coordination and legitimacy, though the need of popular support remained constant. Appropriating the “four-great-ethnic-groups” and “community-of-fate” discourse, Taiwanese nationalism since then has been expected to have the effects of coordinating the actions of different ethnic groups and of justifying the claim that Taiwan is a separate political community to external powers, especially the PRC. Both the transformation of the membership of the nation-to-be (from the Hoklo-dominated Taiwanese to the “four great ethnic groups”) and the transition of the character of Taiwanese nationalism (from the dubious Hoklo exclusivism to the comparatively open-minded cultural pluralism) represents the change of the desired effects. These alterations fully demonstrate the socially constructive nature of national identity. They also show that the nation as a form of collective identity is typically an outcome of cultural-political mobilization, rather than a constant sense existing in the minds of the members of the nation-to-be. The change of the literary discourse of Taiwanese nationalist writers and critics since the second half of the 1980s reflects the transformation of Taiwanese nationalism in general. Crafting a national culture: the second half of the 1980s and after Since the formation of the DPP in 1986, the TWWI and Li groups have become further involved in opposition politics. Closely associated with the opposition movement, they are an important part of pro-independence politics. Shortly after the creation of the DPP, the leading members of the two groups, such as Wu Yung-fu, Yang Ch’ing-ch’u, Yeh Shiht’ao, Li Ch’iao, Li Min-yung, and Chao T’ien-i, initiated a further organization of intellectuals harboring a distinct Taiwanese consciousness. In February 1987, the Taiwan Pen Association (T’ai-wan pi-hui) was established, with Yang Ch’ing-ch’u as president. It had about 130 members, including poets, fiction writers, essayists, literary critics, artists,


and musicians. The TWWI and Li groups formed its membership core and assumed the leadership. The TWWI thus became the organ of the new group. The founding manifesto of the Association called for drastic cultural reforms in order to “radically change the nature of the society” A cultural reform movement was regarded as an essential prerequisite to socio-political reforms.66 The Association claimed that literature must make a contribution to political, social, and cultural reforms, calling on writers to play the role of the “literary opposition.” During the late 1980s, the Association issued a series of declarations protesting the KMT government’s ban on the return of blacklisted overseas pro-independence activists, the imprisonment of political dissidents, the suppression of mass demonstrations, and the evasion of responsibilities for the massacre in the 2–28 Incident. Yang Ch’ing-ch’u served as the general editor of the DPP’s organ, and TWWI and Li members like Li Minyung and Ch’en Fang-ming became major contributors.67 The wave of nationalist cultural discourse Accompanying the rapid development of the drive for Taiwan independence in the second half of the 1980s, a wave of Taiwanese nationalist cultural discourse in which the TWWI and Li writers and literary critics played an important part was raised. Such discourse was in general characterized by an intention of “de-Sinocizing” and “nationalizing” Taiwanese culture. The establishment of two to-be Taiwanese New Culture (T’ai-wan to the “four four September 1986–May 1988) and New Culture (Hsin-wen-hua, February 1989– December 1990), stood witness to the highly politicized cultural discourse. The titles of these two magazines showed their organizers’ interest in promoting a new cultural identity. Both the magazines were headed by the DPP’s legislator, Hsieh Chang-T’ing (Frank Hsieh), and the leading members of the TWWI and Li groups like Chao T’ien-i, Li Ch’iao, Yang Ch’ing-ch’u, Sung Tse-lai, KaoT’ien-sheng, and Li Min-yung were sponsors or editors of the two publications.68 The two new journals, plus TWWI, became the central media for Taiwanese nationalist cultural discourse. Several essential features characterized this wave of cultural discourse. First, a series of dichotomies were employed to oppose Taiwanese culture to Chinese culture. Chinese culture was labeled as inflexible, feudalistic, reactionary, oppressive, and earth-bound. By contrast, Taiwanese culture was celebrated as being flexible, modern, progressive, democratic, and ocean-oriented. In this relatively simplistic characterization, Taiwanese culture was viewed as a particular tradition distinguished from Chinese culture. To be sure, this sort of Taiwanese nationalist characterization of Chinese culture was hardly novel. China’s radical anti-traditionalists in the May Fourth era pioneered a similar critique of the cultural and historical heritage of the Chinese past.69 Similar attacks could also be found in the “Debate on Chinese-Western Cultures,” which erupted in Taiwan in the early 1960s, and in the period of “Cultural Fever” (wen-hua-je) in China in the 1980s.70 In fact, the persistence of radical iconoclastic attitudes toward the traditional Chinese cultural legacy was one of the most striking features of the intellectual history of twentieth-century China. This anti-traditionalism represented a profound crisis of cultural identity in the consciousness of Chinese intellectuals (Lin Yü-sheng 1979).


Despite their strong aversion to traditional Chinese cultural heritage, however, the cultural discourse developed by intellectuals during the May Fourth era, the Debates on Chinese-Western Cultures, and the Cultural Fever reflected an acute interest in searching for a new Chinese cultural identity. By contrast, what made the criticism of the Chinese cultural legacy leveled by Taiwanese nationalists peculiar was the spurning of Chinese cultural identity. This might be the first time in modern Chinese history that a group of Han Chinese attempted to have their national cultural identity replaced by a form of cultural identity that was commonly regarded as local. The second feature of Taiwanese nationalist cultural discourse was the pluralization of the origins of Taiwanese culture. On the one hand, the part played by the non-Han aboriginal cultures in Taiwan’s history was increasingly emphasized. For nationalists, aboriginal peoples’ millennia of history of settlement on Taiwan showed that the island had its own particular cultural elements that could not be simply lumped together with Han Chinese culture. The aborigines’ cultures were appropriated to reconstruct a new “lineage” with an origin separate from Chinese civilization (Chang 1996). Moreover, in addition to Japanese rule, the period of Dutch colonialism (1624–61) and Spanish settlement (1626–41) were also regarded as important sources of the distinctiveness of Taiwanese culture. In fact, the Dutch and the Spanish colonized just the southern and northern extremities of the island, and only for short periods. It was obvious that the purpose of pluralizing the origins of Taiwanese culture was to play down the importance of Chinese culture in shaping Taiwanese culture. The third feature of Taiwanese nationalist cultural discourse was a reversal of the historical core-margin relationship between Chinese culture and Taiwanese culture. Taiwanese culture was typically viewed as Chinese culture with a local flavor because the Han Chinese formed the overwhelming majority of the population. However, by pluralizing the origins of Taiwanese culture, the nationalists claimed that Chinese culture had just been a part of Taiwanese culture. Moreover, political oppression, social maladies, and moral degradation were all attributed to the effect of “evil” Chinese culture. For Taiwanese nationalists, both the KMT and the CCP had embodied in their rules a “feudalistic” and “autocratic” political culture shaped by Confucianism. The KMT’s rule in the postwar years, the nationalists asserted, had resulted in further diffusion of Chinese culture, and Taiwanese postwar generations were the victims of the KMT’s indoctrination of Chinese historical-cultural tradition. For them, the bloody massacre of pro-democracy protesters in the Tiananmen Square in Peking (Beijing) in 1989 testified to the evil of Chineseness. Hence, Chinese culture was regarded as an undesirable element of Taiwanese culture. Purging Chinese consciousness from Taiwanese minds, the nationalists claimed, must be a necessary prerequisite to the creation of new Taiwanese culture. “Cultural subjectivity” (wen-hua chu-t’i-hsing) has been the catchword of Taiwanese nationalist intellectuals since the late 1980s. A great enthusiasm for “establishing the subjectivity of Taiwanese culture” or “creating subjective Taiwanese culture” formed the fourth element of the nationalist cultural discourse. The Chinese term chu-t’i-hsing in this context derived mainly from the sense of the word “subject” as in Western idealist philosophy instead of grammar and political theory In this usage subjectivity means the


state of being, the thinking subject as the site of consciousness. This sense implies a division between subject and object, between thought and reality, or between self and other. It also suggests that the subject is the source of action and meaning.71 Hence, subjective Taiwanese culture was compared to the mind of an individual. The Taiwanese nation was envisioned as an individual capable of thinking, judging, and acting independently. For the nationalists, culture was precisely the locus of national consciousness. The concept of the subjectivity of Taiwanese culture implied autonomy from Chinese culture and the boundary between the two “nations.” The motto in each issue of the Taiwanese New Culture journal illustrated the rhetoric regarding cultural subjectivity. It said: In the past we always lived with fear under Chinese culture, completely controlled by its patriarchal authority and feudalism. But today our Taiwanese culture, like a young and strong man, in a semiconscious condition, would break through the nets in a moment and stand firm on the global arena. In this kind of cultural discourse, an ideal Taiwan-China relationship is patterned on that between the US and England. For Taiwanese nationalists the historical fact that the English pilgrims resolutely left the home of their ancestors and the source of their culture to build their own country was quite illuminating. They employed the “American Dream”—an idea about individualistic independence in a land of opportunity, an idea of not being constrained by the past or bound to community by rigid ties of convention—to justify their nationalist course.72 A variable: the PRC Since the late 1980s, Taiwanese nationalist cultural discourse has become less Hoklocentric. The concept of a “Taiwanese nation” (T’ai-wan min-tsu) composed of the “four great ethnic groups” now prevails. On the one hand, the change reflected the need to gain the support of the Hakkas, Mainlanders, and aborigines for the cause of Taiwan independence. On the other, the transformation was based on the recognition of China’s increasing influence on international politics and hence Taiwan’s serious diplomatic predicament. Both domestically and internationally, crafting a distinct Taiwan identity became a more pressing issue than ever before. Thus, nationalist cultural discourse gradually assumed a multicultural character. The PRC has been a formidable influence in Taiwan’s politics. Since 1949, the two sides have experienced military conflict (1949–78) and peaceful confrontation (1979–87). As a result of the opening to the West and economic reforms launched by Deng Xiaoping in 1978, China gradually came to play a more active and influential role in international politics than before. After the US severed formal ties with Taiwan and switched recognition to the PRC in 1979, Taiwan felt it increasingly difficult to compete with the PRC for the legitimacy of its claim to represent all China. The trauma of breaking diplomatic relations with other countries has become commonplace in Taiwan.73


Moreover, since 1987, when travelling to the Mainland was allowed, various forms of informal contacts such as cultural and athletic exchanges with the PRC have flourished. Interaction engendered “Mainland Fever” (ta-lu-je) on the island in the late 1980s. After a forty-year separation between the two sides, information about the PRC evoked an intense interest among the public. Books, magazines, music, films about or from the Mainland flooded the market, though many were illegal. The value of two-way indirect trade and Taiwanese enterprises’ investment in the PRC has grown rapidly.74 In 1991, Taiwan announced an end to the war with the PRC and declared that the two sides were “two separate and independent political entities existing simultaneously in China.” Yet the PRC still claims sovereignty over Taiwan, asserting that the government of the ROC is only a local government. It has never renounced the use of force to have the island “returned to the motherland,” especially if Taiwan declares independence.75 Recognizing China’s rising influence on international politics and increasing contacts with Taiwan, Taiwanese nationalists were worried that people in Taiwan might develop a pro-PRC attitude. Thus, for nationalist intellectuals to address distinctions between Taiwanese and Chinese culture became highly significant. The emphasis upon the particularity of Taiwanese culture served to strengthen people’s Taiwanese identification. A nationalist stated: I think a culture shows itself only when compared to others. Culture is a set of characteristics of the life pattern shared by a group of people. Talking about “a group of people,” we must locate them first. We must demarcate Taiwan geographically first when we refer to Taiwanese culture. To be precise, it is when we oppose Taiwan to China that we ask whether a distinctive culture has formed in Taiwan, whether a set of characteristics of a life pattern has developed in Taiwan, and whether these characteristics help awaken Taiwanese to the difference between the Chinese and themselves. Thus, when we discuss “whether Taiwan has developed a culture or not at all,” the point is to ask whether Taiwan has a culture that is particular enough to help awaken everyone to the fact that they differ from the Chinese. The discovery of the distinction between Taiwan and China should contribute to the establishment of an independent country on the island.76 Crafting a national literature Writing a history of Taiwanese literature for Taiwanese Literary discourse has formed a major part of Taiwanese nationalist cultural discourse. Playing a leading role in this wave of cultural discourse, Li and TWWI writers and critics have primarily addressed literary issues. Their literary discourse has shared the abovementioned features of the general cultural discourse. To begin with, a most pressing issue for nationalist writers and critics in the second half of the 1980s was the writing of a history of Taiwanese literature. After the Debate on Hsiang-t’u Literature, the Li and TWWI groups often drew on modern Taiwanese literature developed since the Japanese colonial


era to justify their own pro-Taiwan tendencies. However, until the late 1980s, there were only two brief histories of modern Taiwanese literature developed in the colonial period, written by Huang Te-shih ([1954, 1955] 1979) and Ch’en Shao-t’ing (1977).77 By contrast, three voluminous histories of modern Taiwanese literature covering the pre-and postwar periods were published on the Mainland by 1987. After the CCP adopted the “reform and opening” policy in the late 1970s, Taiwan studies developed rapidly in China. Since the first official institute of Taiwan studies was founded in 1980, research on Taiwanese literature has flourished.78 Generally speaking, studies on Taiwanese literature conducted by Chinese scholars were dominated by the CCP’s “China reunification” propaganda and deliberately highlighted the “Chinese consciousness” that Taiwanese literature radiated. They typically stressed the influence of China’s May Fourth Movement upon the development of modern Taiwanese literature under Japanese rule, claiming that the whole of Taiwanese literature was but a part of “Chinese national literature.”79 Under these circumstances, the Li and TWWI groups worried that the authority for interpreting the history of Taiwanese literature might be monopolized by Chinese scholars. They have often called for “writing a history of Taiwanese literature for Taiwanese” since the early 1980s.80 In 1987, Yeh Shih-t’ao’s A Brief History of Taiwanese Literature (T’ai-wan wen- hsüeh shihkang) was eventually published.81 Since the early 1980s, Yeh gradually became the leading mover of the discourse about “autonomous” Taiwanese literature (Yü 1992). A Brief History can be regarded as an example of the typical literary discourse of pro-independence intellectuals. The book begins with a brief description of the development of classical Chinese literature in Taiwan from the Koxinga era to the early years of Japanese rule. The next chapter deals with the emergence and progress of modern Taiwanese literature during the Japanese colonial period. The rest of the book, comprising five chapters, is devoted to the postwar evolution of literature on the island. As an veteran advocate of Hsiang-t’u literature and Taiwanese consciousness, Yeh was obviously biased toward native Taiwanese writers and their performances, but he did not brush aside Mainlander authors and their works.82 In the preface to his book, Yeh made it clear that the purpose of his volume was to “elucidate how Taiwanese literature develops its strong will to be independent and builds its peculiar Taiwanese character in spite of historical vicissitudes” (Yeh 1987: ii). Yeh admitted that the emergence of modern Taiwanese literature in the colonial era was stimulated by China’s May Fourth Movement. However, he argued that literature on the island had developed in the direction of independence. This kind of development, he believed, was “correct and inevitable” because of the continuing separation between Taiwan and the Mainland (Yeh 1987:28). Entertaining this somewhat deterministic view, Yeh modified his past assessment of Taiwanese literature. As noted above, until the Debate on Hsiang-t’u Literature, Yeh maintained that hsiang-t’u literature was definitely a part of Chinese literature, seeking a balance between Taiwanese local identity and Chinese national identity. For him, the two forms of identity were not incompatible. In an article on Taiwanese literature of the 1960s that was published in 1984, only three years before A Brief History came out, Yeh


commended Li and TWWI for embodying the engagé spirit typical of Taiwanese literature. However, he also criticized the lopsided concern with local reality and the pragmatic view of literature that had precluded the Li and TWWI writers from “understanding hsiang-t’u problems from the vantage point of the whole China or the world” and from absorbing new Western literary ideas (Yeh 1984: 143). The words “the whole of China,” however, were deleted from the para-graph in A Brief History that was based on his 1984 treatise (Yeh 1987:118). This instance recalls Yeh’s treatment of hsiang-t’u literature developed in the early 1970s. In his 1984 article, Yeh pointed out that the young hsiang-tu writers, including Ch’enYing-chen, Huang Ch’un-min, Wang Chen-ho, Wang T’o, and Yang Ch’ing-ch’u, had little connection with the older generation of Taiwanese writers such as Wu Chuoliu. Hence, their works were very unlike “old-style” hsiang-t’u literature created during the colonial era. “Perhaps,” Yeh continued, “this was because the new generation of writers did not identify with old hsiang-t’u literature, which showed a more intense Taiwanese local consciousness, and these writers were comparatively able to ponder the future of Taiwanese literature from an angle of the destiny of the whole of China. This tendency can probably be regarded as progressive” (Yeh 1984:146). Yet in the section in A Brief History that derived from the 1984 article, the original approving terms were replaced by neutral ones, and the sentence “This tendency can probably be regarded as being progressive” was left out (Yeh 1987:123). It was by no means the case that only Yeh Shih-t’ao adapted past ideas of Taiwanese literature to current nationalist politics. During the second half of the 1980s, this was not an unusual practice among pro-independence writers and literary critics. For instance, in his 1982 article on nostalgia, Ch’en Ming-t’ai, who was himself a Li member, wrote that the 1945 retrocession (kuang-fu) of Taiwan to China was a “historic rebirth” of the island. Hence, as far as the “second generation of Li poets”—including Pai Chiu, Chao T’ien-i, Lin Tsung-yuan, Li K’ui-hsien, and the like—were concerned, their literary careers started with their “becoming Chinese” under the motherland government (Ch’en 1982: 19). In 1989 this essay became one of the Li Poetry Magazine articles collected under the title of “The Rising of Taiwanese Spirit’ (T’ai-wan ching-shen te chueh-ch’i). In this new edition the author replaced the terms “retrocession” and “historic rebirth” by such negative phrases as “the KMT government’s takeover (chieh-shou) of and dominance over Taiwan,” and the modifier “motherland” that came before “China” was struck out (Ch’en Ming-t’ai 1989:32). Moreover, as the author of the only history of modern Taiwanese literature developed under the Japanese that was published before Yeh Shih-t’ao’s monograph, Ch’en Shaot’ing apologized for overemphasizing the influence of the May Fourth Movement on the development of modern Taiwanese literature during the colonial era and upon the “motherland consciousness” prevalent among Taiwanese writers. Facing criticism of his early book by nationalist critics, Ch’en admitted that it was wrong to treat modern Taiwanese literature in the colonial period as an offshoot of Chinese literature (Ch’en Shaot’ing 1987; 1988).83


A literature for nation-building The early 1990s saw a bold initiative to “nationalize” Taiwanese literature. The acceleration of political liberalization obviously facilitated this development. The abolishment of the temporary provisions of the constitution in 1991 and the revision of the Criminal Law in 1992, in particular, created an unprecedented freedom of speech. The public advocacy of such radical political ideas as “Taiwanese independence” and “Taiwanese nation building” was no longer outlawed. In response to the new situation the three founders of the discontinued Literary Taiwan magazine, Cheng Chiung-ming, Tseng Kui-hai, and Ch’en K’un-lun, organized a new journal bearing the same English title, Wen-hsüeh t’ai-wan, in Kaohsiung in December 1991. Important members of the Li and TWWI groups, including Yeh Shih-t’ao, Ch’en Ch’ien-wu, Chung Chao-cheng, Li Ch’iao, Li Min-yung, Ch’en Fangming, P’eng Jui-chin, and so on, served as advisors or members of the editorial board. Thus, new Literary Taiwan, together with TWWI and Li, became a major forum for preaching nationalist ideas of Taiwanese literature. The “nationalization” of Taiwanese literature conducted by the Li and TWWI groups consisted primarily in two elements. First, the history of modern Taiwanese literature was reinterpreted as a history of searching for a distinct Taiwanese national identity, and national identity was regarded as the leitmotif of the whole of modern Taiwanese literature developed since the 1920s. Taiwanese literature, theLiand TWWI critics argue, developed from the very beginning, in the direction of building a Taiwanese nation. In particular, Taiwanese intellectuals’ public advocacy of hsiang-tu literature written in tai-oan-oe (Hoklo) in the 1930s represented an initial effort to pursue the distinctiveness, independence, and “subjectivity” of Taiwanese literature.84 Not surprisingly, the fact that the Han/Chinese cultural identity of the champions of tai-oan-oe literature was embodied by their insistence on a writing system composed of Chinese characters was disregarded. Moreover, emphasis on the distinctiveness of Taiwanese literature and culture in the 1947–49 literary discussion was regarded by nationalist critics as a natural continuation of the prewar concern for the subjectivity of Taiwanese literature, despite the fact that the goal was to have local literary performances accepted as Chinese literature.85 Besides, the creation of TWWI and Li in 1964 was hailed as a historic revival of Taiwanese consciousness after the 2–28 Incident. The organization of the two journals, members asserted, was a deliberate anti-KMT act, and their consistent promotion of Taiwanese consciousness eventually resulted in the development of hsiang-t’u literature and even the formation of the tang-wai Formosa group.86 The controversy over hsiang-t’u literature in the 1970s was in turn viewed as a result of the conflict between Chinese national identity and Taiwanese national identity.87 However, as noted in the last chapter, the major writers and advocates of hsiang-t’u literature made sense of the postwar socio-political change on the island in the light of “Chinese national adverse destiny,” demonstrating their intense Chinese consciousness. From the 1920s to the 1990s, the nationalist critics claimed, all modern Taiwanese writers were linked together by a common concern for the destiny of the Taiwanese as a distinct nation. The establishment of the subjectivity of Taiwanese culture, they argued, was the goal that successive generations of Taiwanese writers have been striving toward. Like a nation attempting to establish its independent political


sovereignty, Taiwanese writers have been seeking the erection of “literary sovereignty” For pro-independence critics, Taiwanese literature must forge its new nationality88 A national literature: all in one The second dimension of the “nationalization” of Taiwanese literature lay in pluralizing its sources. Since the early 1980s, for the Li and TWWI groups, the terms “pen-t’u literature” or “Taiwanese literature” referred primarily to modern literature—fiction and poetry in particular—written since the colonial era. After the late 1980s, when the concepts of the “four great ethnic groups” and “a community of fate” became popular, the nationalist intellectuals’ literary discourse gradually emphasized the multi-ethnic character of Taiwanese literature. Like the origins of Taiwanese culture, the sources of Taiwanese literature were pluralized. For pro-independence intellectuals, Taiwanese literature at least included 1) aboriginal literature (mythology, legend, and folk songs), 2) Han folk literature (Hoklo and Hakka legend, proverbs, dramas, and folk songs), 3) poems and essays in classical Chinese, 4) modern literature in the Japanese colonial era (works by Taiwanese and the Japanese in Taiwan), and 5) postwar literature (works by Taiwanese and Mainlanders).89 All of these were viewed as integral parts of Taiwanese national literature. The aboriginal literature and Han folk literature were especially given unprecedented attention. For the nationalist intellectuals the existence of an aboriginal literature showed that the origins of the Taiwanese could be traced back several thousand years. Taiwanese literature, they claimed, was a distinct national tradition that derived its origin from aboriginal literature. Both aboriginal and Han folk literature had a strong local flavor and were employed to justify the claim that Taiwanese literature must not be subsumed within Chinese literature.90 For pro-independence intellectuals Taiwanese literature assumed the role of a vanguard in the new cultural and national liberation movement since the colonial era. Although the liberation of the Taiwanese nation and the establishment of an autonomous island republic were not yet achieved, they claimed, Taiwanese literature had long been independent. An independent country, they believed, must have an independent literature. As far as the relationship between Taiwanese and Chinese literature is concerned, the eminent critic, P’eng Jui-chin, drawing on Ralph W. Emerson’s idea that American intellectuals must end their long dependence on European learning, claimed that “it is time to declare the independence of Taiwanese literature.”91 Conclusion This chapter shows how a group of native writers and literary critics concerned about the particularity of Taiwanese literature came up with an initiative to establish a national literature. In general, open discussion on the nature of native Taiwanese writers’ works subsided for three decades after the 1947–49 literary controversy. The political suppression and stigmatization of the legacy of Japanese colonialism following the retrocession of Taiwan to China resulted in a gap between pre-and postwar generations of Taiwanese writers. During these decades, Taiwanese writers occupied a marginal


position in literary circles compared with Mainlander writers in terms of their number and public prominence. Young Taiwanese writers in general had little knowledge of Taiwanese literature in the colonial era. During this time, Yeh Shih-t’ao was one of few critics who addressed the issue of the literary heritage of Taiwanese writers in the colonial period. In his 1965 essay he highlighted the similarity between the pre-and postwar generations of Taiwanese writers, grouping their works together under the category of “hsiang-t’u literature” as a part of Chinese national literature. Promoting balance between Taiwanese local identity and Chinese national identity, Yeh—whose literary career spanned the late colonial and postwar years —showed an “obsession with Taiwan,” that is, a concern with the particularity of the history and culture of the island and with the representation of those distinctions in literature. As a result of the effect of the Kaohsiung Incident and the ideological mobilization of the Taiwanese opposition movement thereafter, the literary discourse of the Li and TWWI groups was increasingly politicized. The confrontation regarding the interpretation of the nature of Taiwanese literature between Yeh Shih-t’ao’s “pro-Taiwan” tendency and Ch’en Ying-chen’s “pro-China” tendency was rediscovered. Since the first half of the 1980s, the literary discourse of the Li and TWWI groups focused on “de-Sinocizing” Taiwanese literature. The influence of China’s literary reforms in the May Fourth era on the development of Taiwanese literature in the colonial period was played down. The history of Taiwanese literature was re-interpreted into a history voicing the aspirations of the Taiwanese as “orphans” deserted by China and as victims of tyrannical rulers. Engagé spirit, resistance consciousness, and realistic techniques, it was argued, characterized this literary tradition. Meanwhile Japanese colonialism in Taiwan came to be treated as a crucial asset that distinguished Taiwanese literature from Chinese literature. During this period Taiwanese consciousness and Chinese consciousness were gradually viewed as incompatible. Accompanying the dramatic development of Taiwanese nationalism in the second half of the 1980s, the literary discourse of the Li and TWWI groups was further radicalized. As a major part of the wave of nationalist cultural discourse, their literary discourse was devoted to constructing a tradition of “Taiwanese national literature” composed of all literary works created by the “four great ethnic groups.” Pro-independence writers’ and literary critics’ revisions of and apologies for past pro-China views on Taiwanese literature were not unusual during this period. The Li and TWWI groups also re-interpreted their early history according to present concerns. Post-1920s Taiwanese literature was even regarded as a literature developing in the direction of nation building. Extravagance is common in the nationalist literary discourse. The claims about the development of a national literature are not well grounded in empirical reality. They involve a great deal of moralistic rhetoric, expressive symbolism, reinterpreted history, and renegotiated ethnic boundaries. It is mainly by reiteration that nationalist writers and critics create a literary tradition. By assigning specific meaning to and establishing specific “truths” or knowledge of the history of Taiwanese literature, they craft a national literature discursively. For a nationalist, the existence of a distinct literary tradition bears witness to


the existence of a nation. Accompanying the creation of a “new” literary tradition is the emergence of a new sense of national identity The analysis of the “invention” of a Taiwanese national literature illustrates the constructive nature of ethnicity or nationality and the central role of discourse in the construction of an ethnic or national identity. Moreover, discourse does not exist by itself. The discourse about Taiwanese national literature is an important part of the Taiwanese nationalism that has rapidly developed since 1986. It is related to the struggle for control of the political future. Transition from a Hoklo-centric view on Taiwanese literature to a multiethnic and multicultural concept of Taiwanese national literature is related to the political changes in the late 1980s and early 1990s. The transition represents the need to gain more support for Taiwanese nationalism from non-Hoklo ethnic groups and to create a more inclusive form of Taiwanese identity as a basis for social solidarity under increasing threats from the PRC. For some pro-independence Taiwanese writers and critics, it is only when an author writes in Taiwanese languages, Hoklo in particular, that the national literature has its own tool for expression. As a whole, the evolution of the nationalist literary discourse has proceeded from a reflection on “what to write” (miseries, struggles, and aspirations of the Taiwanese) to that on “writing for whom” (Taiwanese and the promotion of a distinct collective identity), to that on “writing for what” (the establishment of the “subjectivity” of Taiwanese culture and literature and for the building of a nation), and eventually to that on “writing in what” (Taiwanese languages). The advocacy of writing in Taiwanese languages has formed a major part of the language revival movement that has emerged in the last decade or so. This reminds us of the promotion of tai-oan-oe script and tai-oan-oe literature in the.early 1930s under the Japanese. Language has been a central issue in nationalism. Chapter 5 turns to a discussion of this important aspect of Taiwanese cultural nationalism. Notes 1 Wu Chuo-liu only published his Japanese works and classical Chinese poems during the 1950s. Yang K’uei was sentenced to jail in 1949 because he drafted a published manifesto calling for political reforms in Taiwan. Chang Wen-huan and LunYmg-tsung ceased writing. Lü He-juo died in 1950. See Chang (1977: vii–viii); Yeh (1987:91). 2 The group included Ch’en Huo-Ch’un (1907–), Li Jung-ch’un (1914–), Chung Li-ho (1915– 60), Shih Ts’ui-feng (1923–), Chung Chao-cheng (1925–), Cheng Huan (1925–), Liao Ch’inghsiu (1927–), Hsü Ping-ch’eng (Wen-hsin, 1930–), and Lin Chung-lung (1930–). 3 There were two exceptions. Ch’en Huo-ch’un wrote during the war and won an alternate award in a literary contest in Japan. Meanwhile Chung Li-ho traveled to China and began to write in Chinese in 1944. 4 Only Chung Chao-cheng showed a positive attitude toward “dialect literature,” arguing that the use of “dialects” must be a major feature of Taiwanese literature. See Literary Taiwan (Wenhsüeh-chieh), no.5 (Spring 1983): 135–6. 5 “Li” means a farmer’s bamboo hat with a conical crown and broad brim. 6 See Taiwan Literature, no.5 (October 1964): 1. 7 See Li’, no.1 (June 1964): 5.


8 9 10 11 12 13

14 15 16

17 18 19 20 21 22 23

For Li Min-yung’s view, see Kuo Ch’eng-i, ed. (1982:175). For example, see Li Min-yung’s view. In Kuo Ch’eng-i, ed. (1982:175). See Li, no.13 (June 1966): 10. For Chao T’ien-i’s and Li K’ui-hsien’s discussion, see Li, no.87 (October 1978): 42–3; for Pai Chiu’s view, see Literary Taiwan (Wen-hsüeh-chieh), no.4 (Winter 1982): 182. These were Li K’ui-hsien’s and Li Min-yung’s statements. See Li, no.87 (October 1978): 43. In terms of the two journals’ sales, the fact that they exerted little influence on the development of hsiang-t’u literature is quite obvious. During the Debate on Hsiang-t’u Literature, an important member of the Li. group, Li K’ui-hsien, pointed out that “the circulation of Li is so low that it fails to bring about a positive effect on society.” See Li, no.87 (October 1978): 43. As to Taiwan Literature, before Wu Chuo-liu’s death there were no domestic subscribers. The journal was given free to sponsors and foreign institutions. See Publisher (Ch’u-pan-chia), no. 52 (November 1976): 71. See Li, no.54 (April 1973): 1; no.57 (October 1973): 5. See Li, no.57 (October 1973): 5. For example, see Chi, 1966:4. Chi Hsien began to write poems in 1929 when he was on the Mainland. Soon he became an admirer of two chief poets of the 1930s, Li Chin-fa and Tai Wang-shu, whose works were highly influenced by French symbolism. Tai was the leading author of a poetic journal, Contemporary (Hsien-tai, 1932–5). Chi Hsien also contributed to the magazine and was regarded as a member of the Contemporary group represented by Tai. See Chi (1966:3); Gu (1989:124–5). For this view, see Li, no.81 (October 1977): 41–2; no.95 (February 1980): 54–7. See Li, no.87 (October 1978): 5. See Li, no.85 (June 1978): 77. Li K’ui-hsien suggested the use of the term, “Taiwanese poetry” (T’ai-wan shih-wen-hsüeh) instead of “pm-t’u poetry.” See Li’, no.88 (December 1978): 43. See Li, no.97 (June 1980): 1; no.100 (December 1980): 1. See Li, no.79 (June 1977): 1. See Li, no.52 (December 1972): 5–9; no.87 (October 1978): 2–11; no.102 (April 1981): 33–5. These two poems were written in Japanese. For how the two poems were translated into Chinese and published in the early 1970s, see Wu (1978). The poem “Motherland” has been published by a number of different journals, see Li ([1982] 1987:14). In 1978 Chao T’ieni gave a recitation of “Motherland” and evoked a hearty response in the audience at the anniversary of the declaration of the anti-Japanese war (namely, the Sino-Japanese War of 1937–45) that was celebrated in Taipei. See Li ([1982] 1987:14); Wang ([1987] 1988:240). Their English translations are as follows: Orphan’s Longing

The sadness of the ruin of one’s country The resentment of being called “Ch’ing dog” by the Japanese Why not just bury these under the maliaceous tree But not even the flower-scented wind can melt them away Silently, I wipe my tears Standing rigidly, gazing at the clouds, I see Them fragilely breaking apart


The orphan’s thoughts and sighs Grow stronger under the sunlight What is the meaning of “Ch’ing dog?” The bitterness of degradation lies in the heart Even in the clear running brook lies sadness And the red of the ixora And the beauty of the cattleya Lose their soothing comfort Hibiscus buds withhold sighs Unable to let out elegant fragrances Hearing the mournful call of the green wren, I think of the homeland Hearing the yardbirds’ calls, I think of the homeland Hearing it, I grow depressed And cry under the night lamp When the sun rises out of the Chilung Sea* I struggle along the Taiwan-Japan ocean route Bury my shame in the low hills of my hometown And hide the orphan’s reflections in the waves Night and day, dreaming of the unreachable motherland Loving the unreachable motherland Such are the freed orphan’s thoughts That heal deep scars of shame These lend the happiness of self-respect Lift the weight of bitterness And throw anger into deep waters Ah, the unreachable motherland still exists Because my silent bitterness is suffocating Tears flow unceasingly Taking a walk in a bamboo grove Though I do not believe in gods I still think back to those ancestors who piously brought Ma Tsu** to this island And feel regret In the dark, remote bamboo grove As long as a speck of light exists That will suffice (* Chilung is a port in Northern Taiwan) (** Ma Tsu is the goddess of the sea, worshiped by most fishermen in Fukien and Taiwan)


Motherland

The motherland that I have never seen Lies across the sea, seeming near yet far The motherland that I have only seen in dreams and books Has flowed through my veins for thousands of years Is the shadow that lives in my breast And echoes in my heart Ah! Is it my motherland beckoning me or I beckoning my motherland? With such a glorious history The motherland should radiate, powerful and prosperous Raise a beautiful culture Stand superior Ah! Motherland, arise! Motherland, arise! A country lying asleep will meet with illness And, following illness, shame With great territory and population Motherland, cry out with pride Motherland, cry out with pride The people’s dignity lies in independence Without independence, no autonomy In inequality lies misery Motherland, stand up Motherland, raise up your fist After the war was lost, you sent us to another Asked us to pay the cost The crime of having a motherland without being able to call it one Motherland, isn’t this shameful? Motherland lies across the sea Motherland lies in one’s eye With differing customs and languages Under alien rule, this “universal benevolence” Is simply false language As falsities multiply, bitterness grows Return us our motherland! Call to the sea, “Return us our motherland!” 24 See Li, no.83 (February 1978): 55–6. It is possible that an author might not voice what he or she really thought about under the strict government censorship of that time. Also it is understandable that an author had to defend themselves against the charge of harboring anti-government ideas —as shown by the quotation from Ch’en Hsiu-hsi. The sort of Chinese sentiments an author


25 26 27

28

29

30

31

32

33 34

35 36

made known to the public on the defensive in the atmosphere of political oppression, however, was not necessarily insincere. According to the historical data on which this chapter is based, the sense of Chinese national identity displayed by the vast majority of Li and TWWI writers in the 1960s and 1970s was not a mere forced pretence. Rather, it constitutes a distinct part of their self-identity. Besides, their works did show attachment to their home towns and local culture to different degrees and in different ways. Still, these kind of affections were not raised to the national-identity level and not opposed to their Chinese national consciousness. Instead, they were compatible with their Chinese sentiments. See also the discussion in Chapter 7. See Li, no.81 (October 1977): 40–3. See Li, no.54 (April 1973): 91–2; no.95 (February 1980): 1. In 1987, Mainlanders still held at least three-quarters of the key posts at KMT central party headquarters, the Executive Yuan (or cabinet), and the Legislative Yuan. They held all top posts in the military and security apparatus. Mainlanders controlled 55 per cent of the seats in the ruling Central Standing Committee of the KMT. In 1988, Taiwanese gained majority seats in this party committee for the first time. Yet the problem of disproportional representation remained serious, because over 70 per cent of KMT members were Taiwanese at that time. See Tien (1989: 37–8). The arrest of P’eng Ming-min and his students in 1964 for attempting to distribute an antiKMT manifesto generated little effect. See Chapter 3 of this book, note 16. During the following decades, the only surviving challenges to KMT authority came from a few Taiwanese politicians who ran against KMT candidates in provincial and local elections. See Tien (1989: 94–5). For Free China, see Chapter 3 of this book, note 16. Apollo was a serious magazine devoted to promoting science and Western liberal democracy. The young radical, Li Ao, an antitraditionalist historian of Mainland origin, edited Apollo which was published from 1957 to 1965. See also note 70 of this chapter. During the elections, in the northern Taiwan town of Chungli, more than ten thousand people massed to protest against alleged malpractice in vote counting. The protest resulted in a violent clash between the crowd and the police, the first anti-government mass protest since the 2– 28 Incident of 1947. Eventually eight principal leaders, including legislator Huang Hsin-chieh, were convicted of sedition and sentenced to prison terms ranging from twelve years to life. More than thirty other activists were given lighter sentences (Li Hsiao-feng 1987:152). In general, these publications advocated political democratization, increased civil rights, freedom of the press, release of political prisoners, reform of government institutions, and legalization of opposition parties. According to Ou-yang Sheng-en, during the ten-year period from 1975 to 1985, more than one thousand issues of various tang-wai political magazines were published. See Ou-yang (1986:21). Wang Fu-chang notes that in the first half of the 1980s the tang-wai group published more than fifty political journals. See Wang (1996:168). In addition, more militant magazines reached a height of about 150,000 copies per month in 1978 and had not changed since. See Li Li (1983:11). Ch’en was imprisoned from 1967 to 1973 for participating in a Marxist reading group. In the summer of 1983 a pop-star, Hou Te-chien, emigrated to Mainland China via Hong Kong. Hou was the singer of a highly popular song, “Descendants of the Dragon” (“Lung te ch’uan-jen”), which panegyrized the landscape on the Mainland and expressed indignation at China’s humiliation by foreign powers. The English translation of the quote is largely Halbeisen’s. See Halbeisen (1991:237). See, for example, Ch’en ([1983] 1988); Yeh (1983); Shih ([1984] 1988).


37 38 39 40 41

Ch’en Shu-hung’s article was a typiçal formulation of this idea. See Ch’en ([1983] 1988). For a standard exposition of this view, see Shih ([1984] 1988). For instance, see Ch’en ([1983] 1988); Shih ([1984] 1988). See Ch’en ([1983] 1988); (Shih [1984] 1988). Yeh was imprisoned from 1951 to 1954 for alleged connection with seditionists. After he came out of prison, he retreated from literary circles for more than ten years. It was not until 1965, the year after the foundation of TWWI and Li, that Yeh resumed publishing his stories and criticism. “Taiwan’s Hsiang-t’u Literature” was one of Yeh’s new works after he returned to his writing career. Yeh’s literary criticisms praising the works of Taiwanese writers since then, was a great encouragement to these writers, who occupied marginal positions in literary circles from the mid-1960s to the mid-1970s. Hence it can be said that Yeh assumed the role of patron among Taiwanese writers. Chung Chao-cheng once described the relations between himself and other Taiwanese writers and Yeh in the second half of the 1960s:

It has always been our weakness that our camp makes a poor performance in writing criticisms. Therefore Yeh’s literary criticisms are especially unique and precious. I also do not mind all the trouble of pointing out that his doubtlessly thoughtful critical essays display profound scholarship. However, his motivation is a sense of partnership—“Since people do not care about us, let’s do it all by ourselves.” Thus his remarks comprise more compliments. We can be seen as a group of companions in adversity who help one another. I believe that it is essential to develop a sense of solidarity. This is precisely one of the reasons why I highly admire Yeh Shih-t’ao. I must frankly admit that I have always put much dependence on him. I always think that for us, as a group of companions without anyone to turn to, having such a person as Yeh Shih-t’ao, is like having a pillar holding up heaven. At least we can maintain a poor front on small scale. I profoundly believe that relying on his gifted pen for critiquing and writing, we will carve a special niche for ourselves some day. (Chung 1989:318–9) 42 The English translation of the quote is Halbeisen’s. See Halbeisen (1991:241). 43 See Shih Min-hui ed. (1988:115). 44 It has to be noted, that at least before the 1970s, before ksiang-t’u fiction by Ch’en Ying-chen, Huang Ch’un-min, and the like, became popular, Yeh Shih-t’ao used “hsiang-t’u literature” to denote all modern literary works created by Taiwanese authors, from the Japanese colonial era to the postwar period, in order to distinguish provincial heritage from the national tradition of Chinese literature. Hence the meaning of “hsiang-t’u literature” in Yeh’s early use was different from that prevailing after the 1970s. 45 Cited in Kao (1985:224). 46 See Cheng (1987:8–9); Chi-yeh (1988:101). 47 See Taiwan Literature, no.91 (November 1984): 32. 48 See Taiwan Literature, no.80 (January 1983): the copyright page; Li, no.1 12 (December 1982): 18. 49 See Taiwan Literature, no.91 (November 1984): the copyright page. 50 See Taiwan Literature, no.90 (September 1984): 4–28. Lin’s mother and two daughters were murdered when the trial was conducted.


51 For C.T. Hsia’s concept, see Chapter 3 of this book, note 32. 52 See Li, no.120 (April, 1984): 144 53 Cf. Wu Chou-liu’s Miscellaneous Noteson Nanking (Nan-chingtsa-kan, [1951] 1977). See also his memoirs, The Fig Tree (Wu-hua-kuo, [1968] 1995), especially Chapter 8. The English translation is available. See WuZhuoliu (1994). 54 See Taiwan Literature, no.77 (October 1982): 4–7, 19–117; Li, no.111 (October 1982): 14–20. 55 In early 1987, an amnesty was granted to many political prisoners. Most opposition leaders jailed as a result of the Kaohsiung Incident were released. Some of them, such as Huang Hsinchieh, Chang Chun-hung, and Yao Chia-wen, became leading figures in the new opposition party. Then, in July of that year, the government finally lifted martial law, which had been enforced for nearly 40 years, and substituted for it the new National Security Law. The end of martial law cleared the way for the legalization of new political parties. Also, civilians would no longer be tried in military courts and constitutional rights such as the right of assembly and demonstration were restored. However, the National Security Law stipulates that assembly and association among citizens, including political parties, are forbidden to advocate communism or Taiwanese independence. See Tien (1989:112). In late 1987, visits to relatives on the Mainland were allowed. This decision triggered a wave of various forms of non-official interactions between Taiwan and the PRC. In January 1988, the KMT government lifted the ban on establishing new newspapers and the restriction on the number of pages a newspaper could have. This resulted in greater press freedom than before. For the major restrictions on the publication of newspapers before 1988, see Berman (1992:12–30) 56 A major factor that contributed to this rapid development was the return of blacklisted leaders of the overseas Taiwanese Independence Movement. As noted in the last chapter, the movement resulting from the 2–28 Incident of 1947 had proceeded mainly in Japan and the US, exerting little influence on the island. After martial law was lifted, however, dozens of blacklisted leaders of the Movement succeeded in illegally entering the island. While some of them were arrested, the return of these dissidents brought about the convergence of the overseas Taiwanese Independence Movement and the opposition movement on the island. Thus the drive for Taiwan independence gained greater momentum. Moreover, in May 1991, President Lee Teng-hui, who succeeded Chiang Ching-kuo in January 1988, declared the abolition of the temporary provisions of the constitution, which had given the president an unlimited authority and crippled parliamentary democracy. This declaration formally ended the state of war with the PRC, resulting in wider freedom of speech. 57 The increasing relaxation of political control encouraged more people to participate in opposition activities. Equally important is the fact that, since the 1980s, changes in economic structures, reduction of working hours, and a higher educational attainment gave people more discretionary time to spend in extracurricular activities. Thus, they were more likely to take part in opposition activities and acquire dissenting ideologies, such as democratic values, proTaiwan-independence attitudes, and ethnic consciousness. See Wang (1997). 58 Two eminent DPP leaders of Mainland origin, Fei Hsi-p’ing and Lin Cheng-chieh, eventually quit the party, in 1988 and 1991, respectively, after feeling excluded by the DPP rank-and-file. 59 The DPP did not get substantial support from the Mainlanders until August 1992, when “Mainlanders for the Taiwanese Independence Association” (Wai-sheng-jen t’ai-wan tu-li hsiehchinhui) was created. See Wang (1994:8–9). 60 Lee served out the remaining two years of Chiang’s term according to the constitution and acted as deputy for chairman of the KMT. Since then, more and more Taiwanese have attained power within the ruling party and thus serious internal strife has occurred between Mainlander and Taiwanese leaders. As the first native-born KMT leader, Lee enlisted the support of


61

62

63

64

65

66 67 68 69 70

Taiwanese business magnates and local politicians who used to be excluded from national politics to establish his power base in a Mainlander-dominated party on the one hand, and to meet the pressure put by the DPP on the other. Overcoming challenges from intra-party opponents, Lee was formally elected as chairman of the KMT in July 1988 and President of the state in 1990. In 1993, Taiwanese controlled 57 per cent of the seats in the ruling central Standing Committee of the KMT, and in 1992, 70 per cent of party membership (2,600,000) were Taiwanese. See Huang (1996:113–21). As a symbol of Taiwanese ascent to power in the government, Lien Chan was nominated by Lee Teng-hui and became the first postwar Taiwanese premier in 1993. The KMT Mainlander leaders organized several alliances against Lee Teng-hui, attacking his “dictatorial” leadership and his tolerance toward the Taiwan Independence Movement. In fact, the Mainlander political elite even charged Lee with favoring the idea of a sovereign island republic, suspecting that the creation of the National Unification Council under Lee was simply a pretense. For a detailed discussion of the KMT’s factions and the conflict between them during this period, see Chang (1994; 1996); Hood (1997, ch.6). According to a survey conducted in 1995, about 44 per cent of CNP supporters were Mainlanders. Some argued that the CNP was a “Mainlander-only” party. However, the survey also shows that about 45 per cent of supporters were HokloTaiwanese. See Chang (1996). A 1992 survey indicates that the majority of people who had Chinese consciousness (including those who regarded themselves as 1) Chinese, not Taiwanese, 2) Chinese, but also Taiwanese, and 3) Taiwanese, but also Chinese) supported the KMT. Of those who thought that they were not Chinese, but Taiwanese, 12 per cent supported the DPP, and 21 per cent supported the KMT. See Wang (1994). Moreover, Lee Teng-hui was popular among the Taiwanese primarily because of his Taiwanese identity and support for political reforms. In 1992, the newly-elected National Assembly approved constitutional amendments for direct election of the president. For the first time, the highest leader of the country would be elected by the people rather than by the National Assembly. In the election held in March 1996 under the PRC’s military threats, Lee was able to draw support from people endorsing either reunification or independence and entertaining either Chinese consciousness or Taiwanese consciousness, capturing 54 per cent of the vote. See Liao (1996). For example, several surveys show that people who identified themselves as Taiwanese had increased from 16.5 per cent in 1991 to 33.1 per cent in 1996, while those who identified themselves as Chinese had decreased from 32.5 per cent in 1991 to 16.6 per cent in 1996. Meanwhile the number of people who thought that they were not only Taiwanese but also Chinese changed little, from 47 per cent in 1991 to 45.1 per cent in 1996. See Ch’en (1996). Taiwan’s population numbered over 20.35 million as of December 1990.There have been different estimates of the ethnic composition of the population. According to Huang Hsüanfan, the population in 1990 was grouped as follows: Hoklo Taiwanese, 73.3 per cent; Mainlanders, 13 per cent; Hakka Taiwanese, 12 per cent; and aborigines, 1.7 per cent. See Huang (1993:21). See Taiwan Literature, no.105 (May 1987): 6. See Taiwan Literature, no.1 16 (March 1989): 118. Hsieh Chang-t’ing was the DPP’s vice-presidential candidate in the first direct election of president and vice president held in 1996. For the radical critique of traditional Chinese culture in the May Fourth era, see Chow (1960, especially ch.12); Lin Yü-sheng (1979); Zhang (1989). The Debate on Chinese-Western Cultures (Chung-hsi wen-hua lun-chan) broke out in Taiwan in January 1962. A group of young intellectuals, both Mainlander and Taiwanese, represented


71 72 73 74

75

76 77 78

79 80 81

82 83

84 85 86 87

by Li Ao, a Mainlander student of history, bitterly attacked Chinese tradition, the establishment, and the academic conservatives who defended it. In the journal Apollo (Wenhsing, which literally means “literary star”), edited by Li, the slogan of “wholesale Westernization” was championed. “Science,” “freedom,” “democracy,” “human rights,” and the like, in the Western sense, had been the anti-traditionalists’ catchwords (Li Hisao-feng, 1987:86–7). Typically, the government ordered the magazine to stop publication in December 1965, and thus the radical cultural criticism that challenged the KMT’s doctrine of carrying Chinese tradition forward was suppressed. An example of typical anti-traditionalist cultural discourse in the years of Cultural Fever was Deathsong of the River (He-shang), a well-known television series of 1988 in China. See O’Sullivan, et al. (1994:309). For the American Dream, see Madsen (1995). In January 1998, Taiwan shared formal diplomatic relations with only 28 countries. Approximately 10 per cent of Taiwan’s 1994 trade was with the PRC. By 1994, the PRC had become the largest recipient of Taiwan investment and Taiwan was the second largest investor in the PRC. See ROC Government Information Office (1996:156–7). While Taiwan’s economic dependence on the Mainland and the PRC’s military threat might damp the enthusiasm for independence, the interaction with the Mainland did not automatically encourage interest in reunification. The recognition of the wide gap of living standards and the considerable political differences between the two sides, as well as the PRC’s continuing hostility to Taiwan, made people on the island feel alienated from the Mainland. While people who advocated reunification decreased slowly in the first half of the 1990s, those who championed independence increased remarkably. Still, most people prefer maintaining the status quo. See, for example, Ch’en (1996). See Taiwan Literature, no.125 (June, 1991): 12–13. Ch’en’s book is largely based on Huang’s treatise. For the development of the study on Taiwanese literature in China in the past fifty years or so, see Liu (1990); Gu (1992); Sung (1993). From 1986 to 1991, eight voluminous histories of modern Taiwan literature covering the pre-and postwar periods had been published in China. See Sung (1993:104). For example, see Liu (1995). See Lu (1983); Kao (1983); Lin (1986); Ch’en and P’eng (1987); Ch’en Shao-t’ing (1987); Ch’en Chia-nung (1988). During the 1980s the Literary Taiwan group was alarmed at Chinese scholars’ study on the history of Taiwanese literature. They reached a consensus that they must write a history of Taiwanese literature as soon as possible. The writing was then entrusted to Yen Shih-t’ao and other members. For some reasons such as the difficulty in collecting historical data, the cooperative project did not work and Yeh started writing A Brief History by himself. See Literary Taiwan, no.28 (Winter 1988): 70–1. Cf. Yü Chao-min’s criticism of Yeh Shih-t’ao’s view on Taiwanese literature. See Yü (1991). For the nationalists’ criticism of Ch’en’s book, see Ch’en and P’eng (1987); Hsü (1988). In his book, Ch’en Shao-t’ing claimed that there was no longer any such thing as “Taiwanese literature” after Taiwan was returned to the motherland in 1945. See Ch’en Shao-t’ing (1977: 165). For instance, see P’eng (1992); Cheng, et al. (1994:96–102). For example, see Cheng, et al. (1994:103). For example, see Pai (1989:5–6); Li Ming-yung (1991:3); P’eng (1993:69). For instance, see Ch’en (1992a).


88 For instance, see P’eng (1989; 1992); Cheng, et al. (1994). 89 For example, see Lu (1993). 90 For instance, see Hsu (1987:53); Lü Hsing-ch’ang (1992); Yeh (1992;1994); Wu Chin-fa (1992). 91 See P’eng (1992; 1994; 1995). In his 1837 oration delivered before the Phi Beta Kappa Society at Cambridge, Massachusetts, Emerson made a criticism that American intellectuals had long depended on “the learning of other lands,” especially Europe, which had fed their countrymen with “the sere remains of foreign harvests.” He wrote: “We have listened too long to the courtly muses of Europe. The spirit of the American freemen is already suspected to be timid, imitative, tame.” He called on American intellectuals to “embrace the common,” “explore and sit at the feet of the familiar, the low,” and speak their own minds. See Emerson ([1837] 1929:25, 35–6).

124

5 Grafiting a national language

On April 14, 1994, President Lee Teng-hui was interviewed by a group of reporters. This might be the first time that a postwar leader of Taiwan publicly spoke about the linguistic problem caused by the change of ruling powers. Lee said: I am more than seventy years old. Having lived under different regimes, from Japanese colonialism to Taiwan’s recovery, I have considerable experience of the miseries of the Taiwanese people. In the period of Japanese colonialism, a Taiwanese would be punished by being made to kneel out in the sun for speaking tai-wan-hua. The situation was the same when Taiwan had been recovered: my son, Hsien-wen, and my daughter-in-law, Yüeh-yün, often wore a dunce board around their necks in school as punishment for speaking tai-wan-hua. I am very aware of the situation because I often go to the countryside to talk with people. Their lives are influenced by history. I think the most miserable people are Taiwanese, who have always tried in vain to get their heads above the water. This was the Taiwanese situation during the period of Japanese colonialism; it changed little after Taiwan’s recovery. I have deep feelings about this.l Lee’s talk is an excellent summary of the political suppression of Taiwan’s local languages. As mentioned in Chapter 2, the promulgation of the Japanese language played a prominent role in the colonial administration’s policy of assimilating the Taiwanese. Colonial education was intended to “Japanize” the colonized mainly through the teaching of Japanese as the “national language.” Although in the first three decades of colonial rule the Japanese achieved little in linguistic assimilation, the more active language education project which began after the end of the 1920s changed a good portion of Taiwanese into bilingual speakers. Later, the major purpose of the radical wartime “Japanization” campaign was to change the island into a monolingual society. The public use of written Chinese was prohibited. The speaking of local languages in the public domain encountered more repression than before. As a result, the colonial administration boasted that 80 per cent of the population could “comprehend” Japanese. In the late colonial period, Japanese had become a dominant language, especially in the public domain. Just before the end of the Second World War, more than 71 per cent of the school-age population in Taiwan were enrolled in elementary schools, and about 25 per cent of the Taiwanese population had


received at least an elementary school education which trained them to be functionally literate in Japanese. The prevailing vehicle of communication, either spoken or written, among people under 30 at the end of the war was Japanese, not their native tongue.2 After the KMT government took over Taiwan, the daunting task faced by the new ruler was on the one hand to “de-Japanize” and on the other to “Sinocize” the people. The promotion of a new national language was crucial to the re-socialization project. While the proclaimed policy of the National Language Movement appeared to be one of “multilingualism,” what was being practiced was rigid “mono-lingualism” which promoted Mandarin as the national language. The ability to use Mandarin was regarded as a primary criterion of Chinese citizenship and patriotism. Mono-lingualism was strictly enforced after the 2–28 Incident of 1947. Propagating Mandarin, banning Japanese and restraining public use of local languages was the official language policy. In brief, Taiwan underwent the consecutive imposition of two national languages, Japanese and Mandarin. Both of these national language policies aimed at “assimilative mono-lingualism” and contrasts strikingly with, for example, the British “segregated mono-lingualism” colonial policy. The British allowed different schools for different vernaculars in their colonies; by contrast, in Taiwan, under the Japanese and the KMT, only the national languages were used at all school levels. The national language was the single official language. The Japanese and the KMT policies also differed from the integrated bilingual policy adopted by countries like Singapore today (Cheng 1979:543). However, Taiwan’s political climate, which has been the most important influence in the island’s linguistic ecology, has changed dramatically As noted in Chapter 4, the second half of the 1980s saw the rapid development of Taiwanese nationalism with a distinct ethnic Hoklo color. This nationalism was characterized by the public use of the Hoklo language as an important instrument to heighten the major ethnic group’s sense of Taiwanese identity and to mobilize their support. One of most significant consequences of Taiwan’s political liberalization is the emergence of endeavors to revive native languages, including Hoklo, Hakka, and aboriginal languages. In particular, the efforts to rejuvenate Hoklo have formed an important aspect of Taiwanese nationalism. The Mainlander political elite has felt the pressure of learning to speak Hoklo. The Economist reported in 1993 with a bit of exaggeration: Grandpa would not have approved. Chiang Hsiao-yen, a government minister and grandson of the founder of modern Taiwan, Chiang Kai-shek, is studying the Taiwanese language. Others making well-publicized efforts to get their tongues around the idiom spoken by nearly 85 per cent of Taiwanese include James C.Y.Soong, Taiwan’s provincial governor, and Ma Ying-jeou, the justice minister. Knowledge of Taiwanese is fast becoming a requirement for a political career. Crooning popular songs in Taiwanese on the campaign trail wins votes.3 All of the figures mentioned in this report were top KMT Mainlander officials. A few years ago this transformation would hardly have been imaginable. The development of the Taiwanese opposition had posed a great threat to the legitimacy of KMT rule. KMT

CRAFTING A NATIONAL LANGUAGE 127

politicians of Mainland origin learning Hoklo represented the efforts of the Party to “Taiwanize” itself and win support of the major ethnic group. As R.D.Grillo indicates, a number of recent studies have shown that “any study of linguistic dominance, linguistic hierarchy and linguistic inequality is inevitably a political study….“As far as unequal relations among different languages are concerned, language is viewed as “a contested object,” and the “politics of language is about conflict and struggle” (Grillo 1989:7, 17). In what follows, the relationship between KMT authoritarian rule and its language policy is examined first. The focus of the discussion is on how the KMT government promoted Mandarin as a major means of achieving national unity and as a powerful weapon to “destroy Chinese Communists” when it encountered internal and external challenges to the legitimacy of its rule on Taiwan. Second, the politics of crafting a new national language is analyzed. Taiwanese nationalists have challenged Mandarin’s status as the single legitimate official language and tried to rejuvenate native languages, Hoklo in particular. The analysis here is focused on endeavors to establish a Hoklo writing system. Nationalists identify Hoklo—as a principal local language—with Taiwanese culture, the Taiwanese nation, and an independent Taiwanese state. A Hoklo script is regarded as witness to Taiwanese nationhood and as essential to the political independence of the island. Finally, the chapter addresses the question of how active experimentation with writing in Hoklo has influenced nationalist conceptions of Taiwanese literature. Hoklo nationalist re-definition of Taiwanese literature in terms of language have upset Hakka nationalists. The Hoklo-Hakka tension among Taiwanese nationalists caused by the linguistic-literary issue illustrates a dilemma inherent in the construction of a nation that is inspired by the concept of the modern nation-state, that is, the dilemma regarding how to balance national identity with ethnic equality. It has to be noted, however, that although the chapter emphasizes the importance of politics in this development, it does not assume that other social and economic factors, such as industrialization and urbanization, have played a minor role in the changes of the linguistic landscape on the island. The official language policy and its consequences The KMT’s language policy and ideology As Pierre Bourdieu notes: The official language is bound up with the state, both in its genesis and in its social uses. It is in the process of state formation that the conditions are created for the constitution of a unified linguistic market, dominated by the official language. (Bourdieu 1991:45) In the Western European context, the formation of the modern state is often accompanied by the creation of a “nation.” In the case of France, the French Revolution of 1789 marks


the birth of the modern French nation. The French language, through a national education system, became an important means by which the French nation was to be created (McDonald 1989). Grillo has indicated that the problem of political unity posed by the end of the Ancien Regime had to be solved and that the idea of the nation as a unified and homogeneous collectivity socially, culturally, and linguistically provided one way of solving this problem. For the French Revolutionaries, loyalty to the country meant loyalty to French, and vice versa. Nation, state, and language was identified, and there existed a demand for the “ethnicization” of the polity: “the state had to become a nation” (Grillo 1989:29, 37). That is, underlying the call for linguistic homogeneity represented a need to mobilize political support for the modern state. The promotion of the use of an official language plays a major role in the homogenization of the society and culture and in the creation of “national unity.” The nation-state model of language planning becomes an essential tenet of the modern state. However, the nation-state ideology underlying an official language policy in a multi-ethnic and multi-lingual society like Taiwan usually results in linguistic oppression. The Chinese National Language Movement initiated at the beginning of this century represented efforts to establish a modern Chinese state. As Wang Erh-min notes, modern Chinese language reform, which preceded the National Language Movement, was stimulated by China’s weakness and foreign threat. Linguistic engineering was intended to save the country, and the concept of “kuo-yü” (national language) was closely related to modern Chinese nationalism (Wang Erh-min 1982). The KMT government in Taiwan embraced the tenets of the Chinese National Language Movement. Facing a protracted struggle against the PRC and domestic MainlanderTaiwanese ethnic tensions, the KMT promoted Mandarin as a major means of achieving national unity and as a powerful weapon to destroy the Communist “bandits.” First, all non-Mandarin native languages in Taiwan, including Hoklo, Hakka, and aboriginal languages, were relegated to “dialects” (fang-yen) by the government, and the public use of these languages was viewed as a threat to national cohesion and unity. It was believed that the use of the national language was an indispensable prerequisite to ethnic harmony. Only Mandarin was dignified with the title of “language.” While this sort of ideology is hardly new in the history of modern Chinese nationalism, it is only on Taiwan that the government possessed the capacity to turn the ideology into reality. The national language was regarded as the sole “orthodox” language of the ROC—a standard language and a common norm that represented KMT dominance. The primary threat to Mandarin’s status was Hoklo, the native tongue of the majority of the population. Any public encouragement of the use of Hoklo was regarded as an anti-KMT or pro-independence action.4 The second aspect of the language ideology reflected the fact that Communist China was an external threat to the legitimacy of the KMT. In addition to domestic ethnic tensions, competition with the Communists for the legitimate right to represent China conditioned politics in Taiwan. In this regard, the use of Mandarin as a national language became a testimony of the Chineseness of the ROC. Hence speakers of non-Mandarin native languages were asked to abolish their “localism” by “sacrificing dialects.” The KMT government portrayed itself as the sole heir to traditional Chinese culture. The enterprise


of “Sinocizing” the island politically, socially, and culturally represented an effort to legitimize KMT rule and to mobilize Taiwanese support in the struggle with the PRC. The promotion of Mandarin formed a major part of this enterprise and showed the interest of the KMT State in—to use Grillo’s phrase—“ethnicizing” itself. Advocating “traditional Chinese culture,” the KMT represented itself as a guardian of authentic Chineseness. Any exaltation of local culture on the island, especially the promotion of the use of Hoklo, was viewed as a threat to Chineseness and to the state’s legitimacy. The KMT State, Chinese nation, Chinese culture, and Mandarin were identified with one another. The KMT’s “Sinocization” endeavor typified the enactment of the nation-state model for language policy as a solution to the problem of political unity.5 The KMT’s language ideology was realized through a variety of approaches. Since 1965, the Taiwan Provincial Government required that all civil servants speak Mandarin during office hours. It also stipulated that the national language was the language in courts of law. The fact that the parties involved in a lawsuit might not understand this language was ignored (Hung 1992a). School, a most important institution of socialization, became a major agent of language ideology. School education had long been employed by the KMT to promote the two primary aspects of assimilating the Taiwanese, that is, the ability to use Mandarin and identification with China (Wang 1989:102). As mentioned in Chapter 3, schooling has been conducted in Mandarin since 1946. The official policy to adopt Mandarin as the national language and to seek linguistic unification by diffusing Mandarin throughout China was formulated in 1929. Taiwan is the only place among non-Mandarin areas that taught all subjects in Mandarin at all school levels (Cheng 1979:557). Since 1956, students, especially those in elementary and high schools, were forbidden to speak local languages in school. If they did, they were punished in different ways, and severe punishment was not unusual. By contrast, Mainlander students were normally free from this kind of humiliation. Fieldwork is still needed to find out more about the reality of the Mainlanders’ use of language. However, the fact was that the Mainlanders spoke China’s different regional languages (e.g., Cantonese). They lost their language communities, since on the island the number of people speaking the same regional language was small and dispersed. When these dialects were used, they tended to be limited to the home circle. Hence the Mainlanders, in general, could communicate with one another and with Taiwanese only in Mandarin. Because Mandarin had become a principal marker of Mainlander identity, Mainlander students were more willing to learn the language than native Taiwanese students were. In fact, Mandarin has become as the “new mother tongue” of the younger generations of Mainlanders, regardless of their parents’ home towns. Because fluency in spoken and written Mandarin became an essential requirement for educational success, Mainlander children had a higher educational attainment, as was indicated in the higher proportion of Mainlanders in higher education (Wang 1989:103).6 In the modern state, the educational system plays a decisive role in the construction, legitimization and imposition of an official language, which helps to fashion the similarities from which a community of consciousness derives, the cement of the nation (Bourdieu 1991). In Taiwan, school plays this part rather successfully.


The use of non-Mandarin native languages on television, another major agent of socialization, was severely restricted.7 In 1962, when the first television channel began to operate, KMT authorities limited non-Mandarin programming to less than 16 per cent of the total broadcast time. However, Hoklo programs became more and more popular in spite of this restriction, simply because the language was the mother tongue of the majority of the population. Thus television stations sometimes ignored the restriction. Hoklo programs reached their heyday around 1971. In response, the KMT further suppressed Hoklo programming. In 1972, the Bureau of Culture of the Ministry of Education stipulated that non-Mandarin programs should be reduced, and that Hoklo programs, which included soap operas, puppet shows, traditional Taiwanese operas, and commercials, should take up less than one hour per day on each channel. Moreover, the Radio and Television Law enforced after 1976 specified: “The ratio of the use of the national language by radio broadcasts must not be less than 55 per cent; for television, this ratio must not be less than 70 per cent. The use of dialects should decrease year by year.” Those surviving traditional Taiwanese operas and puppet shows on television were forced to use Mandarin in the early 1970s. Moreover, compared with Mandarin programs, Hoklo programs were vulgar because of tight budgets. Normally, the characters in these programs were of low socioeconomic status: illiterates, peasants, workers, fishermen, elders, and especially old women. Thus Hoklo was represented as a marker of backwardness, vulgarity, ignorance, femininity, and aging. Native languages suppressed: Hoklo The humiliating image of Hoklo conjured up by television speaks much for the reality of the language on the island. First, the Hoklo literary reading system, which had already been seriously undermined under Japanese colonialism, has been nearly lost because of the suppression of Hoklo language education. As a result, traditional Hoklo high culture mediated by this system, like the recitation of classical poems and essays in Hoklo, became foreign to the younger generations of native Taiwanese. Hoklo has functioned primarily as a colloquial language that deals only with daily affairs. Even its vocabulary about everyday life has decreased, and portions of it have been replaced by Japanese and Mandarin phrases (Hung 1985). This leads to the phenomenon of code mixing, especially when new ideas and things, such as “computer network”, “washing machine”, “microwave”, “hamburger”, are talked about. The more new ideas and things are dealt with, the more Mandarin is used (Yang 1991). Hoklo has gradually lost its basic function as a medium of cultural production and reproduction. Second, a number of studies show that the Hoklo language is dying among younger Hoklo Taiwanese, especially among the intellectuals, though it is still a major language used in business circles because business is dominated by Hoklo (Cheng 1990). According to Hung Wei-jen’s fieldwork, the younger a Hoklo Taiwanese is, the less is his or her ability to speak the mother tongue (Hung 1992a). In addition, Huang Hsüan-fan’s study finds 1) that the younger the person to whom a Hoklo college student talks, the more often Mandarin is used, and 2) that the use of the national language is a first choice in Hoklo


college students’ social activities (Huang 1988). In fact, the ethnic assimilation of the Taiwanese was partially achieved along educational and regional lines. College graduates were among the most successfully assimilated Taiwanese in terms of the tendency to use Mandarin and of an identiflcation with China. According to a 1987 island-wide survey, more than half of Taiwanese college graduates used Mandarin at home and identified themselves with China, which was nearly twice the proportion of less-educated (high school and less) Taiwanese. Especially for the less-educated, speaking their native tongues, Hoklo in particular, remained a salient mark of Taiwanese ethnic identity. Moreover, the survey showed that a much higher degree of linguistic assimilation had been achieved in northern Taiwan than in other areas (Wang 1989:138–44). An example of the consequences of KMT mono-lingualism was the fact that, in 1987, when the political atmosphere began to change dramatically, television stations found it quite difficult to hire a qualified Hoklo newscaster when they tried to add a short Hoklo news segment to their shows. Third, a linguistic hierarchy was established. Hoklo was regarded as a “dialect”—a marker of backwardness, crudeness, illiteracy, rurality, and low socio-economic status. In contrast, Mandarin as the national “language” became a symbol of modernity, refinement, literacy, urbanity, and high socio-economic status.8 The linguistic hierarchy corresponded to the ethnic one in the political arena: the Mainlanders as the dominant, and the Taiwanese—of which the majority are Hoklo—as the dominated. In summary, the promotion of Mandarin as the national language by the KMT revolved around “Sinocizing” the Taiwanese: to claim that the island was “an integral part of China,” to legitimize its rule, and to justify its being representative of the whole of China. To achieve this goal, the use of local languages, especially Hoklo, had been disciplined. Until recent years, the KMT’s policy of exalting Mandarin as the politically legitimate language had not changed. From 1983 to 1985, the Ministry of Education drafted the Language Law, one article of which stated that only the national language could be used in a public meeting, official business, and conversation in public domains. However, confronted with increasing public objection, the Ministry eventually abandoned the attempt to have the Language Law enacted. Hoklo language as an ethnic symbol and its revival As mentioned in the Chapter 4, the second half of the 1980s saw the rapid development of Taiwanese nationalism with a distinct Hoklo ethnic color. Both leaders and supporters of the opposition movement led by the DPP were composed overwhelmingly of Taiwanese, especially those of Hoklo origin. Hoklo became the dominant language in party meetings, mass rallies, and street protests. In fact, before the organization of the DPP, in the first half of the 1980s, tang-wai oppositionists had begun to use language as an effective means of rallying support, especially during election periods. Even KMT candidates—not only those who were Taiwanese but also those who were Mainlanders—would speak the language to appeal to voters. Hoklo thus became the “language of elections.” Among tangwai activists, using the language became a symbol of political discontent and ethnic loyalty.


It was also in the first half of the 1980s, when tang-wai oppositionists began promoting “Taiwanese consciousness,” that they began to address the linguistic issue in Taiwan. During this period, their criticism focused on the “Mandarin-only” policy in school education, the restricted use of Taiwanese languages on radio and television, and the drafting of the Language Law.9 However, their attack on the KMT’s language policy attracted little public attention. It was not until 1987 that the linguistic issue aroused considerable public concern. A prominent DPP member of the Legislative Yuan, Chu Kao-chen, used Hoklo instead of Mandarin to address a session in March. As a defiant legislator of the newly-established opposition party, Chu deliberately spoke Hoklo to embarrass KMT Mainlander cabinet officials and old permanent legislators. Chu’s challenge exposed the fact that Mainlander political elite could not understand and were unwilling to learn the major local language, though they had lived on the island for nearly forty years. Chu’s action resulted in a serious conflict between KMT and DPP members of the Legislative Yuan and triggered lively public discussions on the linguistic issue and the reform of official language policy. Under increasing criticism of the official language policy, in August 1987, the Taiwan Provincial Government’s Department of Education ordered that elementary school and high school students who spoke local languages in school must not be punished. Then at the end of 1987, a twenty-minute Hoklo news segment was added to the existing short Hoklo programs broadcast every day on each of the three national television channels. After two years a thirty-minute Hakka program appeared once a week on one channel. Moreover, in February 1990, the first Hoklo language course in the state-controlled education system opened in a national university in southern Taiwan. In May of that year, the KMT abolished the censorship of the use of local languages on television. Meanwhile, the DPP began to press for the conduct of bilingual education in elementary and junior high schools. In 1989, DPP candidates in local mayoral and county magistrate elections listed bilingual education programs as planks in their platforms. Six of them were elected and embarked on a program of teaching local languages, including Hoklo, Hakka, and aboriginal languages, in the elementary and junior high schools of their districts. Not surprisingly, the KMT-controlled city or county councils usually cut bilingual education budgets. In addition, standard pronunciation symbols and writing systems of local languages had not been devised. It was also difficult to find qualified teachers and teaching materials. In spite of these difficulties, however, the programs were carried out in DPPcontrolled districts since the beginning of the 1990s. As government censorship of the use of local languages relaxed and as the opposition prompted bilingual education, there emerged a “revival” of local languages, especially Hoklo, after the end of the 1980s. Hoklo theater and films reappeared; Hoklo pop songs flourished; many college Hoklo and Hakka linguistic associations organized; and a large number of Hoklo dictionaries, magazines, and monographs on the language were, and continue to be published.


Crafting a national language The naming of Hoklo However, those Taiwanese nationalists who have addressed the linguistic issue are not content with the apparent resurgent interest in speaking, teaching, and studying local languages. Since the second half of the 1980s, large numbers of nationalists became devoted to the rehabilitation of local languages and the creation of vernacular writing systems. Because the Hoklo dominate the Taiwanese nationalist movement, these efforts have focused on the Hoklo language. The nationalists reject the official definition of Hoklo as a “dialect.” They argue that it is not—as many assume—a “variety” of Mandarin. Rather, Hoklo and Mandarin are different “languages,” despite the fact that both belong to the same language family.10 For instance, Hung Wei-jen (1946–), a linguist, a member of the Taiwan Pen Association, and a major leader of the Hoklo revival movement writes: I do not deny that Hoklo or Hakka are a branch of [ancient] Chinese. To say that they are dialects of [ancient] Chinese is also acceptable. However, ancient Chinese is already gone. The differences among Hoklo, Hakka, the Cantonese dialect, the Wu dialect, and Mandarin have existed for a long time. They each represent distinctive cultural systems. It is wrong that we treat it [Hoklo] as a dialect, not as a language, simply because it is an offshoot of ancient Chinese. This can be compared to the fact that English, French, German, Spanish, Russian, and even Hindustani, are branches of an ancient Indo-European language. No one would say that Hindustani is a dialect of English, though English has become an international language. If Hindustani is not a dialect, why should Hoklo or Hakka be one? (Hung 1992a:61) Furthermore, Hung notes that the degree of difference among Hoklo, Hakka, Cantonese, and Mandarin is higher than that among German, French, English, and Russian. He promotes the “social linguistic view” of linguistic genealogy—rather than the perspective based on “historical linguistics” or the state’s standpoint—because Mandarin and Hoklo are mutually unintelligible, they are different languages (Hung 1992a). Hoklo is not just regarded as a language different from Mandarin. The nationalists also claim that it is a “better” language than Mandarin. Insofar as the diversity of phonology, the precision of lexicon, the logic of its syntax, and the expressiveness regarding everyday experiences are concerned, they argue Hoklo is incomparably superior to Mandarin.11 In fact, Ong Jok-tik, a Hoklo linguist who pioneered the overseas Taiwan independence movements, bestowed similar praise on the language during the 1950s and 1960s (Hsü 1992).12 The decline of a language, for the nationalists, heralds the atrophy of a cultural tradition on which one’s ethnic identity hinges. They argue that for Taiwanese, Mandarin is equivalent to a foreign language and that the local languages on the island must be the


prime media through which Taiwanese particularity is expressed. Traditional Taiwanese culture, they believe, has declined, and it has been seriously undermined by Northern Chinese culture represented by Mandarin.13 However, the fact is that the local languages include not only Hoklo. The revival of interest in speaking, studying, and writing Hoklo as the major local language in the past decade has made the Hakka feel uneasy. The HokloHakka tension among pro-independence writers caused by Hoklo writers redefining Taiwanese literature as “tai-gu (Hoklo) literature” represents the Hakka’s apprehension as to their future in a society that is gradually dominated by the Hoklo (see the discussion below). The Hoklo writing system and Taiwanese nationalism The early history of writing in Hoklo Those advocating Mandarin have relegated Hoklo to the category of a “backward dialect” in part because it lacks a writing system.14 In fact, Hoklo people in southern China wrote folk opera scripts in Chinese characters about six hundred years ago.15 The history of using Chinese characters to write Hoklo probably has a longer history than scholars now know. In Taiwan, using Chinese characters to write Hoklo proverbs, folk songs, and the scripts of folk opera has a history going back to the Ch’ing empire. Also, Taiwanese began to write Hoklo pop songs in Chinese characters during the Japanese colonial period. This remains a popular practice even today. However, because about 30 per cent of Hoklo morphemes cannot be codified through existing Chinese characters, a writer usually borrows freely from existing characters or even creates new ones. There has not been a standard Hoklo writing system, especially when dealing with the un-codified portion of morphemes. As noted in Chapter 2, in the early 1930s, the debate on the technical issue of choosing “correct” or creating “better” characters to represent tai-oan-oe (Hoklo), was raised among advocates of hsiang-t’u literature and writing in tai-oan-oe. The lack of a standard Hoklo writing system discouraged Taiwanese authors experimenting with writing in Hoklo. The confusion in using Chinese characters to write Hoklo was partly responsible for the failure to develop Hoklo hsiang-t’u literature. Another major Hoklo writing system is the romanized form. In the late nineteenth century, Western Presbyterian evangelists romanized native languages in order to conduct missions in Taiwan. Actually, a book on Christian doctrine written in romanized Hoklo was published by the British Museum in 1605 (Hung 1992b:13). The romanized form can faithfully reflect local vernaculars and signify all Hoklo morphemes. It was also believed to be easier for people to learn and use than Chinese characters. Yet the alphabetic writing system was used only by Presbyterians since the late nineteenth century. It was not allowed in any publication outside of churches under the Japanese and KMT policy of assimilative mono-lingualism. Moreover, the foreign origin and religious flavor of the phonetic script alienated the general public. The ability to use romanization was viewed as the mark of being Christian (Cheng 1979:546). As mentioned in Chapter 2, during the colonial period, Ts’ai P’ei-huo spent over twenty years promoting the phonetic script. His efforts were


frustrated by Japanese suppression. Besides, the Western origin and religious color of the romanized system was partly responsible for Ts’ai’s failure to elicit support from Taiwanese intellectuals. In the postwar years, the KMT issued regulations several times to forbid the Presbyterian Church from using romanized native languages, lest romanization might encourage people to use local languages and hence blunt their interest in learning Mandarin. The publication of the Bible, hymn books, and bulletins in romanized local languages was banned. However, until recent years, romanization was still used by many Presbyterians.16 In brief, neither the writing of Hoklo in Chinese or romanized characters was a means of mass communication. Writing in Hoklo: before and after 1987 Before the second half of the 1980s, few Taiwanese authors wrote in a local language. Lin Tsung-yuan (1935–), a veteran member of the Li Poetic Society, is celebrated as a pioneer in the use of Chinese characters in the composition of Hoklo poems during the postwar era. As early as the 1960s, he employed Hoklo phrases and syntax in poems written mainly in Mandarin vernacular. In the 1970s, Lin wrote in “pure” Hoklo. Writing in his native tongue was initially motivated by a simple desire to express his mind felicitously and vigorously rather than by any distinct political belief. One’s native tongue, he believed, was the most effective vehicle for expressing feelings and thought.17 Although hsiang-t’u writers like Huang Ch’un-min used Hoklo to write the dialogues between his characters, few participants in the 1977–78 Debate on Hsiang-t’u Literature, either proponents or opponents, addressed linguistic issues. During the polemic, Lin Tsung-yuan reiterated that “anything that is not written in the author’s native tongue is not hsiang-t’u literature,” while he, like other Li poets, was not actually involved in the Debate.18 Yet it seemed that not all Li members supported Lin’s experiment with writing in Hoklo. Some felt it difficult to understand Hoklo verses written in Chinese characters.19 It was not until the mid-1970s that another poet composing in Hoklo appeared. Hsiang Yang (his real name is Lin Ch’iyang, 1955–), a young TWWI member, published his first Hoklo poems in li Poetry Magazine in April 1976. Like Lin Tsung-yuan, Hsiang Yang’s writing practice was motivated by the relatively simple desire to express himself naturally in his native tongue.20 In the first half of the 1980s, a number of tang-wai magazine authors addressed the history of Taiwanese intellectuals’ advocacy of writing Hoklo in Chinese characters and Ts’ai P’ei-huo’s promotion of romanizing Hoklo under the Japanese.21 Like the tang-wai activists’ criticism of the official language policy, however, these articles evoked little response. In September 1984, Hsü Chi-tun (1935–), a Taiwanese historian in Japan, published an essay in TWWI on the relationship between the Taiwanese language and Taiwanese literature. Sympathizing with experiments with writing in Hoklo in the colonial period, Hsü called on contemporary Taiwanese writers to create “Taiwanese literature in Hoklo” and to develop written “Hoklo suitable for literature” (Hsü 1984). This reminds us of the slogan created by Kuo Ch’iu-sheng in the early 1930s. During the first half of the 1980s, in addition to Lin Tsung-yuan and Hsiang Yang, three Taiwanese writers, Sung Tselai (a TWWI member), Huang Ching-lien (1947–) (a Li member, who later became the


general editor of TWWI), and Lin Yang-min (1955–) (who later became a member of TWWI editorial board) began to write Hoklo poems (Lin 1996:23). In January 1987, Sung Tse-lai published an article in Hoklo entitled, “On the Issue of Writing in Hoklo” (T’an t’ai-yü wen-tzu-hua wen-t’i) in Taiwanese New Culture. This was the first time a postwar Taiwanese writer openly advocated writing in Hoklo. Sung called on Taiwanese writers to experiment with writing Hoklo. For him, writing in languages other than Hoklo made little contribution to the revival of native Taiwanese culture. The evolution of “Taiwanese literature”—as defined by Yeh Shih-t’ao, P’eng Jui-chin, Ch’en Fang-ming, and Li Ch’iao—from hsiang-t’u literature and the evolution of Hoklo literature from “Taiwanese literature” was inevitable (Sung 1987). Since its establishment in September 1986, the Taiwanese New Culture journal, with Sung Tse-lai as one of its organizers, had devoted itself to the promotion of Hoklo literature. Numbers of Hoklo poems, essays, stories, and fairy tales were published in the magazine until it ceased publication in May 1988. As a rallying point for nationalist writers, TWWI has featured Hoklo and even Hakka works since September 1987. After 1987, when the opposition increasingly challenged the oflicial monolingual policy and as the government’s censorship of the public use of local languages was relaxing, a growing number of authors began to write in Hoklo.22 Their works have been published by magazines and newspapers with anti-KMT or Taiwanese nationalist tendencies, such as TWWI, Li Poetry Magazine, Literary Taiwan, New Culture, Taiwanese New Culture, Independent Evening News (Tzu-li wan-pao), and The Common Daily (Min-chung jih-pao). From 1989 to 1995, at least twelve organizations were created for the purpose of reviving native languages, devising Hoklo vernacular writing systems, and promoting Hoklo literature. There is an overlap between the memberships of these organizations, and in general they maintain close connections with one another. Each of the organizations has its own periodical publication, though few of these publications enjoy a wide circulation.23 One of these organizations is the Yam Poetic Society (Fan-shu shih-she), founded by Lin Tsungyuan, Huang ching-lien, Lin Yang-min, and others. As the first postwar poet organization advocating composing poems in any local language, the Society set the following standards for writing: 1) to use Taiwanese native languages (including Hoklo, Hakka, and aboriginal languages) to create “orthodox” Taiwanese literature; 2) to promote the writing of Hoklo and develop written Hoklo suitable for literature; 3) to depict the reality of life and society and voice the distress and aspirations of oppressed peoples and the toiling masses; 4) to create a new Taiwanese literature that displays the spirit of Taiwanese nationalism. It can be said that these standards epitomize common views entertained by those who have promoted Hoklo literature since the second half of the 1980s (Lin 1996:98). They also show a tendency for social realism that has been championed by Li and TWWI groups in the postwar era.24


The Hoklo writing systems as witness to a Taiwanese nation: competing proposals Like the promotion of hsiang-t’u literature and writing in tai-oan-oein the colonial period, contemporary efforts to establish a Hoklo writing system cannot be separated from the advocacy of Hoklo literature. Only as growing numbers of authors have began to write in Hoklo after 1987 has the establishment of a standard Hoklo script aroused great concern. While for Hoklo writers, Chinese ideograms remain the principal vehicle in representing their native tongue, the 30 per cent of Hoklo morphemes that cannot be codified through existing characters constitutes a major barrier to the standardization of written Hoklo. One of two popular ways to tackle the problem is the conventional practice of borrowing from existing characters or creating new ones to signify these un-codified morphemes. Another way is to romanization. In fact, these two solutions have coexisted in most post-1987 Hoklo works. However, because the signification of morphemes is not standardized, in the use of either Chinese ideograms or phonetic letters, even a native speaker sometimes finds it difficult to understand an article in Hoklo. For Hoklo language revivalists, it is imperative to establish a standard system of writing Hoklo. Since the second half of the 1980s, there have been different ideas about, and proposals for, such a system. Technical issues like the selection of proper Chinese characters for codification have often provoked debate. Different ideas and proposals are still competing for public recognition.25 First, some demand the complete abolition of Chinese characters and advocate using a phonetic script to write Hoklo. They have tried to improve the romanization system originally created by Western missionaries. Lin Chi-hsiüng (1930–), a chemistry professor, represents those who pursue this idea.26 Another group maintains that to write Hoklo completely in Chinese ideograms is the only practical alternative. The fact that the phonetic writing of Mandarin has made slow progress in China in recent decades shows, these advocates believe, that the languages of the Chinese family are phonetically less amenable to an alphabetic transcription. As far as the Hoklo morphemes that cannot be represented by existing Chinese characters, this group has created new characters based on Chinese radicals. Cheng Sui-ying (1942–), a Taiwanese linguist in Japan, is a major champion of this approach.27 The third proposal is to combine Chinese ideograms and alphabetic writing. The promoters of this idea argue that this is the most practical solution because most Hoklo morphemes are sufficiently represented by Chinese characters. The most efficient method to write morphemes that cannot be codified through existing ideograms is romanization. Robert L.Cheng (Cheng Liang-wei), a Taiwanese linguistics professor at the University of Hawaii, is a leading supporter of this proposal.28 For the past decade, a mixture of these two writing forms has been the most popular way to write Hoklo. In fact, considering the fact that the general public still uses Chinese characters on a daily basis, some advocates, such as Lin Chi-hsiüng and Lin Yang-min, who demand the total romanization of Hoklo, have accepted this method as a “temporary” alternative.29 Fourth, Hung Wei-jen argues that the Korean writing form is the optimal phonetic script for writing the morphemes that cannot be represented by existing Chinese characters. As far as the graphic makeup is concerned, Hung notes, Korean script is visually more compatible with Chinese


characters than the Roman alphabet. Hence he believes that a mixture of Chinese characters and an improved version of Korean script is the best system of writing Hoklo.30 Comparatively speaking, contemporary attempts to establish a Hoklo script and establish Hoklo literature has achieved more than the efforts to promote writing in tai-oanoe and hsiang-t’u literature in the Japanese colonial period. On the one hand, the promoters of the latter in the early 1930s still held a relatively intense Han cultural consciousness. Thus, all of them, with the notable exception of Ts’ai P’ei-huo, advocated using Chinese characters to write Hoklo in order to maintain Taiwanese connections with the Chinese Mainland and Han culture. For the leading advocate of this approach, Kuo Ch’iu-sheng, a Hoklo script is just “a Chinese character system with a sharper local, dialectal color.” Yet the tricky technical problem of choosing “correct” or “better” characters, or even creating new characters to signify the portion of Hoklo morphemes that could not be represented by Chinese ideograms, discouraged writers from continuing their experiments with composing in Hoklo. By contrast, devoting themselves to the establishment of a unique Taiwanese culture, the advocates of new writing methods in the last decade have been, almost without exception, Taiwanese nationalists. Most of them do not stick to Chinese characters and freely romanize certain Hoklo morphemes. Romanization makes it easier to write Hoklo and facilitates the development of Hoklo literature. The use of phonetic characters represents a historic step toward local nationalism within an old ideographic area dominated by China, including other bordering countries.31 Moreover, in recent years, computer technology has been an important contributing factor to the relatively rapid development of writing Hoklo. Word processing software designed especially for Hoklo writing can help an author choose Chinese characters or romanization. It has made writing and publishing Hoklo works much easier. Also the electric mail system, as a tremendously convenient vehicle for communication, has promoted the exchange of ideas and established solidarity among contemporary advocates. Compared to their forerunners in the colonial period, contemporary advocates have benefited greatly from modern technology For those devoted to establishing a standard Hoklo writing system, such a script is an indispensable confirmation of Taiwaneseness. For instance, Robert L. Cheng writes: While we can use Mandarin to represent the cultural components of Taiwanese society, Taiwanese particularities will be lost in the translation filter of Mandarin. It is also impossible to free oneself from the cultural burden imposed by Mandarin no matter how hard one tries. If you write in Mandarin, you must think in it; if you think in Mandarin, you cannot avoid using phrases and idioms created in the remote Chinese Mainland. These phrases and idioms represent the cultural complex that had its origin in central China. This cultural complex makes one drawn to China. The modern center of central China, Beijing, thus becomes a criterion of [language] standardization. If we use Mandarin to represent Taiwanese culture, there will often be bias. It is only when we write Hoklo that we can think in Hoklo and that we can appreciate the authentic essence of native culture. (Cheng 1993:176)


To the advocates of writing Hoklo, language is the most important carrier of culture. Mandarin and its writing system, they argue, are awkward instruments for representing Taiwaneseness. They believe the Taiwanese people can efface the undesirable influence of Chinese culture by renouncing the use of Mandarin. A Hoklo writing system is witness to a distinctive cultural tradition. Such a view shows the development of a new national identity that challenges the KMT’s “Sinocization” of the island and its people. For the promoters of writing Hoklo, especially those who demand complete alphabetization, creating a Hoklo script is crucial to the independence of the island. Advocating writing in totally romanized Hoklo, Ch’en Min-jen (1954–), a Li poet and member of Taiwan Pen Association and Yam Poetic Society, claims: A nation without its own written language is a nation without a future. In particular, if Taiwan decides to change itself into an independent country, to establish a Hoklo script becomes indispensable. …. [The] cultural elements transmitted by them [Chinese characters] are also characterized by an unwholesome feudalism…. If one does not have an independent and mature mind when he reads these Chinese classics, his mind will be contaminated unconsciously. This is a source of great disturbance that I have to fight against when I devote myself to the Taiwanese nation building movement. This is also the major reason why I demand the gradual abolition of Chinese characters. (Ch’en Min-jen 1992:138–9) Hoklo literature and Taiwanese literature redefined: bringing language in In last decade the active endeavor to establish a standard script is closely related to the promotion of Hoklo literature. Numerous experiments with writing poems, stories, and essays in Hoklo have stimulated further studies on the standardization of written Hoklo. In fact, the champions of different ideas have relied mainly on literary practices to test and promote their proposals. Active experimentation with writing Hoklo has, in turn, directly influenced conceptions of Taiwanese literature and created friction between Hoklo and Hakka advocates of a national Taiwanese literature. As mentioned in Chapter 4, when the Li and TWWI groups became increasingly involved in the opposition movement during the post-Kaohsiung Incident years, the need to define a distinct literary identity, especially for Taiwanese writers, was acutely felt by both groups. The term “Taiwanese literature” was substituted for “hsiang-t’u literature” in order to distinguish a particular literary tradition from Chinese literature. The term “Taiwanese literature” increasingly acquired a nationalist significance. Following Yeh Shih-t’ao’s early interpretation of the character of all of Taiwan’s modern literature, such members of the TWWI group as Kao T’ien-sheng, P’eng Jui-chin, Ch’en Fangming, and Li Ch’iao further framed a definition of Taiwanese literature in terms of the subject and ideology of a work. “Taiwanese literature is the literature that is written from a Taiwanese standpoint and deals with Taiwanese experience,” to quote Li Ch’iao. That is, for these writers and critics, to


write for and about the island and its people must be the goal for authors writing in Taiwan. During the 1980s, pro-independence writers and critics generally accepted this idea. Yet, the relationship between the definition of Taiwanese literature and the language in which it was written had barely been addressed. With such prominent exceptions as Lin Tsungyuan, Hsiang Yang, Sung Tse-lai, Huang Ching-lien, and Li Yang-min, Taiwanese nationalist writers, like other authors (either Taiwanese or Mainlander), took writing in Mandarin for granted. After a growing number of authors experimented with writing Hoklo in the late 1980s, however, the issue about the relationship of the language a work was written in to the notion of Taiwanese literature increasingly came to the fore. Some Hoklo writers and critics began to redefine Taiwanese literature from a linguistic viewpoint. Their redefinition caused tensions between Hoklo and Hakka writers and literary critics who had cooperated in establishing a Taiwanese national literature. In the first place, these tensions arose from the fact that, since the Japanese colonial era the term “tai-gu” or “taioan-oe” (in Hoklo, or “t’ai-yü” or “t’ai-wan-hua” in Mandarin), which literally means “Taiwanese language(s),” has referred primarily to Hoklo. Hence, when Hoklo writers and critics argued that “only tai-gu literature is Taiwanese literature,” Hakka writers and critics felt excluded. For example, as a pioneer in writing Hoklo, Lin Tsung-yuan stated in the postscript to a selection of Hoklo poems: Taiwanese literature is the literature Taiwanese write in their native tongues. When different ethnic groups establish a common tai-gu and its writing system, the literature written in tai-gu is precisely Taiwanese literature. These works, which embody the essence of Taiwanese culture and a positive Taiwanese worldview, is Taiwanese literature…. This selection of tai-gu poems is a selection of authentic Taiwanese literature indeed Taiwanese literature is absolutely not a branch of Chinese literature. Taiwanese literature…has existed independently, having its own territory. (Lin 1990:214)

Lin and other Hoklo writers brought the linguistic element into the definition of Taiwanese literature. For them, language, in addition to subject and ideology, must be an essential element in the conception of literature. Any work that can be acknowledged as Taiwanese literature, they claimed, must be written not only for and about Taiwan and her people but also in a language native to Taiwan. Works written in Mandarin, like those written in any foreign language, can no longer be regarded as Taiwanese literature. It has to be noted that Lin Tsung-yuan and others broadened the meaning of “toi-gu,” using this term to refer to non-Mandarin native languages in Taiwan, including Hoklo, Hakka, and even aboriginal languages. They promote “tai-gu literature,” calling on nonMainlander ethnic groups to write in their native tongues. As mentioned above, the Yam Poetic Society headed by Lin called for writing not only in Hoklo but also in other native


languages. The redefinition of “tai-gu” and the idea of “tai-gu literature” typify Taiwanese nationalists’ interests in pluralizing the origins of “Taiwanese national culture” and playing down the importance of Chinese culture as represented by Mandarin. However, the fact is that the term “tai-gu” has long been used to refer to Hoklo. Although Lin Tsung-yuan and other advocates make it clear that what they mean by “tai-gu” includes all non-Mandarin native languages, their claim that “only tai- gu literature is Taiwanese literature” is still regarded with suspicion by Hakka members of the TWWI group because of its potential Hoklo-centrism. More important is the fact that in last decade Hoklo is the sole native language that has been written comparatively successfully, in the sense that an increasing number of authors write in it. Large numbers of Hoklo books and several Hoklo magazines are being published. The long history of writing Hoklo, either in Chinese characters or in the romanized system, is definitely a major contributing factor to this development. The eclectic mixture of both Chinese characters and romanization has facilitated experimentation with writing Hoklo, though the writing form is not standardized. The aforementioned twelve organizations created for reviving native languages from the late 1980s to the mid-1990s have concentrated on establishing written Hoklo and promoting Hoklo literature, though some claim that the purpose is to revive all native languages, not only Hoklo. In the 1990s, the efforts to revive native languages have been centered around Hoklo. The Hakkas’ and aboriginal peoples’ endeavors to rejuvenate their native languages are relatively marginal. Few Hakka Taiwanese, let alone aborigines, have tried to establish written forms of their own languages. In fact, in a 1987 essay, Sung Tse-lai claimed that as far as the need to define a distinct identity, the evolution of “Taiwanese literature” from hsiang-t’u literature and the evolution of Hoklo literature from “Taiwanese literature” were inevitable. In September 1991, another TWWI editor, Lin Yang-min, published an article entitled “Reestablishing the Identity of Taiwanese Literature” (Hui-kui t’ai-wan wen-hsüeh te mian-ch’iang). As a Hoklo Taiwanese, Lin insisted that the term “tai-gu” must be used to refer exclusively to Hoklo, as it has been since the colonial era, and that tai-gu (Hoklo) literature must be acknowledged as a representative variant of Taiwanese literature. He wrote: Taiwan’s official language or lingua franca…has never been any of the native Taiwanese languages. Hence the identity of Taiwanese literature has never been clearly defined; Taiwanese literature has been unable to develop a national spirit or national character. In short, because Taiwan has never been independent, a culture that has a distinct identity and an independent system cannot be formed. The identity of Taiwanese literature in turn cannot be established. Thus different generations of Taiwanese writers and critics have constantly debated the definition of Taiwanese literature. … Since “tai-oan-oe” refers to Hoklo language in Taiwan, in general “Taiwanese literature” is supposed to refer to works that are written in tai-gu, depict people


and events in Taiwan, and display Taiwanese thoughts and sentiments. That is, it is tai-gu literature. (Lin [1991] 1996:118, 125) Lin made it clear that tai-gu (Hoklo) literature was the representative genre of Taiwanese literature but that is was not identical with Taiwanese literature. He admitted that works written in non-Hoklo languages, such as those in classical Chinese, Japanese, and Mandarin in the Ch’ing era, the colonial period, and the postwar years respectively, also belonged to Taiwanese literature in the broad sense (Lin [1991] 1996:126–7). However, Lin’s essay soon elicited criticism from Hakka writers and critics, especially two prominent TWWI members, Li Ch’iao and P’eng Jui-chin. Both Li and P’eng opposed claims that “tai-gu (taioan-oe) is Hoklo” and that “Taiwanese literature is Hoklo literature.” They expressed the feeling that Hoklo monopolized the name “tai-gu”or “tai-oan-oe” which suggested that the language was the single legitimate language on the island (Li Ch’iao 1991; P’eng 1991b, 1991c). This name, Li Ch’iao argued, must be used to refer to all languages spoken by the four ethnic groups, including Hoklo, Hakka, Mandarin, and aboriginal languages. Li maintained that Taiwanese literature must be defined in terms of subject and ideology, instead of language. He adhered to his oft-cited 1983 definition: “Taiwanese literature is the literature that is written from a Taiwanese standpoint and deals with Taiwanese experience.” For Li Ch’iao, any work written for and about the island and its people was Taiwanese literature, no matter what language was used (Li Ch’iao 1991). Confronted with the rapid development of the opposition movement led by the Hoklo and the active efforts to revive Hoklo language, the Hakkas worried that they and their language might be marginalized yet again. Hoklo has dominated opposition politics in the 1980s and 1990s. Since the DPP was established, Hoklo has been the principal language used in party meetings, and mass rallies and street protests organized by the party. Hence, Hakkas who even had close connections with the party felt excluded, making the criticism that the DPP was virtually a “Hoklo-only” party. In 1988, the Hakkas organized the “Bring My Hakka Back” movement to press for Hakka television programs. What the movement achieved was only a half-hour program per week on a national television channel. The antiKMT and anti-Hoklo feelings of the Hakkas reached its zenith in 1989. Protesting not only the “big-party dictatorship” of the KMT, but also the “Hoklo chauvinism” of the DPP, they tried in vain to organize a “Hakka party.” Hakka Taiwanese nationalists’ opposition to the redefinition of Taiwanese literature represents their general apprehension regarding their ethnic position in society at a time when both the Taiwanization of the ruling party and the development of Taiwanese nationalism show the ascendancy of the Hoklo people. Conclusion Directed against the official “Mandarin-only” language policy that typified the KMT’s “Sinocization” ideology, efforts to revive native languages in Taiwan have formed a significant part of Taiwanese nationalism. While Taiwanese nationalism increasingly assumes a multicultural character, the endeavors to rejuvenate native languages have


focused on the major local language, Hoklo. A number of studies about language problems in different societies have pointed out the following fact: “Movements to save minority languages ironically are often structured around the same received notions of languages that have led to their oppression and/or suppression…” (Woolardand Schieffelin 1994: 9). There is a danger that the efforts to revive Hoklo might develop in this direction. As Florian Coulmas notes, while the idea of a national language and its political enforcement may be said to function as a cohesive force, the reverse is also true. “Language may be as disruptive a force as any culture marker, and it is clear that the national language-ideology has bred intra-communal strife and, in a sense, created minorities in many countries that have established themselves as states in modern times” (Coulmas 1988:11). On the part of the KMT government, Mandarin is exalted as a cohesive force. In contrast, it is criticized by the Taiwanese opposition as a source of oppression. The active endeavors to rejuvenate Hoklo have in turn caused apprehension among the Hakkas. For Hoklo revivalists, their language is the most important carrier of their traditional culture. A Hoklo writing system is believed to be essential to the formation of a new nation and the independence of the island. Culture and language are identified with a nation-to-be and a “potential” state. In fact, many eminent figures in the history of Taiwanese literature recognized by Taiwanese nationalists are Hakka Taiwanese. For instance, two of the ten “first post-war generation of Taiwanese fiction writers” in the 1950s, Chung Li-ho and Chung Chaocheng, were of Hakka origin. The founder of TWWI, Wu Chuo–liu was also a Hakka. Moreover, since the early 1980s Li Ch’iao and P’eng Jui-chin, two Hakkas, have become the major advocates of a “Taiwanese (national) literature.” Chung Chao-cheng, Li Ch’iao, and P’eng Jui-chin are also leading TWWI members. In the past two decades or so, the Hoklo and Hakka members of the Li and TWWI groups have made concerted efforts to construct the idea of Taiwanese literature and the history of a Taiwanese national literature. When some Hoklo members tried to bring the linguistic element into the conception of Taiwanese literature, however, the Hakka members were upset. Language immediately became a disruptive force that created the Hoklo-Hakka tension. Like most other places in the world, Taiwan is a multi-ethnic and multi-lingual society. The efforts to revive Hoklo presents a thorny problem that—to quote Jan Blommaert and Jef Verschueren—“[e]very minority has its own minorities” (Blommaert and Verschueren 1991:373). A movement intended to save a minority language may turn out to be a new form of oppression that threatens other minority languages. This irony has been found in Occitania, Moldavia, Kazakhstan, and Slovakia (Eckert 1983; Blommaert and Verschueren 1991). It is an acute problem posed by the endeavors to revive Hoklo, especially because the speakers of this language are actually the majority of the population. In fact, the problem encountered by a minority language movement is similar to that inherent in the practice of a national language ideology, i.e., “whether language can be politically instrumentalized without becoming a means of suppression and making it ever more difficult for different language groups to live together peacefully” (Coulmas 1988:12). The weakness of the national language ideology and of a minority language movement is closely related to political mobilization based on ethnic identity. Any drawing of clear boundaries implies labeling, exclusion, and suppression. The problem is how people of diverse ethnic groups


can unite at a time when they are becoming acutely aware of their separate ethnic backgrounds. This is a dilemma inherent in the construction of a modern nation-state, namely, the dilemma regarding balancing national identity (cohesion) with ethnic equality (multi-lingualism and multiculturalism). The linguistic problems in Taiwan aptly illustrate this dilemma. Notes 1 Central Daily News (Chung-yang jih-pao, international edition), April 16, 1994. 2 Yeh Shis-t’ao was born in 1925. When Japanese colonial rule in Taiwan ended, he was twenty years old. Yeh’s linguistic experience was typical of educated Taiwanese under 30 at that time. He writes:

From my attendance at a [Chinese] private school to my graduation from Tainan Public Second Middle School, that is, during the ten-odd years of my long childhood and early youth, I knew nothing about Taiwanese history and society. I followed a traditional Taiwanese life, that is, a traditional life of the Han people, and spoke my native tongue at home. But actually I had little opportunity for using the native tongue. The popular language in the colonial society was the national language (Japanese). So I had little speaking ability in the native tongue. I could use only simple everyday expressions but could hardly employ my native tongue to talk about profound knowledge and literary theory. (Yeh 1991:41) 3 The Economist, August 7, 1993, p.38. Hoklo Taiwanese comprised about 73 per cent of Taiwan’s population. The percentage mentioned in the quote shows that the reporter might have grouped Hakka and Hoklo Taiwanese together. For the ethnic composition of Taiwanese population, see ch. 4, note 65. 4 A Mainlander KMT legislator addressed this issue at a session of the Legislative Yuan convened in 1983, when the tang-wai group promoted Taiwanese consciousness:

The Taiwan independence movements are intended to divide the ROC, so [its members] absurdly claim that Taiwanese are not Chinese; they call themselves tang-wai, promote the use of Hoklo, deprecate the national language, and cause obstruction to the propagation of the national language and linguistic unification. These [actions] will lead to the division of the country. The tang-wai group thus asks: “Are students wrong if they speak dialects?” “Mandarin, Hoklo, and Hakka all should be treated as official languages.” Isn’t this a plot to divide the country by [creating the tension in] the linguistic issue? Why must students speak dialects? Why don’t they speak the national language? … [This] absurd separatist idea must be totally purged. (Mu 1983:23)


5 The speech given by Chou Ying-lung, the chairman of KMT Department of Cultural Affairs —the party’s propaganda organization, at the general membership meeting of the Chinese Linguistic Association (Chung-kuo yü-wen hsüeh-hui) illustrated the KMT’s language ideology:

What we must also be on guard against are the Communist bandits on the Mainland…. On the one hand, [we should consider] how we can promote Chinese mainstream thought by teaching, learning, and using the Chinese language [Mandarin]. On the other, [we should know] how we can hand down our traditional Chinese culture [from generation to generation] by teaching, learning, and using the Chinese language. This is the reason why we take so seriously the development of education regarding the national spoken and written language. At present, we must rely on the teaching, learning, and the use of the Chinese language…to destroy the [Communist] heresy. (Chou 1984:8) 6 About 34 per cent of college students were of Mainland origin in 1966, the last year official educational statistics were categorized by ethnic background. This percentage was about 2.5 times the proportion of Mainlanders in the general population. The figure for 1987 was estimated at about 30 per cent, or twice their proportion in the general population. See Wang (1989:103). 7 A detailed discussion about the linguistic problem on television is in Shih (1983). 8 For instance, a Hoklo contributor to the officially sponsored Chinese Language Monthly (Chungkuo yü-wen) is proud of his ability to speak “standard” Mandarin:

Every time I go to Taipei [the capital of Taiwan], I always speak the national language when shopping or taking a taxi. First, this shows that I have acquired much education and thus can speak the standard national language quite well. Second, this will prevent people from recognizing my accent of central and southern Taiwan and therefore discourage them from cheating me and treating me as a bumpkin. Because I stick to the “Speak the National Language” principle, I always make it. (Ch’en 1978:15) 9 A handy collection of tang-wai magazine articles on the linguistic issue published during this period is Lin (1983). 10 For instance, see Lin (1988); Cheng (1990); Hung (1992a). 11 For example, see Hung (1992a); Hsü (1992). 12 Lo Chao-chin, a Hakka linguist, argues that the phonology, syntax, and lexicon of Mandarin were greatly transformed by the Altaic language family. In his opinion, Hoklo and Hakka languages are a more effective instrument than Mandarin in understanding traditional Chinese culture and the “dialects” are more “Chinese” than the national language. However, Lo does not emphasize so much the “Taiwaneseness” of Hoklo and Hakka as their “Chineseness.” He disagrees with the “independence” of Taiwanese culture from Chinese culture and maintains that the reason for rejuvenating the major local language is to preserve and promote traditional Chinese culture. See Lo (1992). 13 For instance, see Hung (1992a:24).


14 For this view, see, for example, Wang Meng-wu (1982); Mu (1983). 15 In 1975, Chinese archaeologists discovered the script of a Hoklo folk opera written in Chinese characters in Chaoan County, Guangdong (Kwangtung) Province. The script was published in 1432. See Hung (1992b:12). 16 For a brief description of the KMT’s policy of banning the use of romanized local languages, see Hsia (1995:84–87). Cf. Chang (1987:466–8). 17 See Cheng (1978). 18 See Cheng (1978); Lin Tsung-yuan (1979). 19 See Li, no.87 (October 1978): 51–4. 20 See Kuo (1982:178–9). 21 For example, see Yang (1983); Hsü (1984). 22 Organized and led by the Li, and TWWI members, the Taiwan Pen Association declared itself against any attempts to suppress the use of one’s native tongue and called for the implementation of bilingual education. See Taiwan Literature, no.105 (May 1987): 6. 23 For a detailed description of the twelve organizations, see Lin (1996:96). 24 One of the twelve organizations, the Student Association for Promoting Taiwanese Languages (Hsüeh-sheng t’ai-wan yü-wen ts’u-chin-hui), is a federation of college and high school student associations for promoting native languages. The formation of this federation indicates the increasing interest among young people for writing in Hoklo and Hakka. For a detailed description of these college and high school student organizations and their activities, see Student Association for Promoting Taiwanese Languages (1995). 25 For a useful review of the different proposals for writing Hoklo, see Hung (1992b). In August 1991, a group of linguistics scholars organized the Taiwan Languages Society (T’ai-wan yü-wen hsüeh-hui). Their major goal was to establish a phonetic alphabet for Hoklo and Hakka, sort commonly used Chinese characters, and promote the use of native languages. The Society created the “Taiwan Language Phonetic Alphabet” (TLPA, T’ai-wan yü-yen yin-piao fang-an) in late 1991. See Taiwanese Digest (Tai-gi bun-tiah), no.25 (January 1992): 49–57. 26 For Lin Chi-hsiüng’s views on Hoklo writing systems and the phonetic script that he developed, see Lin Chi-hsiüng (1989). 27 For Cheng Sui-ying’s idea of written Hoklo and his experiments with creating new characters, see Cheng (1991). 28 For Cheng’s view on writing Hoklo and his essays written in the two forms, see Cheng (1989; 1990). Another important advocate of combining the two writing forms is Hsü Chi-tun. See Hsü (1990; 1992). 29 For example, see Lin Chi-hsiüng (1989:81–104); Lin Yang-min (1989:78). 30 In practice, Hung writes Hoklo completely in Chinese characters, obviously because few in Taiwan can read Korean script. For his views on Hoklo writing systems, see Hung (1992c). For his Hoklo articles, see, for instance, Taiwanese New Culture, no.5 (January 1987): 42–44; no.8 (May 1987): 73; and various issues of Taiwanese Digest. 31 For centuries Chinese books were read not only all over China but in Korea, Japan, Vietnam, and in parts of or among some classes in Manchuria, Mongolia, Tibet, and other countries neighboring China. Chinese characters were read in various ways in these areas. Fosco Maraini, a linguist and historian, argues that the ancient unity of the ideographic area in East Asia embodied “the cultural brotherhood of man;” by contrast, alphabets, “especially if complicated and burdened by too many diacritical signs, isolate people and encourage narrow nationalism.” For him, the act of romanizing a well-developed system of ideograms like Chinese script is a step backward, not a form of progress. See Maraini (1979).

6 Crafting a national history

The analysis in the previous chapters shows that different views on the linguistic problems and the literature developed in Taiwan are closely related to different understandings of the history of the island. In the late colonial period, Yeh Juang-chung advocated creating “the third literature” based on the distinctive character of the Taiwanese as “a social collective.” He ascribed common ethnic features to the history of the island. Contemplating how a unique culture had been historically created, Yeh developed a concept of Taiwaneseness as distinguished from Chineseness. In the turbulent years following the retrocession of Taiwan to China, a group of Taiwanese intellectuals also considered the future of Taiwanese literature in terms of the distinctive history of the island. Lai-nan-jen believed that both Taiwan’s natural environment and historical experience—especially colonization by such foreign powers as Spain, the Netherlands, and Japan—had generated the cultural particularity of the island. For him, it was this sort of particularity that warranted the creation of a “new Taiwanese literature.” Until the first half of the 1980s, postwar writers and literary critics in Taiwan, almost without exception, took it for granted that the literature developed on the island formed a part of “Chinese literature.” The Taiwanese consciousness entertained by them, if any, was a sense of regional identity at best, and as such was compatible with their Chinese national sentiments. For those writers who addressed the particularity of the island society, the purpose was not to establish a distinct literary tradition, but rather to “turn Taiwanese literature into a part of Chinese literature, enrich Chinese literature, and help it reach the advanced standard of world literature,” to use Lai-nan-jen’s terminology This tendency was promulgated by the writers and advocates of hsiang-t’u literature in the 1970s. These writers attempted to make sense of Taiwan’s postwar socio-political changes in terms of the history of confrontation between China and foreign powers. The island’s political, economic, and cultural dependence upon foreign powers, especially the US, was regarded as a continuation of China’s “national humiliation” caused by foreign domination dating back to the mid-nineteenth century. They advocated hsiang-t’u literature as a way of promoting Chinese nationalism. For the promoters of the literary variant, “hsiang-t’u spirit”—an affection for indigenous cultural resources and a concern with social issues on the island—formed the basis of this Chinese nationalism. “Back to hsiang-t’u” meant returning to the source of Chinese national consciousness.


It was in the years after the Kaohsiung Incident that the “pro-Taiwan” view on Taiwanese literature gained a dominance over the “pro-China” view. As a veteran fiction writer and critic whose literary career spanned the late colonial years and postwar decades, Yeh Shiht’ao, during the Debate on Hsiang-t’u Literature, interpreted the historical development of Taiwan’s modern literature in terms of the successive oppressive regimes that ruled the island. In his view, engagé spirit, resistance consciousness, and social realism had been the basic tenets of the local literary tradition. A genuine Taiwanese writer, Yeh asserted, must have “Taiwanese consciousness”—defined by him as a sort of historical consciousness in regard to the “common experience of being colonized and oppressed”—and this consciousness must uphold traditional local literary principles. Since the first half of the 1980s, when tang-wai oppositionists began actively promoting Taiwanese consciousness, the Li and TWWI groups’ discourse on Taiwanese literature increasingly assumed a nationalist character. Writers and critics of these two groups carried Yeh Shih-t’ao’s notion of Taiwanese literature one step further by erasing the vestigial traces of Chinese consciousness exhibited in Yeh’s original idea. Underlying their criticism of “frontierregion literature” and their promotion of the “indigenization” of Taiwanese literature, was the demand to look at the history of the island from a “Taiwanese angle” instead of the “Chinese angle” embra-ced by the KMT, the CCP, and left-leaning anti-KMT Chinese nationalists represented by Ch’en Ying-chen. An “obsession with Taiwan” that consisted mainly of a deep concern with the historical destiny of the island made the Li and TWWI groups assert that “writing for and about Taiwan and Taiwanese” must be the goal of Taiwanese literature. Taiwanese nationalism has become less Hoklo-centric since the early 1990s as a result of the increasing recognition of the need to draw support from other ethnic groups and to foster national solidarity in the face of the PRC’s fast-growing influence on international politics. Hence a novel discourse on the multiethnic origins and character of Taiwanese literature has been developed. As witness to this reinterpretation, a group of Hoklo writers and literary critics broadened the meaning of “tai-gu” to include, not only Hoklo, but also Hakka, and even the aboriginal languages, when they try to redefine Taiwanese literature as “tai-gu literature.” The development of modern Taiwanese literature from the 1920s to the 1990s, the writers and literary critics who embrace Taiwanese nationalism argue, represents the constant search by Taiwanese for a distinct nationality. All Taiwanese writers in this period have been linked by a common concern for the historical destiny of Taiwan as a distinct nation. For those who advocate writing Hoklo, a Hoklo script is an indispensable confirmation of Taiwaneseness and vital to the development of a long cultural tradition separate from Chinese culture. In brief, a wide range of Taiwanese writers and literary critics of different generations have relied on individual interpretations of Taiwanese history to justify their claims regarding linguistic-literary issues. History has played a prominent role in the linguisticliterary discourse in Taiwan because the issue is so burdened with identity problems. The competition for the control of historical narrative is typically a major facet of identity politics. The narration of history is contested because it is of central importance to the formation, maintenance, and redefinition of collective memories. A distinct form of

CRAFTING A NATIONAL HISTORY 149

collective identity hinges in part on the specific construction of a collective memory—on the interpretation of who “we” are, of what it is “we” have experienced, and of what, therefore, “we” share. The development of a new narrative of collective history and the suppression or erasure of old collective memories usually represent the transformation of collective identities. As far as national identity is concerned, Ernest Renan pointed out that “the essence of a nation is that all individuals have many things in common, and also that they have forgotten many things” (Renan [1882] 1990:11). This chapter is a study of how a unique Taiwanese collective memory expelled or suppressed by official, dominant historical narratives, has now been revived. First, the relationship between KMT rule and the “pro-China view of history” is analyzed. The KMT’s political and cultural dominance in postwar Taiwan was ideologically justified by a specific interpretation of the island’s historical relationship with the Chinese Mainland. The official narrative placed an emphasis on early Han Chinese immigrant contributions to the development of the island as a Chinese frontier. It also stressed the efforts the KMT exerted (when it was on the Mainland) to liberate the Taiwanese from Japanese colonialism. Schools, especially in the teaching of history, played a primary role in indoctrinating the population with a pro-China view of history. The government tried to promote Chinese consciousness by encouraging public interest in “searching for roots.” The dominance of the pro-China view of history resulted in the conception that the raison d'être of Taiwan was China’s future reunification. Historical memories and cultural traditions peculiar to the island were for the most part discredited. This tendency was reflected in the stagnation, for thirty years after the war, of Taiwanese history studies. Second, this chapter moves to a discussion on how Taiwanese nationalists have promoted the “pro-Taiwan view of history” in order to challenge dominant representations of the island’s past and to remold national identity for the Taiwanese. In the post-Kaohsiung Incident years, the tang-wai group pioneered the advocacy of the pro-Taiwan conception of history The 1983 “Debate on Taiwanese Consciousness” resulted in a dramatic and overt politicization of Taiwanese history. Conflicts concerning national identity became expressly connected to different interpretations of the island’s past. During the first half of the 1980s, the tang-wai critics’ narration of the Taiwanese past was characterized by the rediscovery of the history of anti-colonial resistance under the Japanese and the history of aboriginal cultural traditions. Rediscovering the anti-Japanese history—and especially the experience of nonviolent anti-colonial struggles after 1920—the tang-wai activists suggested that their anti-KMT movement was a part of a long history of Taiwanese resistance to alien rule. Moreover, the history of aboriginal settlements on the island was used to challenge the claim that Taiwan is historically an integral part of China. In particular, the history of the plains aborigines’ assimilation and marriage with early Han immigrants was rediscovered and used to attack the belief that the Taiwanese were of purely Han origin. The tang-wai group’s reconstruction of a collective memory of victimization and resistance among the Taiwanese in the post-Kaohsiung Incident period set the tone of the opposition’s rhetoric and symbolism in the following decade. It was a major contributing factor to the rapid development of Taiwanese nationalism after the mid-1980s. Proindependence historians have consistently advocated writing a “Taiwanese history from


below,” namely, from “the viewpoint of the people.” This idea was embodied by endeavors to unearth the truth of the 2–28 Incident of 1947. The chapter finally addresses the issue of the opposition’s representation of this historical tragedy as a “national trauma.” Moreover, the rediscovery of the history and culture of the disappearing plains aborigines is also analyzed. It is argued that an increasing identiflcation with lost tribes has lent itself to the imagination of Taiwan as a multi-ethnic and multi-cultural nation. KMT rule and the pro-China view of history During this century, three political forces have tried to refashion national identification in Taiwan. Each of these political forces imposed their own historical narratives on the population. The Japanese colonial administration adopted an assimilation policy to change the colonized into “subjects of the Japanese Emperor.” As noted in Chapter 2, the propagation of Japanese as the “national language” played a prominent role in this policy. The teaching of Japanese was a primary objective for the “common schools,” which were established for Taiwanese children and which functioned as a principal institution for assimilation. An educational mandate issued in 1922 brought the common school curriculum closer to the primary schools that were founded chiefly for Japanese children on the island. Courses in “Japanese History” were added for the first time. The declared objectives of teaching Japanese history were to provide a general introduction to the “national polity” and to cultivate a “national spirit” (Taiwan Education Society [1939] 1973: 365; Tsurumi 1977: 99–100). Then, under KMT rule, the Taiwanese experienced radical “Sinocization” in political and cultural realms. The KMT tried to eliminate the effects of Japanese assimilation policies once they had re-acquired the island. The promotion of Mandarin as the “Chinese national language” became a pivotal element of the re-socialization project. Not surprisingly, indoctrinating the population with a specific conception of history was also essential. This historical narrative focused on the close relationship between the island and the Mainland, highlighting common experiences. By contrast, since the early 1980s, Taiwanese oppositionists have made efforts to reinterpret and reconstruct Taiwanese history, substituting the “pro-Taiwan view of history” (T’ai-wan shih-kuan) for the “pro-China view of history” (Chung-kuo shih-kuan). Their endeavors revolve around “de-Sinocizing” and instead “Taiwanizing” the narrative of the past. These efforts are two sides of the same coin: the suppression or erasure of an old collective memory and the construction of a new one in order to contribute to the formation of a new national identity, “Taiwanese as Taiwanese,” not “Chinese Taiwanese.” The “pro-China view of history”: justifying KMT dominance As mentioned in previous chapters, KMT rule in Taiwan was characterized by the “Sinocization” of the island. Politically, the ruling party claimed that it was the loyal envoy of Sun Yat-sen’s Three Principles of the People—political tenets about China’s nation building, democracy, and economic development—and the legitimate guardian of the ROC founded


by Sun in 1912. Strictly maintaining the structure of the government organized according to the constitution adopted on the Mainland in 1936, the KMT asserted that the ROC was the sole legitimate government of all of China and reiterated its determination to recapture the lost Mainland. Accordingly, the CCP was delegitimized as a “usurper.” It was not until the beginning of the 1980s, when the confrontation between the two sides became less intense, that the KMT withdrew this defmition.1 In the postwar decades, Taiwan became “Free China,” which was opposed to “Communist China,” as it was known in the Western world, especially before the normalization of US-PRC relations. Culturally, the KMT government asserted that it was a resolute defender of “orthodox” traditional Chinese culture, Confucianism in particular. Sun Yatsen’s Three Principles was interpreted as a creative, eclectic mixture of traditional Chinese and Western political thought. Chinese communism was attacked as a “heresy” of Western origin that undermined traditional Chinese culture. The “Chinese Cultural Renaissance Movement,” initiated by Chiang Kai-shek in 1966, epitomized the KMT policy. The movement was directed against the radical, iconoclastic “Cultural Revolution” in the PRC and held great sway over the cultural landscape on the island for the following two decades. Cultural values, symbols, art, music, theater, and craft, as well as Mandarin Chinese were officially promoted at the expense of local counterparts. The KMT’s political and cultural dominance in Taiwan was ideologically justified by a specific interpretation of historical island-Mainland relations. In terms of the ROC—PRC struggle, which was a consequence of the civil war waged on the Mainland, this historical narrative had to address thorny questions. What was the role of Taiwan as a newly decolonized island? What was the significance to the native Taiwanese of the KMT’s anticommunism and its policy of recovering the Mainland? The historical narrative on which the KMT government drew to answer these questions can be called the “pro-China view of history” According to the KMT, Taiwan was historically an integral part of China, and the Taiwanese, like the Mainlanders, were definitely Chinese. Hence the Taiwanese and the people living under the CCP’s rule were “compatriots” related by blood. As far as the history of Chinese immigration to Taiwan was concerned, the Chinese contribution to the development of the island as China’s frontier and the diffusion of Chinese culture was emphasized. For instance, as the founder of the first Han Chinese government on the island, Cheng Ch’eng-kung (also known as Koxinga in the West) was eulogized as a “national hero” because he drove the Dutch out of Taiwan and challenged the non-Han Ch’ing empire on the Mainland. The KMT’s determination to drive the communists out of China and recover the Mainland was compared to Koxinga’s resistance to Ch’ing power and his desire to restore the Ming dynasty. The KMT claimed that the nationalist revolution initiated by Sun Yat-sen and the antiJapanese war led by Chiang Kai-shek, were in part intended to liberate the Taiwanese from Japanese colonialism.2 The Taiwanese anti-colonial movement under the Japanese was regarded as being inspired by China’s nationalist revolution and thus was interpreted as its “offshoot.” Viewed from this perspective, the Taiwanese benefited greatly from China’s victory over Japan in 1945 in the Sino-Japanese War, which resulted in their final


emancipation from colonialism. The Taiwanese profited from incorporation into the motherland, via the KMT’s rule in Taiwan. In brief, emphasizing the common blood ties, cultural background, and political development shared by Taiwan and the Mainland, the KMT propagandized the historical knowledge of the close relations between the island and the motherland. By constructing a collective memory of the past, the KMT tried to persuade the Taiwanese that they and the regime shared a common future and hence a common enemy, the PRC. This narrative suggested that it was obviously sensible for the Taiwanese to cooperate with the KMT government in the confrontation between the legitimate government and the usurper, between the Chinese cultural orthodoxy and the exogenous Marxist heresy. According to this reasoning, the Taiwanese became the KMT government’s new recruits in China’s civil war. It is in this sense that Taiwan was “Sinocized.” This pro-China historical view on ROC —PRC relations fits the polarized ideological and military struggle in the cold war era, and the fact that the ROC and PRC were in the US and Soviet blocs respectively. Searching for one’s roots: “Love Your Home Town, But Love Your Country More” The promotion of an official pro-China view of history, like the advocacy of Mandarin, reached a climax in the early 1970s. The KMT government encountered a series of withdrawals of diplomatic recognition, the rapid spread of the idea of Taiwan independence among overseas Taiwanese, and the rising “back-to-hsiang-t’u” cultural trend. These domestic and international changes tended to encourage localism and presented a challenge to the KMT government’s claim that it was the sole legitimate government of China. The government initiated the organization of the “Taiwan Historic Relics Research Association” (T’ai-wan shih-chi yen-chiu-hui) in 1969, one of many official efforts to rekindle Chinese consciousness. Since then the Association has run numerous winter and summer workshops that primarily target college students and elementary and secondary schoolteachers. Focusing on the study of Taiwan’s geography, customs, religions, historical sites, and the like, these workshops have been devoted to promoting the knowledge of the close historical and cultural relations between the island and the Mainland (Tai 1994:54–5). Also, by encouraging public interest in “searching for one’s roots” (hsün-ken), the KMT government attempted to promote Chinese nationalism among the population. “Love Your Home Town, But Love Your Country More” (ai-hsiang keng ai-kuo) became a key slogan of official propaganda during the 1970s. Another milestone of the propagation of the KMT’s historical ideology was found in the early 1980s. In the years after the Kaohsiung Incident, when tang-wai activists began to develop Taiwanese nationalism by promoting “Taiwanese consciousness,” the KMT published a series of books dealing with the history of TaiwanChina relations in order to counter the effects of the tang-wai group’s historical narrative (see below). Such titles as China’s Taiwan (Ch’en, et al 1980), The Roots of Taiwan (Huang Ta-shou 1980), and Blood is Thicker than Water (P’an 1981) represented this view. The KMT’s typical historical narrative as mentioned above can be found in publications


disseminated in this period.3 The purpose of these publications was to “use historical proofs to refute the absurd idea of Taiwan independence” (P’an 1981:1). The KMT’s historical view was propagated through a variety of important agencies of socialization such as the schools, the mass media, and the armed forces. Promoting Mandarin education played a primary role in indoctrinating the population with a proChina view of history The fact that the writing and publication of school textbooks was controlled by the central government facilitated the propagation of the official views. Textbooks for history and geography courses were focused on the Mainland. Very little space was devoted to the island. Narratives based on the pro-China view of history could be found in textbooks of such elementary and high school courses as “History,” “Society,” “Citizenship,” and “National Language.”4 As Shih and his colleagues point out, Taiwan was “Sinocized” (made an integral part of historical China), “orthodoxized” (as a depository of wisdom in China’s time-honored cultural tradition of the sages), “instrumentalized” (as a base for recapturing the Mainland), and “exhibited” (as a model of political and economic development on which a future reunified China was to be patterned) (Shih, et al. 1993). All of these factors resulted in the conclusion that the raison d'être of the island was China’s reunification and glory in the future. However, since 1996, the policy has been partly changed. Independent authors and private publishers are allowed to write and publish elementary school textbooks. The central government checks and approves these publications. Also, since 1997, the new course “Understanding Taiwan” (divided into “History,” “Geography,” and “Society”) has been added to the first-year curriculum of junior high schools. For the first time, a course in Taiwanese history has been established in the state-controlled compulsory education system in postwar Taiwan. Nevertheless, courses in Chinese history and Mainland geography are still dominant in the next two years of curricula, as they are at other levels of elementary and secondary education. The new course is designed by the Ministry of Education according to the concept of “gaining a foothold in Taiwan, having the whole Mainland in mind, and bringing the whole world into view” (li-tsu t’ai-wan, hsiung-huai talu, fang-yen t’ien-hsia) (Ministry of Education 1994:829). The study of Taiwanese history as a sub-field of China studies Under the dominance of the pro-China view, a persistent and remarkable feature of the postwar cultural landscape in Taiwan was the fact that historical memories and cultural traditions peculiar to the island were habitually marginalized and discredited. The situation of local languages in the postwar era, as noted in Chapter 5, exemplified this tendency Political intimidation and harassment brought about the dominance of the pro-China view. Any academic study that emphasized Taiwanese particularities—especially in the humanities and the social sciences—was suspected of preaching separatism. During Japanese rule, the colonial government and Japanese researchers had laid the foundations for Taiwan studies by recording and investigating various aspects of life on the island. The postwar KMT rule created a gap in the development of Taiwan studies. From the 1950s to the mid-1980s, Taiwan itself was rarely viewed as a legitimate subject for research. The


island was treated as China in miniature. For many scholars, it existed as a “laboratory” for the study of Chinese society and culture.5 As far as the study of Taiwanese history was concerned, the KMT government feared that it would encourage the growth of localism and the idea of Taiwan independence (Li Hung-hsi 1987:6). Political sensibilities discouraged students from entering this field of academic research. Until the mid-1960s, studies of Taiwanese history were done primarily by a small group of Taiwanese scholars rallying around several journals and by the research commissions of local governments at various administrative levels. During this period, study was focused mainly on collecting and sorting data.6 From the mid-1960s to the late 1970s, interest in and studies on Taiwanese history increased in academic circles because of the influence of the “back-to-hsiang-t’u” cultural trend. Multi-disciplinary research projects in the field were carried out. Still, the study of Taiwanese history was viewed primarily as a sub-field in the study of Chinese history, that is, as belonging in the domain of China’s local histories (Tai 1994: 52–3). In academic circles on the island, studies of Taiwanese society and culture that deviated from the pro-China view was rarely found before the mid-1980s. The “indigenization” (t’uchu-hua) theory articulated by anthropologist Ch’en Ch’i-nan to explain the nature of the transformation of Taiwan’s Han Chinese immigrant society during the Ch’ing empire’s rule from 1683 to 1895 might be regarded as a prominent exception. Ch’en’s concept of “indigenization” was diametrically opposed to the “Mainlandization” (nei-ti-hua) theory that was set up by historian Li Kuo-ch’i, which was typical of the pro-China view of history. Both scholars brought out their theories in 1975. They discussed the direction of social and cultural changes in Ch’ing Taiwan, specifically whether or not the Han immigrant society on the island increasingly resembled the Mainland.7 Before the establishment of the Koxinga government, most Han immigrants on the island were merely sojourning adventurers. It was during Koxinga’s rule that Taiwan became a permanent Han settlement. After that time, the Han population began to increase (Ch’en [1966] 1979a: 452–3). Soon after the Ch’ing empire conquered the Koxinga family regime and annexed the island in 1683, Li Kuo-ch’i argued, the imperial policy was to “Mainlandize” the island. The purpose of China’s administration of Taiwan was to change it into a province of China (Li 1975:5). Li wrote: Generally speaking, by the mid-nineteenth century, the Mainlandization of the western developed area [of the island] was nearly achieved. Not only was the bureaucratic administration the same as that of the eighteen provinces of China proper, but most local officials were those who passed the civil examinations for government degrees. The leading stratum of society was no longer the strong and powerful; it was composed of the gentry. Social value judgements and customs were dominated by Confucian moral teachings. (Li 1975:5) Because of the Ch’ing government’s land development, pacification of the aborigines, and improvement of bureaucratic administration from 1885 to 1891, Li Kuo-ch’i argued, the


island society had become similar to Mainland society. Taiwan had completely become a part of China’s territory (Li 1975:12; 1982: 97). By contrast, denying Li’s characterization of the social changes in Ch’ing Taiwan, Ch’en Ch’i-nan argued that Han Chinese society was transformed from an “immigrant society” into a “native society.” In the earlier immigrant society, according to Ch’en, the Han ethnic identification was based on their home towns on the Mainland: Ch'üanchou people and Changchou people from the two prefectures of Fukien Province, and Hakkas, mainly from Kwangtung Province. The frequent, intense armed conflicts (hsieh-tou) among the three groups reflected prevailing ethnic classifications. However, Ch’en noted, in later native society, the basis of ethnic identification changed. Ethnic classifications began to be based on regional ties that were related to specific locales (ti-yüan) on the island, rather than those on the Mainland, and to blood ties or consanguinity (hsieh-yüan) (Ch’en 1984:337–8). Ch’en pointed out two indicators of the indigenization of Han immigrant society. First, armed conflicts had been decreasing in number. Localized religious beliefs increasingly served to integrate the three groups. Many “ritual communities” (chi-ssu-ch’üari) that straddled the ethnic boundaries were developed. Second, immigrant family clans sent their members to the Mainland to offer sacrifices to their ancestors. Then they built ancestral temples at settlements in Taiwan. Thus, Ch’en argued that in the late Ch’ing period the immigrants had gradually alienated themselves from the Mainland and identified themselves with the island (Ch’en Ch’i-nan 1990:91). It is obvious that the purpose of the “Mainlandization” theory was to explain the expansion of the Ch’ing empire and the diffusion of traditional Chinese culture. The “indigenization” theory, in contrast, was focused on the social and cultural change of the immigrant society per se (Ch’en 1984:359–60). As Ch’en Ch’i-nan himself remarked, “the basic frame of reference of the concept of indigenization is Taiwan’s local society, while that of the idea of Mainlandization is China proper” (Ch’en 1984:350). However, Ch’en’s characterization of the transformation of Han immigrant society on the island was a far cry from a nationalist historical narrative based on a politicized “proTaiwan view of history,” despite his emphasis on Taiwanese alienation from China. Embracing the idea that Taiwan was a “laboratory” for the study of Chinese society and culture, Ch’en noted that the purpose of his theory was to elucidate how a proportion of the “Chinese nation emigrated to and settled on China’s frontier and in other countries” (Ch’en 1984:336). Thus it can be said that Ch’en viewed his own study on Ch’ing Taiwan as belonging to a sub-field of China studies. Nevertheless, his notion of “indigenization” was widely accepted and appropriated by Taiwanese nationalists in the 1980s to support their “pro-Taiwan view of history.”


The development of the pro-Taiwan view of history and Taiwanese nationalism Early overseas anti-KMT Taiwanese historiography From the end of the 2–28 Incident of 1947 to the 1960s, overseas anti-KMT Taiwanese constructed and published their own narratives of Taiwanese history in order to justify their different political causes. Of these historical publications, the most well-known were Hsu Hsin’s Taiwan in Indignation ([1949] 1993), Shih Ming’s Four Hundred Years of Taiwanese History ([1962] 1980), and Ong Jok-tik’s Taiwan: A Depressing History ([1964] 1993). All three authors claimed that they narrated Taiwanese history from “the standpoint of Taiwanese people as the ruled and oppressed,” instead of from the standpoint of the ruler and oppressor, including consecutive Western, Chinese, and Japanese colonial regimes on the island and the contemporary KMT government. The three authors’ political beliefs, however, diverged so widely that they emphasized different aspects of this history, attached different meanings to the same events or figures, and derived different conclusions regarding the political future of the island. As an ardent supporter of the CCP, Hsu Hsin emphasized such aspects as the Taiwanese people’s definite Chinese consciousness, communist influences on the Taiwanese antiJapanese movement and the 2–28 Incident, and the “American imperialist plot” to control postwar Taiwan. Hsu wrote his book during China’s civil war. He promised the reader answers to such critical questions as whether the KMT government could take refuge in Taiwan, whether Chiang Kai-shek would become the “second Koxinga,” whether “American imperialists” would capture the island, and whether the CCP would “liberate” Taiwanese people form centuries of alien oppression. Hsu Hsin concluded that the liberation of the island would soon be achieved along with that of the Mainland (Hsu [1949] 1993:12, 223–5). By contrast, Shih Ming and Ong Jok-tik advocated the political independence of Taiwan, attacking KMT rule and the CCP’s claim to sovereignty over the island. Both decried the Koxinga regime for its exploitation of the island and stressed Taiwan’s distinctive socio-political development—especially that caused by Japanese colonial rule—positions which showed the two authors’ feelings of alienation from and disgust at China (Shih [1962] 1980:106–11, 691–3; Ong [1964] 1993: 52–65, 114–17). Still, Shih Ming was a faithful follower of socialism, and Ong Jok-tik tended to favor western liberal democracy.8 The publication of the three alternative historical narratives, however, was banned in Taiwan before the turn of the 1980s. Because the three books were read only underground, their influence on the politicization of Taiwanese history in the last fifteen years or so was limited. The years following the Kaohsiung Incident: politicizing Taiwanese history The emergence of the “pro-Taiwan view of history” was issued primarily from major domestic political changes, especially the Kaohsiung Incident, rather than from overseas


Taiwanese dissident historiography (Chang 1993a: 84). As mentioned in Chapter 4, the Incident paved the way for the radicalization of the opposition ideology, namely, the rising of “Taiwanese consciousness” in the first half of the 1980s. Taiwanese consciousness promoted by the tang-wai group during this period was based mainly on reinterpretations of Taiwanese history. Tang-wai oppositionists attempted to mobilize the Taiwanese by remolding their collective memory. It was the tang-wai group that pioneered the advocacy of a pro-Taiwan view of history. Chapter 4 has noted that during the first half of the 1980s tang-wai advocates of “Taiwanese consciousness” made attacks against the “Chinese consciousness” promoted by the KMT government. They also criticized the sort of “Chinese consciousness” entertained by left-leaning dissidents—especially those rallying around China Tide Review magazine and represented by Ch’en Ying-chen. Despite these left-leaning dissidents’ criticisms of the KMT government’s capitalist economic policy and the KMT’s excessive dependence on “imperialist powers” (the US in particular), for the tang-wai group there was little difference between the KMT government and the dissidents in terms a common adherence to Chinese nationalism and commitment to China’s reunification. During the “Debate on Taiwanese Consciousness” in 1983 (primarily between the China Tide Review group and the Cultivate group, the radical wing of the tang-wai activists), a tang-wai author had pointed out that the conflict over collective identity was caused by differing interpretations of the Taiwanese historical experience (Huang [1984] 1988:145). In the early half of the 1980s, a common rhetorical strategy shared by the advocates of Chinese consciousness and the advocates of Taiwanese consciousness was to satirize their adversaries’ “ignorance” or “distortion” of Taiwanese history. Both groups claimed that they had more comprehensive, objective, and accurate understandings of Taiwanese history than their opponents.9 As mentioned above, the KMT government had long relied on the “pro-China view of history” to justify their rule on the island—especially the rigid political control effected by the temporary provisions and martial law and the freeze on reelections for the members of the three national parliamentary organs. As a “sojourning” regime whose declared goal was to return to the Mainland, the KMT government claimed that all of these unusual political arrangements were necessary expediencies in the period of anti-communist mobilization. These arrangements had seriously infringed on civil rights and resulted in significantly unequal power relations between the Mainlanders and the Taiwanese in the political arena. In the years following the Kaohsiung Incident, tang-wai activists began to attack the “proChina view of history” underlying the KMT government’s political doctrine and the leftwing dissidents’ Chinese consciousness. Generally speaking, both the KMT government and the dissidents stressed the similarities and close cultural and historical relations between the island and the Mainland. By contrast, tang-wai activists highlighted Taiwan’s distinctiveness and how the island had embarked on its own path of historical development. Different political groups used their individual interpretations of Taiwanese history to justify their distinct forms of national identity and political beliefs. Essays on pre-1945 Taiwanese history were frequently published in tang-wai political journals. In a militant tang-wai political magazine, Striking Roots Weekly (Sheng-ken chou-k’ari), regular features about Taiwanese history coexisted with a series of articles for teaching the reader the Hoklo


language. The Eighties (Pa-shih nien-tai) run by the moderate tang-wai leader, K’ang Ninghsiang, also published, after 1983, a series of articles introducing Taiwanese history. Taiwanese history was increasingly politicized. The “return” of the Japanese colonial era: a lesson for the opposition movement Until the early 1980s, the postwar academic study of Taiwanese history as a marginal subfield of the study of Chinese history had focused on the preJapanese era, the period of China’s Ch’ing empire’s rule in particular. So did popular histories. The Japanese colonial period was viewed primarily as a time of repression. Taiwanese histories put out before the mid-1980s typically stressed the pre-1920 armed uprisings, especially those inspired by the success of China’s 1911 anti-Ch’ing revolution led by Sun Yat-sen. The bitter resistance in the first two decades of Japanese colonial rule was used to illustrate Taiwanese “motherland consciousness.”10 As far as the post-1920 nonviolent resistance is concerned, the complexity of anti-colonial political ideologies and strategies was oversimplified. At best, these publications mentioned the reformist home rule movement and proclaimed, in a rather lopsided fashion, the Chinese identiflcation displayed by some of its leaders. Almost none of the publications addressed the ambiguities of the reformists’ attitudes toward future Taiwan—China relations. Moreover, any mention of radical leftist anticolonialism, which, in general, treated the Taiwanese and the Chinese as two distinct “nations” and tended to favor Taiwan independence, was obviously avoided because it was contrary to KMT doctrine. Before the mid-1980s, a typical historical narrative of the Taiwanese anti-Japanese movement, especially those published by the Party and the government would begin with the pre-1920 armed uprisings, followed by a brief description of the reformist anti-colonial movement. Then it would jump to the subject of the determination of the Chinese revolutionaries, led by Sun Yat-sen, to recover Taiwan from the Japanese and the contribution to this end made by the KMT government, especially the 1945 victory over Japan in the Sino-Japanese War.11 The narratives of the Japanese colonial era in junior and senior high school textbooks read in the early 1980s were typical.12 During the first half of the 1980s, tang-wai political magazines devoted many pages to Japanese colonial rule, and, especially, the Taiwanese anti-colonial movement. “Rediscovering” anti-Japanese resistance on the island, the tang-wai group suggested that their anti-KMT movement was a part of a long tradition of Taiwanese resistance to alien rulers.13 It was thus implied that the KMT government, like the Japanese colonial administration, was an “alien regime” (wai-lai cheng-chüan). On the other hand, for tangwai activists, the anti-Japanese resistance—post-1920 nonviolent anti-colonialism in particular—furnished valuable lessons for the contemporary opposition movement against the KMT government. The failure of the armed resistance, whose ideologies and strategies typified traditional Chinese rebellions against dynasties, was attributed to the fact that different groups sought only personal gain and were thus easily seduced into surrender. Because the tang-wai opposition movement was plagued by factionalism, it was argued,


activists must le’arn from the failures of the armed resistance against the Japanese.14 A tang-wai political magazine author wrote: [No] political ideology has yet been developed to guide the resistance, neither could anyone go further to view Taiwan as a self-contained political entity. (Hsü 1986a:64)

There is hardly a case in which the people of the island unit as one…to resist foreign aggression. It did not occurred in the past, neither does it occur at present. Private interests blind one to the truth. The mountain-stronghold mentality (shan-t’ou chui) still dominates today’s opposition movement. If we cannot draw an instructive lesson—“divide and die”—from history, our future is dark…. The Taiwanese are doomed to oppression. (Hsu 1986b:31) As for the post-1920 nonviolent anti-Japanese movement, tang-wai activists typically criticize the reformist anti-colonial groups, namely, the New People’s Society, the pre-1927 Taiwan Cultural Association, and their successor organizations, for excessive moderation. They also attack the reformist leaders for identifying with the colonizer and that this attitude is revealed in their demands for home rule under the Japanese Empire.15 As stated by a tang-wai author, the purpose of re-examining the history of reformist anticolonialism is to understand how “under the oppression by alien regimes Taiwanese submissively gave up their sovereignty and traditional cultural heritage” (Huang 1984: 59– 60). When the confrontational mass rallies and street protests dominated the opposition movement, tang-wai activists addressed the issue of Taiwanese peasant and labor movements under the Japanese.16 One critic concluded his regular feature dealing with Taiwanese anti-Japanese colonialism in an opposition magazine with regrets: In the past year, we have given the reader the history of various social movements under the Japanese and provided their background information. From these accounts and criticisms we learn a lesson—every time a turning point in history occurred, Taiwanese were always overcome by hesitation. The evil sit-by-and-watch consciousness, like a specter, haunted different generations, who acted just as spectators of others’ struggles [against foreign rule]. Owing to this sort of mentality, the Taiwan Cultural Association, the peasant movement, the labor movement, and the campaign for a parliament of Taiwan all began bravely enough, but had a poor ending caused by personal enmity. (Kao 1984:61) What the tang-wai critics were concerned with, was not so much historical truth, as lessons and justifications that history would reveal for their opposition activities. The message of


this kind of narrative and criticism was that the Taiwanese must be united against the contemporary alien regime, because the KMT was the successor of the Japanese, and under KMT rule, Taiwan remained a colony. For most tang-wai critics, during colonial rule the Taiwanese had developed a particular sense of identity with the island that was distinct from their identity with the Mainland, despite the complete failure of Taiwanese anti-Japanese struggles. As noted in Chapter 4, most tang-wai activists believed that the fifty years of colonial rule was a formative stage of Taiwanese consciousness. The ideological foundation of both reformist and radical anticolonialists, these activists argued, was Taiwanese consciousness. While some anti-colonial groups entertained a certain degree of “motherland consciousness,” there was no doubt that every group’s political demands were primarily concerned for the future of the island and its liberation, rather than the future of the Mainland and the liberation of the Chinese. It was not that, as Ch’en Ying-chen believed, the entire anti-colonial movement, like the Taiwanese modern literature developed during this period, was based on Chinese nationalism, far from it. They believed that the modern political administration and economic development initiated by the Japanese had blurred the Chinese immigrants’ group boundaries based on their allegiances to home towns on the Mainland, thus integrating local communities into an island society. Hence, a sense of community shared by the entire population of the island was emerging. It was not unusual that tang-wai critics cast the socioeconomic modernization launched by the Japanese in favorable tones in order to justify their claim that Taiwanese consciousness as opposed to Chinese consciousness had long been mature. It can be said that for the activists who promoted Taiwanese consciousness, Japanese colonial rule was actually a valuable resource.17 Bringing in the aborigines: a challenge to Han Chinese ethnocentrisnt The tang-wai group did not confine their challenge to the pro-China conception of history to the rediscovery and reinterpretation of the politically sensitive history of the Japanese rule. In fact, the attack was launched on the pro-China view as a whole. For tang-wai critics, the claim made by either the PRC or the KMT that “Taiwan was historically an integral part of China” represented a traditional “imperial view of history” (ti-wang shih-kuan) or a “dynastic view of history” (t’ien-chao shih-kuan), which was in turn shaped by “Chinese chauvinism” or “Han ethnocentrism.”18 To dispute such a claim, tang-wai political journals featured articles on the ancient history of aboriginal peoples on the island and stressed the process by which the Chinese immigrants conquered and exploited those aborigines. Recognizing the aborigines as the “authentic” native inhabitants of the island, tang-wai critics explored the early Han immigrants’ conquest and exploitation of the aborigines with an apologetic tone. As descendants of early Han immigrants, these authors were unsparing in the condemnation of their ancestors’ crimes against the aborigines.19 Giving this sort of historical narrative, tang-wai activists identified with the aboriginal peoples as the oppressed and distinguished themselves from the Han Chinese—the oppressor. It was also implied


that the KMT government, as an alien regime, was a contemporary agent of Chinese chauvinism and Han ethnocentrism. Moreover, some critics further challenged the conception that the Taiwanese—the Hoklo and the Hakka—were of pure Han origin. The assimilation of the “plains aborigines” (p’ing-p’u-tsu) into early Han immigrant communities— especially the early ethnic intermarriages between male immigrants from the Mainland and female plain aborigines —resulted in the heterogeneity of the origins of the Taiwanese.20 Emphasizing the role played by the aborigines, tang-wai critics promoted “indigenizing” (pen-t’u-hua) the understanding of Taiwanese past and writing a “Taiwanese history from a Taiwanese viewpoint.” The single proper frame of reference for the narration of a Taiwanese history free from Chinese chauvinism and Han ethnocentrism, they believed, was the soil of the island on which Taiwanese people had placed their feet.21 A typical formulation of this “indigenized” view could be found in Kao I-ke’s essay directed against the China Tide Review group. He stated: [The] accounts of how the Han people oppressed and assimilated the plains aborigines, how they struggled against the mountain aborigines for living space, and how they fought among themselves on the basis of the Changchou-Chüanchou or Fukien-Kwangtung ethnic boundaries are indeed the contents of Taiwanese history. Only when we put our feet on this soil and think deeply can we pin down the course of history. For contemporary Taiwanese people, be they the Hoklo, the Hakka, the mountain aborigines, or the plains aborigines (most of them have become assimilated, and only a few remain unchanged), to avoid any mention of the history of ethnic conflicts in the past is unnecessary. We must not intentionally set one ethnic group against another and stir up enmity between them. These three ethnic groups have encountered the cruel rule of alien “bosses” together, one after the other, over the past centuries. Sharing the same fate, they have identified themselves with the socio-economic community on this soil and made their own history together. Their descendants have multiplied. As a mixture of Han, Japanese, and Malayo-Polynesian cultures, this socioeconomic community developed gradually despite the pressure of foreign imperialist aggression, and it was transformed by the changing of rulers. These are the objective conditions of Taiwan’s historical development. The identification with this land and the sense of being Taiwanese is precisely a subjective Taiwanese historical consciousness. Why must there be “Chinese consciousness” overriding the form taken by a “Taiwanese identity?” If so, with who should the children of the intermarriages between the Han people and the plains aborigines or the mountain aborigines identify? Why must we impose this kind of “overriding consciousness” upon our fellow countrymen? In order to obtain a deep understanding of Taiwanese history, [we] must regard the land as the chief point of reference, starting with [the concern with] Taiwan and ending with [the concern with] Taiwan.


Whether under the Koxinga government or the Ch’ing empire, or the Japanese colonial administration, the people in this land have always been the colonized and the exploited. (Kao [1984] 1988:167–9)

In brief, during the first half of the 1980s, tang-wai activists developed a strong, sweeping interpretative account of Taiwan’s past. This kind of account was opposed to the narrative given according to the pro-China view of history. The entire history of the island was represented as a history of colonization and anti-colonialism, a history of persecution and resistance. Different generations on the island were depicted as victims of colonization and oppression. For tang-wai activists, Taiwanese consciousness exists as a sense of oppression and resistance, which according to the tang-wai is essential to the mobilization of support for the struggle against the KMT. In order to justify the opposition movement and its anti-China tendencies, this distinctive, present-oriented historical narrative is devoted to the dynamics of the Taiwanese anti-Japanese struggle and the early history of the aborigines. It has to be noted, however, that, in the early 1980s, the Hoklo dominated the Taiwanese opposition movement. The opposition demands, rhetoric, and symbolism were relatively Hoklo-centric. Both the concern with the importance of the aborigines and the apologetic attitude toward the oppression of the aborigines by the Han people cannot simply be identified with the DPP’s “four-great-ethnic-groups” and “community-of-fate” rhetoric created at the turn of the 1980s (see Chapter 4). The motif of the opposition movement in the first half of the 1980s was comparatively less multicultural.22 The tang-wai critics’ emphasis on the role played by the aborigines in Taiwanese history was intended to challenge the Chinese consciousness underlying the claim that the island was an integral part of China. A Collapsing Empire, the title of a collection of criticisms edited by a major tang-wai propagandist, Lin Chuo-shui (1947–), expressed the strong disgust with Chinese nationalism.23 The pro-Taiwan view: toward a national history The tang-wai group’s reconstruction of the Taiwanese collective memory of victimization and resistance in the post-Kaohsiung Incident years set the tone for the opposition’s rhetoric and symbolism in the ensuing decade. The rewriting of history in the first half of the 1980s was crucial to the rapid development of Taiwanese nationalism thereafter. The influence of the tang-wai group’s distinctive view was evident in the Li and TWWI groups. The reconstruction of collective memory shaped the two groups’ conceptions of their literary careers and Taiwanese literature. Awakened to political consciousness by the Kaohsiung Incident and to recognition of the despotism of the KMT government, the two groups began to address sensitive socio-political issues in an anti-KMT spirit. It was during these years that the two literary groups established connections with the tang-wai group. Thereafter, their cultural activity became a part of opposition politics, as depicted in


Chapter 4. Increasingly the two groups believed that literature should generally be socially useful and morally edifying. Their literary activity grew increasingly politicized. As tangwai critics linked hsiang-tu literature to their opposition movement and interpreted both as the result of Taiwanese victimization and resistance, such major literary critics of the TWWI group as Kao T’ien-sheng, P’eng Jui-chin, and Ch’en Fang-ming also began to make sense of the development of modern Taiwanese literature in terms of the history of Taiwanese oppression by, and struggle against alien rulers. Taiwanese literature was increasingly represented as a tradition characterized primarily by the spirit of resistance against alien domination. In this radically “de-Sinocized” discourse, the Taiwanese were depicted as orphans deserted by China, and the particularity found in the local literary legacy as a result of Japanese colonialism was regarded as a contributing factor to the “indigenization” of Taiwanese literature. These conceptions could be compared with the emphasis in tang-wai historical narratives on the early Chinese immigrants’ determination to leave the home of their ancestors, and on the significance of Japanese rule to the formation of Taiwanese consciousness and contemporary opposition movements. Just as tangwai critics pursued the “indigenization” of the knowledge of Taiwanese past, so the Li and TWWI groups pursued the “indigenization” of Taiwanese literature. It was after 1983 that a number of professional and amateur historians, such as Li Hsiao-feng, Li Yung-ch’ih, Cheng Ch’in-jen, Ch’en Fangming, Chang Yen-hsien, and Yang Pi-ch’uan, joined the TWWI Society and became members of its editorial board.24 The literary journal also started to run regular features on Taiwanese historical figures and events, those in the Japanese colonial era in particular. Since then all of these historians—especially Ch’en Fang-min and Chang Yen-hsien—have become leading advocates of the pro-Taiwan view of history. Ch’en has also been a fervent champion of Taiwanese consciousness and the indigenization of Taiwanese literature. Following the tang-wai group’s promotion of Taiwanese consciousness in the first half of the 1980s and the dramatic political liberalization since 1986,, including the rapid development of Taiwanese nationalism and the “Taiwanization” of the ruling KMT, the academic study of Taiwanese history and academic Taiwan studies in general, have flourished. Generally speaking, the interest of humanities scholars and social scientists in the Japanese colonial and postwar eras has been increasing rapidly. The history and culture of the plains aborigines has attracted special attention.25 The fact that an increasing number of students devote themselves to Taiwanese history or Taiwan studies in general tells us volumes about the common eagerness to craft and define a distinct identity. The direction the study of Taiwanese history has taken in the past fifteen years or so, has been strongly influenced by pro-independence historians, especially those connected with the TWWI group, whose conception of Taiwanese history was in turn shaped by the kind of consciousness promoted by tang-wai activists (Chang 1993a:84). Cheng Ch’in-jen’s essay, “The Study of Taiwanese History and a Criticism of Historical Consciousness,” published in TWWI in September 1983, was a pioneering exposition of the “pro-Taiwan view of history.” The appearance of Cheng’s article marked a departure in the study of Taiwanese history and stood witness to the far-reaching influence of the tang-wai dissidents’ ideological mobilization on students of history in the early half of the 1980s. As a professor


of Chinese history, Cheng Ch’in-jen believed that it was increasingly difficult for Taiwan students of Chinese history to compete with their counterparts in the PRC, where the study of Chinese history has been promoted in the post-Mao Zedong era. Cheng called on students to devote time to the study of Taiwanese history, which he believed essential to Taiwan’s cultural development. Then Cheng criticized conventional attitudes toward Taiwanese history and expounded his own: 1) “Chinese ethnocentrism” must be eradicated. It is wrong to presume that Chinese and Taiwanese cultures are homogeneous. The proreunification tendency results in strained and mistaken interpretations of Taiwanese history The study of Taiwanese history in the future should address the historical and cultural particularities of the island; 2) Taiwanese history should not be interpreted from the viewpoint of different rulers on the island. It is “we/the people” who are the protagonists of the drama. History must be written in the interests of we/the people. It is misleading to divide Taiwanese history into different periods according to the different regimes on the island. The continuity of “the people’s history” must be emphasized; 3) the study of Taiwanese history should not be simply subsumed within the study of Chinese history. It is only when placed in the context of “world history” that the island can be properly understood. The liberal, progressive character of an ocean-oriented Taiwanese culture as distinct from the oppressive, reactionary feature of earth-bound Chinese culture should be brought into focus. The interaction between the island and other countries must be closely examined (Cheng 1983). Cheng Ch’in-jen, like the tang-wai critics, favored the “indigenization” of the understanding of Taiwanese history. The representation of Taiwanese and Chinese cultures as two distinct patterns (“maritime culture” versus “continental culture”) was used to justify the incompatibility of the pro-China view of history and the pro-Taiwan view of history and hence the need for an “indigenized” narrative of the past. Since the early 1980s the concepts of “indigenized history,” or to be more precise, “the people’s history,” and “history from below” (T’ai-wan min-chung-shih) have prevailed among professional and amateur students of Taiwanese history Generally speaking, the “pro-Taiwan view of history” advocated by pro-independence historians in the past fifteen years has hardly gone beyond what Cheng Ch’in formulated in his 1983 essay. “Keep a subjective Taiwanese view of history” (chien-li t’ai-wan chu-t’i-hsing li-shih-kuan) or “reconstruct an historical Taiwanese subjectivity” (chung-chien t’ai-wan li-shih chu-t’i-hsing) has become their catchphrases.26 Pro-independence supporters believe that for several centuries, attempts to build a nation from below has been the driving force for the development of Taiwanese history.27 Historian Wu Mi-ch’a wrote: The study and narration of Taiwanese history in itself is indeed a part of Taiwanese nationalism. It is because of the striking development of Taiwanese nationalism that [the concept and study of] Taiwanese history obtains. Hence the accepted [study of] Taiwanese history should address itself to questions of the emergence, development, and character of Taiwanese nationalism. That is, the most important task of [the study of] Taiwanese history now is to accurately analyze and explain Taiwanese nationalism. (WuMi-ch’a 1994:92)


Reflecting on his studies of Taiwanese history, Ch’en Fang-ming believes that he has made a contribution to a theory of Taiwan independence by providing well-founded historical interpretations (Ch’en Fang-ming 1992b:iii). The pro-Taiwan view of history, Ch’en admits, is no less politicized than the pro-China view of history. However, he claims that as soon as “the people’s view of history” (jen-min shih-kuan) that embodies “Taiwanese subjectivity” wins out, any controversy over Taiwanese history will end.28 In February 1995, the Taiwan Historical Association (T’ai-wan li-shih hsüeh-hui) was organized with Li Yung-ch’ih as the head, and was rallied around by mostly pro-independence historians. The Association claimed that Taiwan, as a sovereign country, must maintain her “subjectivity,” devoting itself to promoting “a historical view that embodies Taiwanese subjectivity.”29 Pro-independence historians challenged the official representation of Koxinga as a “Chinese national hero.” Rejecting this conventional historical narrative as myth, they attacked Koxinga’s insular, coarse character and his family regime’s ruthless exploitation of the aborigines. For these historians, the regime’s “recover-the-Mainland” policy was doomed to failure. As it was, the regime was conquered by the Ch’ing empire.30 It is clear that this criticism was an allusion to the KMT government’s doctrine. Besides, Ch’en Ch’inan’s “indigenization” concept was appropriated to characterize not only the change of Han immigrant society in Ch’ing Taiwan but also the entire development of island society over the past centuries. The indigenization theory was accepted as a kind of “the people’s view of history,” while Li Kuo-ch’i’s “Mainlandization” theory was criticized as deriving from the “imperial view of history.” For pro-independence historians, the tendency of indigenization represented Taiwanese determination to fight against alien rulers and to defend the island as their home.31 Moreover, like early tang-wai critics, pro-independence historians put a special emphasis on the post-1920 Taiwanese anti-colonial struggle, stressing that the ultimate goal of either the reformist movement or the radical resistance movement was the eventual autonomy of Taiwan. The history of the post-1920 antiJapanese movement as a whole was interpreted as an attempt to establish the “subjectivity” of Taiwanese culture. A long Taiwanese prodemocracy tradition was created discursively by relating the postwar anti-KMT movement to the anti-Japanese struggle.32 Since the mid-1980s, the most impressive efforts to reshape Taiwanese collective memory were the discoveries of the truth of the 2–28 Incident of 1947 and the history of the plains aborigines. On the one hand, opposition activists and historians’ endeavors to reveal the truth of the Incident was in fact a continuation of the tang-wai group’s interest in representing the island’s past as a history of colonization and anti-colonialism, a history of victimization and resistance. The sweeping account of Taiwanese history developed by tang-wai activists in the first half of the 1980s was employed to characterize postwar Taiwan under the KMT. On the other hand, in the context of the past decade or so, the new “fourgreat-ethnic-groups” classification and the “community-of-fate” concept has been widely accepted. The interest in public and academic circles (mainly historians, anthropologists and folklorists) in the history of the plains aborigines, suggests the emergence of a distinct


Taiwanese identity. Both the discoveries of the truth of the 2–28 Incident and the history of the plains aborigines have embodied the pro-Taiwan view of history, namely, “deSinocization” and “anti-Han-ethnocentrism” tendencies and the idea of a “history from below.” The discovery of the truth of the 2–28 Incident: writing a national epic There are no historical or political issues more sensitive and controversial in postwar Taiwan than the 2–28 Incident. Not only did this tragic event result in lasting hostility between the Taiwanese and the Mainlanders, it was also the primary contributing factor to the creation of the overseas Taiwanese independence movement. The Incident remained politically taboo for forty years. All official archives concerning the event were classified, and people were not allowed to discuss it openly. Moreover, the Incident was subject to various interpretations. The KMT government viewed it as a rebellion excited by proindependence conspirators and the Taiwanese Communist Party, who the KMT believed was in turn controlled by the CCP. The CCP claimed that the resistance was encouraged by the “New Democratic Revolution” led by Mao Zedong, defining it as a Taiwanese revolution against the rule of the “American-Chiang Kai-shek gang.” Besides, the leftleaning dissidents in Taiwan, such as Ch’en Ying-chen and the historian Wang Hsiao-p’o, argued that the leaders of the resistance had embraced Chinese nationalism and justly demanded political reforms. In these dissidents’ belief, “American imperialists” inspired the emerging idea of Taiwanese independence.33 While tang-wai political journals devoted themselves to the discovery of the truth of the Incident, it was not until February 1987, when a group of opposition activists organized the “2–28 Peace Day Campaign Association” (Erh-erh-pa he-p’ing-jih ts’u-chin-hui), that the historical taboo of this event was turned into a public issue. Led by Ch’en Yung-hsing, former head of the TWWI Society (January 1983 —May 1986), the Association rallied many DPP leaders and supporters, including such literary or cultural organizations as the Li, TWWI, Literary Taiwan, Taiwanese New Culture societies and the Taiwan Pen Association. The organization staged a series of mass rallies and demonstrations in major cities across the island in early 1987, demanding that the KMT government confess the truth of the Incident and rehabilitate the victims of the massacre committed by KMT troops.34 As a result of increasing freedom of speech, the Incident soon became a hotly-contested public issue. The DPP demanded that the KMT government declassify archives concerning the Incident, make an official apology, and afford redress to the families of the victims. The KMT was on the defensive. The tragedy lent itself to the dramatization of the opposition’s “victimization-and-resistance” rhetoric and symbolism. In 1991, under increasing pressure from the opposition, the KMT government organized an ad hoc team to investigate the Incident. Having access to part of the official archives, the team published their report the followingyear.35 The report claimed that its purpose was to “clarify the truth of the matter, not to ascertain where the blame lay” Still, it made it clear that Chiang Kai-shek, Ch’en I, and several officers of high rank committed


serious mistakes while using troops to suppress resistance (The 2–28 Incident Investigation Team, Executive Yuan 1992:364–6). However, the opposition was not satisfied with the official report. The Incident remained a hot political issue and played a major part in the opposition’s anti-KMT propaganda in the early 1990s. A great many writers, journalists, families of victims, professional and amateur historians, joined in the search for the truth, adding their own narratives of the event to the public debate. In fact, before the official investigation team was organized, a number of scholars closely associated with the opposition had begun to reconstruct the history of the Incident despite the unavailability of the official archives. When the 2–28 Peace Day Campaign Association was organized, this group of scholars held the first symposium on the event in San Francisco. Since then, many inquiries based on unofficial sources have been published. Pro-independence historians’ conceptions of the 2–28 Incident are typical of the proTaiwan view of history they promote. For them, the tragedy exemplifies the Taiwanese historical experience of oppression and resistance. Victimization of the people—the massacre during the Incident and the purge in the ensuing years—was the heavy price paid for the island’s reunification with China. First and foremost, the Taiwanese must become master of the narration of their own history, and the Incident should be interpreted from a “subjective Taiwanese viewpoint,” namely, “the standpoint of the people.” Pursuing a “2–28 Incident history from below,” pro-independence historians believe that the methods of oral history—especially interviewing the survivors and the families of the victims, and so on—was the best way to arrive at the truth.36 Rejecting the different interpretations on the Incident placed by the KMT, CCP, and Taiwan’s left-leaning dissidents, pro-independence historians argue that it was a legitimate resistance against KMT rule. The revolt, they assert, was inspired by a Taiwanese (national) consciousness that had become fully-fledged during Japanese rule. The tragedy is viewed as the inevitable outcome of the sharp collision that took place between a Taiwanese (national) consciousness and the Chinese (national) consciousness. The discovery of the truth of the Incident, they believe, is a starting point for understanding the nature of postwar KMT rule. Taiwanese cultural reconstruction, the search for a new national identity, and the struggle for an independent country must be based on a thorough grasp of the significance of this historic event.37 For those who embrace the pro-Taiwan view of history, the 2–28 Incident was a holocaust. The Incident, they argue, is the focal point of the collective memory preserved by Taiwanese as an ethnic group distinct from the Mainlanders. It is by recollecting and reconstructing the experience of this tragic event that “we” become clearly aware of “who we are” and resolve to be “who we should be.” The narrative of the uprising and the suffering caused by the resulting purge has developed into a kind of “national epic.” The Incident has been represented as a “national trauma,” a story about resistance and suffering, which pro-independence historians claim should be narrated from the sufferers’ viewpoint, namely, the pro-Taiwan view of history.38


The rediscovery of the history of the plains aborigines: imagining Taiwan as a multi-ethnic nation Since the mid-1980s, professional and amateur studies of Taiwanese history have rapidly increased in number. In addition to the unearthing of the truth of the 2–28 Incident, the studies that have made the greatest impact on ethnic identity and historical consciousness have been those that aim to recover the history and culture of the plains aborigines (Chang 1995b:15). “Plains aborigines” refers to the peoples who lived mainly in the west and northeast plain and tableland areas of the island. Like the “mountain aborigines” who dwell in the central mountain regions, they were of Malayo-Polynesian origin. Yet the plains aborigines, unlike the mountain aborigines, made active contact with the outside world because they lived in the plains and tablelands and thus had easy access to the sea. The Dutch colonizers exerted a remarkable influence on the plains aborigines in southern Taiwan. Over the past centuries, waves of Han immigrants from China seized lands owned by the plains aborigines and threatened their livelihood. Ethnic intermarriages were quite common because female plains aborigines became ready partners of male Han immigrants who normally came to the island alone. Further, the plains aborigines assimilated Chinese culture quickly. By the late nineteenth century, when Japan annexed Taiwan, the plains aborigines had become fully assimilated into the Han Chinese community. Their languages and cultures had nearly disappeared (Li 1997: 33–9). Before the mid-1980s, the history of the plains aborigines drew little attention. Postwar anthropological study of the aboriginal peoples in Taiwan focused on the mountain aborigines (Chang 1991:63). While there existed considerable private and official records regarding the plains aborigines made during the Ch’ing and Japanese rules, few students of Taiwanese history addressed issues concerning the plains aborigines (Chan 1996:48). It was not until the mid-1980s that the history of the plains aborigines aroused any great interest. Since then, the history and culture of the plains aborigines has become a popular topic among professional and amateur historians, folklorists, and anthropologists. Numerous narratives of the past began to bring the history of the plains aborigines into focus. Studies of the plains aborigines in turn exerted a strong influence on Taiwanese ethnic consciousness. Increasing numbers of Hoklo and Hakka Taiwanese now search for their roots and find that they have plains aborigines’ bloodlines in their genealogy. Despite the fact that they are descendants coming out of ethnic intermarriages, many begin to claim that they are plains aborigines. A number of sacrificial rites and festivals that are supposed to belong to the traditions of the plains aboriginal tribes have been revived. Some leaders of these revival movements embark on the writing of the histories of their own tribes. They also demand that their “tribal peoples” be afforded the same rights, such as the ownership of reservations, as mountain aborigines.39 The enormous increase of interest in the history and culture of the plains aborigines and related ethnic revival movements cannot be attributed exclusively to the promotion of the pro-Taiwan view of history. Nevertheless, the advocacy of a Taiwanese history rid of “Chinese chauvinism” and “Han ethnocentrism” has been a major contributing factor. The rediscovery of the history of the plains aborigines, and identification with those lost tribes have in turn dramatized the “indigenization” of Taiwanese history. Taiwan’s multi-ethnic


history—especially the plural origins of the Taiwanese, a prominent historian of the plains aborigines believes, further demonstrates that Taiwan’s particularity and “subjectivity” cannot be simply subsumed under Chineseness (Chan 1996:73). Another leading folklorist notes that contemporary Taiwanese should draw a lesson from the disappearance of the Siraya (one tribe of the plains aborigines in southern Taiwan). A nation, he asserts, must treasure its traditional cultures in order to create self-confidence. The rediscovery of the history of their ancestors will reinstate the glory and dignity of “Taiwanese nation” (Liu 1994:6). A campaign for the protection of a historical site of the Ketagalan tribe of the plains aborigines illustrates the great and growing influence of the pro-Taiwan view of history. In the summer of 1988, the Provincial Government decided to build a sewage treatment plant at a tiny village near the mouth of the Tamshui River in northern Taiwan. At the precise place where the treatment facilities were to be located was a site called “Shih-sanhang”. Archaeologists had excavated considerable Ketagalan remains there in the late 1950s, reporting that the culture represented by the remains might be traced back to the tenth century. When the building project of the sewage treatment plant was announced, a group of archaeologists began to protest. Gradually the conflict attracted wide attention and became a public issue. However, the government did not change its plans. The building work proceeded. In July 1991, a campaign for protecting the Shih-san-hang site was initiated, rallying various college student organizations and groups of social activists, including the TWWI Society and the Taiwan Pen Association.40 The students and activists filed numerous protests with the government and conducted a campaign to garner public support for the protection of the site. A manifesto declared: “we can control our own history…we must control our own history, and now is the critical moment” (Rescue the Shih-san-hang Culture Site Campaign Union 1991:146). Another propaganda essay argued: The [protection of the] Shih-san-hang site is of vast significance to the interpretative framework of Taiwanese history. It represents respect for oppressed ethnic groups. It is the only historical interpretation that can display historical totality and continuity. Only when we bring different ethnic groups into Taiwanese history can we have an authentic history of the collectivity of Taiwanese people…. The most important thing is to use the independent interpretation given by the people to subvert the ideology of the ruler…. We believe that the rescue campaign inaugurated by the Han people is of considerable significance to the understanding of the plains aborigines and to their self-understanding. This campaign also marks the first step toward a pro-Taiwan conception of history (Rescue the Shih-san-hang Culture Site Campaign Union 1991:116–18) The appeal of the campaign epitomized the pro-Taiwan view of history, especially its “deSinocization,” multi-cultural tendencies and the idea of “history-from-below.” As noted above, some tang-wai critics in the early 1980s addressed the heterogeneity of Taiwanese origins caused by the plains aborigines’ assimilation and intermarriage with the Han people.


However, opposition demands, rhetoric, and symbolism were comparatively Hoklocentric then. The emphasis upon the role played by the plains or mountain aborigines was intended primarily to challenge the official representation of the Taiwanese as “pure” Han Chinese. It did not immediately produce the effect that changed the ethnic consciousness of Hoklo and Hakka Taiwanese. By contrast, when the concepts of the “four great ethnic groups,” “community of fate,” “ethnic quality,” and multi-culturalism were widely accepted in the late 1980s, a growing number of Hoklo and Hakka people have had little hesitation in identifying themselves as plains aborigines. The rediscovery of the history of the plains aborigines has acquired a new significance. It is used not only to challenge the pro-China interpretation of Taiwanese history that was based on Chinese nationalism; but it has also contributed greatly to the formation of a new Taiwanese identity While increasing identification with the plains aborigines may change the “four-great-ethnic-groups” classification only recently created, it has lent itself to the conception of the island as a “community of fate” distinct from Mainland China by dramatizing the indigenization of historical consciousness. The rediscovery of the history of, and the identification with, the lost tribes, facilitates the imagination of Taiwan as a multi-ethnic and multi-cultural nation. “We all are Taiwanese” (ta-chia tou-shih t’ai-wan-jen, a popular political slogan shared by the KMT and the DPP in the past decade), divided by ethnic boundaries, but united under a national framework. Conclusion This chapter shows that different political actors in Taiwan have used their individual interpretations of Taiwanese history to justify distinct political beliefs and forms of national identity. To their narratives, different components of history are highlighted, and different meanings are attached to the same figure or event. Political actors and their current concerns motivate the recollection of the past. As Maurice Halbwachs has noted, “the past does not recur as such …the past is not preserved but is reconstructed on the basis of the present” (Halbwachs [1941, 1952] 1992:39–40). How the past is recollected is typically contingent on present socio-political conditions and the interests of the actors involved. The emergence of the “pro-Taiwan conception of history” was attributed primarily to the propaganda launched by tang-wai oppositionists in the post-Kaohsiung Incident period. The Incident paved the way for the radicalization of the opposition ideology, and tang-wai critics began to rediscover oppressed memories of the past and to place new interpretations on history The history of Taiwan’s anti-Japanese struggle was recollected in a way that fit “colonization/anti-colonialism” and “victimization/resistance” rhetoric, especially the post-1920 anti-colonialists represented by tang-wai activists as their predecessors. Comparing themselves to the anti-colonial activists, the tang-wai group established continuity with the anti-Japanese past and defined their own opposition movement as a part of the local tradition of resistance against alien rulers. Moreover, the history of the aborigines was reinterpreted in a way that fit the challenge to Chinese nationalism. The existence of the (plains) aborigines was employed


to refute claims that the island was historically an integral part of China and that the Taiwanese were purely of Han origin. Similarly, in an era when Taiwanese nationalism developed rapidly, the 2– 28 Incident was interpreted as a collective trauma for the Taiwanese as a distinct nation. The experience of the tragedy was recalled as an example of national victimization and resistance. The narrative of the event formed the most affecting verses of a newly constructed national epic. In the present, as Taiwanese nationalism becomes less Hoklo-centric and the value of ethnic equality is becoming widely appreciated, the way the history and culture of the plains aborigines is understood is importantly different from interpretations framed in the first half of the 1980s. This “rediscovery” has proceeded primarily in a way that lends support to the notion of a multi-ethnic and multi-cultural “community of fate.” The increasing identification with the plains aborigines speaks volumes to the ascendancy of the pro-Taiwan view of history This kind of historical conception has become a prevailing framework that many Taiwanese now use to reconstruct an image of the past which is in accord with the predominant idea of political and cultural “indigenization.” The salience of a group memory typically depends on the social power of the specific group that embraces it (Halbwachs [1950] 1980: 120–7). The ascendancy of the pro-Taiwan view of history since the 1980s, represents the rise of the Taiwanese and the descent of the Mainlanders in political and cultural arenas. However, the prevailing of the pro-Taiwan conception of history does not mean that pro-China view of history has entirely vanished. Collective memories can be suppressed, but they are difficult to eradicate. The collective memory of the Mainlanders’ historical experience, which includes the resistance against the Japanese on the Mainland during the Second World War, the final victory, the deep misery caused by the KMT-CCP civil war, and the intense sufferings endured when fleeing the Mainland and settling on the island— is no less a moving element of a national epic, than the Taiwanese experience of being colonized and victimized. This kind of historical memory has formed the basis of the proChina view of history Imagining Taiwan as a multiethnic country, the people on the island increasingly encounter the problem of social integration. In this era of plural ethnic identities, it is not surprising if the pro-Taiwan view of history diversifies and “pro-Hoklo,” “pro-Hakka,” or “pro-aborigine” views of history emerge. Different ethnic groups may begin to claim a voice in the writing of the history of the island. The narration of the past of the island from the standpoints of different ethnic groups will inevitably give rise to interpretative contradictions. It seems that the writing of a “national history”—the representation of a common past from a coherent, dominant viewpoint—becomes increasingly difficult. As a pioneering student of collective memory, Halbwachs believed that society is possible only if, and when, its members establish a kind of consensus, which in turn relies partly on their collective memory. For Halbwachs, there exists a societal need to create a “master narrative” of the past in order to coordinate the actions of its members in current situations and in the future, especially in an increasingly specialized society where people are in danger of being confined to their specific, narrow group memories (Halbwachs [1941, 1952] 1992:182–3). However, is the production of a “master narrative” of the past


in a society of plural ethnic identities possible? If it is, what should this kind of historical narrative look like? In a society like Taiwan, where people are increasingly mobilized on the basis of ethnic identities in order to claim a voice in socio-political matters, these questions loom large. There are no readymade answers. Notes 1 Similarly, claiming that the ROC in Taiwan was an illegitimate local government, the CCP defined it, before the end of 1970s, as “the gang controlled by Chiang Kai-shek” (Chiang-pang). 2 Grounding their argument on considerable historical documentation, Frank S.T. Hsiao and Lawrence R. Sullivan find that neither the KMT nor the CCP regarded Taiwan as an integral part of China and that neither committed themselves to the territorial “recovery” of Taiwan until the 1943 Cairo Conference, which called for a return of Taiwan to Chinese sovereignty. See Hsiao and Sullivan (1979). See also the section on “radical anti-colonialism” of Chapter 2 of this book. 3 See also KMT Committee of the Party History (1988). 4 For an analysis of the centralized production of school textbooks in Taiwan and the ideologies expressed in these publications, see Shih, et al. (1993). 5 Sociologist Ch’en Shao-hsing described Taiwan as “a laboratory for the study on Chinese society and culture” in 1966. See Ch’en ([1966] 1979b); Cf. Yang (1987); Hsü (1991). For foreign students of Taiwan as well, the island functioned as a substitute for the Mainland, especially before China opened its door to the West in the late 1970s. Two American anthropologists, Hill Gates and Emily Martin Ahren, write that “the assumptions about Taiwan’s relationship to China that anthropologists bring to their work do much to shape the future of the field.” According to Gates and Ahren, while some anthropologists who study Taiwan take as their subject “the shaping of social relations by forces that are external to the actors and have no necessary connection with [Chinese] tradition”, others study “behavior associated with attempts to conform to cultural principles that are linked or can easily be linked to the Chinese past”. Gates and Ahren point out that it is the second perspective that has prevailed: “[Foreign] [a] nthropologists have therefore gone to Taiwan to study what they could no longer study in other provinces [of China]. It was Taiwan’s representativeness, not its special qualities, that first attracted their interest and inspired such splendid contributions to our understanding of Chinese life as Margery Wolf’s The House of Lim.” See Gates and Ahren (1981:8). Another example is the American study of Taiwanese history. American historian Douglas Fix makes the criticism that the study of Taiwanese history in America has just been a “vassal” in the field of Chinese history, He notes that before the end of the 1970s, American scholars studied Taiwan simply because they could not gain access to China. They studied Taiwan in order to understand China; the island itself did not necessarily interest them. They emphasized Taiwan’s “Chinese character” but neglected its peculiarities. According to Fix, it has taken American students of Taiwanese history nearly thirty years to recognize that Taiwan is more than one of China’s provinces. See Fix (1988:57–8). For a thorough discussion on the fact that Taiwan itself was rarely viewed as a subject for research not only by Taiwan’s scholars but also by foreign (especially American and Japanese) students, see the feature report on Free China Review, February 1994.


6 For at least three decades following the Second World War, a professor at the National Taiwan University was the only scholar teaching Taiwanese history. See Free China Review, February 1994, 20. 7 For discussions on the “Mainlandization” and “Indigenization” theories, see Ts’ai (1985); Huang et al. (1986); Chen Kong-li (1988); Ang (1989); Ch’en Hsin-chin (1990). 8 For a general discussion concerning Shih Ming’s Four Hundred Years of Taiwanese History, see Wu, et al. (1991). For an analysis of his concept of “Taiwanese nationhood,” see Wu Mingyung (1994). For PRC scholars’ criticism of Shih Ming’s historiography, see Hsü (1994). 9 For this kind of rhetorical strategy and claim, see Sung (1984a); Tai (1984); Wu Te-shan (1984); Ch’in ([1984] 1988). 10 According to Weng Chia-in’s study. the goal of most Taiwanese resistance in the early years of the Japanese colonialism was to restore Ch’ing rule. The anti-Ch’ing movement launched on the Mainland at the turn of the nineteenth century, he notes, had little influence on Taiwanese armed uprisings. Also, many of the post-1907 rebels claimed that they would establish an independent kingdom on the island. See Weng Chia-in (1986: ch. 4). 11 For this sort of historical narrative, see Fang (1951); Kuo (1954); Taiwan Provincial Historical Research Commission (1974); Sheng, et al. (1977); Ch’en (1981); Ch’eng (1981); Li (1981); P’an (1981). 12 These kinds of narratives in high school textbooks were cited in Li Hsiao-fo (1982). 13 For example, see Yen (1984). Cf. Shih ([1985] 1988:6). 14 For accounts of the factionalism within the tang-wai group in the post-Kaohsiung Incident years, see Li Hsiao-feng (1987:184–214); Tien (1989:98–9). 15 For this kind of criticism of the reformist anti-colonialism made by tang-wai activists, see Kao I-ke (1983); Huang Ch’un-hsiung (1984). Huang’s criticism was based on E. Patricia Tsurumi’s studies on the reformist leaders’ acceptance of the values of the colonizer, which Tsurumi argues weakened their will to resist foreign rule and moderated their anti-colonial struggles. See Chapter 2 of this book. 16 For instance, see the series of articles by Kao I-ke entitled ‘A History of Taiwanese Peasant Movement” in Striking Roots Weekly (Sheng-ken chou-k’ari), nos. 9–14 (December 22, 1983 January 19, 1984). 17 For this tendency, see Ch’en ([1983] 1988); Kao ([1984] 1988); Lin ([1984] 1988); Shih ([1984] 1988); Sung (1984a). Early overseas anti-KMT, pro-independence Taiwanese critics had shown a similar attitude. Shih Ming claimed in 1962 that “based on the particular social existence and national consciousness, a distinct Taiwanese nation emerged as a result of the modernization and capitalization achieved during the fifty-one years of Japanese imperialist rule. Also, Taiwanese nationalism was forming.” See Shih ([1962] 1980:691). While Ong Joktik criticized Japanese rule in Taiwan, he wrote: “Taiwanese were thus forced to join modern society, enjoying the benefits brought by modernization.” See Ong ([1964] 1993:114). By contrast, historian Tai Kuo-hui, who had close connections with Ch’en Ying-chen and the China Tide Review, attacked such overseas pro-independence Taiwanese as Ong Jok-tik’s and the tang-wai critics’ “Japanophile” tendency. He argued that during the late Ch’ing rule the island had developed a sufficient infrastructure that laid the foundation for a capitalist economy in the Japanese colonial era. Hence the modernization of the island society could not be ascribed exclusively to Japanese colonialism. See Tai (1984). 18 For instance, see Kao I-ke ([1984] 1988:167); Shih ([1985] 1988:4). 19 For instance, see Ch’en Yuan ([1984] 1988); Kao ([1984] 1988); Lin ([1984] 1991a). 20 For example, see Kao ([1984] 1988); Fan-ts’ai-huo and Lin ([1984] 1991). 21 For this view, see Huang (1983a, 1983b); Kao I-ke ([1984] 1988); Sung (1984a).


22 Still the tang-wai group did begin to address the issue of the disadvantaged socio-political situations of the aborigines and support the emerging aboriginal movement after 1984. For a detailed discussion of the relations between tang-wai activists and early aboriginal movement, see Hsieh Shih-chung (1987:ch. 6). 23 See Lin ([1984] 1991b). Lin Chuo-shui provided a typical example of the tang-wai activists’ shift in their historical views and political ideology in the post-Kaohsiung Incident years. In an essay published only three months before the outbreak of the Kaohsiung Incident, he argued that the Hoklo and the Hakka both derived their origins from central China and were two of the primary creators of a time-honored Chinese cultural tradition. Espousing the “back-tohsiang-t’u” and “searching-fbr-roots” ideas prevailing in the 1970s, Lin denounced those who denied their Chinese origin and advocated Taiwan independence. Also, he demanded that the KMT government not discriminate against the Taiwanese because they definitely belonged to Chinese nation. Lin called on the Mainlanders and the Taiwanese to work together to defend traditional Chinese national culture. See Lin Chuo-shui (1979). By contrast, in the early 1980s, Lin became devoted to exploding “the myth of Chinese nationalism.” He emphasized the component of non-Han blood in the Hoklos and the Hakkas, stressing early Chinese immigrants’ determination to abandon the home of their ancestors and to settle down on the island. Chinese consciousness entertained by the Taiwanese, he argued, had been quite faint. See Lin ([1984] 1988; [1984] 1991b). Lin became a major mover of the DPP’s proindependence policy and was the author of a new plank in the 1991 party platform that called for the creation of the “Republic of Taiwan.” He is now a DPP member of the Legislative Yuan. 24 See Taiwan Literature, no. 80 (January 1983): copyright page; no.81 (March 1983): copyright page; no.86 (January 1984): copyright page. 25 As an indicator of these recent trends in academic studies, master’s theses and doctoral dissertations on Taiwanese history have been increasing steadily since 1984. Degree monographs of this kind that appeared during the five-year period from 1988 to 1992 were more than those finished from 1957 (the year when the first thesis on Taiwanese history appeared) to 1987. Moreover, the number of degree theses on Ch’ing Taiwan have been decreasing, while the number of those dealing with the Japanese colonial and postwar eras have been increasing. After 1986, theses regarding the Japanese colonial period produced each year even began to exceed those on Ch’ing Taiwan in number. See Tai (1994:58–62). Also, monographs on the aboriginal peoples began to appear. The reconstruction of the history of the plains aborigines in particular has aroused the interest of many history graduate students. See Shih (1994:438). In addition, conferences on Taiwanese history have been held almost every year since 1983. For analyses of the increase of the degree theses on Taiwanese history and history graduate students’ rising interest in Taiwanese history in Taiwan, see also Shih (1994); Liang (1995). Cf. Li Hsiao-feng (1984). For general discussions about these multiplying studies in the fields of humanities and social sciences and about the increasing interest in studying the island as an independent research object rather than a substitute for Mainland China in America and Japan, see the feature in Free China Review, February 1994. 26 For instance, see Ch’en (1989a, 1992b); Chang Yen-hsien (1993a,1995a); Wu Mi-ch’a (1994); Taiwan Historical Association (1995). 27 For this kind of view, see Chang Yen-hsien (1993b). 28 See Ch’en Fang-ming (1992b: 57); Newsletter of Taiwan History Field Research (T’ai-wan-shih t’ien-yeh yen-chiu t’ung-hsün), no.26 (March 1993): 41–2. 29 See Newsletter of the Taiwan Historical Association (T’ai-wan li-shih hsüeh-hui t’ung-hsün), no. 1 (September 1995).


30 For the kind of view of Koxinga and his family regime, see, for example, Ch’en (1989b); Li and Liu (1994:55–72). 31 For this sort of appropriation of Ch’en Ch’i-nan’s notion, see Ch’en Fang-min (1988:233–5); (1992b: 12–4). 32 See Ch’en Fang-ming (1992c). Ch’en saw the opposition’s 1991 demand for establishing the “Republic of Taiwan” as a natural continuation of the anti-colonial movement’s commitment to autonomy. A new, distinct national identity, Ch’en believed, had emerged among the participants of the anti-colonial movement. See Ch’en (1992c: 39). Amateur historian Yang Pi-ch’uan argued that during the Japanese rule Taiwanese consciousness did not mature into a “Taiwanese national consciousness” mainly because the reformist capitalists and landlords and the radical workers and peasants could not overcome their “class contradictions.” These Han anti-colonial activists and the aboriginal peoples could not conquer “racial contradictions.” The reformist leaders, Yang criticized, were especially handicapped by their nostalgia for the “motherland.” See Yang (1988:ch. 2). 33 For a useful summary of the various interpretations of the 2–28 Incident, see Hou (1994). For the CCP’s views on the event, which varied with China’s domestic political situation and its Taiwan policy, see Ch’en (1992d). 34 For the details of the organization and activities of the 2–28 Peace Day Campaign Association, see The Free Age Weekly (Tsu-yu shih-tai chou-k’an), nos.158, 159, 160, 161, 162, 163, 164 (February 2 -March23, 1987). 35 For the criticism that the team did not employ some major official archives and historical records, see Ch’en (1992b: 145–6); Hou (1994:45). 36 For these views on the Incident, see Ch’en Fang-ming (1989a, 1990); Chang Yen-hsien (1990, 1992); Ch’en Li-fu (1990). Cf. Wang Hui-ying (1995). 37 For these interpretations, see Ch’en Fang-ming (1988, 1990); Chang Yen-hsien (1995a). 38 In March 1995, the Legislative Yuan adopted a bill to afford redress to the victims of the mistreatment and massacre committed by KMT officials and troops. The bill stipulates that February 28 is a national commemoration day. In that year the KMT government also erected a monument in commemoration of the 2–28 Incident in Taipei. 39 For a summary discussion of the rediscovery of the plains aborigines and the related ethnic revival movements, see Chan Su-chüan (1996). 40 For a concise description of the activities of the campaign, see Rescue the Shih-san-hang Culture Site Campaign Union (1991).

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7 Conclusion

This book is a study on Taiwanese cultural nationalism—on the politically-inspired construction of Taiwanese national identity in the realms of literature, language, and history. The previous chapters show that pro-independence writers, literary critics, Hoklo language revivalists, and amateur and professional historians have crafted a nation discursively by reclaiming its unique literary heritage, linguistic tradition, and historical development. The chapters point out that it was not until the early 1980s that politicallysignificant Taiwanese cultural nationalism emerged. The delay between the political activists’ nationalist mobilization and the dissident humanist intellectuals’ espousal of Taiwanese nationalism speaks volumes for the fact that the Taiwanese nationalist movement is historically a “latecomer” when viewed in the perspective of the development of nationalism in the world. The notably politicized character of Taiwanese cultural nationalism has influenced the academic understanding of its development and affected the nature of public discourse about the national identity problem on the island. This final chapter addresses these two related issues with a view toward making the argument more explicit. Taiwanese nationalism as an historical “latecomer” Nationalist movements and nation-building processes in nineteenth-century Europe and in twentieth-ceritury colonized regions have created a world system of nation-states. To belong to a nation-state and identify oneself in terms of citizenship has become so natural that the condition of being stateless is nearly unimaginable. According to the principle of national self-determination, any people capable of articulating their identity as a nation and their sense of oppression by the existing state have been regarded as deserving of the right to independence and a territory. The Taiwanese nationalist movement appears in the late twentieth century, when some theorists have come to believe that nationalism is no longer the historic force that it once was. They argue that nationalism has been in decline as a result of progressive global integration, particularly in the realm of economy.l It was not until the early 1980s that dissidents launched a nationalist challenge to KMT rule on the island. Since 1971, the year when the PRC was admitted to the United Nations, Taiwan increasingly lost its position in the competition with the PRC for international recognition as the sole legitimate government representing all China. After the PRC


opened its doors to the West and the US severed formal ties with Taiwan and switched recognition to the PRC, finding a niche in international politics as the “Republic of China” has been difficult for Taiwan (see Chapters 3 and 4). The withdrawals of diplomatic recognition have been so frequent that the population has generally experienced a collective apprehension about becoming “stateless.”2 The KMT government had long relied on officially articulated Chinese nationalism to justify its authoritarian rule. As a “sojourn” regime whose ultimate goal was to recapture the Chinese Mainland, the KMT government maintained the structure of the government in Taiwan according to the constitution adopted on the Mainland in 1936. The KMT claimed that all peculiar political arrangements—especially martial law, the temporary provisions of the constitution, and the freeze on the re-election for the members of the three national parliamentary organs—were indispensable expediencies during the period of anti-Communist mobilization. However, these arrangements seriously infringed on civil rights and resulted in significant unequal power relations between Mainlanders and Taiwanese. The unfavorable political position of the Taiwanese in turn led to the marginalization and debasement of their languages, historical memories, and cultural traditions. In the early 1980s, Taiwanese oppositionists began to capitalize on popular anxiety about becoming stateless and the Taiwanese sense of being persecuted, translating these grievances into a coherent nationalist ideology. The ideology centered on replacing the domestically oppressive and internationally discredited ROC with a new state that was accountable primarily to the Taiwanese as the ethnic majority on the island and capable of obtaining a deserved position in the modern world of nation-states. In an era when the political form of the nation-state is taken for granted, and when the concepts of citizenship and national self-determination are widely accepted, Taiwanese dissidents utilized nationalism as an ideological package for mobilizing mass support, and it proved to be effective (see Chapter 4). In brief, unlike the cultural nationalism of the Jews within the Russian Empire, the Slovaks within the Habsburg Empire, the Greeks within the Ottoman Empire, and the Irish within the British Empire, the cultural work of Taiwanese dissident humanist intellectuals does not play the role of midwife to political nationalism. In a time when the nation-state became the dominant political framework of government, and the nation became the prevailing form of collective identity justifying action to gain or exercise power, the cultural elites of ethnic minorities within the old empires forged a sense of national identity by creating collective symbols, recovering and rewriting history, and reviving language and folklore, that is, by fostering a historical sense of national distinctiveness. The cultural elite’s articulation of a sense of national identity laid the foundations for nationalist political mobilization. As Anderson notes, once the model of a nation was established, it was followed everywhere. “The ‘nation’ thus became something capable of being consciously aspired to from early on rather then a slowly sharpening frame of vision” (Anderson 1983: 63). In summary, the historical sequence of the development of the Taiwanese nationalist movement does not fit prevailing conceptualizations of the history of nationalist movements as represented by Hroch’s theory of the three fundamental stages in a

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nationalist movement. The Taiwanese nationalist movement emerging in the early 1980s was not preceded by any significant historic-cultural revival that produced the effect of stimulating nationalist political action. Rather, it was the 1979 Kaohsiung Incident and the following political persecution of opposition activists that acted as a catalyst to the radical, nationalist challenge to KMT rule and its major ideological justification, Chinese nationalism. These combined influences in turn aroused national sentiments in Taiwanese dissident writers, literary critics, historical scholars, and language revival activists (see Chapters 4, 5, and 6). The initial founding of the literary journals, Taiwan Literature and Li Poetry Magazine, in 1964, had little to do with the development of Taiwanese nationalism, though since the late 1980s, quite a few Taiwanese intellectuals have claimed that their founding was a conscious anti-KMT act based on an awakening Taiwanese consciousness and that the journals even stimulated opposition movements in the 1970s. Hsiang-t’u literature and the broader “back-to-hsiang-t’u” trend in the 1970s, were erroneously regarded by many as contributing to the emergence of Taiwanese nationalism. They represented a reaction to excessive pro-West tendencies in cultural circles and were encouraged by a wave of calls for socio-political reforms prompted by Taiwan’s diplomatic failures in the early 1970s. Major writers and advocates of hsiang-t’u literature made sense of postwar sociopolitical distress on the island in terms of China’s “national trauma,” demonstrating intense Chinese national sentiments. During this period hsiang-t’u spirit was by no means Taiwanese nationalistic, despite its strong local flavor. The analysis in the previous chapters, however, does not suggest that the Taiwanese writers and literary critics mentioned in this book were conspicuously lacking in affection for their native land before the 1980s. In fact, no attentive reader can fail to observe those deep affections as conveyed in a relatively plain, homely style of writing. Compared with Mainlander writers, their interest in dealing with the culture and history of the island was especially salient. The affection for one’s native land and interest in writing abòut it has always been an important motivation for literary creativity. It is not difficult to find this kind of sentiment and interest among writers of other parts of the world. Yet this kind of affection and interest does not necessarily carry political or even nationalist implications. The development from affection for one’s native land to nationalist sentiments should not be seen as a natural evolution. That is, nationalism should not be regarded as an automatic consequence of this sort of affection. As far as Taiwanese cultural nationalism is concerned, development is historically contingent on unexpected, dramatic political changes. The analysis in this book shows that the prime historical contingency that prompts the development of Taiwanese cultural nationalism is the occurrence of the Kaohsiung Incident. The articulation of the concept of a “Taiwanese nation” that possesses political significance only occurs in the years following the Kaohsiung Incident. In fact, this notion is hardly new. Under the Japanese, the Taiwanese Communist Party preached the doctrine of “the development of the Taiwanese nation.” However, the ideology was not widely embraced outside the Party. Furthermore, a notable overseas pro-independence dissident, Shih Ming, had begun to construct his theory of “the formation of the Taiwanese nation” in the early 1960s.3 Still, like the postwar overseas Taiwan independence movements, Shih Ming’s idea did not produce much an impact on anti-KMT action within the island.


The modern concept of the nation-state consists of three different but super-imposed elements: the nation as a collective identity; the state as an expression of political independence; and the territory as a geographical area with boundaries delimiting the necessary coincidence between nation and state (Woolf 1996:1–2). As far as the three elements are concerned, Taiwanese anti-KMT political leaders’ ideological mobilization has focused on substituting a new state corresponding with the island territory for the ROC framed according to Chinese nationalism and the Mainland domain. The work of articulating a sense of Taiwanese national identity has been left primarily to proindependence humanist intellectuals, who try to authenticate the political assertion of identity by creating collective symbols, reclaiming Taiwanese literature, reviving Hoklo language, and rewriting Taiwanese history. Taiwanese cultural nationalism reconsidered The Taiwanese cultural nationalism of dissident humanist intellectuals developed as a result of the tang-wai group’s ideological mobilization and clearly illustrates the politicization of Taiwanese cultural and national identities. Awaked by the Kaohsiung Incident to political consciousness and the recognition of the autocratic nature of KMT rule, the Li and TWWI members embraced the nationalist doctrine preached by tang-wai activists. The ideology dramatically changed the members’ conceptions of their literary careers and of Taiwanese literature itself. Up to the period of the Debate on Hsiang-t’u Literature, it was difficult to say that TWWI authors shared any specific literary beliefs. Moreover, the Li members were committed not only to composing “modem poems” but also “modern Chinese poems,” not only to become “modern poets” but “modern Chinese poets.” However, in the postKaohsiung Incident era, quite a few members of the two literary groups began to make sense of the development of Taiwanese modern literature in terms of the history of Taiwanese persecution by and struggle against alien rulers. Taiwanese literature was increasingly represented as a tradition characterized by the spirit of resistance against alien domination. Thus a “de-Sinocized” literary discourse was forming, centering on the ideal of “indigenized” Taiwanese literature. The literary discourse was further radicalized in the second half of the 1980s as a result of dramatic political changes on the island. A history of “Taiwanese national literature” with plural sources was constructed discursively. It was interpreted as the search for a distinct Taiwanese national identity. All modern Taiwanese writers share a common concern with the destiny of the Taiwanese as a distinct nation, and national identity has been the leitmotif of the entirety of modern Taiwanese literature as it has developed since the 1920s under the Japanese. Similarly, few Taiwanese authors wrote in any local language before the late 1980s. Almost all of them, like writers of Mainland origin, took writing in Mandarin for granted. The two pioneers in experimenting with writing in Hoklo in the postwar era, Lin Tsungyuan and Hsiang Yang, were both motivated by a simple desire to more naturally express themselves, rather than by any particular political belief. It was after the late 1980s, when the opposition forcibly challenged the official “Mandarin-only” policy and government censorship of public use of local languages was relaxing, that a revival of local languages

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emerged. A growing number of authors began to write in Hoklo and Hoklo language revivalists became devoted to establishing a standard script of the major local language. Hoklo has been increasingly given the status of a “national language”: it is viewed by nationalist language revivalists as an indispensable confirmation of Taiwaneseness and as being essential to Taiwanese nation-building. Furthermore, it was the tang-wai group that prompted the development of a “proTaiwan view of history.” During the post-Kaohsiung Incident years, tang-wai activists constructed a sweeping, interpretative account of Taiwan’s past. This account was directed against the “pro-China view of history” preached by the KMT government and represented the history of the island as one of colonial persecution and anticolonial struggle. A sense of oppression and resistance spirit, it was argued, had been and must be an integral element of Taiwanese consciousness. Under the influence of tang-wai activists’ forging of a new sense of the past, a number of amateur and professional historians began to openly advocate the pro-Taiwan conception of history, which was characterized by “de-Sinocization” and “anti-Han-ethnocentrism” and “history-from-below (us/the people)” concept. Generally speaking, the direction of the flourishing study of Taiwanese history in the past fifteen years or so has been powerfully influenced by such a view of history, which can be traced back to tang-wai activists. A multicultural narrative of Taiwanese national history has been forming and lends itself to the conception of the island as a “community of fate” separated from the Chinese Mainland. Taiwanese cultural nationalism: a seed in the ground? The remarkably politicized nature of Taiwanese nationalists’ cultural and national identities has influenced scholarly understanding of the development of Taiwanese cultural nationalism. For example, while some researchers have pointed out that the Kaohsiung Incident was crucial to the emergence of Taiwanese nationalism in literary circles, they believe that the seeds of it had been sown earlier. These researchers argue that the disagreement between Yeh Shih-t’ao and Ch’en Ying-chen—about the nature and future of the literature developed on the island—actually represented the internal clash between the pro-independence group and the pro-reunification group within the advocates of hsiangt’u literature camp. Open conflict was avoided, the researchers believe, because the two groups realized they had to act with caution under the KMT’s rigid political control and cooperate with each other in order to take on the KMT. It was after the Kaohsiung Incident that the apparent harmony between the two groups was disturbed.4 The major flaw in this argument is that it views politicized ethnicity as a seed in the ground waiting to grow into something big and powerful, or—as Daniel Bates puts it—as a “genie in the bottle” that will suddenly erupt when strong political control is relaxed (Bates 1994:219). However, ethnicity and nationality are emerging and must be considered within specific sociopolitical contexts. Appeals to tribe, ethnic group, or national community become operative only in particular environments. The analysis in Chapter 4 shows that up to the period of the Debate on Hsiang-t’u Literature, TWWI authors embraced no specific literary ideology, and Li poets, like most poets of Mainland origin at that time, were committed to creating


poems that were both modern and Chinese. It was only in the post-Kaohsiung Incident years that the two groups embraced Taiwanese nationalism, and their cultural work became highly politicized. As to Yeh Shih-t’ao, his A Brief History of Taiwanese Literature published in 1987, became a typical literary discourse of nationalist critics. However, until the early 1980s, Yeh did not regard Taiwanese local consciousness and Chinese national sentiments as necessarily incompatible, calling for a balance between them in literary expression. In the case of the Li and TWWI groups, politicized ethnicity is not a constant force that waits to come up whenever possible. Instead, it is best viewed as the outcome of specific sociopolitical changes. Because scholars who entertain the “seed-in-the-ground” view believe that the proindependence tendency had long—at least since the period of the Debate on Hsiang-t’u Literature—haunted the writers and literary critics who later became fervent nationalists, they mistakenly assume there existed a pro-independence group, as represented by Yeh Shih-t’ao, within the camp of writers advocating hsiang-t’u literature. In fact, such a group only formed after the Kaohsiung Incident. Taiwanese cultural nationalism: a “false” identity? The highly politicized character of Taiwanese nationalists’ cultural and national identities has also affected the nature of public discourse on the island. As noted in Chapter 4, up until the Kaohsiung Incident, Taiwanese oppositionists had stuck to the concept of “democratization,” pressing for fundamental reform of the ROC political system. Underlying such a reformist project was a determination to establish MainlanderTaiwanese ethnic equality, particularly in the political arena. After the Kaohsiung Incident, the rising militant faction of the tang-wai group began to develop a nationalist project of political restructuring. The radical program required a considerable discursive jump— from the insistence on equal citizenship based on ethnic distinctiveness to the insistence on the establishment of a new state based on a unique national culture. The politicallyinspired construction of a particular Taiwanese national culture has relied heavily on proindependence humanist intellectuals’ efforts in reclaiming history, reviving language, and creating collective symbols. This kind of cultural construction involves a lot of rhetorical discourse which symbolically marks the difference between “us” (Taiwanese) and “them” (Mainlanders/Chinese). Establishing a national cultural particularity by representing Taiwanese literature, language, and history as distinct from China’s, pro-independence humanist intellectuals provide answers to the questions: Who am I? What could I be? Who do I want to be? A nation was thus crafted discursively. The politically-inspired construction of Taiwanese national identity has caused many to view it with suspicion. The politicized identity evokes disgust, especially in those who entertain a Chinese national consciousness. Since the early 1980s, when tang-wai activists began to preach Taiwanese nationalism, public discourse about the issue of national identity has usually involved debate on the “authenticity” or “falsehood” of Taiwanese national identity. In particular, a group of pro-reunification historians have been angered by Taiwanese nationalists’ historical narrative and eager to point out their misinterpretations

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of the past.5 Similarly, several pro-reunification researchers in the history of Taiwanese literature have indicated pro-independence distortions of the literary history.6 A common accusation against Taiwanese nationalists, brought by people who entertain Chinese nationalist sentiments, has been that these pro-independence nationalists “give all the historical facts except those about their own ancestors and forget their own origins” (shutien wang-tsu). Taiwanese, it is argued, are definitely Chinese—both racially and culturally The attempt to establish a new country is regarded as an act renouncing blood ties with the Chinese people and discarding Chinese cultural tradition—namely, an act of betraying the Chinese nation. This kind of condemnation also constitutes a major part of KMT propaganda against the Taiwan Independence Movement, particularly before the dramatic “Taiwanization” of the KMT government under Lee Teng-hui.7 A common concept shared by this kind of scholarly attack, public accusation, and official propaganda is that Taiwanese national identity is “false.” It is not unusual that the criticism goes so far that the identity is viewed as being completely forged by a group of “political careerists.” In fact, different parties in the politics of national identity in Taiwan have used this kind of accusation. As noted in Chapter 4, during the “Debate on Taiwanese Consciousness” in 1983–84, tangwai proponents of Taiwanese consciousness denounced Chinese sentiments entertained by people like Ch’en Ying-chen as being “false.” As shown in the previous chapters, the pro-independence humanist intellectuals’ literary, linguistic, and historical discourses have comprised considerable symbolism, rhetoric, and reinterpretation of history. The “Taiwanese nation” is crafted, or “invented,” discursively. It seems that the general stance of this book has some affinity with the accusation that the Taiwanese national identity is false. However, it has to be noted that the study differs from this sort of accusation in several major ways. First of all, the study, unlike those done by pro-reunification scholars in Taiwanese history or literature, is not intended to draw a clear distinction between a “true” identity and a “false” identity. Rather, the chief purpose of my project is to elucidate the constructed nature of ethnic and national identities and to show that these collective identities are better understood as subject to historical change and political redefinition. Anderson has noted that communities are to be distinguished not by their “falsity/genuineness,” but by the style in which they are imagined (Anderson 1983:6). The major flaw in the argument that Taiwanese national identity is false lies in an essentialist assumption: there exists some “true” Chinese national identity that has persisted across time and is validated by genuine kinship and authentic historical and cultural sources. The essentialist definition of Chinese identity suggests that there is one clear, authentic set of characteristics which all Chinese people share and which do not change across time. However, recent studies have shown that the existence of an unchanging Chinese identity is simply a myth. As David Wu remarks, the “Chinese people and Chinese culture have been constantly amalgamating, restricting, reinventing, and reinterpreting themselves; the seemingly static Chinese culture has been in a continuous process of assigning important new meanings about being Chinese” (David Yen-ho Wu 1991:162). Moreover, “min-tsu” (“the nation” or “the people”) and “chung-hua min-tsu” (“Chinese nation” or “Chinese people”) are relatively recent notions which emerged only at the turn of the nineteenth century, constructed by political and cultural elites warning


the country of the danger of Western invasion. In the past century, each of China’s successive state authorities—imperial, early Republican, Nationalist, and Communist— has advocated a distinct and mutually exclusive definition of Chinese nationality. The Chinese nation has been created and recreated in the struggle for state power (Fitzgerald 1995).8 The assumption that Chinese national identity is a true, authentic form of identity (and thus, Taiwanese national identity is a false one) represents the perspective which expels the concept of identity from history and politics altogether, and into the domain of primordial being. In this view identity is part of our fixed, essential being, immune from the influence of cultural and political changes. This assumption also reflects the fear of living with “difference.” Usually “difference” is seen as a threat that corrupts and compromises identity. Difference is believed to be a danger because it seems to jeopardize the safety of sameness a common identity provides. In many areas of the world this kind of fear, compounded by an essentialist conception of identity, has induced a turning away from the difficult political and moral questions the issue of identity poses. It thus encourages a simple solution to the identity problem through separation and slaughter (Gilroy 1997: 310–1). Taiwan has been fortunate in avoiding such a tragic outcome despite its serious conflicts. However, public discourse about national identity shaped by the “authenticity/ falsehood” dualism has created an atmosphere of distrust in the society—especially between those who entertain strong Chinese consciousness and those who entertain strong Taiwanese consciousness. This atmosphere of distrust permeated the island, especially during the early 1990s, when the national identification problem became the hottest public issue and caused considerable polemical confrontations and violent clashes. The concept of authenticity assumes fixed, essential, and unitary constructs of cultures, identities, and groupings. As a matter of fact, collective identity is a matter of “becoming” as well as of “being” (Hall 1990). Social actors are involved in social processes from which representations of collective identities continually arise. They take part in these processes by promoting their own representations—whether deliberately “invented” or nondeliberately constructed. These social actors’ representations of identities are not fixed. Rather, they are formed and transformed through participation in those processes. The (trans)formation of the representations is obviously accompanied by the (trans)formation of the social actors as the very subjects that these identities delineate (Mato 1996:64). Even though identity has a past, in laying claim to it, social actors reconstruct it, and the past undergoes constant change. As Daniel Mato argues: [C]ultures and identities constitute symbolical social constructions—and not passively inherited legacies. Hence, the work of producing symbolic representations is permanent and may include, at least in theory, cases ranging from fully unconscious making/construction to fully consciously intentioned constructions, the latter of which may be named “inventions.” …From this point of view, identities are not things, but matters of social dispute. This constructed character is not asserted as opposed to anything that may be considered to be more “real.” From

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this point of view, the dilemmas “real vs. imagined,” “authentic vs. false,” or “genuine vs. spurious,” are simply not pertinent. (Mato 1996:64) The criticism of the essentialist conceptualization of identity that characterizes those who entertain strong Chinese sentiments might apply equally to the pro-independence humanist intellectuals. Seeking the validation of the past in terms of literature, language, and history in expressing demands for identity in the present, these intellectuals have often shown a tendency to essentialize Taiwanese national identity, particularly that with Hoklo ethnic color. Taiwanese modern literature is represented as a literary tradition mainly characterized by engagé spirit and anti-colonial consciousness. It is argued that all modern Taiwanese writers have been concerned with national destiny and that national identity has been the motif of the entirety of Taiwanese modern literature since the Japanese colonial period. For pro-independence writers and literary critics, the Taiwanese experience of being ruled by the Japanese becomes more of an asset than a liability—a major marker of the ethnic boundary between the Taiwanese and the Mainlanders. Furthermore, for proindependence Hoklo language revivalists, a standardized script of the language is vital for articulating “authentic” Taiwaneseness—namely, representing “authentic,” distinctive cultural traditions, historical memory, and national character. It is regarded as an essential prerequisite to Taiwanese nation-building. As for pro-independence historians, they believe that the constant Taiwanese desire for building an independent country is the driving force for historical development. In this kind of narrative, the issue of Taiwanese anti Japanese resistance is of primary importance. In relating the postwar anti-KMT movement to the anti-Japanese struggle, a long Taiwanese pro-democracy tradition was created. Taiwanese national identity is validated—and thus essentialized—through reclaiming a distinctive literary heritage, linguistic tradition, and historical development. The Hoklo ethnocentric construction of nationality has caused uneasiness among other ethnic groups. For instance, as shown in Chapter 5, the pro-independence Hoklo writers’ redefinition of Taiwanese literature in terms of language has upset their Hakka allies, producing friction between Hoklo and Hakka advocates of a national literature. It has to be noted, however, the essentialist tendency and the Hoklo ethno-centrism of Taiwanese cultural nationalism have been corrected to some degree by the recent promotion of the values of multi-culturalism and ethnic equality. By addressing the multi-ethnic origins of Taiwanese culture and multi-ethnic participation in the development of Taiwanese history, the nationalist humanist intellectuals recognize the differences which used to be dismissed and hence seem to become less exclusive—whether such “multi-ethnicity” is imagined or authentic. Hopefully this will contribute to the advance of the island country toward an open, just society. The recognition of the constructed nature of identity and a renouncement of “authentic/ false” dualism require one to eschew the too handy act of labeling in identity politics— such as condemning others as “traitors” to the Chinese nation or denouncing others as “Communist China’s accomplices”—a game of hunting “outsiders.” They also bring home the fact that the formation or transformation of a large societal identity as a significant


foundation of social solidarity calls for considerable dispute, negotiation, and compromise. The establishment of this kind of identity can hardly be achieved overnight. Patience and tolerance for difference are rare virtues in identity politics. Appealing to biological or transhistorical sources of authority, or relying on power to ensure the legitimacy of the definition of an identity can only result in humiliation, torture, and resentment, if not separation, slaughter, and resistance, as the cases of quite a number of areas of the world have shown. Notes 1 A notable proponent of this view is Eric Hobsbawm. See Hobsbawm (1990: Chapter 6). However, another group of theorists note that there are countervailing forces, such as the state’s monopoly on military power, the potency of nationalism, the empowerment of states through international cooperation, and international “interconnectedness” without “interdependence,” which may be strengthening the nation-state. See McGrew (1992:87–94). Furthermore, Nira Yuval-Davis argues that globalization and international migration do not necessarily weaken the powerful connection between the boundaries of an “imagined community” and specific territory. The technological developments in transportation and communication, Yuval-Davis notes, have created a new role for the “homeland,” more central and concrete, for diasporic communities. Quite a few political projects have emerged in various diasporic communities, such as those supporting political and military struggles in the homeland, which are aimed at liberating the homeland from its “others.” See Yuval-Davis (1997:64–6). 2 Many people crystallize this sort of apprehension after they travel abroad. It was not until 1979 that the KMT government permitted free foreign travel. In the past two decades, many that traveled abroad shared the experience of being embarrassed and/or discriminated against when their ROC passports were not accepted as a legal document of citizenship. My own experience at the University of California, San Diego, for example, serves as a minor case. In the summer of 1993 I went to see a clerk on campus to fill out application forms for a grant. When I showed her my passport, she looked at the stamp on it and asked with a puzzled expression: “Since you are from Taiwan, why was your US visa issued in Hong Kong?” Somewhat embarrassed with the question, I answered: “It is because Taiwan has no formal diplomatic relation with the US.” “But did you go to Hong Kong to get the visa?” she asked. “No, the American Institute in Taiwan granted it, but the US does not recognize Taiwan as a country,” I explained further. However, the clerk was obviously unsatisfied with my explanation, though the question about the visa was dismissed soon enough. It is not until recently that US visas are issued in Taiwan. 3 See Chapter 2 and Chapter 6, note 8. 4 For this view on the development of Taiwanese nationalism in literature, see Lü Cheng-hui (1992:58–59; 1995:78–79). 5 See, for example, Wang Hsiao-po (1986a; 1986b; 1988). 6 For instance, see Yü Huan (1992); Kung P’eng-ch’eng (1994); Lü Cheng-hui (1995:39–63). 7 Similarly, this sort of accusation has been used by PRC propaganda against Taiwanese nationalists. 8 Both Prasenjit Duara and James Townsend reject the argument that the concept of the Chinese nation and Chinese nationalism are purely modern developments. Duara points out two

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primary conceptualizations of the political community in imperial Chinese society. The first is “the exclusive ethnic-based one founded on a self-description of a people as Han; the second is what has usually been termed “culturalism”—the less exclusive idea of “a community based on the cultural values and doctrines of a Chinese elite.” The way the social whole was conceived in historical China, Duara maintains, is not completely different from that in modern nationalism. Addressing the case of traditional China, he believes that the most influential studies of nationalism today, such as those by Benedict Anderson and Ernest Gellner, have exaggerated the disjuncture between the modern and pre-modern conceptualizations of a political community. Duara also argues that the debates arising among the Chinese intelligentsia at the turn of the nineteenth century—about the nature of the future Chinese nation—were shaped as much by the modern ideology of a nation-state as by the traditional principles of defining the political community. See Duara (1993b). Similarly, Townsend maintains that a “Han Chinese nation has existed for centuries, recognized by the Chinese and others as a distinct cultural and political community.” He makes the criticism that quite a number of students of modern China have exaggerated the totality and clarity of the transformation of the Chinese view of their cultural and political identities—from culturalism to nationalism—that occurred in the past century. Culturalism, Townsend argues, has retained some influence on Chinese nationalism down to the present. See Townsend (1992). A full discussion of the arguments presented by Duara and Townsend is beyond the scope of this chapter, but two points bear mentioning. First, an essential problem Duara and Townsend pose is obviously a matter of conceptual choice. Duara makes a distinction between nationalism and the ideology of the nation-state based on the sovereign territorial principle, arguing that as a form of identification with a political community, nationalism is never fully subsumed by the nation-state. In like manner, Townsend, following Anthony Smith, distinguishes the “ethnicist” view from the “statist” view: the former regards the nation as a “large, politicized ethnic group defined by common culture and alleged descent;” the latter sees the nation as a “territorial-political unit.” Adopting the ethnicist view, Townsend accepts the possibility of a pre-modern nationalism that lacks the central propositions of modern nationalism: that nations should be states, enjoying equal status in the world system of nation-states, whose members are citizens with equal rights and obligations. However, it is precisely such an ideology of the nation-state that matters to the study of dramatic political change in the modern era, particularly in the Third World. Even though there existed a pre-modern type of “nationalism,” it is only in the recent two centuries or so that the nation becomes a major form of collective identity widely employed to justify the act of seeking or exercising state power and to mobilize mass support for that act. As Hobsbawm notes, it is pointless to discuss nation and nationality except insofar as both relate to a certain kind of modern territorial state, the nation-state (Hobsbawm 1990:9–10). The second point I would mention here is: it is precisely because national identity in the modern age is a product of negotiation between historical identification and modern nationalism that being Chinese today is quite different from that in the imperial era. Hence it is difficult to say that there existed a homogeneous, unchanging Chinese national identity, let alone—as Townsend himself notes—contemporary disagreement on when this nation came into being.

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212

Index

2–28 Incident (Erh-erh-pa shih-chieh, 1947) 4, 23, 24, 57–8, 61, 75 n6, 149, 174 n38; interpretations of 165–70, 170 2–28 Peace Day Campaign Association (Erh-erhpa he-p’ing-jih ts’u-chin-hui, 1987) 165 aboriginal culture: literature 111; revival movements 168; traditions 148–1 aborigines 2, 105–8, 149, 160–4, 167–2, 170, 173 n22 alphabetic writing see romanization Anderson, B. 7–8, 9, 19, 178, 183 anthropological studies 167, 172 n5 anti-colonial movement 3, 27–33, 34, 35, 38, 44, 48 n9, 148, 151, 158, 174 n32; reformist 29–2, 36 anti-Communism 65, 70; of Kuomintang 150–3, 177 anti-Japanese: movement 158–1, 170, 185; sentiments 32, 63 anti-KMT political coalition 88 Apollo (Wen-hsing) 87–9, 118 n29 archaeological excavations 168 authors: Hakka 141, 142, 185; Mainlander 59, 65–6, 66, 79; participating in political opposition 95–8, 104; Taiwanese 54, 58–62, 65, 68, 71, 78, 79, 91–9, 104, 111, 112, 134, 135–8, 139, 146–9, 155–8, 162, 178, 179–2, 184–7

bilingual education: promoted by Democratic Progressive Party 132 Blommaert, J. 143 Blue Stars (Lan-hsing) 66, 84 Bourdieu, P. 16, 127 Breuilly, J. 9, 26 n14, 103 A Brief History of Taiwanese Literature (T’ai-wan wenhsüeh shih-kang, Yeh) 109–12, 181 British colonial policy 125 Cairo Declaration (1943) 4, 33 CCP see Chinese Communist Party (CCP) Chan Hung-chih 96–9 Chang Wo-chün 37, 38, 40, 43 Changchou 3 Ch’en Ch’i-nan 154–7, 164 Ch’en Fang-ming (Sung Tung-yang) 97–98, 100, 163, 164, 174 n32 Ch’en Hsin 36–8 Ch’en Hsiu-hsi 86 Ch’en I 52–3, 54, 55, 56, 57–8 Ch’en Min-jen 138 Ch’en Ming-t’ai 110 Ch’en Shao-t’ing 108, 110, 122 n83 Ch’en Shu-hung 91 Ch’en Tu-hsiu 36 Ch’en Ying-chen 68, 72–4, 89–1, 91, 93–5, 112, 147, 156, 160, 165, 181 Ch’en Yung-hsing 96, 165 Cheng Ch’eng-kung (Koxinga) 151, 154, 164 Cheng Ch’in-jen 163–6 Cheng, R.L. (Cheng Liang-wei) 136, 137–40 Cheng Sui-ying 136 Chi Hsien 66, 80, 82, 85, 114 n16

Bates, D. 181

213

214 INDEX

Chiang Ching-kuo 5, 6, 87, 102 Chiang Kai-shek 4, 33, 64, 65, 150 China see Mainland China China studies 153, 163; Taiwan seen as representative of 153, 155, 157–60, 172 n5 China Tide Review (Hsia-ch’ao lun-t’an) 89, 156, 161 Chinese characters: spread of 137, 145 n31; for tai-oan-oe (Hoklo) script 42, 43, 45, 134, 135, 136–9 Chinese Communist Party (CCP) 4, 31, 109, 150; views of Taiwan 33 Chinese consciousness 1, 23, 71, 73, 74, 78, 79, 83, 86, 89–1, 91, 94, 97, 100, 111, 112, 116 n24, 120 n63, 156, 161 Chinese Cultural Renaissance Movement (Chung-hua wen-hua fu-hsing yün-tung) 65, 150 Chinese culture 20, 65, 81, 86, 105, 128, 150, 182, 183; influencing Taiwanese 42, 106 The Chinese Daily (Chung hua jih-pao) 58 Chinese invasion of Taiwan (1683) 2 Chinese language: banned by Japanese colonial rulers 123; classical 40, 81; reform 127 see also Mandarin Chinese literature 36, 60, 62, 69, 73, 74, 75 n10, n11, 77 n32, 146 Chinese national identity 92, 183, 186 n8 Chinese nationalism 5, 9, 10, 11, 72–4, 74, 90, 91, 93–5, 97, 101, 102, 127–9, 146, 182; promoted by Kuomintang 150–4 Chinese Nationalist Party see Kuomintang Chinese New Party (CNP, Hsin-tang) 6, 102, 120 n62 Chinese poetry 81, 83 Chinese settlers in Taiwan see Mainlanders Ch’ing period (1683–1895) 2–3, 158 Chu Kao-chen 131 Chüanchou 3 Chung Chao-cheng 81, 95–7 Chungli Incident (1977) 88, 118 n30 CNP we Chinese New Party (CNP, Hsin-tang)

Coalition for Taiwanizing Education (Chiao-yü t’ai-wan-hua lien-meng) 1 A Collapsing Empire(Lin) 162 collective identity 8, 13, 18, 104, 148, 183–6 collective memory 170, 171 college graduates 130 colonial policy: British 125 colonial rule: Dutch (1624–61) 106, 167; Japanese (1895–1945) 3, 8–9, 19, 21, 25 n12, 27–45, 48 n10, n23, 51–2, 74 n1, 90, 99, 112, 123–6, 149, 158–1, 160, 164, 170, 172 n10, 173 n17, 185 colonialism: cultural legacy of 61–4, 84–7, 99, 112 “combat” literature 65, 79 communication media 7, 25 n9 communism: influencing anti-colonialism 32 communities: diasporic 186 n1; imagined 2, 7–10, 183, 186 n1; political 9 computer technology: used for writing Hoklo 137 conflict: ethnic 2, 3, 4, 9, 10, 23–6, 161; political 10 Confucianism 150 Connor, W. 21 consciousness: Chinese 1, 23, 71, 73, 74, 78, 79, 83, 86, 89–1, 91, 94, 97, 100, 111, 112, 116 n24, 120 n63, 156, 161; national 21; Taiwanese 23, 74, 78, 79, 80, 89–1, 93–6, 96, 97, 98, 101, 110, 112, 120 n63, 131, 147, 152, 156–9, 159–2, 163, 182 Contemporary Poetry (Hsien-tai shih) 66, 80 Coulmas, F. 142 Cultivate (Sheng-ken) 89, 100 cultural elites 15, 21; Taiwanese 19, 22, 31, 33, 35, 67–9, 179 see also humanist intellectuals cultural identity 12, 42, 45; Han Chinese 42, 45 cultural legacy:

INDEX 215

of colonialism 61–4, 84–7, 99, 112 cultural nationalism 12–22, 177; Taiwanese 1–2, 5, 13, 17, 19, 24, 104–7, 175, 179–4, 184–7 cultural reforms: linked to political reforms 104 cultural revival movements: aboriginal 168 “cultural subjectivity” (wen-hua chu-t’i-hsing) 106–9 culture: aboriginal 111, 148–1, 168; Chinese 20, 42, 65, 81, 86, 105, 106, 128, 150, 183; languages carriers of 137–40; nationalist 104–7; Taiwanese 1, 19–2, 35, 41, 41, 61–3, 93, 97, 105–10, 133, 138; Western influence 72 de-Sinocization: of Taiwanese history 150; of Taiwanese literature 79, 96, 100, 112, 180 see also Sinocization “Debate on Chinese-Western Cultures” (Chunghsi wen-hua lun-chan) 105, 121 n70 “Debate on Taiwanese Consciousness” (1983– 84) (Tai-wani-shih lun-chan) 95–7, 148, 157 Democratic Progressive Party (DPP, Min-chu chin-pu tang) xii, 5, 6, 10, 100–4, 103; pressing for Taiwan’s independence 5, 101; promoting bilingual education 132; Taiwanese support base 102, 103, 120 n58, 131; use of Hoklo language 131, 141–4 democratization: promoted by opposition movement 10, 88, 181–4 Deutsch, K. 25 n8, n9 diasporic communities 186 n1 diplomatic isolation 67, 76 n23, 107, 121 n73, 177 discourse: analysis 22; nationalist cultural 74, 104–9, 108–11, 113;

role in national identity 17, 20–3, 105–8, 113, 183, 184 doctrines: nationalist 9–10 DPP see Democratic Progressive Party (DPP, Min-chu chin-pu tang) Dutch colonial rule (1624–61) 106, 167 eclecticism 66 economic development 52, 56, 65, 76 n18, n19 education: bilingual 132; Taiwanization of 1; under Japanese colonial rule 34, 48 n23, 51, 52, 74 n1, 149; under KMT rule 54, 128–30, 152–5; use of local languages 132 educator-intellectuals see humanist intellectuals The Eighties (Pa-shih men-tai) 157 elections: local (1977) 88; presidential (1996) xii–1, 120 n63; supplementary 87, 102 elites: cultural 15, 21; Taiwanese 19, 22, 29, 31, 33, 35, 44–7, 52, 67–9, 102, 179 see also humanist intellectuals ethnic core 12 ethnic groups 2, 12; dominated 10–14, 15; equality of 143, 182, 185; in Taiwan (four great ethnic groups, ssu-ta tsu-ch'ün) 103, 107, 113, 121 n65, 144 n3, 161, 169, 171 ethnic tensions 2, 3, 4, 9, 10, 23–6, 161 ethnicity: and nationalism 13, 14, 25 n14, 181 ethnocentrism: Han Chinese 160 European nationalism 11–12, 25 n10, 175 fiction: Chinese 69; Taiwanese 68, 69, 79 Formosa (Mei-li-tad) 88, 95, 110

216 INDEX

“four great ethnic groups” (ssu-ta tsu-ch’ün) 103, 107, 113, 121 n65, 144 n3, 161, 169, 171 Free China 87–9 Fu Jen 42 Fukien 2, 3 Gellner, E. 11, 17, 25 n8 Genesis (Ch’uang-shih-chi) 66, 80, 82, 84 Grillo, R.D. 126, 127 Hakka: claiming aboriginal descent 168; community 9, 126; dominated by Hoklo 133–5, 141, 185; language 3, 133, 139; nationalists 24; protests 142; television programs 132, 142; writers 141, 142, 185 Halbwachs, M. 170, 171 Han Chinese 30–2; cultural identity 42, 45; ethnocentrism 160; national consciousness 9, 105; in Taiwan 2–3, 149, 154–7, 160–3, 167 see also Mainlanders He Shin 59 historians: pro-independence 149, 163–7, 166–70, 185; pro-reunification 182 historical narrative 148, 171 history: Japanese 149; pro-China view (Chung-kuo shih-kuan) 148, 149–6, 157, 160, 171, 180; pro-Taiwan view (T’ai-wan shih-kuan) 148, 150, 155–67, 166–70, 168–4, 180; Taiwanese 2, 24, 146, 147–50, 153, 157– 60, 171 Hobsbawm, E. 11, 17 Hoklo: claiming aboriginal descent 168; community (pen-sheng-jen) 9, 53, 126, 130; domination of Hakka 133–5, 141, 185; domination of Taiwanese nationalism 103– 6, 131, 133, 147, 162, 169, 170, 185;

language revivalism xii, 1, 20, 23, 101, 125, 132–4, 136, 142, 180; language (tai-oan-oe) 3, 20, 40, 53–4, 125, 128, 130, 131, 132–5, 141–4; literature 134, 135–41, 140, 180; television programs 129, 130, 132; writing system 23, 36, 126, 134–40, 140, 145 n25, 147, 180, 185 see also tai-oan-oe home rule movement 30–2 Hroch, M. 11–12, 14–15, 26 n17, 71, 178 Hsia, C.T. 98 Hsia Tsi-an 65–7 Hsiang Yang (Lin Ch’i-yang) 135, 180 hsiang-t’u literature 22, 23, 38–39, 40, 41, 45, 68, 83–5, 91–5, 109–12, 112, 119 n44, 135, 139, 178; criticism of 69–1, 71–3, 83, 84, 94; fiction 69–1; Hoklo 134; politicized 90–2, 94–6, 98–1, 162–5; postwar 65, 68–74, 81; pro-independence group 181; promotion of 49, 72, 146–9 hsiang-t’u spirit 85 Hsiao, F.S.T. 33 Hsieh Chang-T’ing (Frank Hsieh) 105, 121 n68 Hsü Chi-tun 135 Hsu Hsin 156 Hsü Tzu-t’ing 158–1 Hu Shih 36, 37, 41, 81 Huang Ch’ao-ch’in 37 Huang Ch’eng-ts’ung 37 Huang Ch’un-ch’ing 42 Huang Ch’un-ming 71 Huang Hsin-chieh 87, 88 Huang Hsüan-fan 130 Huang, Mab 67 Huang Shih-hui 38–39, 40, 41, 41, 42 HuangTe-shih 108 humanist intellectuals: role in Taiwanese nationalism 1, 2, 5, 12– 13, 14–14, 15, 22, 179, 182, 184 Hung Wei-jen 130, 133, 137 Hutchinson, J. 14, 15 identity:

INDEX 217

Chinese 92, 103, 120 n64, 186 n8; collective 8, 13, 18, 104, 148, 183–6; concept of 183–6, 185; cultural 12, 44–7, 105; local 73, 105; national 9, 10, 12, 14, 73, 74, 104, 110, 143, 148, 175, 177–80, 186 n1; Taiwanese 9, 44–7, 78, 92, 99, 103, 107, 110, 113, 120 n64, 179–2, 182 ideology 18; of modernization 20; nationalist 10, 13, 71, 78, 177 illiteracy 39–1, 44 imagined communities: model 2, 7, 8–10; Taiwanese 9, 183, 186 n1; theory of 7–8 independence xii–1, 5–6, 31, 101, 108, 121 n75, 138; movements xii, 57, 65, 71, 119 n56, 155– 8, 165; of Taiwanese literature 111; tensions with advocates of reunification 101–5, 181 indigenization: of Taiwanese history 161, 163; of Taiwanese literature 97–98, 99–2, 163, 180; theory (t’u-chu-hua) 154–7, 164 intellectuals: humanist 1, 2, 5, 12–13, 14–14, 15, 22, 179, 182, 184 Intellectuals (Ta-hsüeh tsa-chih) 67–9 Japanese assimilationism: among Taiwanese 52 Japanese colonial rule (1895–1945) 3, 8–9, 19, 22, 25 n12, 27–45, 158; banning use of Chinese 123; education system 34, 48 n23, 51, 52, 74 n1, 149; legacy of 90, 99, 112, 160, 164, 173 n17, 185; promoting linguistic assimilation 34–6, 43– 6, 48 n 10, 51–2, 123–6, 149; resistance to 158–1, 170, 172 n 10, 185 Japanese history 149

Japanese language: banned by KMT government 54, 57–9, 125; use in Taiwan 34, 35, 43–6, 49, 51, 123–6, 143 n2; use in Taiwanese literature 43, 58–9, 85–7, 114 n23 K’ang Ning-hsiang 87, 88, 100, 157 KaoI-ke 159, 161 Kao T’ien-sheng 97 Kaohsiung Incident (1979) 5, 10, 23, 86, 88–89, 112, 118 n31; influence of 95–7, 156, 178, 179 KeLei 59, 61–2, 63 Kedourie, E. 16 Kellner, H. 18 Ketagalan tribe 168 KMT see Kuomintang (KMT, Chinese Nationalist Party) Kōminka movement 43, 51–2, 75 n3 Korean script 137 Koxinga (Cheng Ch’eng-kung) 151, 154, 164 Kuo Ch’iu-sheng 39, 41–3, 42, 137 Kuomintang (KMT, Chinese Nationalist Party): anti-Communism 150–3, 177; claim to Mainland China 65, 101, 128, 148, 150, 177; criticism of hsiang-t’u literature 69–1, 72, 84; guardian of traditional Chinese culture 65; intra-party factionalism 102, 120 n61; Mainlander dominated 64, 86–8, 102, 118 n27, 120 n60; promoting use of Mandarin 53, 54, 58, 125, 126, 127–9, 131, 144 n4, n5, 149, 152; promotion of Chinese nationalism 150–4; re-socializing Taiwanese 53, 125, 149; retreating to Taiwan 64; rule of mainland China 32, 55; rule of Taiwan 4–5, 6, 9, 10, 54–6, 64–5, 100, 128–39, 148, 152–5, 157; Sinocization of Taiwan 53, 54, 57–8, 128, 131, 148, 149–2, 151; Taiwanization of 6, 87, 102–5, 120 n60, 126; takeover of Taiwan 51, 53 Kwantung 3

218 INDEX

Lai Ho 43 Lai-nan-jen 62–3, 73–5, 92, 146 Language Law 131 language revival movements 20, 125, 135, 140, 142, 145 n24; Hoklo xii, 1, 20, 23, 101, 125, 132–4, 136, 142, 180 languages: aborigines 2; carrier of culture 137–138; Chinese 40, 81, 123, 127; Hakka 3, 133, 139; Hoklo 3, 20, 40, 53–4, 125, 128, 130, 131, 132–5, 141–4; Japanese 34, 35, 43–6, 49, 51, 58–9, 85–7, 114 n23, 123–6, 143 n2; local Taiwanese 123, 132–5, 144 n 11; Mandarin 20, 23, 36, 37, 39, 40–2, 43, 53, 54, 55, 57, 58, 73, 79–1, 125, 128–30, 130, 137–40, 139, 144 n8, 149, 180; minority 143; national 36–8, 45, 125, 127–9, 142, 144 n4; native 140; and politics 126, 128, 131–3; role in nationalism and state formation 113, 127, 142–5; tai-oan-oe (t’ai-wan-hua) 37, 39, 123, 141; used on television 129 see also bilingualism, mono-lingualism Lau, J. 69 Law No. 63 29 League for the Attainment of Local Autonomy 34,38 Lee Teng-hui 6, 102, 120 n60, n63, 123 LiCh’iao 96, 98, 99, 139, 141 Li Hsien-chang 42 Li Kuo-ch’i 154, 164 Li Poetry Magazine (Li shih-k’an) 23, 78, 79, 80, 82–7, 95, 96, 98–2, 104, 105, 108, 109, 110, 110, 111, 112–16, 114 n13, 135, 138, 139, 143, 147, 162, 178, 179, 181 Li Yung-ch’ih 164 Liao Han-Ch’en 60 Lin Chi-hsiüng 136 Lin Chuo-shui 162, 173 n23 Lin Tsung-yuan 135, 139–2, 180 Lin Yang-min 136, 140–3 linguistic assimilation 130;

promoted by Japanese colonial rule 34–6, 43–6, 48 n10, 51–2, 123–6, 149 linguistic homogeneity: and state formation 127 linguistic reforms 22, 37, 44 literary modernism 49, 66, 68, 69, 72, 82, 83 Literary Bimonthly (Wen-hsüeh shuang-yue-k’ari) 68 Literary Quarterly (Wen-hsüeh chi-kan) 68, 84 Literary Review (Wen-hsüeh tsa-chih) 65 Literary Season (Wen-chi) 68, 84 Literary Taiwan (Wen-hsüeh chieh/t’ai-wan) 96, 110 literature: aboriginal 111; Chinese 36, 60, 62, 69, 73, 74, 75 n10, n11, 77 n32, 146; “combat” 65, 79; Hoklo 134, 135–41, 140, 180; hsiang-t’u (popular) 22, 23, 38–39, 40, 41– 4, 45, 49, 65, 68–73, 81, 83–5, 91–6, 98– 1, 109–12, 112, 119 n44, 134, 135, 139, 146–9, 162–5, 178, 181; linked to politics 95–8, 104, 162; modernistic 49, 66, 68, 69, 72, 82, 83; proletarian 38, 39, 42; proper function of 36; reforms 22, 37–9; tai-gu 140, 141; tai-oan-oe (t’ai-wan-hua) 42, 63; Taiwanese 23–6, 37–44, 49, 59–64, 65-6, 68–74, 78–100, 108–16, 135–7, 138–3, 143, 146–9, 162–5, 179–2, 181, 184–7; “third” 41–4, 63, 146; vernacular 36–9, 39; Western 66 see also fiction; poetry local elections (1977) 88 local identity 73, 105 Mainland China: Kuomintang claim to 65, 101, 128, 148, 150, 177; literature 36, 60, 62, 75 n10, n11; relationship with Taiwan 32, 45, 46 n7, 107–10, 121 n74, n75, 152, 154; studies on Taiwanese literature 109; views of Taiwanese 55–6

INDEX 219

see also People’s Republic of China (PRC) Mainlanders (wai-sheng-jen) 2–3, 4, 6, 53; critics of Taiwanese literature 59–62, 63; dominating Kuomintang 64, 86–8, 102, 118 n27, 120 n60; dominating Taiwanese 11, 12, 54–5, 59, 75 n4, 86–8, 90, 131, 177; hostility with Taiwanese 57; studying Hoklo language 125–7; support for Democratic Progressive Party 102, 120 n58, n59; use of Mandarin 129; writers 59, 65–6, 66, 79 Mainlandization theory (nei-ti-hua) 154, 155, 164 Mandarin 20, 23, 36, 39; popularization of 40–2; promoted by Kuomintang government 53, 54, 58, 125, 126, 127–9, 131, 144 n4, n5, 149, 152; use by Mainlanders 129; use in Taiwan 55, 57, 73, 128–30, 130, 144 n8; use in Taiwanese literature 43, 58, 79–1, 137–40, 139, 180; vernacular 37; versus classical Chinese 36, 40 martial law 65, 87, 119 n55 Martin, D. 17 Mato, D. 184 May Fourth Movement 30, 36, 38, 60, 72, 75 n11 memory: collective 170, 171 minority languages 143 Modern Literature (Hsien-tai wen-hsüeh) 66 modernism: literary 49, 66, 68, 69, 72, 82, 83 modernity: of nationalism 7, 25 n10 modernization: and cultural nationalism 19–2; ideology of 20; of Taiwan 8–9 mono-lingualism 23, 49, 54, 57, 125, 130 “Motherland” (Wu, poem) 85, 114 n23 movements: cultural revival 168; home rule 30–2;

independence xii, 57, 65, 71, 119 n56, 155– 8, 165; language revival xii, 1, 20, 23, 101, 125, 132–4, 135, 136, 140, 142, 145 n24, 180; nationalist 9–10, 11, 14–15, 26 n17, 175, 178; opposition 4, 5, 10, 13, 71, 78, 88, 89, 100– 3, 102, 119 n56, 165–9, 170, 177, 181–4 see also political opposition multicultural character: of Taiwanese literature 111, 113, 147; of Taiwanese society 169, 170, 185 narrative: historical 148, 171 Nation Building Union of Taiwan (Chien-kuo-hui) xii–1, 6 nation-state: emergence of 7–8, 12, 15, 25 n14, 175, 178; members of 11; modern concept of 179, 187 n8 national consciousness 21; Han Chinese 9, 105 “national identification problem” (kuo-chia jent’ung wen-t’i) 102 national identity 9, 10, 12, 14, 74, 148, 183; Chinese 92, 183, 186 n8; construction of 183–6, 185; role of discourse 17, 20–3, 105–8, 113, 183, 184; Taiwanese 9, 10, 15, 17, 18, 25 n13, 33, 86, 90, 100–6, 112, 150, 179–2, 182–5, 184–7 National Language Movement (Kuo-yü yün-tung) 49, 54, 125, 127 national languages 36–8, 45, 53, 125, 127–9, 142, 144 n4, 180; Taiwanese 54, 123–7 national literature 78–113 National Symposium of Art and Literary Workers (Chüan-kuo wen-i hui-t’an) 70, 77 n26 National Taiwan University 65, 65 nationalism 7–8, 14, 16, 25 n8, n14, 178–1; Chinese 5, 9, 10, 11, 72–4, 74, 90, 91, 93– 5, 97, 101, 102, 127–9, 146, 150–4, 182; cultural 1–2, 5, 12–24, 104–7, 175, 177, 179–4, 184–7;

220 INDEX

definition of 11; ethnic origins of 13, 14, 25 n14, 181; European 11–12, 25 n10, 175; modernity of 7, 25 n10; non-Western 19; political 2, 11, 14–14, 15, 18; role of languages 113, 127, 142–5; and state formation 13, 14, 175, 187 n8; Taiwanese 1–2, 5, 6, 8–11, 13, 15, 18, 24, 71, 74, 80, 89, 91, 103–6, 108, 113, 125, 131, 132–4, 137, 142, 147, 149, 163–7, 170, 175, 178, 179, 182, 184–7 nationalist: culture 104–7; doctrines 9–10; movements 9–10, 11, 14–15, 26 n17, 175, 178; sentiments 11, 178 nationalization: of Taiwanese literature 110–14 native languages: non-Mandarin 140 New Culture (Hsin-wen hua) 105 New Life Daily (T’ai-wan hsin-sheng-pao) 59, 61, 63 New People’s Society (Shinminkai) 29, 31 Nixon, R.: visit to Peking 67 non-violent resistance 3, 27, 45 n1 Ong Jok-tik 133, 156 opposition movement 4, 5, 88, 102; importance of 1–26 Incident 165–9, 170; nationalist ideology 10, 13, 71, 78, 177; promoting democratization 10, 88, 181–4; promoting Taiwanese nationalism 5, 100–3, 119 n56; radicalization of 5, 10, 88, 89, 170; suppression of 4, 10, 89 see also political opposition The Orphan of Asia (Wu, novel) 99 “Orphan’s Longing” (Wu, poem) 85, 114 n23 “Outline of the Plan for the Takeover of Taiwan” (T’ai-wan chieh-kuan chi-hua kang-yao) overseas Taiwan independence movements xii, 57, 65, 119 n56, 155–8, 165

parliament: campaign for 29, 32, 45 n3 pen-t’u (native) literature 85, 86, 111 P’eng Jui-chin 97, 111, 122 n91, 141 P’engKe 69–1 P’eng Ming-min (P’eng Min) xii–1, 62, 63 People’s Republic of China (PRC) xii, 5; hostility towards Taiwan 9, 108, 121 n75; increasing role in international politics 107; relations with Taiwan 9, 107–10, 121 n74 see also Mainland China Period of Mobilization for the Suppression of Communist Rebellion (Tung-yuan k’an-luan shih-ch’i lin-shih t’iao-k’uan) 65 pilgrimage: notion of 9 poetry: classical Chinese 81, 83; in Mainland China 83; in Taiwan 66, 68, 80, 81–7, 179 political communities 9 political competition model 2, 10, 18 political conflict 10 political liberalization xii, 5, 100–3, 110, 120 n57, 125 political opposition; participation of authors 95–8, 104; suppression of 64–5, 76 n16, 87, 89, 101, 118 n28 see also opposition movement political reforms: call for 67; linked to cultural reforms 104; in Taiwan 100, 102, 110, 119 n55 political system 64–5, 87 politicized character: of hsiang-t’u literature 90–2, 94–6, 98–1, 162–5; of literature 95–8, 104, 162; of Taiwanese cultural nationalism 180–4 PRC see People’s Republic of China (PRC) Presbyterian Church: use of romanized Hoklo 134–6 presidential elections (1996) xii–1, 120 n63 proletarian literature 38, 39, 42 radical anti-colonialism 29, 31–4, 34;

INDEX 221

seeking Chinese support 31–3 radicalization: of opposition movement 5, 10, 88, 89, 170 re-socialization by Kuomintang 53, 125, 149 reformist anti-colonialism 29–2, 36 reforms: cultural 104; linguistic 22, 37, 44; literature 22, 37–9; political 67, 100, 102, 104, 110, 119 n55 relationship between Mainland China and Taiwan 32, 45, 46 n7, 107–10, 121 n74, n75, 152, 154 Renan, E. 148 Republic of China (ROC); establishment of (1911) 3; Taiwan province of 4, 24 n7 resistance: non-violent 3, 27, 45 n1; to Japanese colonial rule (1895–1945) 158– 1, 170, 172 n10, 185 retrocession of Taiwan to China (1945) 33, 53, 55, 110 reunification of Taiwan and China 5–6, 30, 45, 46 n4, 121 n75 revival movements: cultural 168; language xii, 1, 20, 23, 101, 125, 132–4, 135, 136, 140, 142, 145 n24, 180 ROC see Republic of China romanization: connected to Christianity 134; of Hoklo 20, 134, 136, 137; of tai-oan-oe 42–5 script: Korean 137; tai-oan-oe (t’ai-wan-hua, Hoklo) 22, 23, 37– 9, 39–1, 41–3, 42–5, 44–7, 134–40, 140, 145 n25, 147, 180, 185 sentiments: anti-Japanese 32, 63; nationalist 11, 178 Shih Chi-sheng 152 Shih Ming 156, 179 Shih-san-hang site 168–2 Sino-Japanese War (1937) 4, 151

Sinocization: by Kuomintang government 53, 54, 57–8, 128, 131, 148, 149–2, 151 see also de-Sinocization Smith, A. 8, 12–13, 25 n14 social realism 62, 68, 71, 73 socialism: influence on radical anti-colonialism 31; influence on Taiwanese literature 38 Spanish settlement: on Taiwan (1626–41) 106 state: development of 7, 11–12, 127; and nationalism 13, 14, 175, 187 n8; role of languages 113, 127, 142–5 see also nation-state statelessness: sense of 177, 186 n2 Striking Roots Weekly (Sheng-ken chou-k’an) 157 students: Taiwanese in China 32; Taiwanese in Tokyo 29 studies: anthropological 167, 172 n5; of China 153, 155, 157–60, 163, 172 n5; of plains aborigines 167–1; of Taiwanese history 148, 153, 163–7, 167, 172 n5, 173 n25, 180; of Taiwanese literature 108–11, 121 n81 “The Study of Taiwanese History and a Criticism of Historical Consciousness” (Cheng) 163 Sullivan, L.R. 33 Sun Yat-sen 3, 33, 65, 150, 158 Sung Tse-lai 96, 135, 140 Sung Tung-yang (Ch’en Fang-ming) 97–98 supplementary elections 87, 102 suppression: of political opposition 64–5, 76 n16, 87, 89, 101, 118 n28 tai-gu 139, 140–3, 147; literature 140, 141 tai-oan-oe (t’ai-wan-hua) 37, 39, 123, 141; literature 42, 63; script 22, 37–9, 39–1, 41–3, 42–5, 44–7, 134–40 see also Hoklo

222 INDEX

TAIP see Taiwan Independence Party (TAIP, Chien-kuo-tang) Taiwan Association of University Professors (T’ai-wan chiao-shou hsieh-hui) 1 Taiwan Common Daily (T’ai-wan min-pao) 29, 37 Taiwan Cultural Association 38, 43 Taiwan Historic Relics Research Association (T’ai-wan shih-chi yen-chiu-hui) 152 Taiwan Historical Association (T’ai-wan li-shih hsüeh-hui) 164 Taiwan Independence Party (TAIP, Chien-kuotang) xii Taiwan Investigation Committee (Tai-wan tiaoch’a wei-yüan-hui) 49–1, 52–3 Taiwan Literature (Tai-wan wen-i, TWWI) 23, 78, 79, 80–2, 83–5, 95–8, 98–2, 104, 105, 108, 109, 110, 110, 111, 112–16, 114 n13, 135, 139, 141, 143, 147, 162–5, 178, 179, 181 Taiwan Pen Association (T’ai-wanpi-hui) 1, 104, 133, 138, 145 n22 Taiwan Provincial Administration (T’ai-wansheng hsing-cheng chang-kuan) 54, 56–7, 59 Taiwan Provincial Committec for the Promotion and Propagation of the National Language (T’ai-wan-sheng kuo-yu t’ui-hsing wei-yüan-hui) 54 Taiwan Youth Association (Taiwan seinen kai) 31 Taiwan Youth (Taiwan Seinen) 36 Taiwanese Communist Party 33, 179 Taiwanese New Culture (T’ai-wan hsin-wen hua) 105, 106–9, 135 Taiwanese Political Review (Tai-wan cheng-lun) 88 Taiwanese Uprising of February 28, 1947 4 tang-wai (non-Kuomintang) activists 87, 88–89, 90–2, 94, 100, 103, 118 n32, 131, 147, 148– 1, 156–9, 179; authors 95, 135, 162; identification with aborigines 160–4, 165, 169, 170, 173 n22; promoting ethnic equality 182; promoting Taiwanese consciousness 131, 152, 163, 182; view of Taiwanese history 158–8, 170, 180 television programs: Hakka 132, 142; Hoklo 129, 130, 132 Three Principles of the People (Sun Yat-sen) 65, 150 Tiao-yü-t’ai islets:

dispute over 67, 72 Treaty of Shimonoseki (1895) 3 Ts’ai P’ei-huo 42–5, 134–6, 137 Tsurumi, E.P 30 TWWI see Taiwan Literature (T’ai-wan wen-i, TWWI) United Nations: Taiwanese seat 4–5, 67 United States: rapprochement to PRC 67; security guarantee of Taiwan 4, 64; severing diplomatic relations with Taiwan 5, 88, 186 n2 Verdery, K. 21 vernacular literature 36, 37 Verschueren, J. 143 Voice of the South (Nan-yin) 41, 42, 48 n18, 56 Wakabayashi Mashiro 8–9, 30 Wang Chin-chiang 58 Wang Erh-min 127 Wang Fu-ch’ang 10 Wang Hsiao-p’o 165 Wang T’o 68, 70–2, 72, 74, 95, 96 Western influence, on Taiwanese literature 66, 72, 81, 82–4, 85 writers see authors writing system, Hoklo (tai-oan-oe) 22, 23, 36, 37–9, 39–1, 41–3, 42–5, 44–7, 126, 134– 40, 140, 145 n25, 147, 180, 185 Wu A-wen 61 WuChuo-liu 80–2, 96, 99 Wu, D.Y. 183 Wu Mi-ch’a 163–7 WuShou-li 51 Wu Yung-fu 85, 96 Yam Poetic Society (Fan-shu shih-she) 135, 138, 140 Yang Ch’ing-ch’u 71–3, 95, 96, 104 Yang K’uei 43, 60 Yeh Jung-chung 41–4, 56, 63, 92, 146 Yeh Shih-t’ao 60, 83–5, 91–6, 96, 98, 109–12, 112, 118 n41, 119 42, 143 n2, 147, 181 Yü Kuang-chung 70 Yü T’ien-ts’ung 68, 70, 84

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