The season of mid-autumn has arrived. On the Chinese calendar, an extra month has been inserted to make up for discrepancies with the solar calendar. This "leap month" in 1995 was singled out in Cheng Lang-ping's controversial and portentous book T-Day as the time when mainland Chinese forces were to invade Taiwan. And like many predictions of the "end of the world," these apprehensive suppositions engendered a mass reaction. After a wave of clamorous uproar, the day of doom has arrived, and since none of the foretold events have taken place, the commotion has naturally diminished. Nevertheless, behind such foreboding and conjecture, there usually lurk epochs and societies with unique dilemmas. These will not disappear simply because the prophecies do not come true; in fact, we should still pay special attention.
What kind of environment motivated the writer to put pen to paper, and attracted such fascination from readers? Increasingly frequent interaction between mainland China and Taiwan, their respective political climates, and the new world order taking shape in the post-Cold-War era are of course important historical backdrops, but the ominous tone of the book's title, and related historical events which the author used as examples, were factors leading to the sensation surrounding T-Day Many people who had never even read the book joined in the debate, some were even frightened to the point of making preparations to emigrate. We do not criticize or ridicule this kind of thinking or action; it only gives us a deep feeling of sadness. This sadness comes from the bloodstained historical memories of China throughout the recent centuries. And these memories arise from one turbulent era after another. Born as members of modern Chinese society, and living in today's Taiwan with its doubly complex collective national memory, we must look to history to comprehend the past. When addressing the smaller issues, such as harmony among the ethnic groups on the island, and also the bigger issues, such as the future direction of the nation's development, we must return to the original points which caused those great historical events that have impacted the nation's destiny. Only then can we comprehend different ways of thinking and establish mutual concern.
For over a century, China experienced numerous unprecedented historical changes and disasters. The Opium Wars separated Hong Kong from the mainland politically, and the Sino-Japanese War of 1894 meant the loss of Taiwan. At the signing of the Treaty of Shimonoseki, which relinquished Taiwan into Japanese hands, the official Li Hung-chiang tried in vain to retain Taiwan and was wounded by a Japanese vigilante. Later on, he sorrowfully wrote, "I would die to stop this impending event, but it is so hard." Later on, Chiu Feng-chia, the patriotic poet of Taiwan who led the resistance against the Japanese, sighed, "The prime minister has the right to slice off a piece of the nation, but as a lowly official, I am powerless to alter destiny." Nevertheless, the people of Taiwan had no means to cast off their fate. After the Meiji Restoration, Japan empowered its military and began expanding its territory, and the Taiwanese became the subjects of the Empire of the Rising Sun. For 50 long years, two generations of Taiwanese lived under colonial rule, and their experiences growing up were very different from those of their compatriots in the motherland. When the colonial power opened up a hostile war upon the motherland, the people of Taiwan faced a tremendous predicament that they could not alter. Through the highly propagandistic Japanese news media of that era, as well as privately published newspapers of Taiwan's intellectuals and the recollections of the elderly who lived through those events, we have pieced together what had taken place. This can give us a deeper understanding of that era, and as we mark the fiftieth anniversary of the end of the War of Resistance Against the Japanese, painfully recalling the sacrifices of China's 30 million soldiers, we can better understand why people today have different impressions of the war. From yet another angle, we have investigated mainland newspapers, beginning from the "918 Incident" of 1931, as well as the oral testimonies of old soldiers who lived through those days, to sketch an outline of the war on the mainland. At the same time, we have conducted a telephone survey throughout the greater Taipei metropolitan area, gathering a simple idea of the general feelings people in Taiwan have of the War of Resistance Against the Japanese. Besides remembering the sufferings during that momentous era and the sacrifices made by the veterans of China, our ultimate goal is that we all might look back upon the past and share the future with understanding and compassion.
As we enter the festive month of October when there are a large number of holidays, including the anniversary of Taiwan's return to Chinese rule, we travel even further into the past, back to the 16th century, when Portugal ruled the seven seas. When sailors from that country peered out of their ship and espied the island of Taiwan, they cried out, "Formosa!" Can you imagine from which direction they were sailing? And which mountains, which piece of land, did they lay eyes upon? Nowadays, even experts and scholars cannot give an answer with 100% certainty, but we can still deduce the few locales most likely to evoke the exclamation "Beautiful Island." Why don't you take a guess, and then see for yourself--in the eyes of the Portuguese of that time, what was the real "Formosa"? And does this "beauty" still exist?
Taiwan was once an incomparable "Treasure Island," and on this precious island is the National Palace Museum, in which many rare treasures still lie. Entering into the museum as it celebrates its seventieth anniversary is like walking into a time tunnel of 7000 years. Through all these ancient eras, how many brave heroes, gifted gents and lovely ladies have come and gone? Fortunately, we have a rich heritage of books, paintings and calligraphy, of objects that did not, like their owners, turn to ashes and dust. Instead they have become witnesses of the wisdom of the ancients, and a cultural inheritance. As we view the exquisite jade carved 3000 years before the emperor Huangdi or Written After Snow by Wang Xizhi, we consider how many dynasties they have survived and how many emperor's chambers they have passed through, and we are unconsciously entranced; we can't help but feel blessed and a little anxious. As the heirs of this abundant culture, how should we go about cherishing it and passing it on, so that in its ancientness it will be constantly renewed and constantly grow?
