In Korea and northeast China, both of which were colonized by Japan in the early 20th century, the local inhabitants harbor a fierce hatred for the Japanese. In the former colony of Taiwan, however, pro-Japanese sentiment runs strong. This is especially true among older aborigines. Why would they feel this way? Sun Ta-chuan, vice chairman of the Council of Aboriginal Affairs, knows well from first-hand experience.

We aborigines have a very ambivalent attitude toward the Japanese.

The actions of the Japanese government have had a big impact upon our lives. The very concept that Taiwan has different aboriginal ethnic groups was an idea developed by the Japanese. Before Japan claimed control of Taiwan in 1895, we didn't have that sort of group identity. Back then, the social group with which we identified did not extend beyond our own tribe. We were truly a "collection of tiny, separate nations," to quote an oft-heard phrase. Take my own people, for example. We are now classed together as Puyuma, but we were originally scattered among eight principal tribes. "Puyuma" was just the name of one of those tribes. Before Japanese colonial rule, there was no concept at all of "the Puyuma" as an ethnic group. We just thought of ourselves as different tribes. We were often at odds, and even made war upon each other.

After the Japanese colonized Taiwan, the island's aboriginal inhabitants became the focus of academic research for the first time. Japanese anthropologists classified us into a number of different ethnic groups on the basis of language, customs, religion, social structure, physical characteristics, and other such criteria. The ethnic identity that Taiwan's aborigines have embraced for almost a century is based upon the work of Japanese anthropologists.

The Japanese were also the first to extend the presence of police and modern educational institutions into tribal life, and to use administrative methods to subject aborigines in Taiwan's mountainous areas to a unified regime. Most of us used to spend our entire lives in the tribe into which we were born, but the Japanese educational system changed that. They sent us for further schooling in Tainan or Japan, which brought us into contact with the larger society. Then in World War II they shipped us off to fight in the South Pacific. Those of us who went off to school or managed to survive the war came back with broader perspectives and became community leaders. Many became village magistrates, for example, while others were elected as town or county legislators. Without a doubt, the Japanese broadened our horizons.

Even as they used their police system to monitor and control us, the Japanese also used their educational system to "enlighten" us. This does not mean, however, that we enjoyed equal status under Japanese rule. Although we began during the period of Japanese rule to look beyond our tribal boundaries and develop a sense of ethnic and even national identity, when you look at the Japanese colonial period as a whole, you find that this larger sense of identity was permeated by a negative image. Whether we were sent off to perform corv嶪 labor or subjected to discriminatory treatment in Japanese schools, aborigines were always at the bottom rung of society, and the identity we acquired was at the same time an indignity. Contact with Japanese people has always triggered in us mixed feelings of inferiority and awe. A lot of older aborigines are very proud of the fact that they can speak Japanese, and consider it a badge of progressiveness and cultural attainment.

Pawns of Japanese Imperialism

There are also deeply rooted cultural traits in aboriginal society which have contributed to the pro-Japanese sympathies of us older aborigines.

The Japanese people place great importance on the maintenance of discipline, observance of the law, and proper performance of public duties. During the period of Japanese rule, a Japanese official's word was final. We aborigines saw this as decisiveness, which we viewed in a very positive light. We place great stress on obedience and group discipline, and the traits we discovered in the Japanese were very compatible with our own values. We do not have a written language. Many of the social norms by which we live are simply decided upon by our elders. Taiwanese aboriginal societies generally require that young people obey their elders. This is especially true of the Ami people, who have a rigid system of authority based on age, and of the Paiwan and Rukai, with their distinction between the nobility and commoners. I rather suspect that our obedient nature made our boys very compliant soldiers on the battlefield.

I often wonder exactly how we were affected when we began to travel beyond our villages and transcend our old spatial limits. Take my uncle, for example, who fought in the South Pacific. Before the war, it was through success in hunting and fishing near his village that he proved his worth as a man. The war changed all that. Suddenly he was proving his worth on the battlefield, upholding the nation and defending the Emperor Hirohito. Before the war, he only hunted animals, or perhaps would take part in an occasional "headhunting ceremony." In either case, he acted on his own behalf, or at most on behalf of his tribe in times of armed conflict with neighboring tribes. After the war broke out, though, he was acting on behalf of the entire nation. The sacrifices he made were for a society that extended far beyond the confines of his tribe, and his actions took on a totally different significance.

In the past, tribal society demanded that a man become "a real man." It demanded that he be steadfast, persevering, and brave. These values were displayed to the fullest extent on the battlefield. For example, a young Puyuma man had to be able to endure hunger and cold, and to go days on end without sleep. The trials we underwent in coming of age basically constituted a sort of military training in and of themselves. On the battlefield, our disciplined upbringing showed through clearly in the bravery we displayed as soldiers.

When the aborigines and the Japanese first came into contact, we discovered that there was much cultural affinity between us. For example, the Japanese place great importance on the expressive power of body language. You can see it in the way they pour tea for visitors, and in the way a wife performs a "half-kowtow" when her husband returns home. In our culture, too, we pay close attention to how we express ourselves though body language. Even when we get to be 70 or 80 years old and have grown feeble, there's still a dignity and grace in our movements. Our traditional rites and dances also put a lot of stress on physical posture. Our love-hate relationship with the Japanese is complicated. In our character, our body language, and our group discipline, there is much that makes us favorably disposed toward the Japanese way of life. Our sense of inferiority toward them, however, is an obvious sign of problems.

Unfortunately, the Japanese did not respect us at all. They regarded us as the dregs of society. In return for our loyalty, we received discrimination. There is definitely a hard edge of discontent in the relationship. Former Takasago Volunteers who managed to survive their stint as cannon fodder in World War II, for example, have begun to seek compensation from the Japanese government. We are realizing, at long last, that we were nothing but pawns in Japan's quest to build an empire.

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When old aborigine veterans get together and reminisce about the war, emotions cover a wide range-pride in valor displayed on the battlefield, sighs at the fickleness of fate, and a complex love-hate attitude toward the Japanese. Pictured here are former Takasago Volunteers now living in Puli. From right to left they are Kao Te-sheng (Japanese name Numata Shigeo), Liao Hsin-yi (Sato Toshiaki), and Liao Pien-shan (Tokunaga Mitsuo). They are shown standing in front of Mr. Kao's home. (photo by Vincent Chang)