It is the deep attraction of the self-confidence of the people of Puli village that makes them this edition's cover story. As Puli sculptor Lin Yuan, once said to a group of art students from Taipei: "Do you bookworms dare to live as I am living? Do you dare? Come and do it and see what it is like!"
Li Yao-tsung uses stone pottery; Liang Kun-ming paints, teaches art and edits local writing; student of medicine Teng Hsiang-yang neither sculpts nor paints but says, "At least I can collect written materials and put together historical data . . . I am also a child of Puli, so why can't I become other people's 'fool' too?"
What he means to ask is that while other people move out to study and put down roots in prosperous areas, who would foolishly go and live in a mountain hamlet? Puli has a group of people who have made the alternative decision to do just that, choosing a life of rustic tranquility and concerning themselves about the future of village industries rather than a life of karaoke and polluting prosperity.
"Mr. Chen, thirtysomething, is a snail without a shell paying NT$17,000 per month for a car loan . . . 'Driving an imported car at 30--that fits with my life plan,' he says proudly." Following the opening of some fifteen new banks, individual consumption has become the new darling of Taiwan. Faced with tempting advertisements for loans, while having the moral principles of the older generation in mind, is which direction are consumers to go? A bank manager says that loans and credit cards provide more choice for consumers; might then Taiwan follow the U.S. and Britain down the road of credit expansion and inflation? An economist tells us this cannot happen--Taiwan's problem is still too much money.
Is that so? Sotheby's, the international auction house, created another Taiwanese economic miracle when their auction at the end of March reached a turnover rate of 94 percent in two short hours. The painting market went crazy and galleries are now saying paintings are in short supply. With such speculation could the market collapse and investors be ensnared? "Before the Japanese market collapsed, the price of a small painting had risen to more than NT$4 million. We still have a long way to go!" says one entrepreneur.
With the image of a Taiwan drowning in cash, saving up wealth has already become an old myth. Without borrowing or loans, it is hard to avoid being seen as old-fashioned and lacking in financial know-how. And just what is a fashionable modern person? Their symbols are a "career plan" mapped out early on, credit cards and membership cards; following on the heels of stock market fever, they are now talking about "art investment." They are the post-war generation of "yuppie" professionals who cover themselves in expensive brands; the "two-career homes" of working couples, or the "dinks" who work and do not have children. If they do have children, then they can catch the "second baby-boom." When the modern housewife knocks off from the office she goes to the small supermarket nearby because "convenience stores are suitable for the coldness of the new humanity."
With their bulging purses modern people obviously need markers by which to confirm their worth and replace their confidence. Is there another choice? Is to value the intimacy of the old corner grocery store, shun the wearing of famous brands, be willing to save to guard against hunger, and to neither borrow nor be willing to add to pollution and traffic congestion, perhaps a kind of fashion?
People say that remaining a piece of pure land in western Taiwan is due to Puli's bad communications. This is just like those Western people who think that the preservation of the beautiful cities o f Eastern Europe is a benefit of the shortcomings of the communist economic system. With the present fascination of city-dwellers with modernization, listening to a friend from afar on this is an eye-opening experience. Jiri Sramek, head of the Research Laboratory of the Czechoslovakian State Institute for Restoration, says that of course a backward economy cannot maintain ancient monuments. On the contrary, just as with the Cultural Revolution in China, the monuments of Czechoslovakia suffered under communism. Yet there is a consensus among the Czechs which values their historical relics, so that ". . . even very poor people put up money to build a national museum and theater in Prague." Compared to the wealthy West, he feels, ". . . we know how to struggle and how to fight for something. I can assure you that if we just have enough financial means, Czechoslovakia will be a world paradise as far as monuments are concerned."
Economic strength and self-confidence often do not go together. The people of Puli have confidence in their good environment and life. But under the shadow of declining industries, their future is far from certain.Is there a third road between that of polluting prosperity and closed backwardness? Writers and artists might value this pure land, but with the lost employment opportunities of the rustic life, can there be no envy of the excitement of the flourishing village next door? At a time of conflict between the imperatives of economic investment and the preservation of historical monuments, what will be the choice of the people of Czechoslovakia?
"You've got to plant some seeds in your hometown land," says Puli artist Liang Kun-ming. It is fortunate that there will always be people with the self-confidence to make alternative decisions. Some people see member ship cards and an imported car as important; what others love is fresh air and the appreciation of nature. It is the same when we see young people striving to study overseas, to emigrate and search for a different life. When we happily see people returning, such as Paul Chu, Yuan T.Lee and Wu Mao-kun, the choice can be very moving.
