Namasia is far from being the only township to have seen its villages torn apart by natural disasters. In fact, many indigenous villages have been ravaged and ultimately shattered by years of storms.

Recall the four heroes of Jiamu Village, who rescued 135 people in the middle of Typhoon Morakot. Residents of their beloved and beautiful Jiamu are now struggling with the issue of whether to rebuild in Wutai Township, or relocate to Changzhi Township.

One of those heroes, Lai Mengchuan, has resolved to remain and live as he has done since his youth-growing jelly figs, raising sambar, and running a guesthouse. He wonders how he would make the younger generation understand the hunting festival if he left the mountains and integrated into Han Chinese society. How would he teach them to recognize different tree species and know which plants are poisonous?

"We have to maintain our roots," he tolds a reporter for 88news.org, a Typhoon Morakot news site. "We have to have a place where we truly belong."

But don't they worry about Mother Nature's tantrums? Lai trusts in traditional Rukai wisdom: "We're willing to wait two years, to let the rain fall and such landslides happen as need to," he says. "Nature can restore itself. It will heal its own wounds."

He remembers village elders talking about an equally large disaster in the same area nearly a century ago. It wrought great changes, but the village lived quietly for nearly 100 years thereafter. Who's to say it won't have another 100 quiet years now?

The point of moving these communities out of the mountains is to ensure their safety, but many were already very conscious of the need to evacuate swiftly in times of danger. Since Morakot, this has become the highest priority of both the government and the tribes.

Protecting the mountains from indiscriminate construction and farming is another major consideration, in particular from the highly damaging corporate development of hotels, guesthouses, hot spring resorts, and large orchards and farms by the Han Chinese. But experts note that many large landslides occur deep in the forest in areas completely untouched by human hands. In fact, the primary causes of landslips are torrential rain, steep slopes, and fragile rock strata.

One resident of disaster-hit Jiaxian Township in Kaohsiung County says that the loss of too many trees is another culprit. Stuck in the mountains for five days after Morakot, he describes what he's seen with his own eyes:

"Most people think planting trees preserves the soil, but that's not always so." When untended trees grow large and dense they catch the wind, which affects the stability of their roots. Once uprooted, fallen trees and the attached stones and soil obstruct the flow of water. Water rises ever higher until the obstruction gives way, releasing a "murderous" flood that can destroy everything below it in the blink of an eye.

He doesn't say this to plead for the Aboriginal villagers who insist on staying with their homes, but he does note that it wouldn't be a bad thing if they could both reasonably maintain their surroundings and protect the mountain forests. Moreover, they are the ones who will suffer from further landslides. And they know better than anyone the risks and challenges inherent in staying put.

It is painful to witness the discomfiture and resentment of once bold and cheerful indigenous people in resettlement villages, where the prevailing atmosphere is at times one of implicit disapproval of their culture, lifestyle and religion-and this at a time when they have the greatest need of their traditions and faith as spiritual anchors in adversity. Does not this kind of "progress" add insult to their very real injuries?

I couldn't help but feel some regret when I recently reread last September's cover story, "Morakot-Taiwan's Final Warning." At that time, experts proposed four urgent changes, the chief of which was to accelerate the implementation of a national land program that would prioritize sustainability over growth. Sadly, the relevant draft legislation is still mired in interminable political wrangling. And looking at another of this month's features, on the plight of humpback dolphins off Taiwan's west coast, it's clear that growth remains the dominant paradigm. It's been more than a year since Typhoon Morakot, but we still have a lot to learn.