Even in the world of myths, where humans and the gods mixed freely, it wasn't always easy to "render unto Caesar those things which are Caesar's, and unto God the things which are God's." How then are individuals working in the indigenous peoples' bureaus of local governments, who are caught smack in the middle of the conflict between public power and the good of indigenous tribespeople, to do so? Does the resolution of the housing issues of urban Aborigines come down to nothing more than the choice of whether or not to tear down their current abodes?

Panay, an Amis woman, wonders why you never hear of "urban Han" or "urban Minnan," only "urban Aborigine." Are Aborigines just travelers from the hinterlands who never truly "reside" in cities?

Homes rise, homes fall

For nearly 30 years, Taiwanese Aborigines have been pouring into Taipei County, which has been a veritable mecca for manual laborers through the tenures of KMT and DPP county executives alike. But for all the county's allure, most of these Aborigines and their city-born children have found themselves stuck in a vicious cycle: poorly educated, they earn little, with the result that their children too are poorly educated and earn little. This cycle also impacts their living arrangements: having no homes of their own, they instead pack into small rented rooms or gather together in shantytowns under bridges, growing vegetables and raising fowl along the riverbanks. While their lifestyles allow them to avoid the rat race, they also walk a legal tightrope-the Water Act forbids the construction of factories or residences in the "river areas" in which they live.

On February 14, 2008, the Taipei County Government announced that it would level the Sanying Aboriginal Community in three days. At 10 a.m. on February 18, the county authorities arrived with backhoes and aimed them at the 20-some Amis households at the site. Over the course of a noisy hour, five buildings the tribespeople had constructed by hand fell like so many dominos. Meanwhile, the gardens from which the residents had eked out their living were trampled into oblivion.

But this was only the opening barrage in the county's campaign. At 9:30 a.m. on February 29, after the children had gone to school and the able-bodied adults lucky enough to have odd jobs had left, about 100 police, demolition workers, and county officials swept through the nine remaining households in the already wrecked community. Unable to resist the onslaught, the old and infirm sobbed and shouted, their cries ringing out over the devastated village by the Sanying Bridge: "Don't touch me! Don't kill my ducks and chickens! If you hurt them, you're going to pay!"

The February demolition of the Sanying Community was actually its seventh in the last 30 years, and just another chapter in what has been a difficult history. This time, all that remained of the Amis' rough-but-quaint wooden houses were nails, bits of wood, and broken stones. Even the community's little temple wasn't spared, though residents managed to rescue its statue of the Bodhisattva Guanyin, to which they made tearful prayers for the protection of their homes.

Kimbo, the Puyuma musician known as Taiwan's "Father of Folk" and for his performance of the popular song "Formosa," stood with Sanying's Amis that day as they protested the "oppressive" tactics of the Taipei County Indigenous Peoples' Bureau. "They even wanted to plunder the remains of the sturdy wooden structures they tore down, all of which belonged to our compatriots," said Kimbo, denouncing the bureau's actions. "They took them, and now they intend to bury them deep, so deep that we can't use them ever again."

Kolas Foting, director of Taipei County's Indigenous Peoples' Bureau, says: "I sympathize with the predicament of disadvantaged urban Aborigines. I love my people, but also hate illegal opportunists." How is he to choose between the law and his feelings for his people?

Resisting relocation

Sanying's destitute urban Aborigines already lived in the most marginal of locations. Once their homes were destroyed, where were they to go? They remained under the bridge, rebuilding rickety but cozy homes from the materials they were able to salvage from the rubble. Soon, a public bathroom, a community hall, and five or six homes rose again on the site. Those who had remained in the neighborhood to keep an eye on things after their forcible removal came back, and Amis friends and relatives from Hualien and Taitung came north to offer their support.

Hsia Chu-joe, a professor of urban planning at National Taiwan University, described the straitened circumstances in which the urban Amis lived 10 years ago in an article entitled "Wildflowers under the Sanying Bridge." A decade later, the tenacity with which the tribespeople are hanging on to their homes and the manner in which they've grown protective "thorns" makes them seem even more like the wildflowers and weeds of Hsia's metaphor.

There was fallout from the handling of the recent demolition: Eli Takesi, the Atayal who was then the director of the IPB, stepped down from her position, which county chief executive Chou Hsi-wei then offered to Kolas Foting, a Hualien Amis and elder of the Kolamay Presbyterian Church.

"I see the tribespeople as my responsibility," says Kolas Foting, who is himself an urban Aborigine who came north to attend university. He brings his religious perspective to his work, and hopes to "lend disadvantaged tribespeople a hand" while resolving the problem of their 30-plus year residency on the riverbank.

"Every time I've visited the community to coordinate with them," says Kolas Foting, "I've been mercilessly scolded." Kolas Foting hasn't yet formally relocated to Taipei County and has only been trying to clear up the issue of the forced relocation for a short time. He understands that giving the tribespeople the bureaucratic response that he's "still studying the problem" does nothing to placate their anger, and he gets why this elicits criticisms that he "doesn't understand the situation."

When Sanying residents took their battle to the Presidential Office Building on December 20, 2008, they had support from director Hou Hsiao-hsien, authors Chu Tien-hsin and Chen Hsueh, and farmer-activist Yang Rumen. Given President Ma's campaign promises to handle all matters in a legal and impartial manner, and to protect the rights of the weak, people wondered about the ruling party's sincerity.

Hou also shaved his head in a show of solidarity with the tribespeople. "Without land, how are the tribespeople to settle down and make their way in the world?" he asked. "Is money the only thing our government and society care about? Aren't there any other schools of thought?"

The Long'enpu building where Taipei County planned to resettle four Aboriginal communities sited on county waterways is a 150-unit, 10-story structure made of concrete and steel. Few Aborigines have shown any interest in moving here, calling it "a village where you can't have a barbeque."

Building goodwill

Caught between the law and his sympathy for the tribespeople, Kolas Foting, who had been director for less than six months at the time of the march, was torn by the tribespeople's lack of understanding of his predicament and wondered whether he had made the right choice in taking the position.

He will always remember the scene the first time he visited the Sanying Community after work: The site was filled with construction waste and holey structures that had been pieced together. Without power and running water, "backward" didn't begin to describe what he saw. It was as if he'd entered a rural Aboriginal village from more than 40 years past. He couldn't understand why the tribespeople under the bridge would want to live like this.

On many occasions, he naively thought that he'd be able to resolve everything by simply adhering to the law. "But when I considered taking up the government's iron-fisted "compulsory demolition" position, I realized I would be abandoning my original purpose in joining the county government-serving the tribespeople." Kolas Foting wrestled constantly with the issue.

"God always opens up a way," observes Kolas Foting. He adopted the attitude of a supplicant seeking a solution to the tribespeople's challenges. After making more than 20 evening visits to Sanying, and another five or six to Xindian's less troubled Xizhou Aboriginal Community, he realized that attitudes towards him had changed. Where tribespeople initially chased him away, they were now willing to sit down and talk "like friends and brothers."

"The tribespeople's thinking on the issue has changed over the last three or four months. They've gone from suggesting that site was legal to proposing a land swap to recommending settlement in a nearby location," says Kolas Foting, who has learned that many tribespeople are willing to move away from the river provided they can live without fear of being relocated again.

"No one can insult my home!" Weaponless children vent their anger by flinging stones at images of the people who ordered the destruction of their homes.

Culturally appropriate persuasion

"I really want to help these indigenous people, but I'm not sure how," says Chou Hsi-wei, who has repeatedly expressed his frustration with not knowing how to help. He has difficulty understanding why some indigenous people prefer living outdoors under a bridge to living in the low-cost housing the county has built and reserved just for them.

The key issue is that the tribespeople's traditional values and lifestyle differ from those of the Han Chinese who make up Taiwan's majority. "The tribespeople's understanding of 'land' is that you live where your ancestors did," explains Kolas Foting. "To them, the legality of the arrangement is irrelevant." Sanying's residents also wonder why factories can legally be constructed quite close to nearby riverbanks, but their homes below the bridge, which are 200 meters from the water and have never flooded in a typhoon, have been deemed illegal and must be demolished.

For its part, the county spent some NT$300 million constructing the Long'enpu Aboriginal Cultural Village in Sanxia to house the approximately 140 households of the four riverbank communities (Sanying, Xizhou, Qingtan, and Xiao Bitan), completing the 10-story, 150-unit building in July 2007. So far, however, it has only managed to relocate 25 Sanying households there following the forcible destruction of their homes.

"Our people don't want to live in highrises," says Kolas Foting. "And they don't like closed doors that inhibit interactions." He knows that some urban Aborigines don't really understand the modern concept of "law," and that if you insist on imposing it on them, you're going to fail.

Moreover, the NT$2000-6000 per month that the Long'enpu apartments cost in rent represents a heavy burden for the majority of tribespeople who make their living from odd jobs. The huge divide between the government's goodwill and the everyday realities of Aboriginal life is amply demonstrated by the fact that only around two households are current on their rent, while more than 20 are at least five months behind.

"We are doing our best to help these Aborigines resolve their problems in a legal manner," says Chou Hsi-wei, who reveals that he has come up with a number of residential policies that are appropriate to and respectful of urban Aboriginal culture.

Land security

With planning assistance from NTU's Hsia Chu-joe, the county government is conducting a residence experiment involving urban Aborigines.

Kolas Foting says that the planners talked with the tribespeople to understand their housing needs, then began building with their input and guidance. The county will not repeat the mistake of using Han standards to build "mosquito palaces" that no one wants to live in.

He says that half of Xindian's Xizhou Community is legally sited and that the first of the buildings constructed as the indigenous people requested will be completed on that land as early as this year, at which time the Xizhou tribespeople will be able to move in and set their minds at ease. Residents will retain control over community land that may be legally utilized, managing it and putting it to their own uses, including as an incubator of businesses that will increase their incomes. Kolas Foting guarantees that a similar approach will be taken to the resettlement of the Sanying residents.

Speaking on the travails of homelessness, Song-Dynasty literary giant Su Dongpo once wrote, "Home is where my heart finds peace." In what harbor will Taipei's urban Aborigines, adrift in the maelstrom of modern society, come to rest? How will they turn their new community into a hometown? Their ancestors, their tribespeople, and all of society are watching.