What kind of rabbit have the residents of Chiungchiao Keng got in their collective hat?
Early summer usually marks the beginning of the thunderstorm season in the mountain areas of central Taiwan. And this year, rainfall was exceptionally heavy. Beginning in the middle of June, it rained hard and steadily for several days. Residents of Chiungchiao Keng, waiting for a sunny day, were worried. Finally, on June 22nd, God blessed them with a good day; the rain stopped and the sun broke through the clouds. In Li Ping's garden an epiphyllum put forth a flame-red blossom in broad daylight, like a bright red ball of silk hung beside her door.
The mud washed down by the rain had turned the narrow mountain road into a muddy mess, but the village's residents nonetheless were in high spirits as they came, one after another, to a tent pitched in a field mid-way up the mountain. On that day, ten villagers came to this place to sign an agreement not to sell their land.
The agreement states that illegal land speculation and reckless development by business people and financial consortia in recent years are causing ever-worsening damage to the environment and to soil and water conservation. Therefore, in order to protect the precious natural environment, to encourage appropriate levels of development of the area's land resources and to raise the standard of living of residents, they agreed to refrain from selling their families' lands until at least 2011.
In modern Taiwan, where owning a piece of land means not having to worry about how to feed and clothe your family for a lifetime, this is a first. Director of the Council for Cultural Affairs Lin Cheng-chi and Provincial Governor James Soong even accepted invitations to come and serve as witnesses to the signing. The warm welcome of the villagers and the beauty of the setting even moved Governor Soong to recite some lines of poetry in Hakka: "Miaoli is truly spectacular, a beautiful place of mountains and clear waters. The people of Chiungchiao Keng are farsighted; its azure mountains and emerald waters will stand forever."
For the people of Taiwan, this really is a first. And for the people of Chiungchiao Keng, "It really is a once-in-a-lifetime event, the kind of thing you tell your children and grandchildren about. It's brilliant!" So say the usually shy and somewhat introverted villagers with big smiles.
Banana Valley
Chiungchiao Keng is located in the Tahu region of Miaoli County. The Central Mountain Range passes through the eastern part of the county, where its western slopes tumble down into the Taian District before gradually rolling to a halt in the Tahu District. Tahu is thus a region of mountains and foothills.
The aboriginal people of Tahu are of the Atayal tribe while the earliest Chinese people to cultivate and develop the area were Hakka. At one time the area prospered by the production of camphor. During the Japanese occupation era, the people of Tahu began to raise silkworms and grow Citronella from which they extracted Citronella oil, once used in making cosmetics. Unfortunately for Tahu, following WWII to China, the chemical industry developed a number of substitutes for Citronella oil and camphor. At the same time, in yet another blow to the local economy, the silkworm industry went into decline.
Towards the end of the 1970s, Tahu once again became famous, this time for its strawberries. Now, every year during the strawberry season, which runs from February to April, a seemingly never-ending stream of visitors flows through the farms which line both banks of the Houlung River. These visitors have made the incomes of Tahu's strawberry farms among the highest in Taiwan.
In comparison to the development of Tahu, Chiungchiao Keng seems like a hermitage. It is located in a col of the same name which runs parallel to the flatlands of the Houlung River valley. Its entrance faces Tahu village. A stream winds its way through the valley before joining the Houlung. This unnamed stream separates Chiungchiao Keng from the outside world. Chiungchiao is the Hakka word for banana and they say that the village is so named because of the banana-like curve of the valley.
In earlier days, the economy of Chiungchiao Keng followed the same pattern of development as Tahu. Tu Ming-hai, a 64-year-old resident of the village, says that his father used to grow Citronella to make Citronella oil, supporting his family and acquiring wealth through the fruits of his own labor. Tu remembers that at that time all the Citronella oil was sold overseas. When prices were at their peak, the oil was in greater demand than gold on the commodities market.
Left in the dust
After the Citronella boom had turned to bust, Chiungchiao Keng's agricultural lands gradually were turned over to the cultivation of bamboo. The people of the village also began to grow oranges, persimmons, plums, pears and longan. The steep topography of the village area and its overabundance of rain make it unsuited to the cultivation of strawberries and its development has thus diverged from that of the rest of Tahu.
Lately, "Prices for bamboo have been dropping and fruit is becoming harder to sell because of imports. Farming in the mountains, you can't use machines because of the slope. That means most work is done by hand, which raises costs," says Tu. He says that Chiungchiao Keng is facing economic difficulties. Added to these difficulties are unpreventable natural disasters which can wipe out an entire year's labor in a day. Last year, his bamboo groves were hit by typhoon Herb and so damaged that his income for the whole year was only NT$20,000~30,000.
The poor state of the economy has caused many to move away. Ku Lin-fu, once head of the village, remembers a time ten-odd years ago when there were more than 100 families living in Chiungchiao Keng. Now there are only 56 households, around 200 people, registered in the village and some of these, because they work elsewhere, don't actually live in the village. In fact, only about 20 households are actually resident. Besides the elderly, who make up the majority, a few middle-aged couples remain carrying on their ancestors' professions.
Places like Chiungchiao Keng are common in other areas of Taiwan, where the decline of traditional economies and the movement of people away from rural areas are major problems for small towns and villages. Those towns which are lucky get noticed and bought out by business people who then come in and level the land for a golf course, amusement park or apartment buildings. The former landholders take their money and move elsewhere, while lands unsuited to development and thus unsold are left to go to seed.
The residents of Chiungchiao Keng, however, still hold to the traditional Hakka values of hard work and thriftiness, with the result that their fields retain their bountiful appearance.
A stranger comes to town
Five years ago, Mr. Ku, who was then about 80 years old, found that he no longer had the strength to till his fields, located halfway up the mountain. Watching his fields and buildings deteriorate and with no strength to do anything about it, he had no choice but to sell his nearly 40 hectares of fields and orchards and their accompanying buildings. He himself moved down to Tahu where he bought a home.
Not long after, neighbors noticed that the person who had bought Mr. Ku's lands was a pale and refined-looking young woman. They soon heard that she was from Taipei, was an artist and was named Li Ping. They also found out that she couldn't speak Hakka, didn't worship their gods, was of recent mainland descent and was a Catholic.
Li Ping was like a stone dropped into their little pond, stirring up once quiet lives. Residents were not only curious about her person, but also wondered at her motives in giving up a life in cosmopolitan Taipei to come and live in a poor rural community. As her fields were halfway up the mountain, people going up and down often passed by and occasionally took a peek at what this female artist from Taipei was doing.
They quickly discovered that while she looked elegant and refined, she was broad-minded, direct and easy to get along with. Though she couldn't speak Hakka, she could chat away half the day with them using signs and gestures. Though an artist, she spent her days working in the fields. Running up and down the mountain, she was soon as tan and as strong as the local farming wives.
They also discovered that she was very enthusiastic; anytime there was some sort of local event, she would be there. Chiungchiao Keng's residents put on two major local religious festivals every year to pray for blessings and to give thanks. The Catholic Li Ping attended every time. And when the local agricultural association organized classes, she signed up.
Three years ago, Li Ping saw an announcement in Tahu's government administration building saying that an "comprehensive" community development" workshop being organized by the Council for Cultural Affairs was looking for students. Li not only signed herself up, she also dragged along two of her neighbors, Ku Cheng-yeh and Huang Chin-hu, to the three days of classes.
Afterwards, Li Ping began to push Chiungchiao Keng's residents to contribute money and labor to a plan for a "My Home Is Chiungchiao Keng" arts festival. The festival took place in a grassy, uncultivated rice paddy belonging to Li. Three tents exhibited Chiungchiao Keng's produce, its arts and its food. Exhibits included green plums, bamboo shoots, paintings, Hakka-style fried rice-noodles and Hakka-style muaji, a sticky treat made from rice flour. On the day of the festival, Chiungchiao Keng provided 2000 free servings of Hakka delicacies, which were quickly gobbled up by visitors from all over Tahu.
It was also the "outsider," Li Ping, who was behind the agreement not to sell their land.
This is paradise
To Li Ping, it is sometimes hard to believe that fate brought her to Chiungchiao Keng. At other times, it seems totally reasonable.
For her, moving from Taipei to Chiung-chiao Keng was a dream come true. She had studied at an agricultural high school and dreamed about living a farmer's life. When she later studied painting, she wanted to find a scenic spot in which to live quietly and paint. Five years ago, with the support of her husband, who works in the import-export business, she began looking for the ideal place.
"The first time I saw this place, I fell in love with it," says Li, a decisive woman who trusts her intuition. She remembers it was early morning when she stood in front of the door facing the valley. The sun was creeping up over the luxuriant vegetation of the valley. The songs of birds and the scent of flowers were everywhere. The scene affected her so strongly that she shouted aloud, "This is paradise!" and immediately decided to buy the property.
Having never lived in the country before, moving in meant facing reality. There are no street lights in the mountains and nights are pitch black. It made Li, who was used to lights at night, feel lonely and frightened. And country houses don't keep out insects, spiders or snakes, a situation which very nearly scared the wits out of her.
Having studied at an agricultural high school, Li thought she was fully prepared to farm. But facing it firsthand, she quickly discovered that farm work wasn't as easy or as laid back as she had imagined. And after becoming more closely involved with Chiungchiao Keng's people, she gradually came to understand the town's problems as well.
However, her background didn't allow her to retreat to the city. Li's family was originally from Beijing, where her grandfather served in the underground resistance to the Japanese. Her father served in the air force and her whole family possesses the strong, resilient character of northern China. Add to this her devout Catholicism and her participation from childhood in church activities, which fostered her charitable and helpful nature, and you can see how she was able to get inside the often clannish and conservative Hakka society.
Last year, Taipower planned to put up a high-voltage power tower in Chiungchiao Keng. Li's misgivings about the possible hazard to the environment led her to stand up and oppose the construction. In the end, the engineering company responsible for the construction was forced to tear down the tower.
"When I see a problem, I just want to find a solution; I can't run away from it," says Li. For her, attending the comprehensive community development workshop last year was a way of trying to find a solution for Chiungchiao Keng's problems.
Manufacturing meets culture
The rationale behind the community development workshops was developed in 1994 by Chen Chi-nan, then assistant director of the Council for Cultural Affairs. The workshops' purpose is to find solutions to the problems of declining economies and fading local cultures in Taiwan's towns and villages.
Chen spent several years in Japan and saw for himself the success of Japan's community movement. He thinks that whether you are concerned about a place or a group of people doesn't matter; both are "communities." In his terminology, "comprehensive" refers to the full consideration of everything related to all the affairs of daily life. "Development" emphasizes that everyone must work together before the workshops' goals can be achieved.
Simply put, all the neighbors from a given area, their friends and even strangers must pull together to create a new situation and improve people's lives.
The diligent Li Ping feels that this kind of philosophy meshes very well with her experience of Chiungchiao Keng. "Although when I first arrived here, it was certainly as an outsider, after dealing with everyone here for so long, I am now a part of the village. They don't treat me as an outsider. And so when everyone faces the same problem, we should cooperate to solve it," says Li, whose paintings are now almost entirely focused on the scenes and people of Chiungchiao Keng.
On the problems caused by the differences between city and country, Chen thinks the answer lies in "Culturalizing local industries and commercializing culture." Under pressure from industrialization, all of the basic manufacturing done by Taiwan's towns and villages has begun to disappear. Most of these areas have neither the means to industrialize and urbanize nor the need. Chen fears that the only way they can survive is to "culturalize" their industries.
"For these localities, it doesn't matter what kind of industry they originally had. Whether it was traditional agriculture, fisheries, local production of some special product or tourism and leisure, a cultural component can be added," states Chen.
On the other hand, special aspects of traditional and new local culture can also be "commercialized" to add to their economic value. For example, traditional architecture and historic buildings, handicrafts, artistic talents and folk religious festivals can be integrated to build a distinct character for different places and become a foundation on which to build a local economy.
In recent years, local cultural centers all over the island have begun promoting this idea. Take the Miaoli County Culture Center as an example. Besides organizing a number of workshops, last year it established a committee to promote comprehensive community development and chose five communities as models for construction aid.
"Chiungchiao Keng had demonstrated the ability to pull its people together with its 'My Home Is Chiungchiao Keng' arts festival. And so it received the support and recognition of [our] development committee and was named as one of the five model communities," says Hsu Hung-hsun, director of the Miaoli County Culture Center. He says the culture center therefore provided financial assistance to Chiungchiao Keng when it put on its "Agreement Not to Sell" signing ceremony. This ceremony increased the village's visibility and added further momentum to the community's efforts to pull together.
The risks of commercialization
Wang Ben-chuang, a lecturer in the department of architecture at National Lien-ho College of Technology and Commerce, met Li Ping while teaching one of the community development classes. He felt Chiungchiao Keng had a lot of potential for community development and so helped Li Ping plan the "My Home Is Chiungchiao Keng" festival.
Last year, after Chiungchiao Keng was chosen as one of the five model communities, Wang traveled there to formally evaluate its lands to verify that its natural scenery, agricultural products and local customs were sufficient resources to develop into "commercialized" culture. However, based on his experience, there is one point of concern: "If the plan is announced, financial conglomerates and speculators will try to move in, destroying the special character of the place." He says, "After Sanyi's woodcarvers' street was successfully recreated, the price of a building there jumped from NT$2 million to NT$6 million."
Another example of redevelopment gone awry is that of Chiufen, founded many years ago as a coal mining village. When the coal mine played out, the village went into decline. Then, several years ago, the internationally renowned director Hou Hsiao-hsien filmed City of Sadness there, making the village famous. Its isolated, coal-mining-village atmosphere attracted many visitors who came to reflect on the past. But after it became popular, outsiders invested in restaurants and hotels. Although the place was rejuvenated, foreign architectural styles and commercialization diluted its original character.
"Chiufen has historical value as a sort of living fossil. It should have been treated as a historical site and had a long-term restoration plan. It's just a shame that the business people always move faster than the government," says a pained Wang.
These experiences made him wonder if there was any way to have one's cake and eat it, too. "If you want to stop financial groups and outsiders from speculating, my first thought is just don't sell the land. Don't give the land speculators a foot in the door," he says.
After putting forward the idea, implementing it was not as difficult as he had imagined. After less than a month of visiting and persuading residents, they had the support of nine families. In addition to Li Ping's enthusiasm and the people's trust in her, the main reason was that the idea simply appealed to the local people. "After hearing the idea, many people said that they didn't, in fact, want to sell. This was especially true of the older people, most of whom cherished their lands and didn't want to leave them. They were very afraid that they wouldn't be able to keep their lands and would wrong their ancestors by selling out," says Wang.
For example, Lin Teh-wei, whose home sits at the entrance to Chiungchiao Keng valley, holds about 1.5 hectares of bamboo forest. Because his earnings were less than his expenses, he gave up farming more than ten years ago and went to work in a ceramics factory. None of his three sons is willing to carry on the family's agricultural work. They haven't, however, left Chiungchiao Keng. For one thing, houses elsewhere are too expensive. Another reason is that they like the clean air and quiet of the environment. Lin's traditional Chinese house is surrounded by bamboo forest like the house in Wang Wei's Tang dynasty poem, "The House within the Bamboo" which runs, "Alone amidst the bamboo, I pluck my zither and sing. Deep within the forest where none know I sit, the bright moon shines upon me."
Though the agreement not to sell was signed by only 10 households including Li Ping and covers only 43 hectares out of Chiungchiao Keng's total area of 300 hectares, most of Chiungchiao Keng's land is publicly held. Only about 60 hectares is in private hands. Therefore, the agreement accounts for about 70% of Chiungchiao Keng's private lands.
"Some of the landholders who haven't signed the agreement were afraid to guarantee that they would keep the agreement. In other cases, family lands are jointly held by several people, some of whom live outside the village. It was therefore difficult for them to quickly reach a consensus," says Ku Cheng-yeh, Ku Lin-fu's son. But both he and his father signed and the younger Ku even helped Li Ping to persuade neighbors.
"Before Miaoli County's community development drive began, people told me that Hakka people were clannish and not much concerned about public issues. Not only that, but some people feel that Hakka people will argue for as much as they can get if their own interests are at stake. They say that that's why some large construction projects in the county haven't been able to go forward," says Wang Ben-chuang.
But when he actually got involved with community development, he found that if you communicated with the locals very clearly right from the outset, let them know where you stood, and let everybody have their two-cents worth, the so-called "clannishness" of the Hakka could actually be helpful; nobody worried about their own interests and everybody was willing to give their money and their time to the project. In fact, this particular trait of the Hakka people was of great help to Wang's work.
What to sell?
However, the agreement not to sell land cannot, by itself, resolve the problems of the village or improve the lives of the villagers.
Hsuen Kuan-ying, born and raised in Tahu and an employee in the local government's administrative office for 22 years, wonders, "The idea behind this agreement is nice, but if someone really hits the point where they can't go on, what then?" For farmers, selling land is the quickest way to pick up some money. It is an immediate way out of poverty and hard labor.
"This is only the first stage of the plan and clearly shows that residents have reached an initial consensus," says Wang. He says that what is most important is where things go from here. Among his ideas is a plan to establish an Chiungchiao Keng brand with the village's agricultural produce. He would then use direct marketing to reduce transportation and distribution costs, thus bringing a better return to the villagers.
Chiungchiao Keng's beautiful scenery could also be used to develop tourism. "The farmers here could let rooms to vacationers to allow them to experience village life firsthand. At the same time, they could sell their produce to the tourists," suggests Wang.
The signers of the agreement are, in general, very cooperative, and hope that Chiungchiao Keng will have a new shot at life. However, there are still some differences between the plans of the experts and the needs of the villagers which must be worked out. "At the moment, our most serious problem is the inadequacy of public works, things like drainage ditches to prevent flash floods and soil erosion. If we don't get them, as soon as a big storm comes, even the soil gets washed away. Then how do we grow produce to sell?" Lin Chu-ching thinks that these kinds of public works are what is most urgently needed.
And then, too, some haven't been as enthusiastic as expected about the idea of letting out rooms. "We can't even do all that we should do in our fields. Where are we supposed to get the time to take care of guests? And they'll be strangers, besides. How can you let just anyone come and live in your house?" says Tu Ming-hai, not very excited about the idea of having guests wandering around his home.
These different objectives must be negotiated and ideas need to be tested, all of which takes time. But what has already been done gives one reason to look at Chiungchiao Keng with new eyes. Unlike his father and brother, Ku Cheng-shih, the younger brother of Ku Cheng-yeh, doesn't own land in Chiungchiao Keng, nor does he live there. However, he has come back to help with the recent events the village has organized. He says that this kind of situation where all of the local people come together to do something reminds him of the way things were many, many years ago.
"We Hakka always come help each other out whether it be for a wedding, a funeral, or some other ceremony. When we're busy in the fields, everybody divvies up the work and lends a hand. Isn't that what community means? To maintain the irrigation ditches, everybody gets together to inspect the stream and volunteers to sweep the roads. Isn't that protecting the environment?" says Ku Cheng-shih. He thinks that the activities of the last few years are just an extension of the way of life of the people of Chiungchiao Keng. It's a way of life that makes his feelings for his hometown that much stronger and makes him proud to be a son of Chiung-chiao Keng.
p.102
Ten families in Miaoli's Chiungchiao Keng have signed an agreement not to sell their land. They hope the agreement, the first of its kind in Taiwan, will help preserve the local environment and promote community development.
p.104
The festivals of the last few years have brought fame (and not a few visitors) to the once quiet village of Chiungchiao Keng.
(facing page) For Li Ping, a painter, moving here from Taipei was a dream come true. Now she finds herself the spiritual leader of the village.
p.106
In this luxuriant mountain setting one suddenly comes across a high voltage power tower. Such a tower pushed the residents of Chiungchiao Keng to take their first collective step on the road to environmental protection.
p.107
After a day at work in their fields, residents come together in the evening to discuss serious issues such as community development.
p.109
Ku Cheng-yeh has his own decorative woodworking business. Though both his home and his shop are in Tahu, he enjoys the quiet life and natural setting of Chiungchiao Keng.
At one time, Chiungchiao Keng prospered from the production of Citronella (left). But when Citronella's price plummeted, its production became just another page in Taiwan's economic history. Now Chiung-chiao Keng's major agricultural products are longan (center) and bamboo (left).
p.110
The area's beautiful scenery and its bountiful agricultural production together may improve the local economy, keeping young people in the village and providing it with hope for the future.
p.111
This kind of contented village life is becoming rare in Taiwan. And while "Comprehensive Community Development" has given Chiungchiao Keng a new lease on life, it has also meant more work for local residents.
（facing page） For Li Ping, a painter, moving here from Taipei was a dream come true. Now she finds herself the spiritual leader of the village.
In this luxuriant mountain setting one suddenly comes across a high volt age power tower. Such a tower pushed the residents of Chiungchiao Keng to take their firs t collective step on the road to environmental protection.
After a day at work in their fields, residents come together in the evening to discuss serious issues such as community development.
Ku Cheng-yeh has his own decorative woodworking business. Though both his home and his shop are in Tahu, he enjoys the quiet life and natural setting of Chiungchiao Keng.
At one time, Chiungchiao Keng prospered from the production of Citronella （left）. But when Citronella's price plummeted, its production became just another page in Taiwan's economic history. Now Chiung chiao Keng's major agricultural products are longan （center） and bamboo （left）.
The area's beautiful scenery and its bountiful agricultural production together may improve the local economy, keeping young people in the village and providing it with hope for the future.
This kind of contented village life is becoming rare in Taiwan. And while "Comprehensive Community Development" has given Chiungchiao Keng a new lease on life, it has also meant more work for local residents.
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