In the 1970s, the government focused its attention on the development of industry. As the industrial sector began to play a more dynamic role in the economy, a large proportion of the rural population swarmed into the cities to work, leaving primarily the old and the very young in rural areas. The resulting critical shortage of labor slowed down the pace of agricultural development.
More recently, under the government's policy of economic liberalization and internationalization, and as a result of pressure from the U.S., the government has reduced the scope of protection given to local farmers. Such measures have further hindered agricultural progress, and finally caused farmers—a traditionally conservative group—to march in the Taipei streets on May 2010 protest vociferously what they view as unfavorable agricultural policies.
To gain a better undemanding of the current economic and living conditions of the farming community, and of the views of the farmers on issues directly affecting them, FCR reporter Eugenia Yun visited communities in the fruit-growing belt of central Taiwan and talked with farmers and their families.
The mixture of traditional devotion to the land and pragmatic adjustment to the changing economic scene displayed by the farmers interviewed shows a community in conflict, yet with a strong capacity for survival.
Tung Shih Township in Taichung County has ideal weather conditions for growing sub-tropical fruits such as mandarin oranges, grapes, and pears. Most of its inhabitants are Hakkas, descendants of members of the Hakka clans who emigrated to Taiwan from southern China. They are the fourth or fifth generation to farm the inherited land since their ancestors first settled here.
Window shopping along the streets in downtown Tung Shih provides a surprising display of modern amenities. Ladies have no difficulty in locating a beauty parlor for a new hairstyle and the latest in facial care. Young people can choose from a variety of fast food restaurants for their evening rendezvous. But the traditional-type dry goods store is still the main place for practical household shopping. These mini-sized "department stores" sell everything from pillows to shoe strings, including limited selections of distinctly unfashionable clothing. From the appearance of pesticide and fertilizer stores every few blocks, and the relative abundance of ironsmiths, it is not difficult to draw the conclusion that this remains a traditional farming-oriented community.
Drawing from conversations in the marketplace, on the roadside, or in the orchard, one can sense the social ingenuousness of the people, who seem to share the traditional Chinese farmer's qualities of simplicity, conservatism and friendliness.
The Liu family is a representative case. They live in the New Community, one of the villages under the administration of Tung Shih Township. From the outside, their house is an old-fashioned Chinese "Ssu Ho Yuan" (a U-shaped structure with three wings and a courtyard). But inside, the house is thoroughly equipped with modern appliances, including a color TV, refrigerator, washing machine, telephone, and electric rice cooker. They also have a motorcycle as their main mode of transportation.
Strictly speaking, there are 12 members in the Liu family. But only the senior Liu couple, their son, his wife, and their 3-year-old daughter still live at home. Liu Chia-lo, the 60 year-old father and Liu Hsing-hsueh, his 32-year old son, are full-time farmers. They grow approximately 2.5 hectares (1 hectare = 2.47 acres) of mandarin oranges. Hsing-hsueh's wife works for the Tung Shih Farmers' Association, earning a portion of the family income. Another five family members who have left home include three daughters working as office assistants in Taipei, and another young Liu couple with two children who run a seedling garden in a nearby village. Thus the Liu's overall financial situation is quite good.
But farming the orchard has not brought in much profit during the past few years. The main reason the Lius prefer to maintain their orchard despite its low profitability is Old Liu's strong emotional attachment to the land.
Small is beautiful—a transporter specially designed for the narrow, steep roads in rural areas.
Young Liu admits that though he enjoys the country life, there are times when he feels discouraged with being a farmer: "The only young people who stay in rural areas are those doomed to carryon the family business. Most people feel this is really the place to bury the future of a promising young man," he says.
In Young Liu's opinion, Taiwan's agricultural situation over the past few years has remained essentially static, with improvements in certain areas and no change in others: "The government has paid a lot of attention to improving living conditions in the rural areas. Traditional farmhouses have been renovated, and modern ones have been built. These have been done with low-interest loans provided by the government. And surveys tell us that 100 percent of farm families own a TV, in most cases a color set, and that 99 percent own a refrigerator and other electric appliances. But the improvement in 'software' in rural areas hasn't kept pace with improvements in 'hardware.' Things like educational conditions in the rural areas, farmers' insurance, and the circulation of important information haven't been seriously taken care of."
Young Liu is especially troubled by the lack of a systematic method of disseminating agricultural information. He subscribes to professional magazines, pores over the newspapers' agricultural pages, and carefully checks for related programs on TV or the radio in order to get the data he needs. He also has to track the weather forecast. Then, for lack of anyone to consult with, he compiles the information himself bit by bit as a reference for setting the family's farming schedule. He feels that while the government spends money where the results are most visible to people, it is the lack of those less visible improvement measures which acts as the major obstacle to agricultural development.
Old Liu points out another obstacle: weak execution of agricultural policies. "Our agricultural policies sometimes contain terrific ideas. The reasons they don't work are, first, the lack of sufficient support in the execution stage and, second, the lack of any follow-up to assess the effect of a certain policy," he says. He cites a few ready examples, including the farmers' associations and the agricultural department under township administrative offices.
The original idea of setting up farmers' associations was to facilitate the sales of agricultural products; they now function only as banks. The agricultural department under each township administrative office was designed as a back-up unit to assist in the improvement of farming skills, but its farming instructors, both because of advanced age and interference of other bureaucratic duties, are rarely able to teach any new farming techniques, not to mention new farming ideas, to younger and mostly better-educated farmers.
As the leader of a farming skills training program, Old Liu has personally come into contact with visiting delegations of fruit-growers, agricultural experts, scholars, and officials, especially those from Japan. From talking with these experts, Liu says, he has learned that the Japanese agricultural authorities have a policy of leaving the production side to the farmers and taking care of the sales side themselves.
The Lius envy the situation of Japanese farmers, and wish the agricultural authorities on Taiwan would implement similar policies. In this way, they argue, farmers could concentrate on acquiring new knowledge and techniques in order to improve their products, and no longer need to spend so much time and energy on dealing with the market situation.
At an impromptu discussion group arranged by Liu in his front yard, 12 members of Liu's agricultural class share their experiences of coping with the problems of farming the land in a changing economy. Seated on wooden benches around a refreshment table arranged with tea and fruit, the group is comfortable enough in the familiar setting to overcome their initial shyness in discussing issues so personal to them. The stars provide the light for this gathering while the sound of a barking dog punctuates the conversation.
Liu Hsiang-ching, a full-time farmer who owns a 2-hectare orchard, breaks the ice: "Our government always boasts how rich we are. And foreigners believe in the so-called 'Taiwan economic miracle.' But frankly speaking, all we have done is created a foreign revenue miracle which is just 'magic with numbers.' If we did create an economic miracle, our society would have balanced wealth. However, with such a large gap between the income of farming and non-farming families, Taiwan's economy can't be described as truly 'successful. ",
Although on a per-capita basis, the disparity between farming family income and that of non-farming families has declined in recent years, it is still significant. Average farming family income was 70 percent of non-farming family income in 1966, falling to 60 percent in 1979; however, with the implementation of a sustained program for stepping up agricultural development, this percentage was raised again to the current 70 percent, an improved but still substantial gap.
Liu Wen-chin, one of the majority of part-timers who has a 2-hectare farm on which he grows pears and loquats, eagerly confirms his colleague's low opinion of farm family income: "These days, we farmers are really having a terrible time. Every penny earned by a farmer has to be shared by at least five parties—the fertilizer company, the farming machine seller, the wrapping material seller, the transportation company, and the farmer himself. So, just imagine how little we actually make from a sale."
Pole-carried produce made easier—affordable motorcycles have changed the life styles of farmers.
While urban consumers complain about high prices of fruit and other farm products, farmers complain about the low prices they get for their produce right off the farm. Liu Wen-chin continues: "Of course, consumers have the right to ask for something tasty and cheap from the local producers, or to pay a high price for imported fruit. This is not going to make them a target for complaint. But I think they also have a responsibility to help reinvigorate our agriculture through more consumption of local farm produce."
All eyes turn to the interviewer from the big city. Half-jokingly, one after another, they try to make her feel guilty for usually having cereal and toast, without fruit, for breakfast.
Mrs. Yang, whose husband is an employee of the Taiwan Fruit Co-operative, and who is responsible for farming the family orchard, is puzzled by the government's decision to open up the domestic fruit market. She says: "The United States has experienced the same problem of over-production. Their government tries so hard to protect their farmers' rights and to prevent other countries from dumping their agricultural products. How come our government can't be just as protectionist?" Yang emphasizes recent agricultural import/export trends to support her point. While Taiwan farm exports were over US$2.8 billion in 1986, they compared poorly with farm imports of more than US$3.7 billion in the same year.
Another farmer voices his support of Yang's statement: "Foreign competition in the domestic market can really become a big embarrassment for us, because Taiwan is a very small market, which makes for very little flexibility in the pricing of local agricultural products." Although others in the group agree that imported fruit sales will certainly affect the sales of local fruit, they are not specifically antagonistic to the measures implemented to date. Old Liu emphasizes: "No hard feelings—so far!"
Another serious problem for domestic agriculture comes up in the farmers' discussion: over-production, which in Taiwan is a direct result of hard work. Farmers work all year round; and when the field work is slack, they take on factory jobs to help produce more labor intensive "MIT" (made in Taiwan) products. During the farming season, the only time the farmers take off is on rainy days. They have no concept of leisure-time activities. Thus, making a living is not a problem; but, at the same time, upgrading their living standard is not so easy. "The best policy to correct farmers' misconceptions and stop them from over-producing is to convince them to spend less time working and more time enjoying themselves," says one part-time farmer.
The farmers also feel that inaccurate official assessments of the overall agricultural situation create further obstacles to improvement. Liu Wen-chin complains that official agricultural reports tend to exaggerate the progress being made and gloss over the less favorable side of the story.
"Once I was assigned to observe the conditions of the local mandarin orange growing industry, and was required to fill out a number of forms regarding both the production of the oranges and of many other kinds of fruit," Liu says. "When I told the agricultural inspector that I only knew about mandarin oranges, the inspector still requested that I fill in all the forms no matter what. One of my friends had a similar experience. His inspector simply filled in the forms himself and asked my friend to sign. I felt that the inspector was handling the reports in a very perfunctory manner. And obviously, they tend to report only what is good while concealing what is unpleasant." He worries that if policy-makers rely on such reports, they will get an inaccurate impression of the real situation. Many farmers agree that this explains why policy-makers cannot come up with practical policies.
Liu Hsiang-ching then uses an effective analogy to express his view of the current position of the agricultural sector in the economic scene. Pointing to the tea set on the table, he compares agriculture to the teacup left out of the tea tray. "This tea cup has been kicked out of the tray; which means it can not have its share of tea poured from the tea pot. The agricultural sector is like this teacup. Farmers will have to fight for their share of this country's resources, if the government cannot see to it."
In fact, the agricultural budget makes up only a small portion, 2.7 percent, of the national budget, and only this year has its share begun to increase. It is therefore not surprising that farmers are worried about being left out.
One member of the discussion group, Chan Chin-yu, is regarded as something of a spokesman by the other farmers. Chan, a teacher and part-time farmer, is better educated than most of his neighbors, and because he helps voice his neighbors' demands through official channels, he holds a prominent position in the village. His 0.5 hectare of land is farmed primarily by his wife, and with his assistance whenever he has the time.
Chan regards the fragmentation of farmland as the number one obstacle to the progress of Taiwan's agriculture. He says: "My small piece of farm land is just something that I feel reluctant to give up; it's basically of little value. However, I believe that as they face stronger competition in the future, farmers will have to give up farming smaller pieces of land. If they want to farm, they will have to purchase larger farms. Economically it makes more sense, as the latter ultimately save on labor and equipment and promise a relatively better profit."
Taiwan has a land surface of about 36,000 sq. km., but the land is mostly hilly and mountainous, with less than one-third concentrated in the flatlands where most agricultural activities take place. Taiwan's agricultural population is under 4.2 million, or less than 22 percent of the total population of over 19 million. There are approximately 750,000 farming families farming an average of 1.2 hectares of land, a relatively small area. The integration of these small pieces of land has been recommended by agricultural experts for quite some time.
"The problem," Chan continues, "is that no matter how small a piece of land you farm, you require exactly the same basic equipment as the biggest land farmer. And you can't share a harvest machine with your neighbors, because in farming timing is so important. Spring is time to plough, summer to weed, autumn to harvest, and winter to store. You have to follow the natural order. If you don't harvest the ripe paddies, they will collapse in the fields and turn rotten.
"However, even with larger pieces of land, farmers have problems quite different from the industrial sector when they invest in equipment. Industrial machinery can be put to immediate use, run four seasons a year, and make money round the clock. Agricultural machinery, on the other hand, is only in use during a certain period of time. The rest of the time, it just sits in storage and rusts. Also, the rewards in agricultural investment come annually, not monthly. In sum, I'm suggesting that the government cultivate its parental love and pay less attention to the brilliant child and more to the needs of the retarded one. After all, even though steady industrial and commercial development is vital to the ROC's economy, an affluent agricultural sector is also essential for the economy's future development."
Chan feels another obstacle to agricultural growth is the labor shortage: "This has had a serious effect on agriculture. As you can see, there are very few young people living in rural areas. Big cities are more colorful and tempting; country life is boring by comparison. I really think that the government should take some measures to encourage young people to stay in the rural areas. Otherwise, there will be an increasingly severe lack of agrarian manpower, especially after the majority of the present work force-those people aged 50-60—fades out over the next 10 years."
Currently, though, there is clearly not enough economic pull to keep even farmers' sons working on the land. Mrs. Chan affirms that her two boys, one who is studying in college and the other who is serving in the army, will not come home after graduation or discharge to help her farm the land. "Our farming income isn't enough to meet our household expenses," she explains. "We couldn't make it financially if my husband didn't have his teaching job. If my two children became farmers, even maintaining the decent living we have now wouldn't be easy."
Wages and salaries have in recent years replaced net agricultural income as the foremost source of revenue for the average farming family. The 1986 ROC Agricultural Annual Report published by the Council of Agriculture shows that wages and salaries amounted to 43 percent of total household income as compared with 39 percent for net farm income. Indeed, farming is no longer the chief economic activity of most farming families. The Chans, for example, plan to farm their piece of land until they are too old to keep it up. Then they will sell it: they want to make sure their children don't become farmers.
But despite the economic after-shocks that continue to disrupt the farming way of life, there are still some young farmers who continue to devote themselves to the land and to the production of Taiwan's lush agricultural produce, taking life as it comes day by day. An athletic-looking young man in his early thirties, Chiu Teh-tsai graciously consents to being interviewed at 6:00 a.m., while wrapping himself up in a long-sleeved shirt, plastic boots, gloves, and a face mask. Fixing on his back an aluminum barrel full of pesticide, Chiu invites his guests to accompany him outside while he sprays his grape vines. As he finishes spraying, his clothes are wet inside and out with sweat and liquid pesticide. While his onlookers are almost choked by the unfamiliar smell, Chiu himself seems unaffected.
Although he admits that he sometimes complains about the hard work, Chiu never thinks of trying to escape from his duties as a farmer: "No matter how much I may complain, I still have to do my job. Maybe I stick with it because I feel rewarded when the grapes turn purple and juicy; or maybe I just accept it as my destiny."
Chiu's statement reflects a deep-rooted traditional philosophy of life. He and farmers like him continue to approach their lives with diligence, guilelessness, and tolerance. As their fathers before them, they work patiently and resign themselves to fate and the forces of nature. How new economic forces will affect their quality and way of life is still unclear, but it is certain that they will meet these challenges with the same kind of fortitude as when meeting changes in the weather. But as more progressive economic and agricultural policies are adopted, observers may well recall and borrow Liu Hsiang-ching's analogy: the farmers grew the tea—they certainly deserve a share in it.