Taiwan Today

Meet Kurtis Pei, the godfather of Taiwan’s wildlife conservation movement.

Although he had previously accumulated a bit of experience doing field research on birds in Taiwan, in 1985 Kurtis Pei (裴家騏) was a young graduate student who found himself totally unprepared for his initiation into the world of American wildlife biology. Having gained admission and a scholarship to the University of Washington under the tutelage of famed wildlife biology professor Richard Taber, Pei arrived in Seattle in July that year to acclimate himself to life in the United States before the semester started. Shortly after he arrived, however, he found himself on a flight to a site near Mount St. Helens, which had exploded in a massive volcanic eruption only five years earlier, to work as a research assistant for an elk population study.

Pei soon joined a crew of American and Canadian students in the surreal moonscape of the devastated mountain region. He immediately faced a number of daunting challenges, not the least of which were eating unfamiliar food—peanut butter sandwiches, cheese, cereal—and trying to understand the English of his fellow researchers. “This was culture shock,” he admits.

Nevertheless, Pei says he did not feel lonely while working on the elk population survey, as he got along well with his colleagues. He found he had much to learn, however, as he grappled with the challenges of radio tracking, animal trapping, scat analysis and data entry. Within weeks, though, he was able to keep up with the other field researchers, both in the field and around the campfire.

Since his return to Taiwan in 1990, Pei has relied on that remarkable drive and adaptability to raise awareness of the need for wildlife conservation. Today, the 51-year-old professor is equally at ease sharing local Taiwanese food at a roadside stall, talking to Western conservation luminaries at cocktail parties or trekking deep into the mountains to study animal populations.

“He’s always willing to try new things,” notes Chiang Po-jen (姜博仁), a wildlife researcher and former student of Pei’s. With Pei serving as an adviser, Chiang led a two-year research project deep into the Dawu Mountain area in southern Taiwan to search for the Formosan clouded leopard, a 10–20 kilogram arboreal acrobat also known as the branch tiger. As the study failed to find any sign of the species, it is now thought to be extinct in the wild in Taiwan. Chiang notes that Pei provided indispensable support in not only guiding the research, but also securing financing and thinking of creative solutions to the many technical problems that arose when performing fieldwork in a harsh, wet mountain environment.

Pei is driven by a passion for ecology and conservation, and has achieved almost fairy-tale success as a wildlife researcher. Among other accomplishments, he is responsible for introducing many modern field research methods and concepts to Taiwan; establishing the country’s first wildlife biology department at National Pingtung University of Science and Technology (NPUST) in Neipu Township, Pingtung County; launching NPUST’s Pingtung Rescue Center for Endangered Wild Animals—an acclaimed refuge for exotic pets such as tigers and orangutans—and organizing a number of anti-wildlife trafficking groups. Along the way, the enthusiastic researcher has suffered broken limbs, poisonous snakebites and various other injuries while pursuing his passion for fieldwork.

When Pei began his university studies in the early 1980s, ecology was a little-known concept in Taiwan. The country’s industrial rise had by then taken a severe toll on wildlife and the environment, particularly on the western plains. As the plains had seen intense development, heavy farming and pollution, many species there—including the majestic sika deer—had become extinct or been driven into remote mountain areas. Moreover, as far as wildlife populations were concerned, things were not much better in the mountains, which cover two-thirds of Taiwan’s area. Although their steep, rugged, landslide-prone terrain meant that little development occurred in the mountains, centuries of global trade in pelts and animal parts had taken a heavy toll on wildlife. The disappearance of the clouded leopard is now attributed to the pelt trade, while hunting pressure has cut the population of the country’s largest mammal, the Formosan black bear, to less than 1,000.

When Pei began his career some 30 years ago, no one really knew the status of Taiwan’s wildlife, as few population surveys had been performed. The Kuomintang government banned hunting when it took control of Taiwan following the end of World War II and Japanese colonial rule (1895–1945). As far as the government was then concerned, that step offered sufficient protection for the country’s remaining wildlife. As a result, few measures were taken to monitor populations or control poaching. Some studies were done on native birds following the hunting ban, but larger animal species were all but ignored by the scientific community.

In line with growing international awareness of the need for environmental preservation, however, attitudes toward wildlife conservation began to change in the late 1970s. The government, for example, began taking environmental issues more seriously and developed an interest in the health of Taiwan’s wildlife populations. Wildlife conservation received another boost in 1980, when researcher Wang Ying (王穎) returned from Ohio State University armed with a doctorate in wildlife management and zoology. Wang went on to gain a reputation for introducing modern data collection and observation methods to field research on the country’s bird populations. At about the same time, Pei was performing his obligatory military service on Kinmen Island in the Taiwan Strait, where he scanned the horizon not only for invading mainland Chinese soldiers, but also the island’s many seabirds. When Pei completed his military service in 1983, he joined Wang as a research assistant on several bird studies.

In fact, it was Wang who introduced Pei to Taber, as Taber and a number of other esteemed experts in the field of wildlife biology visited Taiwan at Wang’s invitation. Pei met Taber at a dinner party for the incoming dignitaries, and the young man impressed the American professor with his command of English and his wide-ranging knowledge of Taiwan’s wildlife. Taber encouraged Pei to apply for the University of Washington’s graduate program in Forest Zoology and Wildlife Science and even helped him obtain a scholarship for the program.

At the University of Washington, Pei quickly became one of Taber’s star students. Pei credits his mentor with not only fostering his education and career, but also changing his views on humanity’s role in ecological systems. “Taber is the most important person in my career and my life,” Pei says. While some wildlife researchers love only wildlife, “Richard Taber was the first scientist that I met who was involved in the human dimension a lot,” he says.

Radical Mentality

Appalled by the environmental destruction in his native land, Pei says he had adopted a radical, anti-human environmentalist mentality before he went to the United States. “I didn’t like human beings,” he says. “I thought, human beings destroyed the Earth, and I thought the only way we could save the Earth—the planet—was to eliminate human beings.”

Taber’s ecological and humanist perspective eventually changed Pei’s thinking. “We can never eliminate the human impact on the Earth,” Pei says, citing Taber’s teachings. “We need to work not only on the biological dimensions, the ecological dimensions, but also the human dimensions.” Pei adds that while that perspective might seem obvious today, it was a very new idea in conservation in 1985.

Taber also took the time to introduce US culture to his international students. Together with his wife, he hosted many dinners and get-togethers for his students, American and foreign alike, creating a lively atmosphere in the program. More importantly, such mingling helped students experience a different culture and way of thinking. “He wanted us to experience culture shock,” Pei says. “When you do that, you come back and see yourself.”

Pei completed his master’s degree at the University of Washington in only one-and-a-half years and followed Taber to the University of Montana, where his mentor had returned to teach in the doctoral program in wildlife ecology. During his Ph.D. studies, Pei chose to do research on the Formosan Reeve’s muntjac—the tiny, tusked barking deer endemic to the mid-elevation forests of Taiwan. He spent 18 months studying muntjac in Taiwan’s mountains, and was among the first in the country to employ radio collars on larger mammals and make use of camera traps, or motion-triggered cameras hidden in forests to record local wildlife.

Pei’s time in the United States led to the development of lasting friendships that cross cultural and national bounds, as well as research collaborations around the world. He has since done extensive conservation work overseas, especially in Southeast Asian countries, while his strong relationship with international leaders in the field has led several to visit Taiwan for research purposes.

After earning his Ph.D. at the University of Montana in 1990, Pei took a position as a wildlife ecology professor in the Department of Forest Resource Management and Technology at National Pingtung Polytechnic Institute (NPPI), a college that trained students for careers in agriculture and forestry. Pei was the first wildlife ecology professor to hold a position in a forestry program in Taiwan. In 1997, NPPI expanded to become NPUST.

Although courted by more prestigious local universities, Pei chose NPPI for one very special reason—the chance to fulfill his dream of setting up a sanctuary for the many homeless exotic pets in Taiwan. During the go-go 1980s, the illegal pet trade mushroomed in Taiwan, and mobsters and newly affluent businesspeople often displayed their wealth by buying endangered species such as orangutans and tigers as pets. Many of these animals were mistreated and ultimately abandoned. In 1993, the Council of Agriculture authorized NPPI to establish the Pingtung Rescue Center for Endangered Wild Animals, which has provided sanctuary for hundreds of exotic animals that would otherwise have been destroyed. Today, beautiful, enormous tigers lounge in the center’s spacious enclosures, while various types of monkeys leap among branches and rare birds preen. Pei has since introduced the concept of a rescue center to other nations in Southeast Asia where the exotic pet market still thrives.

First and Only

At NPPI, Pei was soon joined by several other wildlife professors, including Hwang Mei-hsiu (黃美秀), who has done extensive research on Formosan black bears. In 1996, Pei and his colleagues launched NPUST’s Institute of Wildlife Conservation, which was the first and is still the only academic department in Taiwan dedicated to studying the country’s larger mammals.

Gathering good quality data through fieldwork has always been central to the institute’s mission. The tragic 2003 death of a student researcher while working in the field, however, made it all too apparent that many students in the program were unprepared for coping with the rigors of Taiwan’s backcountry. To ensure that students could survive the process of gathering data in the wild, the institute’s professors established a course that offers training in both field research techniques and wilderness survival.

In 2009, the Pingtung Rescue Center joined with other wild animal rescue organizations in Asia to found the Wild Animal Rescue Network (WARN), an international nongovernmental organization dedicated to countering the illegal wildlife trade. In his current capacity as WARN’s chair, Pei works with governments and organizations in Malaysia, Taiwan, Thailand, Vietnam and many other Asian countries to trade information on wildlife smuggling rings and send keepers to rescue animals and conduct workshops on their care.

Pei’s newest challenge is serving as dean of NPUST’s College of International Studies, which hosts more than 300 students, most of whom hail from Taiwan’s diplomatic allies located throughout the tropical developing world. The college provides a crucial link between developed-world knowledge and developing-world needs, Pei says. Most NPUST professors have degrees from Western and Japanese universities, but often find themselves forced to adapt what they learned in northern countries to southern Taiwan’s tropical climate. “We can have temperate country science digested, modified and reorganized in Taiwan … and made useful for tropical countries,” Pei says. Students from Gambia, Indonesia and Vietnam are among those studying in the program.

Pei continues to teach in the Institute of Wildlife Conservation and advise students going into the field. He laments, however, that few of today’s students are interested in the rigors of performing fieldwork in the mountains. Field research is a lengthy process that can require years of extensive observation, but frequently yields only a single publishable manuscript—a serious drawback in an increasingly publication-driven academic environment. Laboratory biologists, on the other hand, are often able to publish every year, which puts field biologists at a disadvantage, as having more publications usually results in more opportunities for career advancement.

Taiwan’s conservation movement must overcome an image problem, Pei says, as there is a common misperception that conserving animal habitat can only be done at the cost of economic development. “We still need to do more to change people’s perspective on conservation,” he says.

In a sense, serving as dean to hundreds of students from around the world has brought Pei’s career full circle. Where he was once an international student dealing with culture shock, he now finds himself helping foreign students as they adjust to living in a new country. One of the biggest struggles his students face is the latent discrimination foreigners from tropical African, South American and Southeast Asian countries sometimes face in Taiwan. Pei adopted the novel approach of forming a soccer team to counter such bias, as many College of International Studies students are from soccer-mad countries such as El Salvador, Gambia and Paraguay.

The student athletes have gained renown on campus by competing against teams from larger local universities. For a time, the soccer team even played against Taiwan’s sports universities, where students pursue careers as professional athletes. Pei’s reason for forming the soccer team is simple. “I want them to become heroes,” he says.

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Timothy Ferry is a writer based in Taipei.

Copyright © 2012 by Timothy Ferry