Taiwan Today

“Sweep only the snow in front of your own doorway; don’t worry about the snow on your neighbor’s roof,” runs an ancient Chinese saying. These words reflect a traditional belief that a person’s main responsibilities lie within the family. One’s efforts should be fo­cused there, not in helping with matters outside. It is a mindset based on the tradi­tional system of family hierarchy and sta­tus wherein each person had specific obligations in accordance with his or her relationship to the rest of the family. The result has been a long-standing hands-off attitude toward community issues.

In Taiwan, the reluctance to partici­pate in neighborhood causes and social organizations runs especially deep for another reason. The adult population grew up during the years of martial law from 1948 to 1987. During that time, although non-governmental organizations were not banned, they were largely overshadowed and sometimes squeezed out by the gov­ernment’s own extensive system of civic organizations such as neighborhood councils, farmers’ associations, trade or­ganizations, and women’s groups. Those groups that did form were generally so closely watched and tightly monitored that they were short-lived.

The situation is different today. Even before martial law was lifted in July 1987, consumer groups, women’s rights organizations, and even opposition political parties were growing stronger despite breaking the old unwritten restrictions on the mission of such groups. But these were rare cases. Although more and more groups are forming, the problem now is that much of the public has retained the old, hands-off mindset. Members of the older generation tend to keep their mouths shut and their heads down concerning problems with their living environment, and younger people may voice com­plaints, but ultimately take little action.

Such attitudes are reasonable, says Lin Jenn-chuen (林振春), an associate professor of education at National Taiwan Normal University. For generations, he explains, even small-scale community improvement projects such as cleaning up neighborhood parks or organizing holiday festivals were overseen by the govern­ment, leaving little opportunity for area residents to become involved or even to show an interest.

One result of the government’s long­-standing control over community issues is widespread public apathy. “Let the government take care of it—it’s none of my business,” has long been the attitude in handling any neighborhood or social problem. Such thinking is obvious in the vastly different ways in which people treat public and private spaces. “While the outer appearance of a building is highly important to residents in Western socie­ties, we emphasize the interior decor,” says Chen Ming-cheu (陳明竺), chairman of the Foundation for Research on Open Space, a private organization established in 1988 to improve the living environ­ment in Taipei. “Chinese people spend millions on decor but pay little attention to the space beyond their respective front doors.”

The result of this indifference toward neighborhood problems, or the expecta­tion that it is the government’s duty to handle them, is seen in the trash on the streets and the clutter in the hallways of apartment complexes, the signboards erected on buildings, and the hodgepodge of unlicensed street vendors clogging al­leyways and sidewalks. Chen believes there is a link between this disrespect for public areas and larger problems such as illegal use of residential buildings for karaoke parlors, video arcades, and broth­els. He describes the condition as “a skin disease caused by liver trouble,” or exter­nal symptoms of an internal disorder. In his view, the underlying problem is the lack of power community members have, or believe they have, to improve their sur­roundings.

Taiwan’s rapid urbanization has added new challenges to the development of community awareness. Small rural towns tend to remain relatively close-knit because many families have been neighbors for generations and because traditional social relationships have been maintained, such as elderly men continu­ing to play a role as respected decision­-makers. But this social structure is falter­ing in some towns because so many young people have moved away to work in the urban centers.

In the metropolitan areas, there are fewer long-term relationships between families and fewer traditional community leaders. In Taipei, for example, a large percentage of residents have moved in from elsewhere and feel rela­tively little connection to the city itself. And because many urbanites move from apartment to apartment, it is difficult for building residents to keep track of those living on the floors above and below them, let alone establish a sense of neighborhood spirit.

Yet despite the history of apathy and caution among the public, and the newer constraints of urban life, the concept of community activism is taking root. Peo­ple are beginning to exercise their free­dom to organize, demonstrate, and take local concerns into their own hands. The Hsinkang Foundation of Culture and Edu­cation in southern Taiwan’s Chiayi county is a good example. The issue that motivated pediatrician Chen Chin-huang (陳錦煌), a Hsinkang resident, to estab­lish the organization was lottery fever.

In 1986, an illegal lottery, ta-chia-le (everybody be happy), swept the island. In Chen’s words, many local families soon considered spending money on the lottery to be “as necessary as bread.” On the days of the twice-weekly drawings, public life was completely disrupted. Says Chen, “The streets were deserted every Tuesday and Thursday, and telephone lines were jammed from overuse.” People spent considerable time and money curry­ing favor with gods who could supply winning numbers. “At dusk, people set off firecrackers and set up floats with electronic organs and strip shows to show appreciation to the gods who were be­lieved to have hinted at the right num­bers,” Chen says.

Chen decided to fight the “lottery syndrome” by offering alternative enter­tainment. His first venture was to ask Taiwan’s best known choreographer, Hsinkang native Lin Hwai-min of the Cloud Gate Dance Theatre, to stage a performance in his hometown. Lin agreed; it was the first show Cloud Gate had given in Chiayi in more than a decade. Chen also convinced another hometown talent, pop singer Tsai Chen-nan, to perform at the show.

In cooperation with the local govern­ment, Chen secured Hsinkang Junior High for the production, and advertised the show through posters, news releases to the media, and promotions at schools, temples, and civic organizations. By the night of the performance in June 1987, Chen says enthusiasm was high “even though only a few people understood modern dance.” A total of 2,800 people from throughout southern Taiwan crowded into a school auditorium that seats 2,400.

The popularity of the show inspired Lin Hwai-min to donate the show’s entire earnings of US$5,770 to Chen’s efforts. Buoyed by this success, Chen gathered some volunteers, mostly the parents of his patients and local schoolteachers, and took some simple but concrete steps to fight the lottery craze. First, the group be­gan sweeping the streets surrounding the temples after the afternoon firecracker sessions. Second, they organized karaoke singing contests as re­placements for the strip shows. Although these efforts did not diminish interest in the lottery itself, they did create a more pleasant atmosphere. Neighboring towns soon began sweeping their streets at night, and the karaoke contests became adopted as a wholesome alternative to strip shows, which had also become popular at other occasions such as wedding parties, funer­als, and birthdays.

Chen established the Hsinkang Foun­dation of Culture and Education later in November 1987. Since then, the group, which now operates with a full-time, paid staff of six, has tackled a range of projects. These include organizing volunteers to maintain a local park, arranging after-school care and homework assist­ance for primary school students, and dis­couraging older children from playing video games after school by offering al­ternatives such as reading clubs and field trips.

The foundation also sponsors free in­formation programs such as a seminar se­ries on safe pesticide use and other topics of interest to the outlying farming com­munities. Today, Hsinkang residents say the foundation has changed its image from that of a “rich man’s hobby” for Chen Chin-huang to a vital social tool ac­cessible to all residents.

In a very different setting—a new, upscale housing complex near Taipei­ another grassroots group has formed to address community problems. Last year, residents of the Ssuliang New Village came together to address several mutual concerns: an unsafe, illegal cram school operating out of apartments, a nearby rat colony used for medical research by the National Science Council (NSC), and a large number of stray dogs that were be­ing fed by one resident.

After the group spoke directly to the cram school operator, the NSC, and the dog keeper, they got quick results. The make­shift cram school closed shop, the rat colony was relocated, and most of the dogs were given to other owners. “We or­ganized ourselves because the former chairman [of Ssuliang Village] preferred being an official rather than doing any­thing to improve our living environment,” says current chairman Chiu Hei-yuan (瞿海源), a resident of Ssuliang and a so­ciologist at Academia Sinica. Community residents plan to elect a new chairman every two years from among their neighbors.

Other neighborhood groups origi­nated strictly as social or recreational clubs, then branched out to take on com­munity projects. In 1985, homemaker Chiu Wan-fang (邱萬芳) started a reading group for mothers in Yungho, Taipei county, as a way to make friends and ex­change information. Initially, husbands and parents-in-law opposed the club, fear­ing it would become a women’s rights group. But family members eventually realized that the group was helping the women to become more efficient and ca­pable in their duties of caring for their children and elderly family members.

Soon after the group was formed, participants realized they could improve their lives by sharing information and combining resources. “For example, we help take care of senior citizens and chil­dren in families where both parents work,” Chiu says. Members also pool to­gether to buy food in bulk to reduce costs. Today, the group has about thirty members who get together weekly, and many new groups in outlying neighbor­hoods have formed as offshoots. Through the group, several women have started up a business preparing wholesome meals and selling them to neighborhood resi­dents. Using their own membership dues, the women have rented office space and hired an office manager who helps in ordering bulk food and filling orders for meals.

O Chin-hsiung (歐慶雄), founder of the Minsheng Community Development Association in eastern Taipei, had a dif­ferent reason for starting his group: to promote Chinese culture and social tradi­tions. Now in its second year, the asso­ciation sponsors courses such as Chinese painting, music, and martial arts, all at prices far below those charged else­where. Interest from the community has been so strong that the group has been able to rent its own classroom space through donations from local residents and businesses.

Despite the success of these groups, most community organizations face serious ob­stacles. The biggest is public indifference. Education professor Lin Jenn-chuen says the difficulty lies in the rootlessness of modern society. “In the past, people moved from a nomadic to a settled, agricultural lifestyle,” Lin says. “But when society became industrialized and people moved from the countryside to the cities, they returned to a nomadic life. Their goals centered on making more money to buy better and better homes.” Lin says society should learn from the past. “We need to teach urbanites to lead an agricultural lifestyle,” he says. “That is, to treat their community as the place they will live for their entire lives, no matter how short a period they actually live there.”

Sociology professor Chiu Hei-yuan also identifies the problem as a general lack of connection to the area in which one lives. Many people consider their house as “a place to sleep rather than a home to manage.” Chiu calls this attitude irresponsible. He charges that Taiwan residents now enjoy a liberalized social and political climate, but are concentrat­ing on their new rights without taking on the additional responsibilities that accom­pany them. “When we talk about democracy, the term means not only the fight for rights but also the obligation of participa­tion,” Chiu says. “This is a movement to­ward the refinement of society.”

Most groups must dedicate substan­tial energy to building participation. The Hsinkang Foundation is focusing on training teenage volunteers through the schools in order to boost its ranks. The Minsheng Community Development Association is establishing a databank of po­tential volunteers from the neighborhood by compiling information on their occupation, academic field, hobbies, and spe­cial skills. Founder O Chin-hsiung is especially frustrated by the lack of public support. “Being busy may be a valid rea­son for not participating, but it is also used as an excuse by people who don’t want to get involved with public affairs,” he says. O is also discouraged by people who could but do not contribute financial sup­port, calling it “a joke” that people often claim not to have enough money to sup­port community activities. “If we were a poor country, would we have the second largest foreign reserves in the world?” he asks.

But lack of finances is a common ob­stacle for community groups. Chiu Wan-fang explains that the funds for her homemakers’ group come mainly from membership fees. This limits the scope of their projects, but she would rather keep the group operating on a small scale than to seek donations from businesses. “We lose our autonomy when businesspeople sponsor us,” she says. Other community groups have found local enterprises to be an excellent supply of funding. Michael Hsiao (簫新煌), a sociologist at Academia Sinica and a professor at Na­tional Taiwan University, does not object to private enter­prises taking part in community projects. “The com­panies may have promotional mo­tives, but what matters is whether the project ben­efits the commu­nity,” he says.

Perhaps the biggest debate among community activists is how to coordinate with the government without returning to a system of gov­ernment control. In some cases, pri­vate community groups still experi­ence direct com­petition with the local government system that has been in place ever since the ROC government moved to Taiwan in 1949. Every li, (any­where from 700 to 2,500 households, depending on the area’s density), also elects a chief, a part-time position which is the lowest paid post in the local government sys­tem. Every lin (roughly comprised of one hundred households) has a chief, either a volunteer or someone appointed by the li chief. Ideally, these leaders serve as channels for residents to voice concerns and complaints up through the govern­ment system. But the system has been criticized for serving primarily as a tool for the government to disseminate information downward.

In response to public dissatisfaction with the li and lin system, in 1967 the gov­ernment formed a network of Community Committees which were to improve peo­ple-to-government communication. All residents of a specified area were al­lowed membership in the committee, and each group received government fund­ing. But the committees were widely considered to be extensions of the gov­ernment system and were ill attended. Elections for chairmen, and decisions about the use of funding often did not re­flect community wishes, and many com­mittees faced charges of misusing government money.

The system was revised again in 1991 when the Ministry of the Interior abolished the Community Committees and instead ruled to allow four thousand communities islandwide, most consist­ing of a single li, to register one private community association. These registered associations could apply for local gov­ernment funding for specific projects, but spending, as well as the group’s sys­tem of elections and decision making, would be more carefully monitored. In 1994, a directive from President Lee Teng-hui to build community awareness increased the government’s efforts to strengthen and promote these community associations.

But although more than three thou­sand community associations have regis­tered with local governments, the new system has drawn harsh criticism from many community groups because most of them are actually reincarnations of the Community Committees, simply given new names. Thus, local government fund­ing is not going to the new, private com­munity groups that are most active and best supported by residents. (Although funding from the local government is available only to registered organizations, unregistered groups can seek grants through central government agencies.) But some unregistered groups such as the Ssuliang Village Association say they would rather remain independent and miss out on public funding than be associated with the un­popular Community Committees.

In addition, the registration require­ments for groups are fairly rigid. Approved groups must be composed of at least thirty founders and thirty additional members, and the founding group must meet with government officials to explain their goals and organization. To be registered as a foundation which allows the group to sponsor events held outside their immedi­ate community, additional criteria must be met. These groups must also set aside an establishment fund. Foundations serving a town or county must have reserves of US$77,000; those serving Taiwan prov­ince, Taipei, or Kaohsiung, must have US$192,000; and those serving the entire island must set aside US$385,000. This money is to be used as insurance against going into debt, but the groups cannot withdraw it even upon disbanding. When the group dissolves, the money goes to the government.

Most community activists believe the government should take a backseat, sup­porting role in neighborhood organiza­tions and steer clear of direct involvement. Chen Ming-cheu of the Foundation for Research on Open Space says officials and political parties should keep a hands-off approach in order to allow more diversity. “Members of com­munity groups should cut across different political, economic, and social sectors,” he says. Instead, government agencies should provide funding, information, and training in such skills as organizing events.

Officials such as Huang Chun-chang (黃春長), chief of the Community Devel­opment Section, Taipei City Bureau of Social Affairs, holds a similar view. “Community development is not the gov­ernment’s work,” he says. “It should be done by residents who know the neighborhood needs and ask for govern­ment sponsorship.” The Community De­velopment Section focuses on providing information through public seminars and workshops. Democratic Progressive Party Legislator Frank Hsieh (謝長廷) believes the government should concentrate on providing financial incentives for people to develop their neighborhoods and offer­ing training for community leaders in ar­eas such as writing grants.

A handful of private community groups are already benefiting from such behind-the-scenes financial sponsorship and manpower assistance from central gov­ernment agencies. Most such projects come through the Council for Cultural Planning and Development (CCPD), Ex­ecutive Yuan. In 1994, the council started a project to improve the quality of life in communities islandwide. Council Vice Chairman Chen Chi-nan (陳其南) began by giving financial support to the Taipei­ based Community Action Team, a group of eight professors and graduate students at Tamkang University. The team’s task is to identify Taiwan towns interested in strengthening their local culture and building a sense of community pride.

Each town will receive CCPD fund­ing and will be assigned Tamkang re­searchers to help residents develop and execute key community-improvement projects. One place chosen was Hsinkang. Working with residents, the local government, and the Hsinkang Foundation of Culture and Education, Tamkang re­searcher Chen Hsin-fu (陳信甫) came up with several goals: to beautify the town, to preserve historical sites, to designate one street for tourist shops, and to boost tour­ism at local temples.

After six months of work, the biggest problem the group has run into, according to Chen, is a familiar one—a mindset among local residents that community work is not within their realm of power or responsibility. “We need to make resi­dents understand that they have the ability to improve their environment,” he says. “They’ve always felt that the status of public areas is the government’s job and that they can say nothing about it.”

Another project the council is backing, together with National Taiwan University professors and students, is renovation of the historic buildings in the town of Erhkan on the Penghu islands.

For large-scale projects involving construction or renovation, it makes sense for the government to take part. But be­cause there is little history of residents approaching the government for assistance with community projects, many people do not know that funding and assistance is available. And even those who do know often have a difficult time wading through the complex and compartmentalized bu­reaucratic system to find the correct agency and contact person.

To help, the CCPD is integrating all government agencies involved with community works and reorganizing their duties to cut down on overlapping or conflicting responsibilities. The council plans to serve as a clearinghouse for in­formation on public grants and other resources.

If the CCPD project is a success, more groups may soon be starting up, and exist­ing groups could enjoy greater access to resources. But even without government assistance, the value of community work is catching on as those involved discover the benefits first-hand. Chiu Wan-fang of the Yungho housewives association says even her family members have learned from the group’s volunteerism. “My chil­dren have started to view things from dif­ferent points of view and have become more objective,” she says. “They com­plain less, and they can put themselves into other people’s shoes more easily. We’ve all become more tolerant.”