Taiwan Today

Under the U.S.-(Red) China academic interflow program, New York University sent me to the Chinese mainland to teach" American history" for six months as an "exchange professor." As I had been away from China for more than 30 years, I had mixed feelings about meeting my childhood friends and seeing the old scenes of my native place.

My feelings are beyond the realization of others. After in-depth observations, I found the peasants on the Chinese mainland continue to be the most miserable of people. This does not mean that there are no advances-no irrigation and electric projects in the countryside. But because the population is beyond control and industrial development is pitifully slow, little improvement has been made in the peasants' essential conditions of life-they lack everything: clothing, food, shelter, transportation, education and hygiene.

I was brought up in mainland villages, so I was very much aware of the peasants' sufferings during my childhood. My conscience prompted me to hope they had a reversal of fortune over the last 30 years.

Thirty years is not a brief period. Nevertheless, they are still miserable. Why? My dismay prompted me to plan an observation trip to study peasant life in Taiwan, to see what had occurred there.

In August, 1981, I took an opportunity and obtained a ten-day "transit visa" for Taiwan in 'New York, responding to the invitation of a few old friends in order to participate in a symposium on the history of the Republic of China, I hoped to spend my free lime during the brief sojourn looking around in Taiwan's rural villages, I didn't asked for official arrangements for the tour, I wrote to my cousin, working at the Taiwan Provincial Highway Bureau, and asked him to borrow a car for the purpose, I begged his Taiwanese wife to locate a typical "middle peasant" family for me and use her relatives to set up an informal visit.

When we were on the Chinese mainland more than 30 years ago, this same cousin always went on errands for me, I was his "master," Our actual friendship was deeper than that between brothers. Later, I went to the United States, and he migrated by chance to Taiwan, There, he married a locally born girl and raised a family. They live and work happily. He is a nice man, and popular, After 30 years, he is Taiwanese. Nevertheless, when we met again, psychologically I still regarded him as my "young mainland cousin," though he had recently been presented with a grandson, He still ran my errands. Even his lovely children were mobilized by this uncle from a faraway land, His son served as my photographer, and his daughter worked as my Taiwan-dialect interpreter.

After this efficient inspection learn was organized, we went deep into the Taiwan villages.

On August 11, Taipei was fine but sultry. In the early morning, my cousin came to fetch me to the villages in an air-conditioned car, We drove southward on the freeway to Taichung (in central Taiwan) and then veered into a spur highway. My cousin told me that Taiwan is a "treasure island" with abundant produce. Besides fertile land, the diligence of people and government was everywhere apparent in rural development.

In Taiwan villages, unrepaired housing is rare - this is not true even in U.S. villages. In the United Slates, we can still see dilapidated and abandoned farm housing on spoiled, barren land which is unpleasant to the eyes, Taiwan farms are small, but clean, with a pleasant, vigorous appearance.

We cruised the villages. At noon, we lunched in the town of Nantou. We continued our tour until dark. At a Puli restaurant we ordered three different dishes made from the same piece of fish. The whole day, I saw people live and work - pleasantly, peacefully -everywhere we went. Many of the restaurants in the small towns were air-conditioned. Waiters and waitresses were busy, but smiled. They were hospitable and polite. They spoke good Mandarin, unlike their counterparts in Hongkong, Canton and Shanghai who continue to talk in their provincial dialects. While in Shanghai, I was dismayed to find that some of my cousins from Anhwei province spoke Shanghai dialect among themselves in my presence. They seemed to have little regard for this "second eldest brother." It was pleasing to listen to people speaking Mandarin everywhere in Taiwan.

Then, we visited the home of our driver, Wang.

Wang claimed to be from Mao Tze- tung's hometown, Hsiangtan in Hunan province. His Hsiangtan-accented Mandarin was far less fluent than that of his Taiwan-born pretty wife. She told me she had been sold to Taipei as a maid in childhood, so she was through and through a Taiwanese and can also "speak Taiwan dialect very well."

The Wangs lived in a modern apartment with two bedrooms and a living room, bordered by a veranda on both front and back sides. Ventilation was good, and the rooms were decorated with pleasant wallpaper. They owned a 19-inch color television, a refrigerator, a hi-fi system, a washer, a recording and receiving radio set and a standing electric fan. The sofas and other furniture were modern. Their elder son was tragically drowned during the college entrance examinations last year. Wang's wife told me all this in Mandarin, making me forget that I was a visitor to Taiwan. I wished the people of my hometown, Hofei in Anhwei province, could live as well.

The history symposium was conducted in confusion. The meeting finally came to an end and my Transit visa nearly to its end. I should have left before its expiration, but the officials on the reception committee of the symposium helped me to extend my visa. Just one day before its expiration, my cousin located my typical "middle peasant" family for me and arranged a visit.

On the morning of September 3, which I recall as the day after a typhoon and one day before the expiration of my visa, we again left Taipei on the freeway to Taoyuan. The weather was not too warm. After driving 50 kilometers, we turned off onto a branch line. Then, we came to a country road, where a middle-aged man awaited us on a motorcycle. After exchanging greetings with my cousin, he turned his motorcycle and began to serve as our guide.

The road was asphalted, but it was terribly narrow.

Looking through the window, I felt the road was narrower than the car. Fortunately, Wang was a skilled driver so the thrills were not dangerous. After one or two kilometers, we threaded our way through a terribly narrow stone bridge. The car stopped in a cemented village square.

On alighting, my cousin introduced me to our guide, Chang Hsueh-yi, who was the owner of the house in front of us and the typical Taiwan farmer we had come to visit.

The man politely led us into his house - a small tile-roofed structure. We entered a living room about 15 feet square with a smoothly polished concrete floor. We could see our reflections in it. The whitewashed walls were decorated with black-line designs. The windows and glass-paned door through which we had entered, were neat and clean. In the room, there was a Taiwan-made Sanyo 19-inch color television. On the top of the television was a big hi-fi set, its two speakers placed on the floor at the sides. In the right hand corner was a rattan sofa and not far from it a rattan chair. A coffee table and rocking chair completed the furnishings.

Chang is a Hakka. His ancestors came from Lufeng county in Kwangtung province. His great grandfather, a coolie employed in reclamation work in Taiwan at the end of the Manchu dynasty, settled down in Taiwan after marriage. The family moved several times before Chang's father, A-tseng, finally settled at the present location: No, 17, Tsaolan Po, 7th Lin, Juitang Li, Yangmei Township, Taoyuan Counly.

A-tseng could not read and write. During the Japanese reign, he rented two hectares of farmland (4,942 acres) and became a tenant farmer. Now 76, A-tseng has two sons. Hsueh-yi, 52 and Hsueh-kuo, 43. Hsueh-yi left school after one year in junior high, whereas Hsueh-kuo graduated from an agricultural vocational high school after Japan's relurn of Taiwan to the Republic of China. The two brothers each had five children. Hsueh-yi's eldest daughter, 26, married last year to a mainland-born officer, The nine unmarried children remained with Hsueh-yi, Hsueh-kuo, A-tseng and their wives - a family of 14 and three generations living under one roof.

In compliance with provisions of Taiwan's domicile law, the 14 family members (Hsueh-kuo's wife dies four years ago) were divided into two households, each of which as is custom, was headed by a man. Hsueh-yi headed the first household, comprising him and his wife, four children and his mother (A-tseng's wife). The second household was headed by the grandfather, A-tseng, a family of seven. Although the Changs were thus divided in keeping with domicile provisions, they remained a joint family in life and property, They pooled their incomes and ate and lived together. Because A-tseng was illiterate, Hsueh-yi was in effect the family head.

Hsueh-yi told me that during the Japanese reign life for tenant farmers was hard. The family had only one meat meal a month and "I had never worn real trousers."

After Taiwan's return to the Republic of China, they lived better, but the improvement was limited. Sometimes, "we still had to adulterate our rice with sweet potato to keep the food bill low," he said.

Life began to get better in 1953-1954, after the government launched its land reform. The government took over landlords' holdings, and compensated them with stock of business and industrial enterprises once held by the Japanese. The land went to landless farmers at low prices, on installment and plant-first-pay-later plans. After ten years, they obtained title.

The Changs, overnight, became owners of two hectares (about five acres) of farmland and their production increased. The government, in cooperation with the United States, organized agricultural extension and support pro­ grams to provide the farmers with chemical fertilizers .and improved livestock breeds, including fresh-water "carp" fish raised in the village pond.

The improvement in the farmers' lives was based on their own self- reliance. After the land reform, Taoyuan farmers had new motivation. During the Japanese reign they had farmers' organizations, but these were not effective. The new farmers' associations were active and established "farmland irrigation commissions" to develop and control water resources.

Chang said that his two hectares produced 26,000 Taiwan catties of paddy a year, worth about NT$200,000 (US$5,300). After deducting all expenses, the Changs netted about NT$80,000 (US$2,100).

Hsueh-yi's brother, Hsueh-kuo, is an extension official of the Kuanyin farmers' association, which pays him a monthly salary of NT$15,000.

The island's rapid industrial and business development has attracted more and more people from the countryside to the cities. Hands are short during the planting and harvesting seasons; wages have been rising sharply. The average daily wage at that time, I was told, topped NT$800 (US$21), a spur to the use of farm machines. The Changs first bought a power tiller for NT$80,000. Later on they also bought a sowing machine and a power thresher. The machines finish the job on the five acres quickly and the diligent farmers-with extra time-find sidelines. Hsueh-yi moonlights for a bus company. As a matter of fact, he admits, it gradually has become his main occupation. His monthly pay there is NT$13,000 (US$360).

All told, the two brothers earn about NT$350,000 (about US$8,000). Hsueh-yi's wife, working in garment factories, brings in her own pay checks. The older children also bring back pay. All in all, their lives are affluent.

"Don't you get paid much more than you can make from farming?" I asked Hsueh-yi.

He conceded that the outside salaries were the main sources of income, and "farming alone can't improve our lives much."

"As you both work outside, who takes care of the land?" I asked.

"We farm it after work lets out at five; the machines do it quickly."

Chang Hsueh-yi is a taciturn gentleman, but answered my questions systematically. His responses to my questions were common knowledge in the Taiwan countryside, and he talked with ease. To me, however, the information was fresh-and surprising, because I was comparing everything with the present and past living conditions of the peasants in my hometown on the mainland.

"Do you save money in a bank?" I asked. Chang said his family did not have much cash left, but what they had would not be deposited in a bank, but in a mutual group fund system popular on the island. In the past, that system also prevailed on the Chinese mainland. The members chip in set amounts and draw the total amount as a loan if they win a lottery at a fixed date each year. The other members draw interest paid by the lottery winner.

Probably, the Changs succeeded in such a drawing, because two years ago they Invested NT$2.5 million in real estate. They bought a shop with a floor space of 25 ping (about 80 square meters) at NT$100,000 a ping. Chang did not tell me the exact income he drew from the shop-probably because he did not make a detailed calculation. But at 5 percent, rent would come to NT$125,000.

I estimated the incomes of the 14-member Chang family like this:

· Salaries of the two brothers: NTS350,000

· Rental income: NTS125,000

· Wages earned by dependents: NT$100,000

· Income from farm produce: NT$80,000

· Income from livestock (pigs and fish): NT$30,000

The total is NT$680,000 (an equivalent of US$18,000).

I also estimated the family's expenditures. In Chinese mainland villages, the major expenditure of a family was for food. Chang said that NT$120,000 should be deducted from the total farm income of NT$200,000 as production costs. Besides seeds, fertilizer and machinery, his production costs apparently included the food consumed by the family, because he remarked that the family was self-sufficient in the supply of food, including grains, vegetables, chickens, ducks, geese and fish. When the wives go shopping, they needed only to buy pork, a little cooking oil and salt. They could pay for their annual pork consumption with the proceeds from selling just two of the pigs they had raised.

The Changs still preserved the traditional virtues of Chinese peasants-thrift and hard work. Besides the NT$120,000 farming cost and the spending for some additional foods, the major expenditures included land tax, irrigation fees, and electric and gas charges. The monthly electricity bill was about NT$500, or NT$6,000 a year, and for gas NT$300, or NT$3,600 a year. Annual bills for land tax and water were NT$7,000 each.

So the Chang family spent about NT$45,000 (US$1,125) in cash for tax and basic living expenses. Other expenditures involved education and luxuries. For instance, Chang's little niece was' learning to play the ancient cheng (a stringed musical instrument), and a cheng costs NT$7,000.

I drew the conclusion that the Chang family should save an equivalent of US$3,000-4,000 a year. Chang conceded that this calculation was close to truth.

Chang led us to see the house. It was an old farm house with a floor space of 50 ping. Half of it-the living room and the bedrooms- had been re-modeled into a Western-style structure. The old-style oven existed alongside a gas range. Although there was no water main, a motorized pump provided water from a well covered with a stone lid through plumbing to the kitchen. Machines included a wringer, the pump and a flour mixer.

I asked Mrs. Chang why they did not buy a washing machine. She replied, "Ah, a farmer's clothing is stained with too much soil to be cleaned in a washing machine. We wash clothes in the pond; it is enough to use a wringer."

'His responses to my questions were common knowledge in the Taiwan countryside, and he talked with ease.'

The Changs could afford to build a new home, but their district has been designated as an industrial zone, and the government bans new construction of ordinary residences.

The ban is an inconvenience for the Changs, but zoning has sharply raised the value of their land.

The two hectares of farmland owned by the Changs are equal to 6,000 ping. After designation as an industrial zone, the per-ping price of the land has risen to NT$5,000. The value of the two hectares amounts to NT$30 million, or about US$780,00. Together with other assets, the windfall has made the Changs millionaires.

But to students of Western development, his story is not stunning. Numerous such cases can be cited in the economic history of industrialized countries in Western Europe and North America.

After living in a metropolitan area for a long time, I was deeply affected by the rural flavor of the Chang family.

Listening to the plain talk and seeing the deaf, feeble grandmother surrounded by children, I found the traditional spirit of Chinese farm life is indeed healthy and lovely. If our overall 5,000-year history is great, the greatness was built on this foundation. It was a pity to see it again, on the verge of being swamped by the complexity and pollution of modern urban development.

"Urbanization!" You are the demon and destroyer in man's history of living! The Chang family reminded me of my birthplace. In spirit, the peasants of the two areas are the same: but they are worlds apart in material conditions, skills and education.

I asked my young photographer to take several pictures of Mrs. Chang Hsueh-yi, a dignified middle-aged woman. Although she was close to 50, she looked younger.

We posed for a picture with Hsueh-yi's barefooted niece. She blushed and tried to hide, and even refused to tell us her name. But we trapped her when we found her frying fish on the gas stove. She helped to prepare the lunch.

The fish was much like the carp from the Yangtze River. My cousin told me this was an improved breed, the "Wu-Kuo fish." I immediately thought that the fish might be a breed developed by two fisheries specialists, Wu and Kuo.

The fish was grandfather A-tseng's favorite dish. He had suffered for much of his life, but he had good fortune in his latter years. At 76, he no longer attends to household affairs, but he likes to take his grandchildren to school in the morning. After all the children are off to school, he goes to the pond to catch "Wu-Kuo fish" for lunch. After a long nap in the afternoon, he enjoys waiting at the front door for the return of his grandchildren.

While we were chatting with Hsueh-yi, his son, Chang Sung-tsai, 22, returned, on leave from military service. He still wore his uniform. A graduate from a vocational high school, he majored in automobile mechanics. He was serving in a military police unit. Hsueh-yi's second son, Chang Sung-hung, 21, graduated from Taipei's Chengkung Senior Middle School, but failed to pass the competitive entrance examinations for advanced study. He was enrolled in a supplementary school, preparing to repeat the entrance examinations next year. His third son, Sung-an, was a second-year student at an agricultural and industrial vocational high school, studying electrical installation.

Hsueh-yi's married daughter is a graduate of Taipei's Shih Chien Home Economics Junior College. It provides a three-year course for graduates of senior high schools. His second daughter, Hsiu-yu, 23, is a graduate of Wan Nien Junior College, majoring in accounting. She was working for a building company.

All the children of the "second family" of Changs are young. The eldest, Chang Sun-kuang, is a boy of 18, a third-year student at a vocational high school, studying interior construction. During our visit, he was at home and posed for pictures with us carrying a basketball.

All the four other children in Sungkang's family are girls, in junior high and primary schools.

Hsueh-yi said the usual family entertainment was TV and the movies. Besides, he likes to listen 'to "soft music," and read books and newspapers. The family subscribed to two newspapers, both published in Taipei.

Mrs. Chang Hsueh-yi is a member of a local women's association, where she learns cooking and sewing. Like the PTA. in the United States, parents' associations in Taiwan's schools are involved in various social activities. This seems to be a natural product of the so-called "developed nations."

I learned a great deal from the morning's talk with Chang. My visit was actually, for a case study, only a sample investigation. In sociological terms, it was a micro-level approach. The case of the Chang family is a small sample and, obviously, not representative in all its good fortune of the whole rural society. But its development, normal or abnormal, healthy or unhealthy, generally points to the direction of development of rural Taiwan.

Chang told me that the living standard of his family is lower-middle class. As the family includes many people, old and young, to support, he does not pay income tax.

Hsueh-yi commented that many of his neighbors are better off. Take the Shen family, for instance. There are fewer children and the couple earn more than NT$1,000 a day (about US$26), or about US$700 a month. In the U.S., this is not much, but life in the U.S. is more costly and most people live on credit. The farmers of Taiwan save much of what they have earned. Professors Hou Chi-ming and Wang Tsuo-jung, two of my old schoolmates and renowned economists, told me that the people of Taiwan save as much as 30 percent of their incomes, a surprising figure. I can understand the reason after observing the Chang family.

If the Shen family is middle class-or a "middle peasant" as Chang said, I should categorize Chang Hsueh-yi and his family as "lower-middle peasants.