These were in fact incorporated ideals into the Constitution, but like any other nation's historical experience, the task of implementation entails constant effort. But impressive gains have been made, for example, in turning the principle of Social Well-being, or Livelihood, (min sheng) into a reality. In 40 years the average annual income has climbed steadily from the equivalent of US$45 per year to more than US$5,000 today.
But the success depends in part upon those grassroots individuals whose own livelihood flows from jobs often dangerous or fraught with difficulties. It is through their efforts, and others like them, that the ROC has been able to grow economically strong under the guidance of constitutional rule.
In an effort to give credit to those often overlooked by the media-except when physical or financial disaster strike—FCR sent staff- writer Chang Chiao-hao far a field, far at sea, and deep below the earth's surface. His story follows:
Curiosity is quickly replaced by other concerns when one suddenly finds himself 3,000 feet underground. Heat, for example. And high pressure. When first entering the tunnel world and making the initial descent by coal cart to the first mine level at the 1,000-foot depth, a strong breeze surges up the narrow tunnel to cool the body and deceive the inexperienced into thinking that life deep below the earth might not be too bad after all.
The error of this thought soon becomes all too clear. The flattened area that serves as an underground transfer station already has a different atmosphere about it; there is a close and stuffy feeling that is psychologically augmented by the realization that there is so much of Mother Earth above the head.
Soon another cart is waiting and we head off in a different direction, again dropping at a steep rate. Before long the 2,000-foot depth is reached and foreheads, necks, and arms are damp with perspiration. By now the breeze is imperceptible, and most likely non-existent. Pressure IS also building inside the skull, and eyes and throat begin to feel dry and scratchy from the coal dust that fills the air around us.
Yet another change in direction, another descent, and now the third level is in sight. By this time the wonder connected with being in a coal mine for the first time has been totally replaced by overwhelming oppression from the heat. It hits the body like a dust-coated sledge-hammer with repeated blows. Thoughts suddenly go back to a summer spent in Tuscon, Arizona, but the comparison is only partial. Here there are no open skies, no bright sun, no vivid colors only low uneven ceilings, dim light, and no escape to air-conditioned comfort.
"Miner brothers" stand at the entrance tunnel of the Hai Shan Yi Kung mine.
The high pressure, first noticeable during the drop between the second and third levels, comes as a surprise. A companion explains that the closer one comes to the center of the earth, be it in water or deep under the earth's crust, the greater the pressure. Whatever the physics of the matter, the head feels like it will explode. Even experienced miners feel the same thing if they stay away from the pits for any length of time before returning to their weekly labors.
No matter how effective the air pumps, coal dust is as omnipresent as the heat. And visitors are first surprised by the sensible response taken by some miners to the situation—a naked miner passes by our small group, pushing a cart of coal ready to be sent aboveground. At first glance the totally black, dust-covered body seems wrapped in a black leotard, but a spot on his hip reveals a flash of flesh in the dim lights of our miners' caps. It is a man's world below the earth, and anyway modesty is preserved by the ubiquitous coal dust.
But the mine's gift of functional clothing in the heat and pressure is also a curse. Miners here as in the rest of the world worry about the gradual process of black lung disease caused by life in this demanding and dangerous job. The best of circulation systems cannot help, for the work of mining involves so much blasting and clearing that there is no way adequately to control the environment.
The result is that all miners are inevitably contaminated by the dust and must eventually face the complications to personal health that accompanies work in the mines.
The ROC government, like others around the globe, is aware of the health problems faced by miners. But the nature of the work itself makes it difficult to accomplish very much in the way of prevention. Regretfully, although all miners undergo periodic physical examinations, and are informed of the more or less expected negative results, they still do not have much recourse. There is no cure available, and it seems not much in the way of prevention either.
No question, the work is dangerous. As a matter of course, miners risk their lives each time they board the coal carts for the depths. They constantly face potential mine disasters from gas leaks, explosions, flooding, and shaft collapses. In Taiwan, the ground water problems are even more severe because of the nearness of the ocean. "But whether one drowns in fresh or salt water, it is an unpleasant experience," goes a line of black humor among the miners.
Explosions are no less feared, and they have occurred in Taiwan all too frequently to the dismay of the public and the government as much as the miners and their families. The years of 1984 and 1985 were especially dismal in mining history. The 26-year old Hai Shan Yi Kung coal mine, one of the exemplary mines in Taiwan, nevertheless experienced two serious explosions. One in December 1984, and the second in June 1985, claiming 93 and seven lives respectively.
For 48-year old Wang Li-hsiung the events were not newspaper headline stories; he was there. Wang says that four years later he still feels occasionally terrified and frequently uneasy. With a quiet intensity he describes his feelings during the first of two disasters that almost swallowed him:
"They were all my partners. Many of them I had known since childhood. Although I can't remember all of their names, I still remember all of their faces clearly. "
He continues, with his voice growing dimmer and dimmer, as if he himself is fading away in thick clouds of sound-swallowing dust. "I was with a partner in an upper level in the mine when an explosion occurred in a lower level. We two were instantly knocked down by the force of air from the powerful explosion. When we finally got back on our feet again, we couldn't see anything because of the dust filling the tunnel. At least the power was restored in a short time, but even then it wasn't constant. But even though the air pumps were working, we still couldn't move. We just stayed where we were. The accident came so suddenly that we didn't feel scared right away. But that came soon enough as we made every effort to crawl out of the mine. We both made it." Wang adds with a tone of sorrow that moves his listener to barely suppressed tears, "We stayed out till the next day, then we went down again to try to save some of the others."
Luckily, Wang survived. But his current worry and tension have even deeper roots. Of the 93 miners who died in the accident, shockingly, 8 of them had been recently transferred from another mine after an explosion in their original mine had killed 103 of their co-workers. And even here the sorrow did not end. With heartbreaking power, the visitor learns that another 20 survivors of the original mine disaster which claimed 103 lives were killed in yet a fourth mine calamity. The four explosions in close order formed the worst catastrophe record in the history of ROC mining.
After hearing about the dangers and seeing first-hand the difficulties of the work, it is not easy at first to understand why men still enter the coal carts at the start of each shift and begin their descent into a dust-filled hell. But one reason is simple enough: money. Compared with the salaries of most occupations, the financial rewards in this vocation are handsome, as well they should be in face of the risk and heavy labor required by the job.
The government, concerned about the consecutive mine disasters, not only put more effort into mine safety programs, but also offered miners an opportunity to transfer to other professions such as taxi drivers or workers on assembly lines. The program did not work out well. "Nine out of ten of them returned," Wang says, "because they couldn't adjust to their new jobs, and they didn't like them very much either." While the difference in salaries has been cited as a main reason for the failure of the program, Wang says there was a more pervasive reason for returning to the pits.
"Most of all, it's because of the intimacy here. We are miner brothers. Most of us grew up together. We became indispensable to each other—and for those of us who have survived several tragedies, we need each other even more."
A mine official confirms Wang's reasoning. He points out that the government's effort to assist miners in transferring to other jobs will never work unless all the mines are closed.
That decision is a possibility. Based on the evaluations of most mining specialists, all of Taiwan's coal mines should be shut down. The main reason is that although coal mining used to playa pivotal role in the island's industrialization, its role has passed and is unlikely to reappear in the near future.
Mining in Taiwan has become what is called a sunset industry, indicating that the economic future of coal mining is bleak. But the final decisions have yet to be made concerning closure. Until then, the heat, pressure, and dust await the daily descent of a workforce averaging 40 years of age. The future of these men, and their families, depends in the short term upon the black rock they blast, scoop, and send to the surface. If and when those days change, they will be forced to enter a marketplace very different from the dangers and camaraderie of the pits. Whatever their future employment fate, the people of the nation can at present be proud of these individuals—deep below the grassroots—who have helped make Taiwan's economic success possible.
But there are members of at least one other profession who would argue that the miners have it easier than they do. "At least they live a stable life, going to work and returning home every day," a local fisherman explains. "What about us"? For inshore fishermen a round trip takes at least four to five days, and those who go to deep sea areas stay away much longer. Besides, the workload is about the same as miners—very heavy."
There is a grimmer comparison available. Fishermen from Taiwan have an average job-related death rate of over 240 a year. This is five times higher than miners. What makes this unfortunate statistic even harder to bear is that the public pays very little attention to the dangers and disasters faced by local fishermen.
Hsieh Shou-nan, board chairman of the Fisherman's Association of Keelung District, elaborates on the comparison of professions: "When a coal mine disaster occurs, the press gets there right away and carries the tragedy live to the whole society, which encourages people to give millions of NT dollars to help them. Of course, the public response to disasters like this is very moving. But look at the fishermen. What happens to them after a shipwreck is reported? Our countrymen can't see the scene of the disaster, and they have never seen a fisherman's body because they are so rarely recovered—and if they are, you can't take pictures."
An inshore fishing vessel sets out at dusk for a night of trawling.
Hsieh is a good spokesman for his fellow fishermen. He grew up in a fisherman's family, but was fortunate to attend a special fishery school after finishing his military service requirement. He later became a clerk at the fisherman's Association. Hsieh believes that for fishermen to increase their income and upgrade their standard of living, they have to move more into pelagic fishing, that is, to spend more time in the open seas far away from inshore waters. It is only through this deep-sea fishing industry that the nation's fishery industry can be further developed.
This orientation was evident during the Sino-Indonesian fishery cooperative negotiations early this year, where Hsieh made every effort to encourage the fishermen in his organization to cooperate. He won a quota of 30 boats in the proceedings, and twenty-six have already gone to Indonesian waters and brought back full loads. This was the first international fishery cooperation for Keelung district. Additional large fishing boats are now under construction to take advantage of the rich fishing waters.
"My original idea was to encourage them to try the new fishing areas by telling them that the association would sponsor them financially as well as spiritually in the new experience, and that they could keep the profits earned," Hsieh says of his negotiations with the association members. Now that his predictions have proved correct, he is understandably delighted with the results.
But Hsieh has other ambitions, and these may well prove more difficult to achieve for the association members. He wants to secure more government support for fishermen. "For example, fishermen have long desired guaranteed prices, much the same as enjoyed by farmers," he says. "Moreover, in the area of insurance compensation, the association is able to offer only NT$30,000 (US$1,000) to the family of a ship wreckage victim; a larger, fairer compensation so far is only a hope."
Hsieh attributes the association's inability to win more favorable governmental treatment to insufficient pressure being brought on the central government. "Maybe it's because we have fewer members—we have just over a hundred thousand. There are over a million farmers, so fishermen don't have comparable strength, and therefore don't enjoy the same degree of attention from the government."
After a night on the open seas, the crew off-loads a large catch of sliver ribbon fish.
Fishermen claim that lack of funds for further development of the industry is due to an insufficiently powerful voice in the government. The highest fishery organization is the Fisheries Department, which provides assistance such as technical improvements of fishing equipment including boats, nets, and fishing techniques. The department has also helped with the building of new housing for fishermen in recent years. But the department is under the organizational control of the Council of Agriculture. Hsieh considers this "rather ironic for an island surrounded by fishing grounds."
According to Hsieh, the most the Fisherman's Association can do is to expand the cooperation already underway with Indonesia, and pursue a similar plan now in process with Malaysia. Yet another agreement is in the making, which could have important safety ramifications. There are now plans for arranging more effective exchange of information and emergency harbor use during typhoons through a "sister city" relationship with Pusan, Korea.
But Hsieh sees these activities as only a small part of what is required. "What fishermen really need most is to have a suitably high level government organization to argue their case for them. They need something on the same level as the Council of Agriculture so that they can win the appropriation of funds to provide guaranteed prices, and to make state purchasing and selling possible," Hsieh concludes.
He has a point. There is no question that farmers are in fact better represented at the highest levels of government organization. But even though farmers do not face the daily dangers that characterize mining and fishing, their livelihood is not necessarily a blissful one either. There are problems.
Lee Ah-yang—proud of his new home built with the assistance of the Farmers' Association.
Lee Ah-yang provides a good example. Thanks to his own efforts, and to government assistance, the 41-year old farmer has successfully expanded his farmland from less than two hectares (one hectare=2.47 acres) to seven hectares, and has expanded his crops from rice and tea to items such as coba (a water bamboo), and other vegetables and fruits.
Lee is the eldest son, and second oldest child in his family of 10 brothers and sisters. When he was only a junior high school student, he had to leave school and take over the family farm since his father was unable to work because of severe stomach problems. Lee has always regretted his truncated schooling, a fact made more intense by knowing that one of his close schoolmates now holds a Ph.D. from a university in the U.S.
Yet Lee has made his own mark. He has received both local and national recognition for his innovative work in farming, and on one occasion was personally honored by the Vice President of the ROC. Lee's story illustrates genuine agricultural entrepreneurship.
After purchasing their land from the land owner, Lee's father at first only planted rice. The family's simple, conservative lifestyle remained essentially unchanged until the younger Lee completed his military service and returned home. "I started to plant coba when I returned, since it was a popular cash crop," Lee recalls. "But at that time the competition was so strong that every farmer was cutting prices to compete. Then I had a sudden brainstorm. Why don't I take the coba to suburban Taipei to sell in the afternoons? That was a comparatively wealthier residence area than our location in the country."
It was an excellent idea. Lee succeeded and made a healthy profit, not only because there was almost no competition at the time, but also due to the freshness of his bamboo shoots which had just been harvested. Customers welcomed the produce, and he did not have to cut prices. But the windfall profits did not continue unabated.
"Later on," Lee continues, "I was not permitted to sell my produce in the same way. So, in 1970, I joined the Farmers' Association through which produce was collected and sold cooperatively." But Lee had already achieved more than personal success; he had helped transform the lives of his neighbors.
"In my hometown, I was the one who initiated planting water bamboo as a cash crop. Now in this small, hilly area near Taipei's suburbs there are more than one hundred hectares of coba fields. Water bamboo has become this area's unique product," he says proudly.
Lee was not satisfied with the coba success, however, and soon was purchasing more land and experimenting with other cash crops such as green bamboo shoots and various fruits. He succeeded again. Now he is trying other crops.
"I started planting tea as late as 1983," Lee continues, "but I'm still learning." The "'earning" process has been profitable as well, for his tea is already being imported by Japan.
He is quick to give credit to the Farmers' Association for his successful endeavors. "It is the most important organization closely supported by government that has direct contacts with farmers. In addition to seminars on new growing techniques, the association also provides all sorts of other assistance. It helps with commercial arrangements, sale of products, and applications for fertilizer, which is directly sent to our home. It also provides agricultural and machinery loans," Lee says gratefully.
The close cooperative relationship between the government and farmers has obviously helped bring about the agricultural success story of Taiwan, and Lee is an excellent witness to the effectiveness of this: "Now in Taiwan there are no poor farmers. For example, nowadays the loans provided by the Farmers' Association are seldom utilized because they are really not needed that much. It's not unusual for a farming family to have at least tens of thousands of NT dollars in cash at hand."
The wealth, so encouraged by government planning and assistance, has led to remarkably different lifestyles for local farmers. Lee speaks of his own family in this regard. "In addition to periodic round-island trips, my parents, although being farmers all their lives, have been to last and Southeast Asia for vacations. Now they are planning to take a trip to Europe. As for myself, although I have not yet gone abroad for similar relaxation, it's not because I can't afford it I'm just too busy with my work to enjoy a vacation. But we can afford to spend more than NT$100,000 a year for travel if we want," Lee says with a satisfied air. Diligence has paid off.
However, as a Chinese proverb warns, "One who may not necessarily have serious worries has minor ones." Lee certainly has problems. "The most serious problem is that despite the success achieved, Taiwan's agriculture still needs the government's leadership and protection. During a time when our markets are more and more open to foreign products, agriculture is becoming steadily weaker. Everything can be imported, but agricultural products mustn't be," Lee asserts.
His reasons are an array of "what ifs." "What if the country from which we import agricultural products can't meet our demand for one reason or another?" "Or what if it suddenly is not willing to sell to us any more?" "Or what if we can't get products for some other unexpected reason that might arise?" "Or what if the International price fluctuates drastically?"
Lee is now highly animated, and his words now like a rushing stream. "This is why I say that we can't be completely dependent on other countries to export agricultural products to us. Also, you have got to remember that agricultural products, unlike industrial products, can't grow in short periods of time. It takes time, a long time, to grow them. And these days, regrettably the government doesn't seem to be dealing with the problem in ways that are favorable to us. "
While Lee's arguments have weight, they are familiar ones heard from farmers around the globe who seek protection for their products in local markets. In Taiwan, agriculture is unique in the trade balance figures. Agriculture is the only area that records a trade deficit—more than US$1 billion in trade with the U.S., for example.
Lee's second concern is more personal: there is no successor to the family farm. Despite his farming success, he is not encouraging any of his children to take over his career, although he does not oppose the idea either. "It all depends on their own interest and choice," Lee says. "If they don't like it, that's fine; if they like doing the same thing and do it well, I won't mind, of course. I won't disagree."
But at present the possibility for a continued family farm seems dim. Lee's three daughters will leave the family circle after marriage, and his two sons are too young to make any plans yet. The older is still in junior high school, and unlike his father he will have advanced schooling. As for the younger son, he is only a fifth grader.
"Every time I take these facts into account, I hesitate to make any further investments," Lee says. He also is not very optimistic about the future of agriculture in Taiwan; it too may be in many respects a sunset industry.
Other minor problems include lack of an adequate agricultural insurance system and the usual complaint about too much taxation. While comparatively minor issues, they nevertheless irritate farmers considerably.
In a society in which laborers, miners, and fishermen enjoy at least some form of professional insurance, it is not difficult to understand the complaints of farmers who have no comparable insurance system and benefits. The government is in fact aware of the problem, and has already implemented an experimental program.
Farmers are so eager to be covered in the insurance system that some of them have suggested paying all of the 20 percent insurance fee themselves. This would release the Farmers' Association from the dilemma of financial shortages. Lee said the proposal is still alive, and that they are waiting patiently for a favorable conclusion.
Farmers this year were given a break on their land taxes, but some still complain that they have to pay a higher property tax on their homes than they do on their fields.
Lee laments the seeming inequity of things: "I have to pay higher taxes on my house which is used only for my family's living purposes—not for any profit—while my other house located nearer to the city, which is also used as a store, is subject to a lower tax." Lee adds that paying higher taxes on profit-making enterprises seems to be the appropriate thing to do, but "to be taxed the other way around is unreasonable and unacceptable. "
But in conclusion, Lee says that such things are really minor problems. Life has improved remarkably over the past decades, and farmers have seen their income rise steadily, and have enjoyed a concomitant improvement in their standard or living.
Despite the dangers of their occupations, the same is true of miners and fishermen. Few would want to return to the ways of life experienced even by their parents. The principle of Social Well-being, or Livelihood embodied in the Constitution has taken root in the Republic of China on Taiwan, and it is bearing rich fruit.