Shihting township, in Taipei county, has a total area of 144 square kilometers, comprising thirteen villages and a population of slightly more than 7,000 people. It lies at the junction of two streams, about twenty kilometers southeast of Taipei city. There are different stories of how the area got its name. Some old-timers say it is because the big stones in one of the streams (also called Shihting) look like the large stones (石碇 , shih ting) that were used as ballast on ships that sailed across the treacherous Taiwan Straits in the early days.
Others say that in the old days, people had to step from large stone to large stone when entering and leaving Shihting, as if they were stepping over high, Chinese-style doorsills. So they called the place Shihting, "stone door sill," since in the Taiwanese dialect, ting has the same pronunciation as the word for doorsill. There are other stories, but all of them mention the large stones in the nearby stream.
Shihting was settled around 1800, and it is said that the Hsu, Chen, and Wang families were probably the earliest residents. The area grew slowly. In 1830, one Lin Hsien-chuan, who had come from Chuanchow, Fukien province, gathered a group of people who wanted to open up new land for settlement. They moved to Shihting and built a small market. The newcomers grew sweet potatoes for the basic starch in their diet, and also planted small plots of tea and ta-ching, a plant used to make dyestuff, to sell to the Mainland.
Life was difficult in those days. Shihting is surrounded by mountainous terrain, and the poor soil made agriculture an unproductive pursuit. It was not until 1865 when John Dodd, an English man, visited northern Taiwan that the situation took a turn for the better. Dodd found that Shihting and the neigh boring area was a good place for growing tea. He introduced better strains, and with the first harvest of tea leaves, Shih ting began its first profitable business. People soon gave up growing sweet potatoes and ta-ching. They bought additional tea strains from Mainland China, and expanded their operations.
Although Shihting's soil was unsuitable for most forms of agriculture, the rocky mountain slopes were a great place to plant tea. Before long, tea farmers were harvesting five times a year, and tea from Taiwan was winning away markets long dominated by Foochow and Amoy. More and more Taiwan tea, including that from Shihting, was exported to England, the U.S., and other Asian countries. Shihting's tea industry reached peak production during the Japanese occupation.
For both commercial and military reasons, the Japanese built a trail from Taipei to Shihting. Since human power was the most common method of moving merchandise, the trail made a major difference in Shihting's commercial success. It soon became the tea center of northern Taiwan.
Hsu Pei-hsing (許沛興) , the seventy one-year-old owner of Sheng Fa, an 180 year-old tea shop at Shihting, has been in the business for more than half a century. He recalls that during the Japanese occupation, tea dealers from all over the island came to Shihting to buy and sell tea. "At the market on the little square in front of the Chishun Temple, more than 10,000 kilograms of tea were traded by noon every day," he says. "Tea was not widely grown at that time, so profits were good."
But the halcyon days did not last long. In 1945, after Japan's defeat in World War II, Taiwan was returned to China. Not long afterward, the Chinese government was building new roads in the Shihting area, but they bypassed the old town. As a result, commercial activity moved to neighboring towns closer to the transportation links.
Sorting tea in front of an old tea shop ─ a scene reminiscent of fame and prosperity in years now remote.
"But what really ruined the tea business was overproduction," Hsu says. "When the price was good, everybody planted tea. Supply outstripped demand, so the price dropped. But we knew nothing else except tea, so we had no choice but to stick to it." Tea remains the major agricultural product of Shihting, even though profits continue to decline.
Another problem complicating life in Shihting is the loss of labor power in the tea plantations. Wang Ming-chung (王銘忠), the township chief, says that young people these days do not want the work. "Planting tea is not easy," he says. "The farmers have to work long hours under a hot sun, and when the profits dropped, young people moved away to start businesses elsewhere."
Shihting has lost more than half of its 20,000 population, most of them young people, to more prosperous areas. It has turned into a place filled with only young children and people over fifty. "Most of our tea farmers now are over fifty, and some are over seventy or even eighty," Wang says. "Most of the time, we have to hire outsiders to help with the picking. The soil and the climate are good for growing tea, but there just aren't enough people to work."
But Shihting has a history of resilience. As the tea business wound down after the Japanese occupation, coal mining became the major industry. Even though the coal industry is now considered a sunset industry in Taiwan, there are still some active coal mines in Shihting. One of them, the San Min coal mine, is the is land's largest working mine.
The boat floats, but the school is sinking ─ are these the last students at Yungan elementary school because of decreasing enrollment?
During the 1950s and 1960s, domestically produced coal was the major source of energy for Taiwan's economic development. But by 1989, the island was producing only 4 percent of its coal requirement. The rest was imported from Australia, the U.S., Canada, South Africa, and Indonesia. A major reason for the decline was the high cost of coal production, and increasingly difficult mining conditions.
"We produce 3,000 to 3,500 metric tons of coal per month at a cost of US$95 per metric ton," says Chou Tang-yung (周璫庸), manager of the San Min mine. "But the price of imported coal is about US$55 per metric ton. We keep on digging just because the government doesn't want the coal industry to die, and we sell everything we produce to the government at a set price."
Even the government contracts cannot hold back the coal industry from its steady decline. "There is plenty of coal, but not enough people to work the mines," Chou says. "We are not paying the miners what they deserve because we have to keep costs down. An experienced coal miner in Taiwan can earn about US$6 per hour. That's too little for such a high-risk job, especially when compared to other physically demanding jobs."
The mine employs about 150 coal miners, and all of them are over fifty. Some are even over sixty. "These miners have ten to forty years of experience, but their salary doesn't reflect it," Chou adds.
"What the hell am I doing this for?" asks one miner as he comes off his shift at three o'clock in the afternoon. "I go down to the mine at 7:00 A.M., and I work the shit out of myself for only NT$1,200 [about US$45]." But like most old-timers in the mines ─ and now there are not any "young-timers" ─ he can do nothing else but stay in the pit until he is too old to work.
It was different in the old days. Ac cording to Wang Ming-chung, when the coal industry was at its peak, miners were paid fairly well. "At that time, about 18,000 people still lived in Shih ting," he says. "A lot of young people came to Shihting to look for jobs. But when the coal industry started to decline, they moved away. It was just like what happened when the tea business failed."
These days the thin profits in tea and coal are no longer attractive enough to draw young people to the area, and the mountainous topography precludes any other agricultural or industrial pursuits. Wang says the result is clear: "Shihting is losing its people."
More than natural geography has put limitations on the township's success. In order to provide Taipei county with more drinking water, a dam was built in June 1987 on the upper part of Peishih Stream, which flows through the southern part of Shihting. The reservoir is another reason why the population is dropping. When the dam was built, the stream swelled, submerging homes along the banks and forcing residents to relocate nearby or move away altogether. Local residents call the submerged land "the lost horizon." During the dry season, the roofs of some old homes and the trunks and branches of submerged trees can still be seen peeking above the water's surface. It is a haunting sight.
In order to protect the reservoir from pollution, the government designated its surrounding land a conservation area. The law forbids the building of homes and factories and the development of agriculture in conservation areas.
Three thousand people were forced to leave their homes when the dam was built, and Yungan, one of the five elementary schools in Shihting township, began a new style of operation. The daily routine at the school reflects the adjustments that many people have had to make because of the reservoir.
Every morning, the twenty-four elementary school students at Yungan put on their life jackets, board a small boat, and cross the lake to their school building. After a free school breakfast comes a typical school day, with math, natural science, Chinese language, music, physical education, and other courses. At 3:15 in the afternoon, the students don life jackets again, and return home.
"The children really like the school," says Lee Tzung-hsien (李宗憲), the principal, "because we have been trying our best to make the school a big family. But they don't know that this family is probably going to be broken up." Yungan is now the smallest elementary school in Taipei county. It is staffed by nine teachers, a principal, and an office worker. The school is scheduled to close in a year or two because it will no longer have twenty students, the minimum required by the government's education policy.
"Yungan is thirty years old," Lee says. "It was never a big school, but before the dam was built, we had more than two hundred students. Now we have only eleven girls and thirteen boys. Their parents are tea farmers. W hen the old students graduate and no new students come in, which has already happened because of the restrictions in this area, we will have to close down."
The people do not want to lose their school, but they realize the problem. According to Lee, the education of each student at Yungan elementary school costs the county more than US$11,000 a year. Since the average in Taipei county is only US$450, taxpayers have a legitimate reason to complain.
A typical street scene illustrates the problem few residents, fewer visitors, uncertain future.
But residents are less understanding of the restrictions on building homes around the lake, and on fishing in the reservoir. "We know it is important to keep the water from being polluted, but it is not the residents but the tourists who pollute the water," says Hsieh Teng chi (謝登乞), an old resident. "We are not being fairly treated. Yungan is a good school, it deserves a chance. If people are allowed to move near the reservoir, maybe we will have more people. More people means more school kids, and the school won't have to close down."
Despite the efforts of parents and others interested in saving the school, Lee indicates that their chances of success are not good. The closing of Yungan elementary school will just be another indication of the decline of Shihting township.
In some ways, Shihting is like an old soldier who has gone through many battles. It ultimately lost the campaigns with tea, coal, and the dam. But just when the old soldier thought it was all over, there was another flicker of hope. This time it is tourism.
Near Shihting is a mountainous place with two large stones curving toward each other, called Emperor's Palace. The scenic spot has become especially popular among Taipei residents. Its name has a colorful origin. Legend has it that more than 160 years ago, a fisher man in Tamsui, Taipei county, caught a big shark and found a sword in its stomach. He jokingly pointed it at a man, saying, "Watch out!" The man's head immediately fell off.
The fisherman could not believe what had happened, so he tried it on cats, dogs, cows, and whatever animal he ran into, pointing the sword at them and saying, "Watch out!" Their heads also fell off. Most people at that time were very superstitious. When they saw what happened, they thought the fisher man was an emperor. At that time people believed that everything an emperor said would happen.
But later on, when the government officials heard about the fisherman, they were less impressed. Instead of believing the man to be an emperor, they figured he was a criminal and should be put on trial. The fisherman was frightened. He threw away the magic sword and ran to the mountains of Shihting to hide, only to die of hunger and cold. His body was found in the mountains under a canopy of two large curved stones. The stones have since been called the Emperor's Palace.
Emperor's Palace is a popular tourist spot not only because it is a short distance from Taipei, but also because of its special topography. There is a ridgeline trail between two of the nearby peaks in the mountains around Shihting. The trail is so narrow in some places that people have to actually "ride" the ridge line by straddling it.
"It is exciting to ride the ridgeline, but it's also dangerous," says Wang Ming-chung. "As far as I can remember, there have been three accidents, one of them fatal. We thought of building a railing or something to protect the hikers from falling, but most people thought that the railing would take away all the fun. So we decided to keep it the way it is."
Shihting residents hope that tourism will be another chance for the township to regain its prosperity, and maybe even draw back some young people to live in the area. But the popularity of the ridge line trail has not been particularly helpful to the development of downtown Shih ting, which is less than two kilometers from the trail. The problem involves the preservation of the town's old flavor.
Downtown Shihting is an old tea center, and people often went there to paint or take photos. There were many picturesque places: old streets lined with stone houses, the Chishun temple built more than 150 years ago, a rusted iron bridge, village women washing clothes on the big stones in the nearby stream. These sights all reminded people of the good old days of Shihting.
But the stone houses have almost all been replaced by brick and cement low rise buildings, the old temple was rebuilt two years ago and now looks quite new, the iron bridge is now unused because a concrete one has been erected, and most of the village women now do their laundry at home with washing machines. "These cultural assets and traditions should have been kept," says tea shop owner Hsu, who has lived in Shihting all his life. "You could have gone some where else if you were interested in bright modern temples or bridges, but if you preferred a small old temple and a rusted iron bridge, Shihting was here waiting for you."
But Hsieh Teng-chi, also born and raised in Shihting, sees it differently. He thinks that modernization isn't such a bad thing. "It would have been wrong if we let the stone houses and narrow bridges stand in our way," he says. "We have to follow the trends of the time, or society will leave us behind. A brick and cement house is easier to build, and the concrete bridge is safer and wider. People have the right to improve their life."
Both men have a point, but their disagreement illustrates Shihting's awkward situation. It is now neither a small traditional village nor a developed modern town. For most people, Shihting is just another old place, and the last bus stop on the way to Emperor's Palace.