Japan's architectural legacy in Taiwan is huge,
although the full extent of it has yet to be uncovered.
Some of the best examples, which once were viewed
as symbols of colonial repression, may soon be
granted new leases on life.
The streets of Taiwan's cities boast a handful of excellent ancient buildings--and not a few insipid modern ones. Most of the older, more picturesque, Western-style structures were actually built during the period of Japanese occupation (1895-1945), and it is an uncomfortable if undoubted truth that fifty years of colonial rule did wonders for Taiwan's architectural development. A major reason, according to Fu Chao-ching, a professor in National Cheng Kung University's Department of Architecture, is that Taiwan was a good proving ground for Japanese architects eager to try out the ideas they had picked up from the West during the Meiji Restoration.
Every building reflects changes in social culture. Japanese architecture in Taiwan mirrors what happened on the island while the Japanese were there and, Fu says, would be worth preserving for that reason alone. Unfortunately, however, an excessively zealous desire to eradicate the bitter memories of Japanese rule led some quite memorable buildings to be razed or neglected after the Nationalists came to Taiwan in 1949.
Things improved in 1982 with the promulgation of the Cultural Heritage Preservation Law, which provides that such relics should be preserved as national assets. "The current challenge facing us is how to bring those Japanese buildings back to life in such a way as to improve the quality of life and culture for local communities," says Lin Wei-hsu, director of Tainan City Government's Monument Conservation Division.
A prime example is the Office of the President in the center of Taipei, which is already improving quality of life for countless citizens who take the tours of its corridors that are scheduled twice a week. This imposing building was merely one of many projects inspired by Goto Shinpei, who was in charge of civil affairs at the Taiwan Governor's Office between 1898 and 1906 and who provided the government with a solid foundation for the effective colonization of Taiwan.
Goto phased in Japanese systems and culture, but not without first embarking on an extensive investigation of Taiwanese customs. In light of his findings, laws were revised and new ones enacted, the cumulative effect being best described as a mixture of stick and carrot. The strategy worked. By 1905, during the rule of the fourth governor, Gentaro Kodama, Taiwan had become financially independent and could start contributing to Japanese government coffers.
At the same time, the Japanese started to erect large, modern buildings all over Taiwan. Goto Shinpei saw them as "soldiers in civilian clothes": designed to aid the military mechanisms of colonial rule by overawing potential dissidents with an array of might combined with refined civilization. The Office of the Governor, built in the center of Taipei, was the best example of this approach--a magnificent palace that would establish the authority of the colonial rulers once for all, while cowing any Taiwanese who set eyes on it.
Then came World War II. Admiral Saizo Kobayashi, the new governor, placed Taiwan under strict martial law. His threefold policy was to "Japanize" the Taiwanese people, industrialize the island, and turn Taiwan into a fitting base for the march on South east Asia. "Many of the buildings built during this period display what I can only call 'militarist-period' architecture," Fu Chao-ching says.
Kaohsiung's train station and the city's History Museum are among the best examples. The station was built in 1941, and during the war it played a key role in Kobayashi's "march on Southeast Asia." It was built in typical Japanese imperial style. According to Fu, "It derives its character from a beautiful, traditional Japanese pavilion-style roof and the four magnificent Egyptian palm columns in the huge concourse."
The building that is now home to Kaohsiung's History Museum was built in 1938, and until 1992 it housed the city government. With its imperial facade and dignified columns in the lobby, it is a splendid example of the genre. For reasons of camouflage in wartime, the exterior was originally painted light green and its pavilion roof dark green, colors that enhance the building's generally dignified and somber appearance. "It sets the standard for public buildings," Fu declares.
As the Japanization program got under way, the Shinto religion came to assume ever greater importance, and a large number of temples were built throughout Taiwan. In the postwar period, however, many of them were damaged, destroyed, or converted to other purposes. "It's rare to see a well-preserved Shinto shrine in Taiwan now," Fu says. One that did survive, albeit in altered form, is in Taoyuan.
The Taoyuan Shinto Shrine came to the forefront of public attention in 1985 with a vigorous debate over whether it ought to be preserved. Many people argued that a Shinto shrine was an unwelcome symbol of national shame, a reminder that Taiwan had once been a colony whose citizens were forced to worship the emperor, whereas those who were sympathetic to the shrine tried to portray it as part of a great heritage. After protracted and sometimes heated discussion, the Taoyuan City Government, following advice from architects and artists, finally decided to preserve the structure--but as a martyrs' memorial commemorating the World War II exploits of the Nationalist Army, rather than a Shinto shrine.
Such debates are not uncommon in Taiwan. The fates of the Kuanchien Road headquarters of the Land Bank of Taiwan in Taipei, Tainan station, and the Tainan courthouse all currently hang in the balance while preservationists argue with developers about their future. "But things will get better," says Cheng Tao-tsung, who is the director of a non-governmental organization known as the Chihkan Workshop in the History and Documentation of Tainan City.
In 1923, Japan suffered a major earthquake focused on the Tokyo-Yokohama area, and this spurred Japanese architects to seek new methods of construction. "In Taiwan, you find post-1923 buildings made from reinforced concrete but lacking strong architectural characteristics and ornate decoration," Fu Chao-ching says. "They show how Japanese architects were struggling to come up with something new. Some scholars call them 'transitional-style' constructions."
Tainan City Police Bureau, built in 1931, and Tainan Station (1936) are both good examples of the new, minimalist style, but perhaps the best one is the building occupied by departments of the Tainan City Fire and Police Departments. Built in 1938, its plain white exterior suggests "modernism," and it soon came to be regarded as a city landmark.
Although the Japanese thus did much to revolutionize Taiwan's architectural landscape, residents viewed their buildings as powerful symbols of colonial power. Some local architects began to experiment with styles of their own, but most of the architecture produced by Taiwanese designers or Western missionaries retained strong traditional Chinese characteristics to counterbalance the Japanese influence.
An important surviving example is Tamkang High School at Tamsui, on the coast north of Taipei. This was built by Canadian Christians in 1925 to a design by Kenneth W. Dowie but, despite the use of red bricks meant to give it an English feel, the floor layout is based on traditional Chinese concepts. "Civilian construction projects during the Japanese occupation continued to feature Chinese characteristics, while Japanese architects were importing lots of Western notions," Fu says.
But Japan was not just interested in the kind of impressive, European-style architecture that would underline their authority. They also resorted to the Japanese style, for example with Kaohsiung station and the Taoyuan Shinto Shrine, as part of the process of "Japanizing" the Taiwanese. "It's interesting that in Taiwan, four different styles of architecture--Western, Japanese, modern, and traditional Taiwanese--coexisted during the Japanese occupation," Fu notes.
Because many of the buildings that date back to the Japanese occupation were never recognized as national monuments, they slipped through the protection of the Cultural Heritage Preservation Law. Under the old law, whether or not a building could be designated a national monument depended on its location, value, characteristics, and the number of similar buildings extant. Since the law was amended last February, however, sites that do not qualify as national monuments can be protected under a new heading, "historic buildings." The significant difference between these and nationally protected monuments is that historic buildings can be used, even if that use involves a degree of development.
The result has been to give local artists and architects the means to recycle historic Japanese structures as a way of reinvigorating their communities. "The point isn't just to preserve the building, but also to breathe new life into it, enabling the people around it to enjoy and understand its beauty and history," Fu Chao-ching says.
"A monument isn't a dead object, it's something that can actually provide us with quality recreational space," Cheng Tao-tsung agrees, adding that in the past, the government did not treat monuments very well. Taiwanese are only slowly coming to understand that conserving their precious heritage can benefit them economically and environmentally, as well as culturally. "People realize that it's time to slow down a bit, to look back over the past, and think more about quality of life."
Lin Wei-hsu, director of Tainan City Government's Monument Conservation Division, points out that Tainan was the first place the Han occupied when they came to Taiwan from the mainland, and as such has special historic significance. The city fathers also understand the value of tourism as a domestic resource. "Because of the revisions to the Cultural Heritage Preservation Law, local governments now have more power to manage their monuments in a productive way," he says. "Here in Tainan, for example, we developed Chihkan Culture Park in 1996, and Anping Culture Park is now under construction. They're great assets."
The city government has drawn up tentative plans for refurbishing buildings currently occupied by Tainan's courthouse and City Police Bureau, both constructed during the Japanese occupation, if their present occupants can be persuaded to move to more modern quarters. Tainan courthouse in particular, built in 1912, is already a striking example of how the old can be made to blend with the new: on entering the building, a visitor is at once struck by the contrast between the array of modern computer equipment that greets the eye and the dignified atmosphere of the interior. The city government wants to turn this building into an art museum, although the courthouse authorities hope to preserve it as a legal museum instead.
Fu Chao-ching believes that there are still many Japanese relics dotted around the island that have never been formally dated. "In Chiayi and Pingtung Counties, more than a thousand old Japanese buildings have been identified so far, and there may be a lot more," he says. "Finding a way of recycling them properly is the main task ahead of us. The point is that we're not allowed to change the character and structure of the buildings, but their interiors can be rededicated to contemporary purposes."
Fu is probably right to suspect that there are treasures waiting to be uncovered. "My house in Shennung Street is at least a hundred years old," says one Tainan resident who claims to be seventy-two and shyly declines to tell his name. "I inherited it. Other houses in the street are the same age, and lots of tourists come at weekends to visit the neighborhood. I've modernized the inside of my house and made it comfortable. I'm proud that I've managed to keep it out of the hands of the developers."
With the Cultural Heritage Preservation Law in place, there is good reason to hope that at least some of Taiwan's colonial past can be saved from the bulldozers while continuing to serve a useful purpose. Cheng Tao-tsung sums it up neatly: "People need to have their past, now that so much has been lost chasing after economic development."