Taiwanese Poetry Under the Threat of War / Enkaryon Ang

Before delving into the profound layers of Taiwanese poetry, let us first revisit the historical context of Taiwan. The period of Japanese rule in Taiwan, which spanned from 1895 to 1945, was a time governed by the Japanese Empire. As the 19th century drew to a close, Japan, as the last nation to join the ranks of new imperialism, expanded in a manner distinctly different from the Western powers. Taiwan, this island, was seen as a pillar of Japanese industry and also a stepping stone for its southward expansion policy. Under Japanese rule, Taiwan underwent a baptism of modernization, yet its external economic relations were tightly bound to Japan. At that time, Taiwan became a testing ground for the standardization of the Japanese language, and the seeds of literary modernization quietly sprouted here. The local customs and culture of Taiwan became popular subjects in Japanese colonial literature, with works like Haruo Sato’s «Travelogue of Sun Moon Lake» and «Wushe» not only implying criticism of Japanese ruling policies but also enriching the Japanese imagination of this land. Natsume Sōseki’s «I Am a Cat» occasionally mentioned the indigenous people of Taiwan, and the poet Hakushū Kitahara personally set foot on this land, promoting his love for folk songs. Against such a backdrop, modern Taiwanese literature was first born as a product of post-war colonial literature.

In 1945, the Japanese Empire surrendered unconditionally to the Allied forces, and the fate of Taiwan was handed over to the Republic of China at that time. Taiwan did not undergo a process of national self-determination but instead welcomed a large influx of Chinese refugees amid the torrent of the Chinese Civil War. In 1949, with the split from Communist China, Taiwan entered a new phase. The outbreak of the Korean War in 1950 solidified this relationship. Under the complex historical entanglements and the shadow of Chinese expansionism, Taiwan has been under the threat of war throughout the Cold War era, a state that continues to this day. What I will discuss today is how Taiwanese poetry has evolved over nearly a century under such threats of war. Next, I will use the poetry of Taiwanese poet Shang Qin as a starting point to lead everyone to a deeper understanding.

Snow

I fold a letter from the back, it’s whiter on this side, a good thing
that man doesn’t like to write on both sides. I fold and fold it
again, then fold it diagonally into a cone, then cut it with a small
pair of scissors, cut it and poke it, then

I’ve always thought snow is made this way: I open the cut-out letter,
it’s a good thing that man’s handwriting is so light that it
doesn’t show through, white, spread out, a six-petalled snowflake lies
on a yellow palm of hand.

Yet in the sky three thousand kilometres above or even higher, a
group of angels are at their wits’ end when they are faced with the
littering bodies on a big square below, and as the temperature sud-
denly drops below zero, their arguments and sighs gradually crys-
tallize and fall one by one.

(translated by John Balcom)

This poem offers a dual portrayal of the war scenario and the White Terror in Taiwan at the time. 

Some might argue that Taiwan and China share a similar linguistic heritage, yet as poet Derek Walcott eloquently put it: ‘The English language is nobody’s special property. It is the property of the imagination: it is the property of the language itself.’ This perspective sheds light on Taiwan’s poetic retrospection of Chinese immigrant literature, marking a shift from a diasporic narrative to one of self-identification. Moreover, Taiwan is recognized as the cradle of Austronesian culture, signifying its rich tapestry of ethnicities and languages. Contemporary literary works are not confined to Mandarin; they also flourish in Taiwanese, Hakka, and an array of indigenous tongues.

Reflecting on the 1980s, Taiwanese poet Chen Qianwu observed that Taiwanese literature is illuminated by two bulbs: Japan and China—representing the literary imprints of two nations that once waged war upon its shores. Through my eyes, these influences are digested colonial remnants and enduring echoes of wars, both bygone and lingering.

Beyond the complex web of history, we must examine the pulse of contemporary Taiwanese poetry. The shadow of war has never dissipated from this land; it persists like an external force pressing down on Taiwan, much like North Korea oppresses South Korea, turning the threat of war into a new normal.

The 1996 Taiwan Strait Crisis marked a turning point in modern history. In March of that year, Taiwan held its first presidential election by popular vote, provoking a strong backlash from mainland China. Viewing Taiwan’s democratization as a harbinger of secession, China launched a series of military and diplomatic actions to exert pressure, including missile tests and military exercises in the Taiwan Strait. This threat has become more pronounced in the past two years, with China using military exercises to intimidate Taiwan’s democratic achievements. This has sparked an exploration of self-subjectivity in Taiwanese poetry, forming the powerful image of “Taiwan as a whale.”

Faced with the threat of political disputes, Taiwanese poetry became closely linked to social movements, with the voices of social movements providing a broad stage for poetic creation and promoting in-depth discussions.

With China’s growing economic and military strength in the 2010s, it influenced Taiwan through economic warfare and proxy strategies. In 2014, the Sunflower Movement occupied Taiwan’s Legislative Yuan, protesting the Kuomintang’s pro-China policies and rejecting the signing of the service trade agreement with China. During this period, Taiwanese poetry focused on themes of freedom, resistance to Chinese capitalism, and the increasingly shrinking international space. Faced with the threat of political disputes, Taiwanese poetry became closely linked to social movements, with the voices of social movements providing a broad stage for poetic creation and promoting in-depth discussions.

The discussion of social movements arises because Taiwanese poetry, under the threat of war, represents a transformation from diaspora to an enclave for freedom.

Following the Sunflower Movement, the Umbrella Movement in Hong Kong ensued, laying the groundwork for the anti-extradition law amendment bill movement. In 2019, Hong Kong witnessed protests against the proposed extradition bill amendment, one of the largest and most far-reaching demonstrations in Hong Kong’s history. The anti-extradition movement initially targeted the Hong Kong government’s proposed amendment, which would have allowed the extradition of criminal suspects to mainland China for trial, sparking strong opposition and concern among Hong Kong citizens. People feared this would erode Hong Kong’s judicial independence and freedom, making it part of the mainland Chinese judicial system. This is also the fundamental reason for the loss of freedom in Hong Kong today.

Taiwan once again became a haven for Hong Kong’s pro-democracy activists. The demands of Hong Kongers for an investigation into police violence, reform of the electoral system, and the resignation of Chief Executive Carrie Lam have been transformed into a reflection of the threat from China in Taiwan.

Bei Dao. In 2007, he moved to Hong Kong. Bei Dao’s political protests were also transformed into movement poetry at the scene of the action.

Declaration

Perhaps the final moment has arrived,

I left no will behind,

Only a pen, for my mother.

I am not a hero,

In an age without heroes,

I simply wish to be human.

The tranquil horizon

Divides the ranks of the living and the dead.

I can only choose the sky,

Never to kneel on the ground

To show the towering stature of the executioners,

To block the winds of freedom.

From the bullet holes of the stars

Shall flow a blood-red dawn.

(translated by David Hinton)

Bei Dao said, “For Hong Kong readers, everyone’s hometown is falling.”

The Hong Kong police have repeatedly used tear gas, rubber bullets, and water cannons to disperse protesters, transforming the pain of failed social movements into a tangible social reality. Today, many Hong Kong writers choose to seek exile in Taiwan, which for the Taiwanese, has become another manifestation of the threat of war from China. As I am about to embark on a journey to Italy, Taiwan is experiencing a new wave of anti-China social movements. This is akin to the shock brought by political proxies on the eve of the war in Ukraine, with China attempting to create chaos within Taiwan’s Legislative Yuan through the Kuomintang, aiming to produce loopholes in national policies and undermine the constitutional system. On the night of May 21st, a hundred thousand people surrounded the Legislative Yuan in protest. Japanese news outlets bluntly stated that the Kuomintang is a Trojan horse placed by China in Taiwan. This is the pressing situation in Taiwan today. We are reluctant to face the plight of Ukraine, yet we continue to take to the streets, trying to resist the influence of Chinese proxies from within.

Enkaryon Ang is a poet based in Taipei, Taiwan. Since 2009 he has published several collections of poetry and essays. He also works as a literature curator and art critic, mainly for world literature and Colonial issues in East Asia and Southeast Asia.  In 2018, he was honored as a young art critic by the International Association of Art Critics (AICA).  He was a resident writer in Can Serrat in 2017, and in UNESCO Prague-City of Literature in 2020, and also serves as a resident theatre critic in Macau City Fringe Festival in 2018 and 2020.  ‘A Galaxy of Howness’ is his latest poetry collection, which describes the emotional changing of the post-digital society in Taiwan.  His recent project is about rewilding garden culture.  He views the garden as a model of the modern colonial process and seeks to explore the cultural transition and tension between the West and the East.

/ This article was originally a speech given at the POESIÆUROPA festival on 6 June this year, adapted for  this website by the author. NWCC thanks Enkaryon Ang for the permission to publish.