Jiadong
in Pingtung County (屏東縣佳冬鄉)
has never been an important place. A much-used road between Kaohsiung
and Kenting National Park runs right through it, yet few people stop
here. Its architectural and historical treasures have been written
about in specialist books and magazines, but they've not won much
attention compared to similar attractions like the Lin Family Gardens
(林家花園).
Much of Taiwan was originally inhabited by aborigines of
Austronesian descent, and in Jiadong's case the natives were members
of the Makatao tribe. Their name for this place was Cattea, and the
Han Chinese migrants who began arriving in this area in the 1650s
used a name derived from that toponym, Katang (茄苳). During
the reign of Emperor Kangxi (1661-1722), Hakka people
began to settle in the vicinity of Jiadong. Soon they were playing a
role in Taiwan's history: Many Jiadong Hakka joined the “Left Unit”
(左堆)
of the Liudui (六堆)
militia, a loyalist grouping of Hakka neighborhood-defense bands
which helped the Qing Empire regain control of Taiwan at the end of
the Zhu Yi-gui Incident (朱一貴事件)
of 1720-21.
The
best-known Hakka landmark in Jiadong is the Hsiao Family Residence
(蕭家古厝).
A grade-three national relic since 1985, the house was restored
between 1994 and 2003. Situated in the heart of Jiadong, it is open
to the public from Tuesday to Sunday 9am until midday and 1pm to 5pm.
On weekdays, visitors are advised to call 0932-200-024 in advance to
ensure somebody will be there to unlock the front door, as only the
rearmost portion of the complex is still lived in. Admission is NT$50
for adults and NT$30 for children.
Visitors
are sometimes greeted and shown around by Hsiao Chia-hsiung (蕭嘉雄).
A sixth-generation descendant of the first Hsiao to set foot in
Taiwan, he told us his forebears settled first in Tainan, then
Taiwan's administrative capital, and that the second and third
generations grew wealthy making wine and dyeing cloth. The
Hsiaos – who can trace their lineage back 24 generations, to
Jiangxi Province on the Chinese mainland – became major landowners
in Jiadong. According to Mr. Hsiao, the township was once 80-percent
Hakka, but because of population movement, the ratio of Hakka people
to those of Minnan (Hoklo) descent is now about 1:1.
Work
on the Hsiao Family Residence [pictured right] began more than 150 years ago. Many of
the craftsmen and much of the wood was brought in from the mainland
especially for the job. Over the following four decades, the complex
was expanded bit by bit until it covered 0.4 hectares. Brick,
wattle-and-daub, and round river stones were among the materials
used.
The
crescent-shaped pond in front of the compound, created for geomantic
reasons, was originally more than twice its current size. The only
part of the mansion not classically Chinese is the terrazzo facade,
added circa 1920 after a severe typhoon damaged the original.
Hexagonal
and rectangular entrances connect different parts of the mansion.
These are deliberately unaligned, as it was believed that having one
doorway facing another was like setting one person's mouth in
opposition to the mouth of another, and would lead to arguments among
the residents.
There
are almost as many cat-flaps as actual doors. Although they were not
cherished as pets in the modern sense, the mansion's cats enjoyed
access to every part of the compound because they helped keep the rat
population in check.
Several
clan members living in Tainan relocated to Jiadong during the early
years of the Japanese occupation (which lasted from 1895 to 1945), so
for a period the compound housed more than 100 people. In many cases,
children shared a single room with their parents, the youngsters
sleeping on a wooden platform above their parents' bed.
Few
of the rooms and artifacts are labeled in English, but in many cases
the function is obvious. The kitchen is surprisingly spacious, and
has its own well. The adjacent storeroom, Mr. Hsiao told us, was
where female members of the family killed time by gambling. Carved
fragments of wood – presumably original parts of the building,
retrieved when the house was renovated – lie stacked on shelves,
but none are labeled and nothing stops visitors from handling them.
Those who do not read Chinese are unlikely to guess the function of
the huge ceramic pot in the hallway: It served as a one-person
air-raid shelter during World War II.
Elsewhere,
there are antiques and old garments, plus scores of photographs.
These images show the Jiadong of yore, the house as it looked decades
ago, and long-deceased members of the Hsiao family. One clansman
married an
Atayal woman; her portrait shows that, like many of her fellow
tribeswomen, she had a tattooed face.
One
of the five halls continues to serve as the clan's ancestor shrine.
Noticing that several names on the main memorial tablet were covered
by tiny strips of paper – and wondering if they represented family
members “cast out” after doing something unpardonable – we
asked Mr. Hsiao to explain. It turned out his name is one of those
covered up; when the tablet was carved some years ago, he told us,
every member of the fifth and sixth generation was included. Those
still in the land of the living have their names obscured; when a
death occurs, the relevant strip of paper (originally red, but most
have faded to white) is removed, “adding” that person to the
tablet.
In
1930, members of the family built a three-story Western style
building on an adjacent plot of land east of the original mansion.
That structure, called the Hsiao Family Western House (蕭家洋樓),
is no longer safe to enter, yet alone fit to live in.
Like
Anping in Tainan,
Jiadong has plenty of characterful yet unheralded old buildings. One,
at 111 Gouzhu Road (溝渚路),
has a superb brick entrance [pictured top] and several fine wall decorations.
Jiadong's
other major attraction is located on the northwestern edge of the
town. The Yang Clan Shrine (楊氏宗祠, pictured left),
another grade-three national relic, almost fell victim to the
wrecker's ball. In
1995, when the government announced plans to demolish the shrine so a
road could be straightened, conservationists and cultural experts
declared their support for the site's preservation. Civic groups
mobilized public opposition, and the proposal was soon dropped.
A
major renovation effort was completed in 2009, just as the shrine
marked the 90th anniversary of its founding. Notable features include
a lintel with two European men, each down on one knee, bearing the
roof on their shoulders. The upward-curving “swallowtails” on the
roof are decorated with elephants and dragons. The former symbolize
hope that members of the clan can attain the rank of general or
ministerial office. Traditionally, the latter are believed to protect
buildings against fire.
According
to a notice in the shrine, in 2011 the management accepted donations
from 59 individuals, nine of whom had surnames other than Yang. The
amount given totaled NT$527,200, almost a quarter of that coming from
one person.
The
shrine looks splendid, but some think it lost part of its charm when
renovated. The silver-haired man I met inside – he was surnamed
Yang, of course – responded to my compliments about the appearance
of the building with a wry smile and the words: “It was more
beautiful before.”
Like my recent piece on Yan Hong-sen, this article was commissioned by and paid for by Culture.tw, but not published until December.