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Sunshine, Splendor, Guling Street
Actually, we are very far away from that Guling Street.
About a hundred years ago, the government of the Qing Dynasty built a shortlived city wall at what is now Aigou West Road. Houses for government officials were gradually built on the south of that wall. Despite still being surrounded by fertile farmlands, the scent that floats upon this street has started to change. It has been destined that, for the proceeding fifty years, it will not be missing from the stage of history. |
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| Just imagine for a while. There used to be an age when there was no Roosevelt Road, when there was no Postal Museum. If one had to come and go between Taipei City and Guting Village, it is impossible to overlook Guling Street. The Qing government started building houses for government officials over here, but a change of hand in the ownership of Taiwan took place soon after. Although the new Japanese owners took down the city wall, they did not disregard this street’s pivotal status. As military camps and houses for government officials settled on the south of the city, rows of Japanese style buildings appeared on Guling Street (back then, Guling Street had a Japanese name called Sakumacho, named in honor of the 5th Japanese Governor-General of Taiwan—Sakuma Samata—who died in an armed campaign against Taiwan's mountain dwelling aboriginal tribes). These were wooden buildings with black roof tiles and some banyan trees out in the yard. Groups of Japanese moved in, many of whom were important government officials. The most important amongst them is probably Goto Shimpei—the second head of civilian affairs of Taiwan under Japanese rule. It has been said that this important figure in the modernization of colonial Taiwan had lived at what is now the Yuen Foong Yu Building. |
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There are too many stories to tell. Who could have known that after the Japanese left, there were still much in store for Guling Street? According to the memories of the elderly, Guling Street also played a part in the 228 Incident. They recall locking themselves indoors in terror as gunfire sounded on the streets. What had even greater influence is the story of how the old-book stores on Guling Street came to be. The Japanese residents, who were forced to return to Japan after the Japanese rule, set up stalls on the street and sold their books, calligraphy, paintings, and the things that they could not take with them for travel money. Thereafter, when the Kuomintang government retreated to Taiwan in panic and scurry, the army and the high officials proceeded as the Japanese had and moved into this area (General He Ying-Qin resided on Guling Street, not far away from where the late president of Taiwan National University—Qian Si-Liang—stayed). These people had not brought much money for they came in a hurry. Therefore, they gradually imitated the Japanese and sold books on Guling Street for cash. As time went by, Guling Street became well known for its old-book stores, which have been the shared memory of many generations of Taipei residents. On the other hand, the vestiges of the Japanese have been, consciously and unconsciously, washed away bit by bit through time, and no longer remembered by the majority of the people of Taipei.
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| Located very close to the core of authority (Office of the Japanese Governor-General and Presidential Building of Republic of China), Guling Street has a veil of ambiguity over its residential area. What floats above it is not only the tender warmth of the sun, but also the blistering coldness of the political climate. “Guling” is precisely the place where the Generalissimo Chiang Kai-Shek used to convene the Lushan Congress, so he used this name to displace the Japanese name—Sakumacho—in an attempt to annul the memory of colonization. The Guling St. Avant-Garde Theatre, as we know it today, was born in such a turbulent time of solemn killing. It, naturally, did not know what its fate would be in the future, for the Japanese built it only because they needed to install a military police unit. As the monitoring eye of the colonial empire, this building is widely different from the foursquare houses nearby. Its gates open towards the North West, overseeing all possible threats appearing across the plain. With the intervention of power, this space has made people feel ill at ease and monitored from the very beginning. This kind of extensity did not change much even after the Kuomintang government was in charge. For a very long time, this building retained the responsibility of monitoring. It became a police station towering on a street corner. It was always a miniature emblem of the nation’s authority, always coldly surveying everything around it.
Has everything changed? At the end of the last century, the Zhongzheng Second Police District moved to its new location on Nanhai Road. With the efforts of people from the cultural circle, the unused building surprisingly became a space organized for theatric purposes. Unexpectedly, artistic events intruded the old realm of political power. What used to be the “monitor” is now being “monitored.” What used to be a space that protected the privileged is now breathing and speaking for the youth and for the common. The relation between little theatre and Guling might no longer be that of control and monitoring, but that of protection and cooperation. When such seeds have been planted on Guling Street, and when its face powder has faded, can we cast a new sense of hope onto this street and this building?
Then, even though we are very far away from that Guling Street, we shall still sing.
By Chen Yong-Han Department of History, National Taiwan University
Special thanks for the assistance of Zhong Jun-Hong |
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