“The Loneliest Veteran and the Loneliest Bunun…”
This poignant remark from Xiao Ma perfectly encapsulates the complex relationship between these two distinct groups.
The story begins after Japan’s defeat, when the Nationalist Government took over Taiwan. To provide jobs for demobilized soldiers through agricultural land reclamation, the government established the “Taiwan Provincial Farm.” The arrival of these veterans was like a taut bowstring ready to release. Tama Tilu (田昌吉), born in the 50th year of the Republic, recalls his childhood fear upon seeing these uniformed soldiers. The language barrier, coupled with the loud voices and authoritative presence of the mainland Chinese soldiers, created an unsettling atmosphere.
Tilu’s father, Tian Muhai (田木海), was the brother of Tian Zhenyu (田貞女). Upon learning of her husband’s (Ma Dashan’s) death, Tian Zhenyu wrote to her brother, praising the fertile land and abundant game of the Gaoshan tribe, which prompted Tilu’s father to move his entire family from Mayuan to Gaoshan. Tama Tilu was not yet five at the time. Initially, they lived on a flat area near a tall, straight banyan tree on the mountainside of Jialulan, but this tranquility was disrupted by the arrival of veterans and the establishment of the farm.
Before the farm’s establishment, the government enlisted the Bunun to help measure the land, which was then designated as the “17th Forest Compartment”—the Bunun’s territory. However, once demarcated, the Bunun were forcibly relocated downhill, a process that stretched over several years. “Our fields were repeatedly destroyed, replaced with their mulberry trees for silkworms, pushing us downward,” recalls Tina Ani (林瑞妹).
Where did they go first? Tama Tilu’s family moved from the banyan tree area to a lower region beneath Eagle Valley, while Tian Zhenyu relocated to the current site of Gaoshan Forest Base. Recognizing these were not permanent homes, under the moonlight, entire families worked tirelessly to prepare the land further down, where they would eventually settle.
“Daytime was for farming; without electricity, we worked by moonlight. The Gaoshan area was all stones! Elders chiseled and hammered the stones, while we children played nearby. It took over a year of continuous effort to level the land,” they recount, reminiscing about the moonlit nights.
The scars carved into the stones by the elders were symbolic, representing their fractured homeland with an uncertain future. Thinking of my own father, a mainlander who came to Taiwan in the 38th year of the Republic, even after decades, he still referred to himself as a guest in Taipei. The Bunun, like these mainland soldiers, shared similar predicaments.
In the 56th year of the Republic, Ma Mingyi (馬明義) and Yang Zizhong (楊子忠) represented the Bunun, protesting at Hualien County Government with rifles in hand. “We served as soldiers for the Republic of China! My father was driven down from Nantou by the Japanese and moved from Mayuan, with no land left. If they continue destroying our land, I will shoot!” Yang Zizhong declared.
While no shots were fired, Ma Mingyi’s anger was palpable. Reminiscent of the film “Seediq Bale,” where Mona Rudao famously said, “If civilization requires submission, let me show you the pride of barbarism,” the forced eviction under the guise of legal regulations raised the question: who were the real barbarians?
The following year, the Eastern Land Development Office of the Military Veterans Affairs Commission proposed a land exchange. However, the new land was much smaller and consisted of steep, unfarmable rocky terrain, with no compensation offered. “Fine, we can plant millet on the slopes,” the elders said, albeit reluctantly.
Life eventually resumed its course, and the animosity between the Bunun and veterans slowly abated. Tama Tilu recalls, “If we saluted the soldiers, they would give us leftover buns.” Over time, some veterans married Bunun women from Gaoshan, but many remained single, believing in the eventual “return to the mainland.” Later, childless veterans adopted Bunun children, giving them their surnames to ensure their lineage continued. Xiao Ma’s eldest brother was adopted by Mr. Zuo Deming, whom Xiao Ma still respectfully calls godfather.
“The name Gaoshan Forest Tribal Ranch was chosen to honor our godfather’s love, reflecting its military roots,” Xiao Ma explains. During the New Year, lonely veterans and isolated Bunun naturally gathered, enjoying the soldiers’ meaty dishes that suited the Bunun’s taste. “Cured meat, braised pork, Shandong buns, Anhui rice cakes, knife-cut noodles, hot and sour soup, handmade dumplings… everything was delicious!” they reminisce. Although spicy, the Bunun ate the veterans’ dishes with gusto. These meals became the “taste of home” for Gaoshan’s third generation.
“They would give us five or ten coins and scold our elders for drinking too much. These mainlanders were kind and hardworking. When the government later tried to move them to Taipei, they refused, saying they couldn’t leave Gaoshan. Eventually, they were forcibly relocated to veterans’ homes,” they recount. The tide of history not only oppressed the Bunun but also these mainland veterans, forced from their homes and finding a second home here.
Fate made them a community, finding kindness and mutual support amidst their struggles. “The loneliest veterans and the loneliest Bunun naturally warmed each other…” Xiao Ma reflects, a hidden smile revealing stories untold.
Note: “Tama” is a respectful term for male elders and “Tina” for female elders in the Bunun language.
*This article was published in PULIMA LINK By: Ouyang Mengzhi.
Mina Ou-Yang (minaoy@gmail.com). A non-native of Hualien, I am a freelance worker who moved here, drawn by the allure of the grand mountains, vast oceans, trees, and whales. If I could sow seeds with my words along the thorny paths of gender, age, culture, and environment, I believe I could lived happily ever after.
