Hayashi Department Store: Symbol of a Painful Past – 林百貨

by Charles DeBenedetto

(Front of Hayashi Department Store. Photo Credit: K.H.)

                             After several months of working at my new job, I finally found my way to Tainan, the so-called “Cultural Capital” or “Ancient Capital” of Taiwan.  Whereas Taipei and Taichung feel like purely modern, fast-paced cities, in Tainan the pace felt considerably slower. I also gained a greater understanding of Taiwan’s tumultuous history through an unlikely symbol: Hayashi Department Store (林百貨).

The first question of course is, “Why is it called Hayashi?” which is the first hint of Taiwan’s past as a Japanese colony. Built in 1932, toward the end of the Japanese colonial era (1895-1945), Hayashi gives us a sense of how modern and bustling colonial Tainan must have been, and, by extension, how thriving Taiwan must have been under the Japanese. 

That is a popular narrative, anyway. Something like, the Taiwanese were a bunch of barbarians before the Japanese came with their advanced technology and gave them trains and five-story department stores, bringing them into the modern age.  That is partly true. Certainly when Chiang Kai-shek (蔣介石) and his defeated army moved to Taiwan after the Chinese Civil War, Taiwan was much more modern than mainland China was. But it must be remembered that Taiwan was a colony, and so, by definition, everything done in Taiwan was for the betterment of Japan. It is very unlikely that Taiwanese people were regular customers at Hayashi Department Store. Then, ought the store be a symbol of oppression, something despised by the Taiwanese? Shouldn’t it be burned to the ground? Instead, inside you will find lots of cute Japanese style merchandise, trying to show us how lovely everything was during the colonial era.

(Cute Japanese merch, reminding us of the “Golden Years” of colonization. Photo Credit: K.H.)

  Do the Taiwanese remember that the Japanese built trains not to move people, but to move resources as quickly as possible out of Taiwan and into Japan? Do they remember that the Japanese cut down whole forests of thousand-year old trees, with none of the value being kept in Taiwanese hands? Do they remember being forced to speak Japanese in public places, and adopting Japanese names? Why is the Japanese era remembered with such nostalgia? Perhaps I’ve got it wrong, but seeing the commercialization of colonization, through all of these cute souvenirs, makes me feel that something is not right here.

But then, after surviving five floors of souvenirs, I make it to the roof, and what I find is truly unexpected. I see the remnants of a Shinto shrine, the top of the torii gate taken down, which to me feels appropriate, as if to say, “We want to remember, but we don’t want to glorify.”

(Shinto shrine on roof. Photo Credit: twtainan.net)

It’s made of stone, not wood, and some ugly iron bars are sticking out of the top of the torii gate. The stone lanterns flank the central altar which once would have been a closed box to enshrine the Shinto god, but that is long gone. Perhaps that is the Taiwanese people’s way of telling the god to go back to Japan. It is rare to see a Shinto shrine in a former Japanese colony; I believe most of the ones built in Korea and China were burned to the ground shortly after the Japanese left. But I am glad it is here. It says, “History is real. This really happened.”

And then, as I’m walking back down the stairs, I take one last look at the shrine, and I notice something else that takes me by surprise.

(Destroyed wall. Photo Credit: isidursfugue.com)

The wall is heavily damaged. Some of the bricks have been blown away, and little holes are splattered all across it. Why? A plaque on the wall explains that the department store suffered heavy damage during the American air raid of Tainan in March of 1945…

If the Shinto shrine says that Japanese colonization really happened, then the wall says that World War II really happened, too. Yes, the Allies helped kick the Japanese out of Taiwan, but how many Taiwanese people died due to American bombs? I doubt there are reliable figures on that. I understand, in an academic sense, the magnitude of just how terrible both the Japanese colonial era and the Pacific War was, but how could I possibly understand on a deeper, personal level? I never will, but, visiting Hayashi, I got a little closer to empathizing with the Taiwanese, who laugh and smile in the face of their horrific history. With my back to the wall and the Shinto shrine, I brace myself as I descend back into the department store, and am once again surrounded by an onslaught of adorable Japanese merchandise.

Tudi Gong: You're Home Now - 土地公

by Charles DeBenedetto

(a Tudi Gong shrine in Yunlin County. Photo Credit: Xiute.net)

When I first arrived in Taiwan, I had a backpack, one piece of luggage, and my guitar. Everything I owned probably was not even worth enough New Taiwan Dollars (NTD) to purchase a one-way ticket home. So, to paraphrase Robert Frost, “the only way out was through.”

How is it that a foreign place eventually becomes a home? It is partly the friends and family that you make, and partly the gradual acclimation to everything that once was scary and draining to endure. Buying train tickets and communicating destinations to cab drivers gets easier, and learning basic language skills to order food in restaurants reduces your frustrations. But, for me, and for many Taiwanese as well, a large part of a place becoming a home is becoming acquainted with Tudi Gong.

Tudi Gong (土地公), literally the “God of the Earth” is a god with a specific jurisdiction. He may be all powerful, but only within the bounds of his district or neighborhood. And so, every few blocks or so, as you wander side streets in Taiwan, you are bound to find a Tudi Gong shrine. Some are elaborate, such as the ones in downtown districts, and some are so small that you will certainly miss them if you are not looking for them. For me personally, it was several months before I found my Tudi Gong shrine, a humble little pavilion, with the curving roof, green dragons on top, and incense bowl out front.

There are several elderly Taiwanese sitting around the shrine, some walking in the park beside it. I notice that there is a large tree next to it; that is deliberate, a connection to nature in an otherwise unnatural city. I purchase some incense, light it, and, while still holding the incense, put my hands together in prayer. In front of me, Tudi Gong is sitting at the altar, a small figurine clothed in special silk robes, alongside his wife, Tudi Po (土地婆).

(Tudi Gong and Tudi Po, with plastic bowls with offerings of sweet treats for them. Photo Credit: Liberty Times Net)

“Hello, Tudi Gong and Tudi Po. I have come a long way to live and work here in Taiwan. Please welcome me into your neighborhood, and protect me.  I will do my best to make Taiwan a better place through my hard work and interactions with others. Please protect Taiwan, thank you.”

For most Taiwanese, it is customary to visit your local Tudi Gong shrine when you move away, to say goodbye, and when you move into a new home, to introduce yourself. Special days in the lunar calendar also call for a visit to Tudi Gong, and special events in your life, such as a marriage. Even buying a new scooter (moped) warrants a visit to Tudi Gong, to hover incense over your new vehicle to protect you in your travels. As a foreigner in Taiwan, it is easy to feel as if you don’t belong, despite the Taiwanese people’s famous hospitality, but, it was grounding (pun unintended) to meet the God of the Earth, to know that, at least in his eyes, I belong here now.