There are rock 'n' roll bands that sing about revolution, but only one can claim to have actually inspired one. They are the Plastic People of the Universe, whose Velvet Underground-influenced, psychedelic art rock the Czechoslovak Communist regime found so threatening that in 1977 it sentenced them to prison for "organized disturbance of the peace."
The case attracted international attention and became a rallying point for Charter 77, a civic movement that ultimately overthrew Communism in Czechoslovakia. The Plastics - who play tomorrow night at The Wall - even coined the name for their country's peaceful democratic transition in 1989: the Velvet Revolution.
On Monday, the band participated in a talk as part of this year's Spirit of Taiwan (正義無敵), the latest name for the Taiwan Rock Alliance's (TRA) annual music festival held to commemorate the 228 Incident. They sat down in an auditorium at Eslite's Xinyi branch, joined by Chinese dissident Wang Dan (王丹) and several figures from Taiwan's indie-music scene. The panel was supposed to discuss transitional justice, or how a country comes to terms with past human rights abuses and moves on.
PHOTO: COURTESY OF TRA
"We lived under a Communist regime. If you want to ask us how was it, how it will be, we are ready to answer your questions," said frontman Vratislav Brabenec in his opening remarks. Brabenec was jailed at least 70 times before emigrating to Canada with his wife and daughter in 1983.
But not everyone in the audience of mostly university students wanted to talk about politics. The first person to ask a question noted that most Taiwanese bands break up after a few years. He wanted to know how the Plastics had managed to stay together for four decades. Another said he liked heavy metal and asked what Czech metal bands were good.
When asked about their experiences under Czechoslovakia's Communist government, Brabenec, bassist Ivan Bierhanzl and Eva Turnova, who joined the band 10 years ago, gave thoughtful answers.
"The Communist Party feared us because we are poets," said Brabenec, whose long white beard and round glasses made him look like an aging John Lennon. "We were pushed to be in the political field because of the process against musicians in the Czech underground movement."
But it wasn't until late in the evening that an attempt was made to draw a connection to Taiwanese politics. And the person who made the connection was a Taiwanese politician.
"It seems that in our society in Taiwan people are [more] reluctant to appear politicized or to take a position on matters related to social justice," said Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) heavyweight Hsiao Bi-khim (蕭美琴). What can a government do, she asked, to encourage a sense of transitional justice among artists?
Brabenec responded by saying artists themselves should speak out against the government.
Ko Ren-jian (柯仁堅), singer for indie-rock band LTK Commune (濁水溪公社), said he was impressed by how the Plastics sang about Communist politicians being afraid of artists.
"Bands in Taiwan are a little bit tired about the [domestic political] situation," he said. "The politicians here are not afraid of the bands. They're not afraid of anything. I think it's hard for us to make a change. That's just my personal thought about the difference between [your country] and Taiwan."
"If you cannot tell the truth, don't be an artist," Brabenec said.
That was about as far as anyone seemed interested in going with what was supposed to be the topic of the evening. Not even Wang, the leader of the 1989 Tiananmen Square protests, could steer the discussion back to the issue.
"I don't understand so much about rock 'n' roll music, but in my knowledge I think it has a lot to do with rage and anger," he told the band. "But you don't look like you're angry at all. What has changed throughout these years as you grow in age? Do you stop being so angry? Or are you still angry, and if so why?"
Turnova was the first to respond. She said anger was the other side of sex, then took a dig at her bandmates' age.
"I don't agree, but I like sex," Brabenec said, drawing laughter from the audience.
Despite their role in changing European history, the Plastics never considered themselves to be a political band; they have always maintained that they just wanted the Communist regime to leave them alone.
"It's some kind of joke of history that our band became political," said Bierhanzl after the conference was over. "We are just guys who want to play music.
Also See: National Palace Museum hits the road
In the March 9 edition of the Taipei Times a piece by Ninon Godefroy ran with the headine “The quiet, gentle rhythm of Taiwan.” It started with the line “Taiwan is a small, humble place. There is no Eiffel Tower, no pyramids — no singular attraction that draws the world’s attention.” I laughed out loud at that. This was out of no disrespect for the author or the piece, which made some interesting analogies and good points about how both Din Tai Fung’s and Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Co’s (TSMC, 台積電) meticulous attention to detail and quality are not quite up to
April 21 to April 27 Hsieh Er’s (謝娥) political fortunes were rising fast after she got out of jail and joined the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) in December 1945. Not only did she hold key positions in various committees, she was elected the only woman on the Taipei City Council and headed to Nanjing in 1946 as the sole Taiwanese female representative to the National Constituent Assembly. With the support of first lady Soong May-ling (宋美齡), she started the Taipei Women’s Association and Taiwan Provincial Women’s Association, where she
It is one of the more remarkable facts of Taiwan history that it was never occupied or claimed by any of the numerous kingdoms of southern China — Han or otherwise — that lay just across the water from it. None of their brilliant ministers ever discovered that Taiwan was a “core interest” of the state whose annexation was “inevitable.” As Paul Kua notes in an excellent monograph laying out how the Portuguese gave Taiwan the name “Formosa,” the first Europeans to express an interest in occupying Taiwan were the Spanish. Tonio Andrade in his seminal work, How Taiwan Became Chinese,
Mongolian influencer Anudari Daarya looks effortlessly glamorous and carefree in her social media posts — but the classically trained pianist’s road to acceptance as a transgender artist has been anything but easy. She is one of a growing number of Mongolian LGBTQ youth challenging stereotypes and fighting for acceptance through media representation in the socially conservative country. LGBTQ Mongolians often hide their identities from their employers and colleagues for fear of discrimination, with a survey by the non-profit LGBT Centre Mongolia showing that only 20 percent of people felt comfortable coming out at work. Daarya, 25, said she has faced discrimination since she