In Kaohsiung, you can find an old dojo built by the Japanese overlooking the seaside. There, a master of blade martial arts is the custodian of the sword of the legendary Japanese swordsman Musashi.
The Japanese developed Kaohsiung. There was little to show before they arrived. The city does not define itself as a “Japanese” place, but it does not anchor its identity in anything that would oppose Japan, such as revanchism — a barbaric ideology that has only ever generated suffering — or national pride.
The residents of Kaohsiung are too pragmatic for that. The city might have become a wonderful haven of arts, culture, development and infrastructure in the past decade, but for a long time it was poorer than the rest of Taiwan. Its residents had more important things to do than dwell on old grievances. Present dangers are far more important.
After a wandering life that left me without a national identity, for the past 10 years the city is pretty much the closest I have to a homeland, and since I relish in its most working-class, rough layers, I have developed an ear for its underbelly.
I have heard a lot about how cool Japan is; and how China is not.
In a city long craving development, Japan was an ideal. I hear constant praise for Japanese fashion and “looking Japanese,” with some telling me how they lament the rise of Korean fashion (is there another place in Asia where you would hear that?).
Younger people are obsessed with Japanese 1980s City pop music. They tell me more about Hello Kitty than Labubu. In Kaohsiung, Japan is seen as an example to follow: How to become a modern and cool East Asian society.
Kaohsiung residents tell me they want to emulate Japan, find inspiration and friendship with it, not that they want to become Japanese. Getting closer to China implies becoming Chinese: Japan would not alter the identity of Kaohsiung the way China would.
I have yet to hear anyone criticizing Japanese Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi. Beijing’s invented outrage about a return of Japanese militarism has found no echo in Kaohsiung. The typical Hoklo (commonly known as Taiwanese) slurs I hear are directed not toward Takaichi, but toward Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) Chairwoman Cheng Li-wun (鄭麗文).
We still speak Hoklo a lot in Kaohsiung. Mainlanders (those who came from China with the KMT after the war and their offspring) are far more scarce than in the capital. I keep running into Mainlanders when I visit Taipei; I have a hard time finding them in Kaohsiung, even when I look for them. This does not mean Mainlanders necessarily support closer ties with China: I have met many who have become radically pro-independence, but it does change the conversation on identity.
It goes beyond ancestry. Gangshan District (岡山) was once famous for intermarriages between local women and Japanese pilots from what was a major air base during World War II, and their descendants are still around, but this is a drop of water in an urban area of 2.7 million inhabitants.
Yet the city’s pan-green reputation is a misunderstanding. It once elected the KMT’s Han Kuo-yu (韓國瑜) as mayor. That said, the most astonishing thing about seeing Han sitting in the Legislative Yuan as speaker is that he can still sit down after the kick he received from Kaohsiung residents (that was a successful recall). This is not about partisan politics, it is about whether you understand the true nature of the city.
Kaohsiung is not a Japanese city anymore, but it was never Chinese, and it never will be.
Julien Oeuillet hosts the weekly program Taiwan vs The World on Radio Taiwan International and is a coproducer of TaiwanTalks on TaiwanPlus.
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