Place names often tell a story. The names of Taiwan’s cities reflect layers of history and movements of peoples. Taiwan itself is an ancient name, an indigenous name originally referring only to the Tainan area, where foreign settlers first put down roots, but has expanded to the whole nation.
Kaohsiung was not always Kaohsiung. It was once known as Takau to the indigenous Siraya people, from whom Hoklo settlers borrowed the name, using characters that phonetically sounded the same, but literally read “beat the dog.” Under Japanese colonial rule, the new administrators chose more “civilized” characters, renaming it Takao (高雄) in Japanese, mirroring an area of Kyoto.
When the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) arrived in 1945, it did not change the Japanese kanji; it started simply reading them in Mandarin Chinese pronunciation instead, giving us Kaohsiung. To this day, the name of Kaohsiung in Taiwan Sign Language reflects the older Hoklo reading, being literally “dog harbor.” One name tells a story of generations of change.
Many of Taiwan’s place names tell a story of colonization.
That is especially true since the arrival of the KMT. Many districts and townships around the nation were renamed by Chiang Kai-shek (蔣介石) to reflect what he saw as the aspirational values of his Republic of China. The country is scattered with districts and townships named Xinyi (“honor,” 信義), Renai (“benevolence,” 仁愛) and Zhongzheng (“just,” or the name Chiang gave himself, 中正).
The township hit by a devastating flood in Hualien is often reported as Guangfu Township (光復), meaning “reclaim the mainland,” an extremely Chinese name for an area with a large indigenous population who have little to do with China. In fact, the local name in the indigenous Amis language is Fata’an, a much more fitting reference to the traditionally cultivated tree bean.
All across Taiwan, recognizing these original, indigenous names would be a gesture that would go a long way toward reconciliation and transitional justice with the nation’s original inhabitants.
This is being done in many other countries reckoning with their colonial past. In Australia, it is growing increasingly common to recognize and acknowledge precisely whose traditional land an event is taking place on, and growing numbers have embraced indigenous names for their cities, such as Naarm for Melbourne and Meanjin for Brisbane. The post office even accepts deliveries using these names. Uluru is an all but universal name for what was once known as “Ayer’s Rock.”
In New Zealand, it is hard to find a town that does not have two names, whether official or unofficial, recognizing a common colonial name, but embracing and accepting the traditional Maori name. Sometimes, the Maori name has grown more widely used than the colonial English name. Mount Cook is often referred to as simply Aoraki, its Maori name. Such a dual naming policy helps integration of the new name into the dominant non-indigenous society, and builds a distinct national identity that embraces its indigenous history.
Name rectification and dual naming policies recognize the heritage of a place at a low cost. They infer the indigenous sovereignty that is held by the people who have lived there for centuries. Such policies in Taiwan would grant great symbolic recognition to the oft-ignored indigenous population, especially where they continue to represent a majority, and boost indigenous identity, community and belonging on the land they have called home for millennia.
Perhaps it would allow other Taiwanese to appreciate the unique history of this land and its first people. Ketagalan Boulevard was renamed two decades ago. It is time to fix the rest.
Thomas Batchelor holds a doctorate in linguistics.
When Chinese President Xi Jinping (習近平) sits down with US President Donald Trump in Beijing on Thursday next week, Xi is unlikely to demand a dramatic public betrayal of Taiwan. He does not need to. Beijing’s preferred victory is smaller, quieter and in some ways far more dangerous: a subtle shift in American wording that appears technical, but carries major strategic meaning. The ask is simple: replace the longstanding US formulation that Washington “does not support Taiwan independence” with a harder one — that Washington “opposes” Taiwan independence. One word changes; a deterrence structure built over decades begins to shift.
Taipei is facing a severe rat infestation, and the city government is reportedly considering large-scale use of rodenticides as its primary control measure. However, this move could trigger an ecological disaster, including mass deaths of birds of prey. In the past, black kites, relatives of eagles, took more than three decades to return to the skies above the Taipei Basin. Taiwan’s black kite population was nearly wiped out by the combined effects of habitat destruction, pesticides and rodenticides. By 1992, fewer than 200 black kites remained on the island. Fortunately, thanks to more than 30 years of collective effort to preserve their remaining
After Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) Chairwoman Cheng Li-wun (鄭麗文) met Chinese President Xi Jinping (習近平) in Beijing, most headlines referred to her as the leader of the opposition in Taiwan. Is she really, though? Being the chairwoman of the KMT does not automatically translate into being the leader of the opposition in the sense that most foreign readers would understand it. “Leader of the opposition” is a very British term. It applies to the Westminster system of parliamentary democracy, and to some extent, to other democracies. If you look at the UK right now, Conservative Party head Kemi Badenoch is
A Pale View of Hills, a movie released last year, follows the story of a Japanese woman from Nagasaki who moved to Britain in the 1950s with her British husband and daughter from a previous marriage. The daughter was born at a time when memories of the US atomic bombing of Nagasaki during World War II and anxiety over the effects of nuclear radiation still haunted the community. It is a reflection on the legacy of the local and national trauma of the bombing that ended the period of Japanese militarism. A central theme of the movie is the need, at
RSS