The general contours of Taiwan’s struggle for democracy should be familiar to most by now — and if not, information on the events and major players are abundant and easily accessible. But the movement involved countless ordinary, grassroots participants who risked their lives for the nation but did not leave their name in history.
For example, Deng Nan-jung’s (鄭南榕) self-immolation in April 1987 is often mentioned as a key turning point in Taiwan’s democratization. But how many people know about Chan Yi-hua (詹益樺), who set himself on fire in front of the Presidential Office less than a month later at Deng’s funeral?
Having given their all to the cause, many of these unsung fighters sacrificed much personally — and continue to struggle today.
Photos courtesy of atmovies.com
Chan’s close friend and fellow activist Tseng Hsin-yi (曾心儀), who is one of the two protagonists in The Price of Democracy (狂飆一夢), became estranged from her ex-husband and children during the process, and her sorrow is poignantly portrayed in this film.
Now in his 60s, Kang Wei-jang (康惟壤) was known for his oratory skills and bravery, but today he can barely make ends meet. In a gathering of former activists, Kang and his old protest buddies lament how their children feel they were bad fathers because they were singularly focused on their mission, and now refuse to talk to them. In another scene, he says the sacrifice was worth it because it gave him a sense of accomplishment that felt better than sex.
Taking four years to film, the story jumps between these two characters through present and past, weaving a complex snapshot of their lives that is not very rosy despite the democracy movement’s eventual success. While many activists entered politics and remain well-known public figures, countless more faded into obscurity. What are they doing today, and how did their activism affect their lives?
Photos courtesy of atmovies.com
In the beginning of the film, director Liao Chien-hua (廖建華) notes that he was shocked to find that social progress did not guarantee fairy tale endings for those who helped achieve it. He sets out to explore whether the struggle for democracy was worth it for these minor players, taking his time to dig deep into his characters’ innermost world.
Liao, 30, wasn’t even born during the peak of the movement, but he’s dedicated his brief career to telling the stories from those tempestuous times.
His 2015 debut, The Last Insurrection (最後的叛亂犯) explores the Taiwan Independent Association incident (獨台會案), where four people were arrested in May 1991 — four years after the end of martial law and a week after the abolishment of the Temporary Provisions Effective During the Period of the Communist Rebellion (動員戡亂時期臨時條款) — causing a public uproar that led to the swift repealing of the Punishment of Rebellion Act (懲治叛亂條例).
Liao’s strong interest in highlighting the unheralded is already evident in this earlier film, devoting as he does significant time on the lesser-known two defendants: Aboriginal missionary Masao and female activist Wang Hsiu-hui (王秀惠). Liao provides narration mostly in Hoklo (also known as Taiwanese), as he reflects on his interactions with these activists from the previous generation to explain what their exploits and circumstances today mean to a younger audience.
A knowledge of Taiwan’s recent past isn’t needed to make sense of this film. It is heavily focused on the characters instead of explaining history. Through old footage of Kang and Tseng in action, viewers familiar with this part of history get a different perspective of the movement, especially those who became disillusioned with the Democratic Progressive Party and continued to fight social injustice on their own terms.
Liao wisely chose two characters from disparate backgrounds with almost opposite personalities. Tseng is the daughter of a China-born soldier who arrived in Taiwan after World War II, making her a waishengren (外省人), while Kang’s family is benshengren (本省人), referring to those who came to Taiwan prior to 1945.
Liao is a published author, while Kang is a self-proclaimed “uneducated” day laborer who has never held a stable job. What unites them is their passion for Taiwan, their activism on the grassroots level and their struggles with life after failing to enter politics. The differences between the two are not intentionally expounded upon, but one can’t help but wonder if the two knew each other and what they thought of each other’s present-day situation. But the storylines never converge, something that cannot be forced in a documentary.
The pacing is a bit uneven. There is a lot more action in the first half when talking about the characters’ past days of glory, but it gets significantly slower and introspective as the narrative settles into the reality that they face today. But that’s just how the story goes. Was it really worth it? Only the activists themselves know.
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