Aug. 19 to Aug. 25
The situation was getting increasingly dire for the indigenous Mrqwang and Mknazi Atayal living near Hsinchu County’s Lidong Mountain (李崠山). Largely left alone during the first decade of Japanese colonization, they watched as their northern brethren fell one by one under the aggressive leadership of governor-general Samata Sakuma, who assumed the position in 1906.
In late 1910, the Japanese defeated their close allies, the Mkgogan, and although the Mrqwang and Mknazi managed to repel an invasion the following year, the Japanese constructed frontier defenses and three hilltop fortresses with cannons aimed directly at their villages.
Photo courtesy of Lafayette Digital Repository
After a powerful typhoon in August 1912 devastated Japanese frontline infrastructure and equipment, the Atayal struck back. They launched a coordinated attack on a 10km-stretch of the defense line, seizing one of the forts and pushing the cannons into the ravine. They then destroyed the remaining structures and set the gunpowder on fire, the loud explosions ringing through the ravines.
The win was short-lived as Japanese reinforcements soon arrived. By July 1913, the colonizers had full control over the region, ending the series of conflicts involving at least five Atayal groups now known as the Lidongshan Incident (李崠山事件, also known as the Tapung Incident).
It was the final stand for the northern Atayal, who were forcefully relocated so the government could exploit the region’s valuable timber and camphor.
Photo courtesy of National Central Library
COVETED MOUNTAIN
Like the Qing Dynasty, the Japanese did not have full control over the mountainous indigenous areas. Sakuma, however, vowed to change that.
With superior numbers and firepower, the Japanese first targeted Atayal groups living in the southern part of today’s New Taipei City and eastern Taoyuan, prevailing in 1908 after a bloody two-year campaign.
Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
But Sakuma was not satisfied. In April 1910, he announced the “five year plan to govern the savages,” which aimed to bring every independent indigenous group in Taiwan under government control.
Ethnologist Daya Dakasi (better known as Kuan Da-wei, 官大偉) details the Tapung Incident in his 2019 book Zyaw pinttriqan nqu llingay Tapung (李崠山事件).
The term “Tapung” refers to branches snapping under thick snow. The traditional territory of the Mrqwang, Mknazi and Mkgogan met in this area, and the three enjoyed a close relationship, often banding together to resist invaders.
Photo courtesy of Lafayette Digital Repository
The Japanese wanted Lidong Mountain not just for its trees. Camphor harvesters from Yilan, Taoyuan and Hsinchu all had to pass through the area, where they were often attacked by the Atayal who wanted to stem their encroachment. As the highest local point at 1,913m, the Japanese could set up artillery batteries at the top to keep the surrounding villages in line.
“The Japanese attacked the Atayal to seize our land, to fell our trees,” Paqiy Village resident Liu Jen-ching (劉仁青) tells Daya Dakasi. “Without land and without trees, there would be no more Atayal. Of course our ancestors had to fight.”
ASSAULTS ON TAPUNG
The 1,000-strong Mkgogan were partially subdued in previous conflicts, but many continued to fight, fleeing beyond the defense lines and attacking frontier guards, police stations and road workers.
The Japanese decided to deal with them first. To prevent allies from coming to their aid, they closed in from two sides in May 1910. A contingent of about 3,000 troops from Yilan focused on the Mkgogan, while a force of 1,200 from Hsinchu dealt with the Siakaro and Maibarai. The Hsinchu brigade achieved its objective within a month, but the Yilan brigade was having trouble. The Japanese sent reinforcements from Hsinchu, but they were attacked en route by the Mrqwang. The Atayal resistance was fierce, but by September, the Japanese had seized the saddle area of Lidong Mountain.
The tide turned as 1,300 more troops arrived from Taoyuan, and in late October, the Japanese held a surrendering ceremony, where the Mkgogan handed over their firearms. They called for the Mrqwang and Mknazi to do the same, but the two had agreed to refuse and continue fighting.
The Japanese set up a fort and battery on Balung Mountain, from where they could fire at all three groups. Meanwhile, the Mrqwang and Mknazi launched sporadic attacks throughout the year.
On Aug. 2, 1911, a force of over 2,000 made its way toward Lidong Mountain. One contingent successfully took the peak and began constructing fortifications, but the others struggled as the Mkgogan sent warriors to help despite their previous surrender. The Japanese repeatedly tried to rush up the peak, but the Atayal ambushed them from above and engaged them in hand-to-hand combat. Only a handful of Japanese made it to the top.
The Japanese were further hampered by inclement weather, which knocked out their telecommunication lines. The fighting concluded in November, and although the Japanese failed to subjugate either group, they built three mountaintop batteries that would greatly aid their future operations.
FINAL PHASE
The 1912 Atayal offensive was successful at first, but they were driven back behind the defense line on Oct. 1.
The Japanese pushed forward on Oct. 3, but by this time the Atayal had learned a thing or two from their enemy as they began building similar mountaintop fortifications. This battle lasted until Dec. 13, concluding with the surrender of the Mrqwang. The Japanese then expanded the forts on Balung and Lidong mountains and added several smaller ones on the nearby hills.
Only the Mknazi remained, numbering around 630. The Japanese struck on June 25, 1913 with a 2,780-strong force, but they struggled against the much smaller Atayal resistance. On July 7, Sakuma personally arrived at the battlefield, setting up command headquarters at Tapung Fort (formerly known as the Lidong Moutain Fort).
Around this time, the Mknazi fighters multiplied in number — their close relatives, the previously surrendered Siakaro, had sent help. But the Japanese called for even more help, and by July 17, the Atayal began surrendering and turning in their firearms.
After the war, the Japanese sought to erode the ties between the groups. In one instance, they took advantage of a hunting grounds dispute between the Mrqwang and Mknazi, supplying them with guns to widen the conflict before stepping in as mediator. They also relocated the villages to lower ground and encouraged them to farm rice, greatly altering their lifestyle.
Today, Lidong Mountain is popular among hikers, listed among Taiwan’s “Small 100 Peaks” (小百岳) under 3,000m. The Tapung Fort still stands today and became a historic relic in 2003.
Taiwan in Time, a column about Taiwan’s history that is published every Sunday, spotlights important or interesting events around the nation that either have anniversaries this week or are tied to current events.
When the Dutch began interacting with the indigenous people of Taiwan, they found that their hunters classified deer hide quality for trade using the Portuguese terms for “head,” “belly,” and “foot.” The Portuguese must have stopped here more than once to trade, but those visits have all been lost to history. They already had a colony on Macao, and did not need Taiwan to gain access to southern China or to the trade corridor that connected Japan with Manila. They were, however, the last to look at Taiwan that way. The geostrategic relationship between Taiwan and the Philippines was established
Sept. 9 to Sept. 15 The upgrading of sugarcane processing equipment at Ciaozaitou Sugar Factory (橋仔頭) in 1904 had an unintended but long-lasting impact on Taiwan’s transportation and rural development. The newly imported press machine more than doubled production, leading to an expansion of the factory’s fields beyond what its original handcarts and oxcarts could handle. In 1905, factory manager Tejiro Yamamoto headed to Hawaii to observe how sugarcane transportation was handled there. They had trouble finding something suitable for Taiwan until they discovered a 762mm-gauge “miniature” railroad at a small refinery in the island of Maui. On
“Once you get there, you think, that’s a little embarrassing or revealing or scary... but ultimately, I learned that is where the good stuff is,” says Taiwanese-American director Sean Wang about writing indie breakout Didi (弟弟), which debuted at Sundance Film Festival Asia 2024 in Taipei last month. Didi is a heartwarming coming-of-age story centered on the Asian American experience. Not just a 2000s teenage nostalgia piece, but a raw, unflinching look at immigrant families and adolescent identity struggles. It quickly became the centerpiece of the event, striking a chord with not only those sharing similar backgrounds but anyone who’s ever
“Magical,” “special,” a “total badass:” step forward Kamala Harris, the 59-year-old dynamo who has rebranded her country at lightning speed, offering it up as a nation synonymous with optimism, hope and patriotism. For the rest of us, Kamala’s gift is her joy and vibrancy — and the way she is smashing it just months away from her seventh decade, holding up 60 in all its power and glory. Welcome to the new golden age. Hers is the vibrancy of a woman who owns her power, a woman who is manifesting her experience and expertise, a woman who knows her time has