May 18 to May 24
Pastor Yang Hsu’s (楊煦) congregation was shocked upon seeing the land he chose to build his orphanage. It was surrounded by mountains on three sides, and the only way to access it was to cross a river by foot. The soil was poor due to runoff, and large rocks strewn across the plot prevented much from growing. In addition, there was no running water or electricity.
But it was all Yang could afford. He and his Indigenous Atayal wife Lin Feng-ying (林鳳英) had already been caring for 24 orphans in their home, and they were in dire need for a larger place. On the bright side, it was a serene, picturesque place with fresh air, which was good for the kids.
Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
Yang and Lin sold their belongings, including their wedding presents, and borrowed money to obtain the land. Since Yang had two jobs as school teacher and preacher at Liouguei Baptist Church, Lin moved the rocks, tilled the land and began planting. With the help of church members they set up 10 basic thatch huts — and in 1964, Liouguei Mountain Children’s Home in Kaohsiung was born (六龜山地育幼院). Most of the orphans at first hailed from nearby Indigenous communities.
This had been Yang and Lin’s dream ever since they visited Huaxin Children’s Home (華興育幼院) in Taipei 10 years earlier. It was established by former first lady Soong May-ling (宋美齡) for the children of deceased military personnel.
The conditions were extremely rough at first, but with support of locals, church members and donors, the place slowly came together. A chance visit by then-premier Chiang Ching-kuo (蔣經國) in 1973 greatly changed it’s fortune, as he returned five more times and helped them significantly upgrade the facilities. Over the years, more than 1,000 orphans stayed at the home.
Photo courtesy of Academia Historica
Yang and Lin both died in May 2013, but the orphanage continues on today.
FROM TEACHER TO PASTOR
Yang was born in Shandong Province in 1908 or 1909, earning a degree in agricultural education from Sichuan Provincial Teacher’s College. In 1948, he retreated with the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) to Taiwan and continued to work in education.
Photo: Huang Chia-lin, Taipei Times
At Taichung Normal School (today’s National Taichung University of Education), Yang volunteered to teach the Indigenous classes, which reportedly no other teacher wanted to take on. He was popular with his students, who introduced him to Lin. Yang spoke in a thick Shandong accent and Lin only spoke Atayal, but the two got on well and eventually were able to communicate in Mandarin. They married in 1951 and she converted to Christianity.
In 1952, Yang decided to quit his job and attend seminary school. According to his biography by Lu Chen-ting (陸震廷), the principal was surprised and asked him to reconsider his decision. That night, Yang discussed it with Lin, and the two left a letter for the principal and took the night train to Taipei.
During summer breaks, the pair served at the school’s summer camp on Yangmingshan, where they often visited the Huaxing Children’s Home.
Photo courtesy of Fenghe High School
They were greatly inspired by what they saw, and vowed to set up a similar institute for Indigenous children one day. Not only was it due to Lin’s background, they learned that the Japanese had conscripted many Indigenous to fight in World War II, leaving behind numerous orphans. The lack of modern medical resources in Indigenous areas also left many children without caregivers, Lu writes.
The two had already adopted a mute Indigenous child at the time, and with the help of the seminary school they were able to send her to study at a school for the deaf and mute in Taipei.
SERVING LIOUGUEI
Photo courtesy of Academia Historica
After graduation, he headed to the remote Liouguei Township in Kaohsiung, whose Baptist Church also served the Indigenous majority Namasia, Taoyuan and Maolin townships.
When they arrived, they found that the congregation only had three members. The couple believed that the best way to spread the gospel was through free medical aid, and Yang enlisted the help of Pingtung Christian Hospital, whose director Olav Bjorgaas knew him well.
The hospital sent two doctors and medical supplies to the church on a Saturday, and Yang rode a bike through town, yelling, “The doctors are here, those in need please go to the church and receive treatment. It’s free and we’ll even give you medicine!”
The following Saturday, locals flocked to the church seeking medical help. Soon, the church was full during Sunday services.
The couple was known for their generosity, always willing to give away their savings or even borrow money for those in need — one time even forgetting to save enough to buy food for their dinner.
They continued to adopt children in need, and by 1964 they had 24 living in their house. Space was getting tight, so they finally set out to buy the land and set up their orphanage.
TOUGH BEGINNINGS
While Lin managed to grow sweet potatoes, cassava and other vegetables, life was still difficult in the new land. They lived in a hut with no doors or windows, and kept two dogs and a few geese to keep the poisonous snakes away. They had to carry water daily from the stream, where they also bathed. There was no electricity.
One time during a typhoon, one of the children came down with a fever, and the couple risked their lives to cross the river and take her to the hospital. The doctors urged them to wait out the storm, but they rushed back to look after the other children.
Three years later, the local township built them a foot bridge. Electricity was extended to the site, but it only ran during the day. A donor provided a pipe and motor, and hired a technician to help them draw water from the stream.
By 1974, the orphanage was home to more than 100 children, most of them Indigenous, ranging from babies to teenagers. Lin personally reared all of them, not only paying attention to their daily needs but also making sure they performed well academically. They were active in sports, bringing home many medals.
GAINING RECOGNITION
During the Vietnam War, the US Air Force was seeking a place in Taiwan for parachute landing training. They settled on the orphanage, and uniformed soldiers dropping in from the sky was a common sight for the orphans. This was widely reported by the US papers, and former president Ronald Reagan even invited Yang to his inauguration ceremony.
During a tour through southern Taiwan in 1973, then-premier Chiang Ching-kuo noticed a Republic of China flag flying in the middle of the mountains. It piqued his curiosity, and he followed it all the way to the orphanage. He was moved by Yang’s work and returned several more times, helping them upgrade the facilities and build a concrete bridge that cars could traverse.
By the 1990s, the once desolate land had been transformed into a bountiful garden, producing tomatoes, pumpkins, cabbage, mushrooms and many varieties of fruit. It was also home to abundant livestock.
Chiang reportedly paid special attention to three-year-old Yang En-tian (楊恩典), who was born with no arms and found abandoned in a market.
He reportedly told her, “You still have legs and you can do a lot with them,” and continued to offer her support over the years. Under the care and encouragement of her foster parents, Yang En-tian grew up to be a well-known foot painter.
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.
The canonical shot of an East Asian city is a night skyline studded with towering apartment and office buildings, bright with neon and plastic signage, a landscape of energy and modernity. Another classic image is the same city seen from above, in which identical apartment towers march across the city, spilling out over nearby geography, like stylized soldiers colonizing new territory in a board game. Densely populated dynamic conurbations of money, technological innovation and convenience, it is hard to see the cities of East Asia as what they truly are: necropolises. Why is this? The East Asian development model, with
June 16 to June 22 The following flyer appeared on the streets of Hsinchu on June 12, 1895: “Taipei has already fallen to the Japanese barbarians, who have brought great misery to our land and people. We heard that the Japanese occupiers will tax our gardens, our houses, our bodies, and even our chickens, dogs, cows and pigs. They wear their hair wild, carve their teeth, tattoo their foreheads, wear strange clothes and speak a strange language. How can we be ruled by such people?” Posted by civilian militia leader Wu Tang-hsing (吳湯興), it was a call to arms to retake
This is a deeply unsettling period in Taiwan. Uncertainties are everywhere while everyone waits for a small army of other shoes to drop on nearly every front. During challenging times, interesting political changes can happen, yet all three major political parties are beset with scandals, strife and self-inflicted wounds. As the ruling party, the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) is held accountable for not only the challenges to the party, but also the nation. Taiwan is geopolitically and economically under threat. Domestically, the administration is under siege by the opposition-controlled legislature and growing discontent with what opponents characterize as arrogant, autocratic
When Lisa, 20, laces into her ultra-high heels for her shift at a strip club in Ukraine’s Kharkiv, she knows that aside from dancing, she will have to comfort traumatized soldiers. Since Russia’s 2022 invasion, exhausted troops are the main clientele of the Flash Dancers club in the center of the northeastern city, just 20 kilometers from Russian forces. For some customers, it provides an “escape” from the war, said Valerya Zavatska — a 25-year-old law graduate who runs the club with her mother, an ex-dancer. But many are not there just for the show. They “want to talk about what hurts,” she
RSS