Taiwan’s War of the Christians (Part II)
What happens when God’s Will is Man’s Desire
For Part I of this series, click here. (It links back to this essay at the end.)
In 1895, while Sun Yat-sen was fleeing China and seeking refuge in Japan, the Japanese were closing negotiations to gain control of the island of Taiwan. After an 8-month-long conflict over a decades-long competition over control of Joseon Korea, the Qing dynasty’s refusal to accept modernity and Japan’s embrace of militarism finally resulted in a chapter of history called The Century of Humiliation by the Chinese and what some may call the dawn of the Meiji golden era.
Much like a biological parent legally renouncing all rights to a child in favour of the adoptive parents, a legal document was drawn up in the Treaty of Shimonoseki that stated the Qing dynasty would yield the island of Taiwan to Japan in perpetuity. This meant that the Qing empire (China) no longer included Taiwan — which didn’t mean much because Taiwan never fully belonged to the Qing dynasty in the first place. Two centuries earlier, Taiwan was merely an outlying island where a hodgepodge of Chinese traders had crossed over the strait as an experiment to scope out possibilities. They simply went from (mostly southern) China villages to seaside Taiwan villages; there was no concerted effort to conquer the island populated by indigenous tribes. If anything, it was the Dutch East India Company that encouraged and even ferried thousands of Ming Dynasty Han Chinese from Southern China to Taiwan, increasing the numbers from fewer than 2000 seafaring Chinese merchants (at the start of their 44-year Dutch Formosa rule) to entire Chinese families that tallied up to tens of thousands of emigrants, outnumbering and displacing the indigenous populations. However, the Dutch eventually quit their Ming dynasty connections and sided with the budding Qing dynasty. In the late 17th century, a Ming dynasty warrior (who incidentally started life in Japan and had a Japanese name) landed in modern-day Tainan (then named Fort Zeelandia), convinced the indigenous tribes to switch allegiances and kick out the Dutch permanently.
That was the legendary Koxinga (國姓爺). Born to a Han Chinese privateer (who had been baptized into Catholicism in Macau) and a daughter of a Japanese samurai family, Koxinga’s life purpose was to stave off the Manchurian Qing dynasty as he desperately (and unsuccessfully) clung onto the idea of a Ming dynasty China. He founded the Koxinga Dynasty, declared present-day Tainan area as his kingdom, and set to work to take back China from Qing dynasty intruders. When he died at the age of 37, his heirs barely managed to hold onto their kingdom in Taiwan for only a few short decades before succumbing to the Qing dynasty forces. The year was 1683, when Taiwan was absorbed into Qing dynasty China. However, the empire never really governed the island, and the Europeans (Portuguese and Dutch) had been expelled, so the island was overrun by piracy and tribal laws that differed from village to village. It wasn’t until 1887 — two hundred years after Koxinga’s short-lived legacy and less than a decade before the Shimonoseki Treaty — that the Qing dynasty started sending governors (who had to put together their own skeleton crews) to Taiwan.
So really, it was more like the Qing dynasty, as a disinterested foster parent, had relinquished all claims to a child that the forever-home adoptive parent really wanted. That was 1895.
Then, throughout the early 1900s, while the KMT leaders busied themselves fundraising, consolidating their powers, and coordinating their militaristic might (against the Qing dynasty first, then the Communist Party second, then finally against the Japanese) — ironically, with the help of a significant Japanese contingent — the Japanese colonists set to work civilizing and modernizing the island of Taiwan.
In 1860, the Presbyterian Church of England sent Scotsman H. L. Mackenzie as a missionary to Qing dynasty China, to a coastal area in the southeast now known as Shantou (汕头). Carstairs Douglas, another Scotsman, soon followed, only he went to Xiamen (廈門). While both were medical doctors, Mackenzie was also a preacher and Douglas was also a linguist. Their gift with languages led to perhaps their greatest legacies to Southeast Chinese anthropology: Mackenzie with his concerted efforts to translate the Bible to the Shantou dialect (and establishing a printing press operation for mass distribution) and Douglas with his seminal Amoy-English dictionary. Previously, translation work for the Christian Bible and devotional materials had all been done in Cantonese or Mandarin — not in vernacular and regional dialects. Though the source of later controversy, Douglas’ Amoy-English dictionary in Pe̍h-ōe-jī (or, Romanized Amoy Vernacular, and occasionally interchangeable with Church Romanization) was the first time the Hokkien dialect was codified to the extent that it was, which meant English speakers could reach any Hokkien people throughout Southeast Asia, which included Taiwan.
This set the standard for Presbyterian missionaries to prioritize language communication that spoke to the souls of the people they were trying to reach. Previously, northerners (who were effectively a foreign ruling government) imposed languages such as Manchurian and Mandarin upon the Hoklo ethnic group of Southern Min languages. Having dedicated their lives to this region, both Mackenzie and Douglas at times coordinated their efforts to expand and intensify their reach — much like the combining of forces that Charlie Soong and Sun Yat-sen would do in a few short decades. The two medical missionaries, in their shared fervent focus of reaching the Chinese world, figured out that Taiwan was a promising mission field. Thus followed a campaign to their sending organization, the English Presbyterian Foreign Missions Committee, to organize a Taiwan Mission and recruit suitable missionaries for this new field.
And so in 1865, thirty years before Taiwan became a Japanese colony, James Laidlaw Maxwell became the first of many missionaries to Taiwan, arriving in what is now modern-day Kaohsiung to begin the Presbyterian Church of Taiwan. Like the men who lived and worked across the strait from him, Maxwell was also a medical doctor, and he set to work on modernizing medical care in southern Taiwan. Though he had a rocky start, in just a few years he was able to see the promise of this mission field, and so counseled Canadian Presbyterian missionary George Leslie Mackay to do the same in northern Taiwan. So successful was Mackay that his name is not only memorialized throughout northern Taiwan as the largest private Christian hospital in Taipei, his life was the subject of the contemporary first-ever bilingual English/Taiwanese-language grand opera, and a group of “Kai”-surnamed indigenous families now exist. As a patronymic tribe with no tradition of using surnames, when faced with government compliance (or else!) to take on Chinese names as part of “official” socialization, many in the Kavalan tribe chose to take on Mackay’s name to honor his efforts in championing their welfare. There is a degree of irony here, considering he was their advocate when they were initially victimized by the Chinese, only to take on his surname when they continued to be victimized by the Chinese.
Twenty years after James Laidlaw Maxwell arrived in Taiwan, another great missionary would arrive. His name was Thomas Barclay, personally recruited by Carstairs Douglas and subsequently spent a year being mentored in language study to familiarize himself with the Amoy dialect. His first great linguistic achievement was printing a local Tainan church bulletin in 1885. The historical signifance of his accomplishment was threefold: 1) it was the first newspaper in Taiwan, 2) it was a Christian publication, and 3) that the printed language was Taiwanese Hokkien, in Pe̍h-ōe-jī. This last trait is particularly remarkable because as a previously unscripted dialect of Chinese, it was nonethless the first language of choice for a printed newspaper in Taiwan (a testament to the Presbyterian commitment to communication through Hokkien). This publication is still in print today, proudly maintained by the Presbyterian Church in Taiwan (PCT) as Taiwan Church News, having survived two major interruptions — once during World War II as the Japanese government banned missionary activity, and a second time during the KMT’s martial law period for abetting anti-government protesters.
Barclay is also known for one other major humanitarian effort, for which he was awarded a medal of appreciation from then Japanese Emperor Meiji — though the ones who most benefited were the Taiwanese.
As the Treaty of Shimonoseki was being drawn up, a group of long-time Taiwan residents saw (and seized) what they thought was an opportunity to declare independence and form the Republic of Formosa. The effort was led by Han Chinese scholars and statesmen who over the years found themselves not allied with any of the forces battling each other in China. They were so far removed from the Ming dynasty culture that though they technically held positions in the Qing dynasty to govern in Taiwan, they were under no illusions that the failing Qing dynasty could save itself, never mind save governors in a remote location (which it had relinquished long ago in everything but name). Unlike Koxinga or the KMT, this group was not interested in ruling China and therefore staging an assault from Taiwan; they had come to think of this island as their home, and wished to self-rule — no more disinterested monarch in a distant capital issuing orders and demanding taxes, with no representation in the central, motherland government. The same sentiment extended to a Japanese emperor.
When the vanguard of Japanese colonists arrived to take over Taiwan, it was ten years after Barclay’s successful newspaper printing. The Formosa Republic’s resistance movement (with supporters waving the flag at the top of this essay) was small but technically at its peak. Though clearly outnumbered and outgunned, the resistance meant to fight to the death — which was essentially a sure outcome.
The only way to avoid outright decimation was for someone representing the interests of the Formosa Republic to negotiate a capitulation agreement, but no one from the Republic was going to enter Japanese soldiers’ camps to do it, fearing merciless execution upon arrival. The perception was that the Japanese army was there as an invading army that would force a surrender, no matter how bloody it may be.
And so Barclay and his friend (another Presbyterian missionary) went to the Japanese camp on behalf of the Taiwanese and negotiated a peacekeeping deal that included a promise of no retaliation. Had it not been for his efforts, the Taiwanese forming this new republic would have been brutally executed, and the first act of the Japanese colonial era would have begun with so much bloodshed it would have stained the era with White Terror-level violence of the KMT era. Although the Japanese would later be accused of being too aggressive in their efforts to nationalize/brainwash and “Japanify” Taiwan, at least their reign began with a modicum of peaceable conciliation.
Barclay would stay in Taiwan to the end of his life, dying in Japanese colonial Taiwan in 1935. Throughout his time in Taiwan, he continued work on the Amoy-English dictionary that piqued his interest in that decisive meeting with Carstairs Douglas, the original author of the dictionary. Though Douglas died before he could complete the dictionary to his satisfaction, his faithful “disciple” Barclay would not only finish the dictionary, he would also use that dictionary to translate both the New and Old Testaments to the Taiwanese Hokkien dialect — which is why, to this day, the romanization system is regarded as “Church Romanization”— still in print to this day (though, as with such things, was poetic when it was first published but increasingly difficult to understand for younger generations, much like the King James Bible in English).
In some ways, the social trust that the Presbyterians carried meant that the seeds planted by MacKenzie and Douglas in Qing dynasty southern China were ready for harvest just one generation later. The host culture (whether it was the indigenous communities or the more recent Han Chinese immigrants) had fully accepted racially, ethnically, and religiously foreign members into its society. It also firmly established the Presbyterian strain in Taiwan as an almost strictly Taiwanese Hokkien-speaking denomination, characterized by a dedication to fighting for human rights under the Qing dynasty, Japanese colonization, and soon enough, the KMT regime.
As the Presbyterians expanded their reach throughout China and Taiwan, one fabeled story of a famous missionary eludes most history books (especially those in English). That’s because the missionary was Japanese. The mythology surrounding Inosuke Inoue largely exists in aboriginal circles, and even then mainly within the segmented population of the Tayal tribe in the modern-day Hualien area. The story goes that Inoue was born to the rare Christian family in Japan, and his father was an engineer in the lumber industry. Taiwan’s rich supply of camphor and cypress forests was one of the reasons Japan wanted a claim to the island, and so soon after the governor’s entourage arrived, the lumber industry was in full swing. Yanosuke Inoue (the father) was one of the men in the first group that set to work in the Hualien forests, harvesting camphor cypress trees to ship back to the motherland.
It is perhaps a generally accepted belief that the indigenous groups of any territory are the most connected to its land. For the Tayal tribe, this was especially so: they saw the sky as their father, the earth as their mother, the rivers as the blood that flowed through their own veins, and the trees as their brothers. So when foreigners came stomping through the forests and slaughtered their brothers, there would inevitably be more bloodshed for vengeance.
The news came one day to the Inoue family in Kōchi (高知), Japan that the fierce headhunters of the Tayal tribe had led an assault against one of the lumberyards and that Yanosuke Inoue was one of the casualties. The son, Inosuke, was in his 20s at the time and had just finished his seminary training. As any young man reacting to such violent news might do, he was on the first boat to Taiwan to seek vengeance for his father — but his vengeance had a twist. With his atypical Christian background, he thought that rather than kill the men who killed his father, he would convert them to Christianity and thus have them abandon their old beliefs and ways that led to the murder. He managed to find the police chief who managed the precinct where the Tayal tribesmen lived, who happened to be the senior Inoue’s friend. The odds were in his favour.
There was only one problem. Japan’s state religion was Shinto, which meant it was also the state religion of Taiwan, as a colony and extension of Japan. This also meant that any Christian missionary activity was legally prohibited.
“Then how can I avenge my father’s death?” asked Inoue.
“There are only two ways you are even allowed to go into the mountains to have contact with these tribes: the first is to become a policeman like me, the second is to become a doctor.”
And so Inoue went back to Japan to attend medical school, and he returned to Taiwan in 1911 at the age of 30 to start his day job as a village doctor, and during his off-hours seek out Tayal headhunters as a freelance missionary. At first, nothing seemed to go according to plan. He had difficulty finding the right guides who could take him into the high mountain forests. When his reputation as a doctor finally reached the indigenous groups, and there was enough trust for people to see him, he lacked the language to communicate. He was also often under supervision by police officials, sent with him to “protect” against possible assaults by the headhunters. Eventually, Inoue was able to learn the Tayal language, extra motivated to learn because that also meant he could communicate directly with the Tayals, rather than rely on government-approved translators (who might report back to their superiors of Inoue’s ulterior motives).
Inoue dedicated his life to the welfare of the indigenous populations: first the Tayal, then eventually the Sediq, Saisiyat, and the Bunun. As a Japanese “first class” citizen, Inoue’s life in Taiwan was perplexing to some. As a doctor, especially, he was entitled to a nice house and clinic in the center of a major city, but he chose to live by the mountains in a mud hut (that was washed away at least once during a bad typhoon season). He spent all his time with the indigenous tribes and looking out for their welfare, often praising their society for collective caring of widows and orphans, yet often neglected his own wife and children.
The story of his father’s murder was well-known, which was part of the reason many in the Tayal tribes refused to see him, even when they clearly needed a medical doctor. Later, when Inoue was active near the WuShe area in the early 1930s, he was up against being lumped in with the Japanese colonists who had so horrifying mishandled its indigenous policy that ultimately resulted in the most violent rebellion and tragic outcome in Taiwan history. Gradually, both the Tayal and Seediq warmed up to Inoue and saw that he was different from the other Japanese colonists. By the end of his time on the island, Inoue had lived and traveled all throughout central and northern Taiwan — it could be argued that he alone covered more ground and worked with more diverse indigenous populations than many Euro-Canadian Presbyterians combined.
If he had had his way, Inoue would have lived the rest of his life and died in Taiwan. However, Japan was on the losing side of World War II and had to withdraw from Taiwan, which meant Inoue was supposed to go home. He managed to stay for as long as he could, but the day came in 1947 when he had to leave his chosen home for his foreign home, never to return to the land he so dearly loved. He would die in Japan about twenty years later, though he never stopped corresponding with his friends and colleagues in Taiwan. He asked that his gravestone carry an epitaph in the Tayal language, and so it does, a phrase that means “God weaves” — testament to a life story that takes generations to tell.
Within the YuShan Seminary community, a story is passed down that a seminary president visited Inoue on his deathbed, telling him that 10,000 tribesmen had converted to Christianity. Although this often is translated as a literal “ten thousand people”, the ethnolinguistic significance of this phrase is that an infinite number of tribesmen will continue to convert to Christianity. This figurative estimate had a special meaning to Inoue because in the three decades he saw himself as a missionary in Taiwan, he had not witnessed a single baptism, never mind performed one. How fitting, then, that Inoue heard this from the president of YuShan Seminary, an institution built for the remit of training missionaries and church leaders specifically for the indigenous community. It was originally built right after World War II by James Dickson of the Presbyterian Church in Canada, and went through several iterations before being rebuilt into its current form with funding from Presbyterian churches worldwide. Named after Jade Mountain, a culturally significant landmark to the Bunun tribe, the seminary itself is mainly run and populated by indigenous tribes. That the seminary is in modern-day Hualien, the area where Inoue’s father had worked and was killed, adds another layer of significance to the epitaph on Inoue’s tombstone.
By the time the Japanese would leave Taiwan, various populations throughout the island had experienced Christianity in at least two specific and major pathways: medical care and language preservation. That the recipients of these two efforts were largely not of elite social classes speaks to the commitment of the providers (and the pioneers that they were). In fact, to the most disenfranchised of the social strata, one could argue that the missionaries were not simply evangelizing, they were first and foremost championing human rights during the Qing dynasty and Japanese empire.
The two time markers — 1865 for Maxwell’s establishment of the church and 1885 for Barclay’s newspaper — are the PCT’s source of pride when it comes to pre-Japanese colonial existence and activity. They also laid the foundation that to be a Taiwanese Christian, one had to be fluent in at least the Taiwanese Hokkien dialect, effectively making it a language of the religion. It was through this language, then, that people fought for human rights under Japanese colonization, setting the precedent for continued advocacy into the KMT regime.
If Part III were already written, the link would be here. For now, simply a note that it’s on its way.
Written by Emi Higashiyama, the preservationist behind @JapaneseColonial on Instagram. Information for this essay largely came from personal interviews with past and current presidents of Taiwan Theological College and Seminary (台灣神學院) and Yu-Shan Theological College and Seminary (玉山神學院).
