The week couldn’t pass without acknowledging another classic China Post editorial. Its management obviously ignored my plea that its editorial writer be allowed to expire with dignity after decades of toil; clearly, the centenarian on life support who concocts these perplexing missives has some years in him yet.
I feel obliged to share a bit of “Time to think the unthinkable on system of government” (posted online on Sept. 2) because it offers a taste of the mindset of those few Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) figures contemplating the post-Ma Ying-jeou (馬英九) era who still give a hoot about ideology — but can’t find anyone to listen. Enjoy:
“Perhaps Western liberal democracy is not the final form of human government. Perhaps the final form of human government is something unfamiliar to most of mankind, and which most of mankind has yet to try. Perhaps the final form of human government, the one that will replace Western liberal democracy, is ‘self government.’”
Anarcho-syndicalism, perhaps? Unlikely, for that would privilege workers — hardly pleasing to the ear of a media outlet that backs intimate ties between corporations and government.
Just what is this “self government”? The editorial cites economist Donald Boudreaux, but not in any detail. So we’re still in the dark. Then, the finale:
“Even mainstream political pundits on Taiwan, far from the cutting edge of political evolution, are beginning to discover the truth about Western liberal democracy.
“Perhaps it is time to think the unthinkable.”
And that’s it. The unthinkable refers to “self-government,” but the rest is up to your imagination. You can be sure, however, that it ain’t liberal democracy.
But enough media nonsense. It’s time to get away from it all.
I propose a canoe trip.
Let’s start on the beautiful southwest flank of Yushan (玉山). It’s pretty steep and rugged up there, with very few roads. We’ll have to work hard to get the two canoes to the starting point, but it’s possible. From the source of the Cishan River (旗山溪), you can see the peak of Yushan, as well as the ridge that heads westward to the Alishan (阿里山) recreational area. To the east is another ridge that includes a couple of peaks above 3,800m altitude. Glorious.
There are no people up here, save for a few tourists on the Yushan hike and perhaps the odd forestry employee or national park official. So I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you if you were hoping to bump into rustic locals and admire their quaint culture and odd way with words. I know at least one of you on this trip was dreaming of having a musical get-to-know-you with the natives, so you will have to settle for your imagination and humming a Bunun Eight-Part Harmony, even though there are only four of us. Relax; you might spot a Formosan Black Bear peering down at us from a suspension bridge.
Off we go! It’s steep, but there’s enough water — even so close to the source — to avoid getting stuck in the riverbed. This river actually serves as the border between Alishan Township, Chiayi County, on our right, and Taoyuan Township (桃源), Kaohsiung County.
A few kilometers downstream is the first sign of human intrusion: Nansi Bridge (楠溪橋), which allows forestry workers coming from Chiayi to go deep into the mountains of Taoyuan to the south. But something’s wrong: The bridge has suffered damage. Still, we’re able to paddle around the debris with little effort. Forward, gentlemen, and no cracks about building bridges with the masses, thank you.
It’s been hours of paddling through wild terrain. Some parts are narrow and this is where we move faster and have to concentrate more to avoid being thown up against rocks or the small cliff faces that fall into the water.
Time for a break. It’s getting dark, so why not stay here for the evening? Make sure we have an early night, for there’s a long way to go tomorrow and we won’t do ourselves any favors by discussing matters of state. We’re on holiday, remember?
The next day has glorious weather. I’m fully rested, but I did warn you not to go up into the hills unless you knew what you were doing. Now look at what you’ve done: While attempting to go to the toilet, you got caught in vines and landed ass first on a tree stump. You look like a wild pig, sitting there with a woody protuberance jammed up your butt. Let me pull out my machete and free you from the vines, then pull you off the log. Try not to squeal.
It’s best we bury your soiled clothes as there are wild creatures around here, and I don’t want them following our scent downriver. Remember: If you stumble around underestimating and damaging pristine parts of Mother Nature, you can expect retribution. I am confident, however, that we’ll be fine. Just do as I say.
Off we go again. Almost immediately we see signs of human settlement. This is Dakanuwa Village (達卡奴娃), once known as Minsheng Village (民生), and all around you see small roads darting through the hills. Odd, though: There are very few people. There’s also a lot of damage to the houses, the activity center and the agricultural plots. What people there are look ragged, unwashed and shocked.
“It was ever thus,” I hear one of you say.
Enough of the wisecracks; concentrate on your paddle. There are large mounds of debris right ahead of us.
As we pass by these indigenous villages we see landslides, homes shifted from their foundations and mud thickly smeared across flat areas by the riverbank. Tree stumps and hundreds of branches are caught in bends in the river. And everywhere there are boulders of various sizes, some freshly broken into smaller pieces, others sitting in the middle of our path.
The scene is altogether unnerving, but there’s no time for regretting this expedition. You say: “But I’m here, aren’t I?” Indeed you are. Keep paddling.
We’ve now passed the last of the indigenous villages. There’s a sharp bend in the river and it is very narrow. Put your lifejacket on, dammit, this is not the time to worry about your hair dye.
This is Gargling Jade Valley (漱玉谷), an astonishing place. The cliff soars up 800m right before us as we take a hard right. On our right the highway has been wiped out in several places. Don’t stand up, you idiot; I don’t want to have to fish out your drowned ass downstream.
This is as close as we’ll get to rapids. Be careful, there’s debris by our sides here; some of those stumps have sharp bits. Try to avoid them as best you can.
Finally the river widens and the landscape opens up, but all has changed. Everywhere you look there is nothing but a vast surface of dried mud, tree branches and landslide detritus.
“There used to be a little village here,” someone says. “I remember coming through this place on a motorscooter when I was in college.”
“It’s under here,” I reply. “Look to your left … that hole in the sky used to be a mountain. It’s been redistributed across the valley.”
“Perhaps it could teach us how to redistribute the national health budget,” someone says, and others chortle.
I ignore the comment and ask myself aloud: What’s stopping the next onslaught of water from digging up the contents of this rootless landscape and sending them crashing down the river?
“Let the merged Kaohsiung government deal with it,” I catch one of you saying.
Enough idle speculation. Let’s paddle on. This place is very hot and sticky; it stinks and there is no shade and altogether too much noise coming from those people wailing over there and the monks attending to them.
On we go; the rest of the trip is less spectacular in terms of mountain scenery, and everywhere there is ruin. Roads, bridges, farms, houses, levies, crops — all destroyed. And that there, bobbing along behind us — is that a human limb?
“Call the Coast Guard!” someone says, to much laughter.
Eventually we pass the main village of Jiasian Township (甲仙), then Shanlin (杉林), then Cishan (旗山).
As our canoes shrink against the vast widths of riverbed, we see less damage on shore and concentrate on the transformation of the riverbed itself, with new channels dug out of the mud and others jammed with upstream refuse.
Here the Cishan River meets the Erchong River (二重溪) — ushering in water from both the massive Laonong River (荖濃溪), all the way from the northern flank of Yushan, and the Ailiao River (隘寮溪), whose tributaries start close to 3,000m above sea level to the east — to become the Kaoping River (高屏溪). And although the riverbed grows ever wider, we see massive new waves of debris.
Onward, onward. Under the Formosa Freeway’s landmark cable-stayed bridge, past Pingtung City to our left and then to the sea at Linyuan (林園) and Donggang (東港) townships. As the sun sets, we admire the duplicated Shuangyuan Bridge (雙園大橋), severed like a ribbon by floodwater, presumably.
“Like I say,” one of you opine as you point at the doomed structure, “reconstruction plus concrete equals progress. What a beautiful thing to behold.”
So we have reached our destination. It was a splendid trip, if a little unsettling in places. But I should tell you, if there are any among us who feel responsible for not quite pulling our weight and helping out the rest of the team, they might just find themselves returning to this river — in their dreams. Particularly one dream, in which a decomposing body suddenly rises to the surface of the river, right before your eyes. Or maybe two bodies.
Or maybe hundreds.
Got something to tell Johnny? Get it off your chest: Write to dearjohnny@taipeitimes.com, but put “Dear Johnny” in the subject line or he’ll mark your bouquets and brickbats as spam.
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