Every year, late at night on 27 February, the wide Ketagalan Boulevard lit up by a pale shade of orange is lined with traffic cones and sprinkled with several creamer-like tents. The powerful light beams descending from the stage occasionally cast a spell of restlessness on the youths, allowing their ideas and hearts to settle and blend more seamlessly, thereby making them ready to soar together with the rising sun in a few hours.
The morning sun rising in the east marks not only the last day of February but also the dawn of the Gong Sheng Music Festival that the youths have been preparing for the whole year.
Music festivals have been in vogue all over Taiwan in recent years, such as the Megaport Festival (Kaohsiung) and the Vagabond Festival (Tainan) known for their regional characters. For people who have musical notes and pulses in their blood, some music festivals’ modus operandi also beckons, enticing them to get together for camping or hiking while enjoying the festival. As far back as 2013, the Gong Sheng Music Festival was founded by a group of enthusiastic young people who cherish Taiwan, care about the social trends in Taiwan, and yearn to promote transitional justice and Taiwan’s historical memory. Held in Taipei though, the festival focuses less on the region than on raising Taiwanese public awareness of the history consigned to oblivion. Revolving around the 228 Massacre, the festival is intended to uncover the truth of this incident and inspire a greater degree of mutual understanding and respect by reminding the public of the large-scale state violence and injustice that occurred in Taiwan in the recent past.
The thematic title of the Gong Sheng Music Festival each year is in fact designed to reflect the latest social trend in Taiwan as well as young people’s thoughts and actions concerning Taiwanese society. Take my participation in the preparatory work (2019-2022) for example. The thematic titles, namely “Clamor,” “Rather Die for Justice than Live in Silence,” “Proof of Presence” and “Up ‘til Now,” have epitomized the socio-political milieu of Taiwan in recent years. Besides, the curatorial team annually gathers talents from associated fields and divides them into administration group, band group, discourse group (since the 10th year, these groups are restructured as exhibition group, literature group, and pamphlet group), and event group, with the aim of creating venues of all stripes for dialogue and exchange among Taiwanese people.
Of course, it is much more difficult to put ideas into practice than just to discuss them.
In 2013, the Gong Sheng Music Festival was founded by a group of enthusiastic young people who cherish Taiwan, care about the social trends in Taiwan, and yearn to promote transitional justice and Taiwan’s historical memory, so as to raise Taiwanese public awareness of the historical injustice consigned to oblivion. Photo courtesy of the Taiwan Youth Association for Transitional Justice and Kiōng-Seng
Since it is called a “music festival,” the highlight of this event is surely the brilliant band performance on the 228 Peace Memorial Day, together with live exhibitions, human rights booths and short talks. There is an unwritten urban legend in the curatorial team: the bands invited to perform at the festival will soon become popular; to mention but a few, Sheng-Xiang & Band, Enno CHENG, Bisiugroup Amazing Show, and Your Woman Sleep with Others that performed at the festival six or seven years ago. Observing closely, we may notice that the festival not only invites performers who infuse their love for Taiwan into their music, but also includes a wide range of languages such as Taiwanese, Hakka and aboriginal ones. After all, no ethnic group on this land shall be left out if we’re going to review the history of Taiwan and co-create a better future.
Nonetheless, not all the bands on our wish list will perform at the festival on the 228 Peace Memorial Day. Since there are thematic lectures and landscape guided tours during the one-year preparation, it is equally acceptable to organize a smaller “music session” before the festival, just like the “Silent Voices Permeating the Forest” orchestrated by the band group in the 8th year of the festival. As you arrive at the venue of APA Mini and walk down the stairs into the basement, you are surrounded by slips of paper. As you navigate through this space, you recognize that these slips of paper are in fact the testaments of the victims from the authoritarian era, probably their last voice of struggle, perhaps their last delirious ravings for posterity.
Be it the long, lamentation-like intro by the Feeling Berry that recounts Uyongu Yatauyungana (KAO Yi-sheng)’s story of suffering which is slow and sorrowful on melody, or the audience singing the song Tsuân-sim Tsuân-ì Ài Lí (I Love You Heart and Soul) with Zulin WU and thinking of this tiny island in the great wide world, the visitors seem to collectively retrieve certain voices that have been lost in historical oppression: “If no one is around to hear it, it makes no sound. The wound can be healed only after being heard.”
Apart from auditory stimulation and resonance, the festival employs visual media—publications as well as images and texts of exhibitions—to unveil the truth on which the thick coating of historical dust is wiped by time and the younger generation’s corresponding rumination and action. The live exhibition that echoes the thematic title has been the festival’s regular component each year. In the recent two years under the impact of the pandemic, the team also made a transformative attempt to stage the exhibition online (the 9th edition) and organize the Gather Town 10-year retrospective online exhibition (the 10th edition) which involves more interactive media. The exhibition project Darkroom even appeared as a stroke of genius in the 8th edition of the festival.
The music session of “Silent Voices Permeating the Forest” orchestrated by the band group for the 8th Gong Sheng Music Festival: Rather Die for Justice than Live in Silence. Photo courtesy of the Taiwan Youth Association for Transitional Justice and Kiōng-Seng
The Gather Town 10-year retrospective online exhibition for the 10th Gong Sheng Music Festival: Up ‘til Now. Photo courtesy of the Taiwan Youth Association for Transitional Justice and Kiōng-Seng
On 28 February, the festival tends to provide a relatively open area for the visitors to walk around between the live exhibition and the performance stage on each end of the Ketagalan Boulevard. However, in the 8th edition of the festival, a stretched dark mountain range rose from this area. It has only one entrance, and it is sealed tightly with black fabric so that the scene of the time warp in the mountain can still be seen in the daytime. This continuous “darkroom” comprises three sections. When you enter the first section, you’ll confront the newspaper hung as high as your line of sight on both sides. You must hold up the candlelight in your hand to see the path ahead. The surrounding texts suggest the social atmosphere charged with tension and uneasiness from 1945 to the eve of the 228 Massacre in 1947. Before you step into the second section, the broadcast will tell you that you are now in the 228 Incident. Here are heavy smoke and occasional blinding flashes that obscure your vision. Whilst allowing you to roughly identify the radio and other obsolete objects of the 1940s and 1950s, this section focuses more on rendering you viscerally terrified as if you were physically present in the incident. The lightbox covered with prints shows the twists and turns of the incident. The plot keeps unfolding as you move forward. The last section is a memorial for victims of the incident. You can pay a silent tribute amidst the list of victims on the three black walls and the lilies among them, or you can thumb through the research material and commemorative publications on the table, and leave your gradually settled or still turbulent feelings in the guestbook.
You walk in, with an obscured view. You listen, while you dimly see. Our “absence” from the past history precisely foregrounds our “presence” at this moment. By dint of artistic creation and in-depth research into history, we may be able to rekindle as many memories of the land as possible.
After all, memories never fade, but quietly influence everyone and everything raised by the land in many forms along the way.
“Corporeality” is another key issue as well. Spring of Pen Marks, the alternate reality game developed by the curatorial team of the 8th Gong Sheng Music Festival, allows the players to not only relive the experience of the figures who “rather speak up for justice and die than live in silence” in the face of an authoritarian regime in the 228 Incident, but also personally visit the places bearing the scars of history. It turns out that we can perceive the faint breath and whisper of history just through our daily encounter with many scenic spots.
Furthermore, “Stun Gun Challenge” and “Poking Lottery” are the side events of the festival on 28 February. Both carry metaphorical meanings. Unlike ordinary electric shock games, “Stun Gun Challenge” symbolizes the horror and arbitrary restrictions in the era of authoritarianism. Even if the players skillfully go through all meandering episodes, their fate is held in the hands of the staff who will quietly activate the vibration mechanism when the unknowing players are about to reach the terminal point—in an era of authoritarianism, no matter how silent people remain, and no matter how compliant people are with unjust treatment, many people are still hardly spared from arrest or even wrongful execution. The giant box of “Poking Lottery” that roams the festival site and the surrounding area comprises poking grids in the shape of Taiwan. The term “lottery” in the event title is little more than a medium to draw the visitors closer to their own history. In fact, it guides the visitors to seriously and painfully revive their historical memories. Each grid contains a traumatic story of Taiwanese people in those days. The action of poking implies the occurrence of the 228 Massacre around Taiwan in 1947. The holes cannot be restored, as if this piece of history has left an indelible scar on this island. By reading the story notes in the grids, however, the visitors can gain a better understanding of the past and continue to find the best way to heal the wound. The holes on the box serve as a reminder that the unhealed wounds of the 228 Incident and the White Terror remain deep and bleeding silently, waiting to be seen and treated properly. The participants can also write down their reflections and feelings after reading the stories and cover the exposed holes with new slips of paper. Such an action symbolizes that Taiwan is gradually getting over part of its historical trauma and mending some of its rifts. Difficulties notwithstanding, we must keep the past in mind and meanwhile march towards the future.
Unlike ordinary electric shock games, “Stun Gun Challenge” symbolizes the horror and arbitrary restrictions in the era of authoritarianism. Photo courtesy of the Taiwan Youth Association for Transitional Justice and Kiōng-Seng
The term “lottery” in the event title is little more than a medium to draw the visitors closer to their own history. In fact, it guides the visitors to seriously and painfully revive their historical memories. Photo courtesy of the Taiwan Youth Association for Transitional Justice and Kiōng-Seng
What is related to physical action and cannot be ignored is the “Operation Smoke Signal” that has been integral to the festival since 2015.
“When indigenous people see the smoke rising, they know that their ancestral spirits can receive their messages. The bonfire symbolizes life, and the smoke rising from the bonfire is emblematic of indigenous beliefs.” The members of the Indigenous Youth Front, other indigenous people, and groups of all stripes gather together on the site. They form a large circle that spans three traffic lanes with their physical body. At the center of the circle is a bonfire and a pile of green grass. The smoke signal is the medium for delivering messages and calling for rallies: “The ‘Operation Smoke Signal’ is exactly a future-oriented initiative of indigenous people seeking to make their voices heard on the basis of their own culture and history.” The indigenous people put the grass into the bonfire and carefully produce white smoke. To create a sufficient amount of visible smoke is not something that can be done casually.
Then, you and the rest of the participants who are willing to understand or identify with the indigenous partners gather from the circumference to the center of the circle and put the grass (which represents commitment and signal) into the bonfire to show that you are willing to stand together and fight for the basic rights of human beings that shall not be deprived arbitrarily. The circumference of the circle becomes thicker again. In the indigenous people’s stentorian singing voice, this circle of different ethnicities starts to spin. The spiral smoke rising from the center of the circle means that the posterity confide in their ancestral spirits.
The “Operation Smoke Signal” that has been integral to the festival since 2015 is a future-oriented initiative of indigenous people seeking to make their voices heard on the basis of their own culture and history. Photo courtesy of the Taiwan Youth Association for Transitional Justice and Kiōng-Seng
The 228 Massacre and the ensuing White Terror in Taiwan are multifaceted. Although we cannot travel back more than 70 years in time, the legacy from the authoritarian period still courses through our veins. Hence, we are all witnesses to the incident. For Taiwan, an island with multiple ethnic groups and entangled history, perhaps there is still a long way to go in achieving genuine “co-existence.” At least to date, there remains nonetheless a group of people in Taiwan who strive to march forward—whether we are deeply touched by auditory sense, vision, corporeality or historical memories, we’re right here.
