text by Chen Chieh-Jen
I have clear childhood memories of the Military Court and Prison which stood across the street from my home. This was where political prisoners were detained during Taiwan's marshal law period, which coincided with the Cold War. In 1949, after the end of the Chinese Civil War, the defeated Nationalist government retreated to Taiwan, eventually declaring martial law on May 19th. In the White Terror that followed, several thousand Taiwanese lost their lives and hundreds of thousands were victims of political investigations.[1]
In 1987, after the Nationalist government abrogated nearly thirty-eight years of martial domination, the same Military Court and Prison was no longer a place where political criminals were tried and imprisoned. In 2004, the ruling Democratic Progressive Party redesignated the site as the Taiwan Human Rights Memorial, with an anticipated opening date of December 10, 2007.[2]
Returning home in October of 2007, I stood outside the walls of the former Military Court and Prison looking at the unfinished Human Rights Memorial Park. At that time, it was still not possible to enter the park.[3] I imaged that after its opening, cases which had been always been sealed, personal accounts by political prisoners, related films and the national mechanism that brutally repressed political dissidents would all be brought out into the light of day.
Was martial law really over?
I believe a time like Taiwan's martial law/Cold War period in which I was born, a period of brutal repression and long-term incarceration of political dissidents, creates another kind of prison. This other, invisible prison attempts to block possible ways of thinking among the people through the martial law mechanism, as well as surgically excises the minds of the people through systematic disciplinary programs. Living in this kind of prison without walls, where the dialog of various dissident voices is reduced, gradually diminishes the ability to discriminate. Along with the development of capitalism and administrative technologies, the people became conspirators in the martial law mechanism. They propagated this ideology of taming and repression, in the form of the World Anti-Communist League, underpaid subservient factory workers, anxious consumers, neo-liberalism and supporters of the anti-terror alliance.
Aside from this critical transitional justice regarding the history of white terror, I still wonder if martial law is really over. Perhaps martial law wasn't just limited to temporary measures taken when Taiwan was facing a state of emergency in the past— martial law was a daily experience of our lives for thirty eight years. Do all of us who suffered from the surgical excision of our minds under the national mechanism for so long still have a martial law/Cold War ideology residing somewhere in the deepest level of consciousness? Is it possible that this ideology that has yet to be dispelled is still influencing thinking in Taiwanese society? Regarding the working and residence rights of itinerant workers, Mainland and other foreign spouses as well as the unemployed under the current state mechanism of surveillance and exclusion, is martial law really over?
Those political victims whose stories will never be remembered or retold because their dossiers were burned, do they still linger in what was once the Military Court and Prison, continually gaze at us living our contemporary lives, and watch us as we persist with new forms of martial law against itinerant workers, foreign spouses and others? Are they watching as we build our prisons without walls in the name of neo-liberalism?
Being among those who had their minds surgically excised, I wanted to film my thoughts and imagination regarding the Human Rights Memorial Park before I visited it. This was not only to explore my possible deep-seated Cold War/martial law ideology, but also to revisualize those political dissidents who have been forgotten, as well as record with body, voice and atmosphere, the martial law period which hasn't yet ended for those workers, spouses and unemployed who are subject to mechanisms of surveillance and exclusion.
The martial law period Military Count and Prison that was once a forbidden area controlled by state violence, has now been institutionalized as a human rights museum and is still state controlled. I believe the significance of this place is not just that its interior was a site of white terror history, but also that its legacy is the invisible prison that still exists in our society today. Therefore, I wanted to suggest an alternative possible writing of this history using a constructed Military Court and Prison set in non-institutional space and outside this once forbidden area which is now a museum.
Actors who participated in this film include students involved in social movements, unemployed laborers, foreign workers and homeless people. [4] Others were also invited to participate, but because of their status as illegal workers without identity cards, they were arrested several days before the shooting date, and therefore were only able to participate through their absence. In certain respects, this is an unfinished film.
Commisioned by: Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía
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[1] During the Cold War period, the Nationalist government was supported by the United States. In1949, during the Chinese Civil War, the Nationalist government retreated to Taiwan, and in the same declared martial law on May 19. In the name of the anti-communist crusade, The Nationalist government brutally repressed political dissidents in the period called the white terror. After the Korean war started in 1950, Taiwan was brought into the East Asian anticommunist resistance as an outpost, and the martial law domination of the Nationalist Government was strengthened through military political and economic support. After thirty eight years, martial law was finally ended on July 15, 1987. This was the longest period of martial in human history. However, new national security laws, just as in the past, forbid the advocating communism or dividing national territory.
[2] The Military Court and Prison was originally a military school. After the Taiwan Garrison Command took over the location in 1968, it was used for tribunals, to imprison political criminals, and as a military court and prison. After martial law ended in 1987, the location was no longer used for this purpose. In December of 2007, the ruling Democratic Progressive Party redesignated the site as the Taiwan Human Rights Memorial Park, and in 2008, along with the return of the Nationalist party to power, the location was renamed the Jing-Mei Human Rights Memorial and Culture Park ( http://jmhrmcp.hach.gov.tw/ ). Since the park first opened in 2007, many records from the martial law period were burned, and regardless of which political party is in power, the history of white terror has never been fully resolved, making the Human Rights Park a site of continual controversy regarding human rights and the transition of justice.
[3] Political prisoners often called the Military Court and Prison the Jing-Mei Detention Center or the Xin-Dian Detention Center. Local residents called it the Military Court and Prison or the Military Law Office.
[4] None of the scenes of the Military Court and Prison under renovation in this film are genuine. They were actually filmed in sets constructed in a factory awaiting demolition. The temporary metal structure being moved by the forgotten political dissidents, unemployed workers, foreign workers and homeless people in the film, is the type often used as factories, worker studios, illegal structures or temporary residences.
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