Reports 2002.03 Taipei
From Architect HSIEH and Atelier-3
A Taipei Times Report
2002.03
Affordable housing meets resistance
Architect Hsieh Ying-chun has committed himself to creating affordable housing for Thao Aborigines displaced by the 921 earthquake, but has come up against a wall of local political and financial interests
By Ian Bartholomew
STAFF REPORTER
Sun Moon Lake is gradually reestablishing itself as Taiwan's premier tourism resort after the devastating blow it was dealt two and a half years ago by the 921 earthquake. The signs of that terrible calamity are still visible in the ongoing work to shore up roads and beautify the lakeshore, but the tour buses are now arriving in force and hotels can boast good booking rates -- if nothing compared to what they were used to before the calamity. But for the people who live here, this return to normalcy is little more than a facade, and after over two years, many continue to live in temporary shelters.
Some of the people hardest hit are the Aboriginal population of Nantou, especially the Thao (邵) tribe, Taiwan's smallest tribal group that is concentrated on the banks of Sun Moon Lake. Lacking economic reserves, and with their one permanent asset -- the land -- devastated, government subsidies have proved woefully inadequate. But according to Hsieh Ying-chun (謝英俊), an architect who has been living in the Shao's Tehua Community (德化社), money is not really the issue at all. "There's plenty of it," he said in frustration, "there is more than enough for everyone to build a house." Of course it depends on what kind of house -- and he is well aware that it is not in everyone's interests to provide the cheapest alternative.
Two and a half years after 921, many people remain in prefabricated "temporary" accommodation. Although there have been a number of high profile projects, most notably the rebuilding of schools designed by some of Taiwan's most outstanding young architects, many Thao Aborigines are still without a house of their own. "The temporary housing was not designed to last this long," said Huang Fu-kuei (黃福魁), an architect who has worked with Hsieh down in Nantou since almost immediately after the quake. "The floors are already beginning to warp and crack." Even so, signs that the residents don't see any quick solutions are apparent in the symbols of permanence, shop signs and flowerbeds that the temporary housing areas have taken on.
Hsieh has committed himself to the belief that affordable housing can be made available to the Aborigines of the Tehua Community and elsewhere in a singular way that has found resonance with a devoted band of followers -- and also resistance from forces within the community and local government.
Originally, Hsieh, like many other professionals, donated their time in an effort to help out the refugees of Nantou. Unlike most others, he is still there. He now heads a group of young architects in the 921 Disaster Area Housing Reconstruction Service Group (九二一災區家屋再造服務團隊), who live and work on a piece of land that they unashamedly have "commandeered" from the county government. Hsieh and henchman Huang have been living in the community since one month after the quake, and many of their 10-member staff have been there over a year. The reason that Hsieh has made this commitment, which keeps him from a lucrative architectural practice in Taipei, is that he believes the issue simply cannot be resolved from the comfort of an architectural office in the capital, hundreds of kilometers away.
Methodology
The idea that the simplest way of building houses would be to bring in a construction company to do the work does not wash with Hsieh. Houses built in this way cost far more than most of the Aboriginal people in the area can ever afford, even with a government subsidy. Moreover, the local economy is completely bypassed, with the money going into the pockets of outside firms.
"This does not benefit the locals at all," said Huang, who as a liaison with the small communities around Sun Moon Lake is acutely aware of the social problems that the Aborigines now face. Hsieh is currently developing modular housing elements that can be used for putting up a house for a cost of between NT$220,000 to NT$900,000, requiring little money over what the government provides. With a cost of around NT$22,000 for one ping, this is about half conventional construction costs, according to Ruan Ching-yue (阮慶岳), a local architect.
Hsieh's concept is based on the social role that architecture can play. One of the most important aspects of his project is the simplification of the construction. "Complex construction methods require the use of skilled workers imported from outside," Huang pointed out. "By simplifying construction, the Aborigines can build the houses themselves." The implications of this go far beyond DIY. "It is really about the exchange of labor. By bringing in friends and family, working on weekends and so forth, the cost of the house can be further reduced," Huang said.
Working from his camp in the Tehua Community, Hsieh has set up a simple factory were the modular elements are made. Most of the complex design work has already been done, and components simply have to be bolted together. Provision is even made for the hanging of scaffolding, to increase safety for the workers, many who are drawn for the ranks of the unemployed in the area.
With Hsieh's modular elements, simple power tools and a truck-hoist, a two-story house can be put together within a day.
But building a house is the least of Hsieh's problems.
Against the tide
"It is much more than putting up a building," he emphasized. By way of illustration, he pointed out that he and his crew where some of the first construction professionals on site, it was two years after the quake before they were able to start putting up permanent accommodations. He sees the problem as lying with local interest groups, rivalry between charity groups and the inexperience of the people making the disbursements. "Many of the people at the 921 Relief Foundation are good people," Hsieh said, "But they simply haven't the experience." Speaking of the complexity of local political and financial networks, Hsieh sighs and shakes his head.
Su Shih-wei (舒詩偉), a friend and activist said that Hsieh had been threatened by various interest groups. Although Hsieh dismissed the idea of "threats" as overblown, he did say that people were riled, for his project worked against their financial interests. "We have come in from outside and cut across their network of local alliances," he said. When negotiating contracts with locals, he said they had to make visits at night, "because we must keep a low profile." As a result, Hsieh and his team rarely appear at work sites, relying on local group leaders, actively downplaying their involvement in the construction process. Hsieh summed it up by saying: "Don't stand up, or you will cast a shadow."
For all his frustration, Hsieh says of this project, "It makes me feel that as an architect I can be a useful person." But in trying to make a difference, he has to battle social forces that extend far beyond the cloistered world of architecture.
On the face of it, local group loyalties have the upper hand in the simmering battle with Hsieh. "The county government is holding back NT$5 million to NT$6 million," he said, the result of which he estimates that only 10 percent of Aborigines have been given permanent new houses in the last two and a half years since the earthquake. By holding up household applications for subsidies, Hsieh says, their group has been brought to the brink of collapse. "We are now forced to accept other [commercial] projects just to stay solvent," he said, referring to the contract to redesign the Puli Teacher's Hostel (埔里教師會館). "It is such a waste," he lamented.
