Tragic Figure’s Widow of Hogan Jiro Talks About the Wushe Incident
Recently, indigenous culture and related thematic events have frequently converged, drawing widespread attention from all sectors of society. For instance, the critical and commercial success of the epic film *Seediq Bale*; the completion and premiere of the documentary about the zoologist and Taiwan mountain and indigenous culture enthusiast Torii Kazuo; and the “2011 Pure Indigenous Cultural Festival,” organized by South Village and set to kick off later this month, which has attracted a large number of participants and will span over two months. To join in the celebration, our magazine is launching a special series titled “Indigenous • Hometown • Driving Force,” covering topics such as filling in the gaps about the Wushe Incident, reminiscing about those who loved their hometowns and mountains, the coexistence and preservation of mountain and sea resources and culture, and the genuine integration of indigenous and Han cultures. These scenes and stories aim to help readers gain a deeper understanding of the “indigenous,” show concern for the “hometown,” and gather momentum drop by drop to support reform—the “driving force.”
—Editor
In mid-1973, the government intended to enshrine the “Wushe Anti-Japanese National Heroes” Mona Rudao, Hogan Ichiro, and Hogan Jiro in the National Revolutionary Martyrs' Shrine, sparking a heated debate in the media. While there was no question about Mona Rudao, opinions were sharply divided over whether Hogan Ichiro and Hogan Jiro were anti-Japanese or pro-Japanese.
That year, it was suddenly discovered that Mona Rudao’s remains had been kept in a glass cabinet at National Taiwan University for nearly forty years. After careful arrangements, on December 24 of that year, the wandering spirit finally returned to its hometown in a solemn ceremony.
If 2011 can be called the “Year of the Wushe Incident Boom” due to the release of the film *Seediq Bale*, then 1973 could be considered the first “Year of the Wushe Incident Boom.”
Back then, what excited me was climbing the Hundred Peaks. Because I needed to use the Nenggao Traverse as a shortcut into the Central Mountain Range, I had stayed multiple times at the Lushan Hot Springs, located at the entrance of the Nenggao Traverse hiking trail. Due to extensive media coverage, I learned that the widow of Hogan Jiro, Obin Tadao (Ebin Tadao, Japanese name Takako Takayama, Chinese name Gao Caiyun), was still alive and running an exquisite Japanese-style inn called “Bihua Villa” at the Lushan Hot Springs. In the past, to save money, we always stayed at the Police Light Mountain Lodge when hiking. But this time, driven by curiosity, I persuaded my teammates to stay at Bihua Villa.
As soon as we stepped into the entrance, we saw Obin Tadao, the “okami-san” (female proprietor), dressed in formal kimono, kneeling to greet us. Her skin was fair, her features delicate, her hair neatly combed, and she led us gracefully into the Japanese-style guest room. She then knelt by the low table and brewed hot tea for us.
“You must have had a tough journey. Please have some tea. You can go soak in the hot spring later; yukata and towels are all here.”
Because I had greeted her in Japanese upon arrival, Obin might have assumed I was Japanese and explained in Japanese as well.
“Wow, this was worth every penny.” The traditional Japanese inn service convinced even my teammates, who were usually reluctant to spend much.
“Hey? Isn’t she an ‘aboriginal?’ How come you can’t tell at all?” another teammate whispered.
“Look at her eyes—they’re so sharp.”
“Isn’t she supposed to be fifty or sixty? She looks so young, like she’s in her early forties.”
“Hey, when are you going to ask her about Hogan Jiro? Isn’t that why we came to stay here?”
Our small team of just four people chattered noisily like a flock of sparrows.
How should we ask? I didn’t know how to bring it up either.
Finally, I found an opportunity during dinner. While we were eating in the room, Obin directed the waitress to arrange the dishes, then poured beer for everyone from a chilled bottle.
“It’s best to drink cold beer after soaking in the hot spring. Enjoy yourselves, and tomorrow you’ll have to work hard.”
I seized this brief opportunity and asked, knowing the answer but feigning ignorance: “Excuse me, are you Mrs. Obin?”
She smiled and nodded slightly.
Eagerly, I asked again: “Could you tell us something about Hogan Jiro? Was he anti-Japanese or pro-Japanese?”
Obin Tadao paused for a moment, then lowered her head and said quickly: “I’m sorry, that was a long time ago. I can’t remember anything clearly. We have many guests today, so I can’t keep you company. Please enjoy your meal.” After saying this, she quickly bowed, then left the room and closed the paper door.
Indeed, there were many guests. From the next room, we could hear Japanese songs being sung loudly with clapping. Bihua Villa must have been fully booked that day.
In the 1970s, Japan, which had been devastated by war, rose again, leveraging its economic strength. Japanese people returned to Taiwan, and many Japanese-funded companies were established there. The influx of Japanese workers and tourists revitalized Taiwan’s hot spring areas. In Taipei, it was Beitou Hot Springs, while in central Taiwan, it was Lushan Hot Springs. Lushan Hot Springs originally belonged to the Makabon tribe, the home of the Seediq hero Mona Rudao.
Although I didn’t get any answers from Obin, the incident sparked my great interest in the Wushe Incident. After returning home, I immediately went to the library to look up information.
In 1976, to visit the cliff where the Makabon warriors made their final stand during the Wushe Incident, I returned to Wushe. I stayed at the Police Light Mountain Lodge the first night, gazing at the brightly lit Bihua Villa. I knew Obin Tadao must have been busy attending to guests, still keeping her secrets close.
My journey to explore the “Makabon Cliff Cave” was later published as a heartfelt article titled “Cold Frost and Moon: Mourning the Spirits” in the Central Daily News supplement, which garnered considerable attention. I hoped Obin Tadao would see it and know that I wasn’t just a curious tourist or another media outlet digging for sensational stories.
In the late autumn of 1978, I accompanied my newlywed wife Xu Rulin, preparing to trek along the beautiful ridge of the "Nenggao Andongjun" section of the Central Mountain Range. After completing the hike, we planned to return to Baishi Mountain and continue exploring Bunohon (the White Tree Stone), the legendary ancestral birthplace of the Seediq people.
Since we had just gotten married and were still in the honeymoon phase, staying at the Police Light Lodge didn’t feel right, so we booked a room at Bi Hua Zhuang instead. Over the years, Bi Hua Zhuang had flourished and expanded into a mid-sized inn, but one thing remained unchanged—Obin Tadao still wore a formal kimono, kneeling at the entrance to greet guests.
“Shoko-san, do you remember me? I stayed here five years ago.”
“Ah, it’s you, Mr. Yang, the mountain climber. Which mountain are you climbing this time?”
“We’re planning to visit Bunohon, the ancestral birthplace of the Seediq people.”
“That’s a long journey. Even many indigenous people haven’t been there. And who is this?”
“My newlywed wife. She also enjoys hiking.”
“What a lovely wife you have. It’s wonderful that a couple can climb mountains together!”
As he led us to our room, Obin Tadao chatted with me along the way. I started calling her Shoko-san because I heard other guests addressing her that way. Five years had passed, yet she still remembered me. With such a sharp memory, how could she possibly forget the details of the Wushe Incident?
While making tea in the room, Obin formally greeted Xu Rulin in Mandarin and repeated, “It’s wonderful that a husband and wife can climb mountains together!” I don’t know if I was being overly sensitive, but I felt that as she said those words, there was a hint of envy and a touch of regret in her expression.
After dinner, when the waitress came to clear the dishes, she asked us, “Do you have time tonight? The proprietress would like to speak with you.”
Bravo!I almost blurted out loud. Five years ago, I had indeed been too abrupt. To be honest, I was just a curious tourist back then. Over the years, I had read a lot about the Wushe Incident and even visited the Mahabo Rock Cave. Obin Tadao must have acknowledged my efforts and was now willing to talk about the Wushe Incident with me.
As the proprietress, Obin Tadao had a small, exquisite office. Once we were seated, she took out a long gift box and said with a smile, “A wedding gift for you—a pair of ‘husband-and-wife chopsticks.’ It’s a small token, hope it’s not too humble.”
“You’re too kind. This gift carries such meaningful symbolism.” A pair of chopsticks represents a couple inseparable forever, and long chopsticks symbolize growing old together. It’s a very traditional Japanese blessing. I respectfully accepted the gift, bowed my head in thanks, but felt a slight disappointment—not because the gift was modest, but because what I truly looked forward to was Obin Tadao’s recollection of the Wushe Incident.
“Mountain climbing is tough. Take good care of your husband along the way.”
“No problem, she has plenty of hiking experience.” As we sipped tea and exchanged polite conversation, I was anxious inside but dared not show it on my face, silently praying: Go on, go on, tell me the hidden secrets and pain you’ve kept inside.
Finally, my prayers were answered. Obin Tadao’s expression grew solemn, her voice low, as she began to share the heartfelt thoughts she had kept buried for years.
“Seeing the love between a newlywed couple deeply moves me. I once had a very happy and loving newlywed life too. Mr. Yang, a few years ago I told you I couldn’t remember the Wushe Incident—that was a lie. For decades, every time I closed my eyes, those scenes from the past would flash before me. How could I possibly forget?”
“I am a survivor of the Wushe Incident. Originally, I was supposed to hang myself on Flower Hill just like Jiro. But I endured humiliation and survived solely for the child in my womb.”
“In the years before the remains of Mona Rudao were returned to Wushe, many journalists and professors came to interview me. They all had their own agendas—some wanted me to say that Ichiro and Jiro were the leaders of the anti-Japanese resistance, while others wanted me to claim they had become enemies of the tribe, siding with the Japanese. To all of them, I said the same thing: I don’t know.”
“Just like during the Wushe Incident itself, when I knew full well that Ichiro, Jiro, and our entire family had already committed suicide, the Japanese police and reporters pressured me, and I still said, I don’t know. (The following describes the painful and agonizing process of Ichiro, Jiro, and the family’s hesitation before their suicide. Due to space limitations, it cannot be detailed here. Interested readers may refer to the book *Nenggao Crossing: A Journey Through Time*, co-authored by Xu Rulin and Yang Nanjun, published by the Forestry Bureau.)”
“Three days after the Wushe Incident, Japanese police stormed the highlands of Wushe. After occupying the town, they began rescuing surviving Japanese and hunting down members of the resisting Mahabo and Hegu tribes. At the time, I had been taken to the Paran Tribe and was staying with relatives. The primary suspects the Japanese police were searching for were Ichiro and Jiro, because for some reason, the surviving Japanese women harbored particularly intense hatred toward them. One woman even spread rumors, saying, ‘I saw Flower Hill Jiro lure out hiding children and then kill them.’ Later, the police found many Japanese clothes and items in our home and dormitory, and those women claimed, ‘We saw Flower Hill Jiro break in and steal Japanese belongings.’ But in truth, those were things we had bought ourselves. Moreover, after the Wushe Incident broke out, Jiro had always been with me—how could he have done those things?”
“I knew no one would believe the truth, so I pretended to be so traumatized that I fell ill. When the police questioned me, I acted as if I had lost my memory. It wasn’t until November 8th, when Police Inspector Tamura Kenji, who had once served at the Hegu outpost, discovered the scene of the Flower Hill family’s suicide, that I felt as though a heavy stone had been lifted from my heart. Only then could I finally cry out loud and weep bitterly.”
“On November 9th, the Japanese police escorted me to Flower Hill to identify the bodies. I saw 20 half-decayed corpses of Jiro and his family hanging from an oak tree, not far away lay Ichiro, Hanako, and their baby. Recalling how just over ten days earlier, we had gathered around a bonfire under that tree, singing dirges and pleading with our ancestors to take us, I couldn’t help but collapse to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably, grief-stricken and unable to stand.”
“Because Ichiro died by seppuku and Jiro hanged himself wearing a formal Japanese kimono, it was interpreted as ‘their unwillingness to submit to the rebellious tribes, dying while still upholding the dignity of Japanese police officers,’ and thus they were praised. The attitude of the Japanese police at the Paran Outpost toward me changed—they no longer treated me with hostility. However, from time to time, the families of Wushe Incident victims would come to the Paran Tribe, demanding that the police hand over any ‘rebellious tribesman’ so they could ‘test their blades’ and fulfill their desire for revenge.”
“After the Wushe Incident was suppressed, the Japanese police relocated over 500 survivors from the six rebelling tribes to the Rodofu and Sebo internment camps. Though called internment camps, they were essentially prisons in disguise. Due to my special status, the inspector granted me more freedom to move around outside. At the time, I was pregnant, and my belly was gradually growing larger. The wives of the Japanese inspectors harbored great animosity toward me, often walking over on purpose to pat my belly and mockingly say, ‘Oh my, what did you eat? You’ve gotten so big!’ Even the wife of Police Chief Sosetsu Aizawa, Yawai Taimo, who was also Atayal, said to me, ‘Why are you still alive? Why didn’t you die with the others?’ To be honest, if it weren’t for my promise to Jiro to give birth to our child, I would have been in so much pain that I wanted to end my life several times.”
“In April of the year following the Wushe Incident, my belly was already quite large. Thanks to the kindness of the camp director, Ando Kenji, I was allowed to use the bathroom at the Rodofu Outpost. On the evening of April 24th, when I went to use the bathroom, Director Ando advised me to stay overnight at the outpost rather than return to the camp. Not wanting to invite gossip, I chose to return to the camp for the night.”
“After midnight that day, gunfire suddenly erupted. The Dauka Tribe launched a nighttime attack on us unarmed people. In the chaos, I clutched my belly and fled, tumbling down the hillside in a panic. Hidden by the cover of darkness, I crouched in the bushes until dawn, when I was finally found by the police and brought back to Wushe.”
“This is what people call the ‘Second Wushe Incident.’ That night, 195 people were killed by the Dauka, 19 others committed suicide, and 6 went missing. The Japanese police pretended to have had no prior knowledge, reporting it as a spontaneous revenge attack by the Dauka. But the fact that Director Ando had told me to stay at the outpost the night before said it all.”
“On the morning of May 6th, the 298 survivors of the ‘Second Wushe Incident,’ under strict Japanese police surveillance, trekked a long distance to settle in Chuanzhong Island. By then, I was ten months pregnant and could give birth at any moment, yet I still had to endure the agony of walking step by step. I knew my hometown, the Hegu Tribe, had already been given by the Japanese to the Dauka. Six days after arriving in Chuanzhong Island, I gave birth to Jiro’s posthumous child, whom we named Awui Dakis. When the baby was seven months old, arranged by the Japanese police, I married Zhongshan Qing (Piho Walis), a police officer at the outpost, who was also from the Hegu Tribe. We were both survivors of the Wushe Incident and had no one else but each other to rely on.”
At this point, Obin Tadao was already very tired. Over the course of two hours of conversation, the most painful memories of her life, wrapped up like cocoons for many years, were slowly unraveled. It’s hard to imagine how a 16-year-old young woman at the time could bear so much suffering and torment, and even harder to imagine that she could wrap those pains so well—living bravely as a strong wife, mother, and hotelier.
Piho Walis changed his name to Gao Yongqing after the war and once served as the first and second village chief of Wushe. Obin and Jiro’s son, Awui Dakis, changed his name to Gao Guanghua, who was the village chief at the time of our interview with Obin.
With heavy hearts and deep gratitude, we bid Obin Tadao good night, hoping that after sharing these painful memories, she could finally lay down the heavy burden in her heart. Tonight, she could sleep a little more peacefully.