Port of Call LAST UPDATE February 5, 2009
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January 18, 2009 Keelung, Taiwan – Saving the Homes of Hansen’s Disease Survivors
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A pilot boat in the Keelung harbor as the Mona Lisa makes the first stop on the 64th voyage
On January 18, 2009, Peace Boat made its first stop for the 64th Voyage under sunny skies at Keelung, Taiwan. Participants gathered on the upper deck to catch their first glimpse of land in three days as the ship neared the busy harbour. After regaining their balance on steady ground, participants wandered off to explore Taiwan. One group of participants boarded a bus bound for Taipei. As part of the optional tours that Peace Boat offers at each port of call, the group had the opportunity to visit Lo Sheng, an isolation facility for people formerly afflicted with Hansen’s disease.
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Mr Cho, a survivor of Hansen’s disease (also known as leprosy), was thrilled to regale participants with stories of living in the Lo Sheng isolation facility
Sufferers of Hansen’s disease, or leprosy as it is also known, have been much maligned throughout the 20th century. Though the disease has existed in Taiwan for thousands of years, it was only during the period of Japanese colonization that it accrued the reputation of uncleanliness that remains to this day. The facility was originally built far away from the bustling city of Taipei, in order to avoid “contaminating” the city dwellers. So prejudiced was the government that they deleted the names of Hansen’s disease patients from family registries, so that according to law, the patients did not actually exist as humans. Though the disease does not spread easily—95% of humans are naturally immune to it—the stigma against Hansen’s was so great that Taipei residents refused to allow even corpses to enter city limits and Lo Sheng residents were thus forced to build their own crematorium. Friends burnt the bodies of friends, husbands burnt the bodies of wives, and their remains were kept in a crypt separate from the rest of the city’s dead.
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The encroaching city of Taipei is visible just behind Mr Cho and a participant as they explore Lo Sheng
Taipei, the capital of Taiwan, is built in a valley basin surrounded by mountains. Lo Sheng was built at the very base of one of the mountains, slightly elevated so that it overlooks the city. Just a couple of decades ago, one could see all the way across the valley to the mountains on the other side. Today, a ceiling of smog floats lazily above the multitude of skyscrapers and highways that Taipei seems to barely contain. To deal with the sprawl, the city wants to build a subway to access the edges of the valley. Lo Sheng happens to be right in the way of the subway’s tracks.
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A Peace Boat participant, 82, and Mr Chang, 73, compared growing up in Japan versus a Japanese colony, and afterward sang Japanese childhood songs together
Far from the images of howling agony that the phrase “lepers’ colony” conjures, all of the community members met by Peace Boat participants were in very high spirits. Lo Sheng is in fact like any other senior citizens’ community. The residents are excited to receive visitors; they sit around picnic tables, chatting; everyone knows each other and affectionately refers to the oldest resident, 91-year-old Lin Che, as “Ama,” the Chinese word for “grandmother.” Only at first do the mostly elderly residents of Lo Sheng look different: Ama, for example, is missing both her hands and feet, a result of the nerve damage that Hansen’s inflicts. Mr Cho, an outgoing 81-year-old who quickly designated himself tour guide, blinks and tears up often due to the deterioration of tissue around the lower rims of his eyes.
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The newly built hospital where the Taiwanese government wants to relocate residents. Residents argue the small living quarters will offer no space, freedom, or mobility
After hearing Mr Cho tell one of his stories about working in the kitchen of Lo Sheng years ago, when the facility housed over 1,000 people affected by Hansen’s, it’s obvious that Lin Che and Mr Cho are no different from any other grandmother and grandfather. And why wouldn’t they be? None of the residents at Lo Sheng suffer from Hansen’s any longer. Despite the deformities that linger, everyone has been cured. Furthermore, the healthy lifestyle at Lo Sheng revolves around socialization and outdoor activities. Residents are largely free to do whatever they like. For Mr Cho, that includes driving around the community in his motorized scooter to visit his neighbours and watching television. On the day of Peace Boat’s visit, other residents of the community were tending gardens and taking in the sunshine. But if the Taiwanese government has its way, these residents will all be moved to a newly built hospital.
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Homes turned to rubble by the government’s construction project. When Peace Boat first visited Lo Sheng, just three months ago, residents were living here
The gray, rectangular hospital building rises ominously from the vantage point on the side of the hill, where Mr Cho is telling stories about his old house. “I had a little house, and rabbits and chickens,” he says, motioning to just right of the hospital, where construction is taking place. Participants watch silently as backhoes mine large rocks from the area Mr Cho used to live. The rocks will be sold for capital to fund the construction of the subway that will run through Lo Sheng. As the crash of rocks smashing against rocks and the roar of the tractors’ motors nearly drowns him out, Mr Cho suddenly becomes serious. “We won’t be able to go outside because we can’t use our scooters and we can’t drive (because of disabilities),” he says about the new hospital. “I won’t have a garden or any animals. I won’t be able to see my friends. There will be no freedom. No freedom.”
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Standing under an arch in the crumbling former hospital, Mr Cho explains the building’s history and significance to a young Peace Boat participant
Already, 160 residents have moved to the new hospital, convinced in part by the government’s cutting of electricity to the Lo Sheng community. Only 60 people remain at Lo Sheng, half of them in temporary housing. Many have resigned themselves to the fact that they will lose their homes. One compromise they are seeking is the historical preservation of Lo Sheng’s original hospital. The building, crumbling from neglect, still contains the old medical equipment that doctors used for autopsies and amputations. In one hallway, high rafters are the only testament to the dozens of patients who hanged themselves, unable to withstand the physical pain as their nerves disintegrated and the emotional pain as they were forced to leave their families forever. The dark, musty building has a palpable feeling of anguish. Its preservation is necessary to make sure such atrocities never take place again.
 
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The old hospital’s hallway, where many patients hanged themselves because of maltreatment, physical pain, or the agony of being isolated from loved ones
After protests and sit-ins led by 200 volunteers, the Taiwanese government has reached a verbal accord with Lo Sheng residents which stipulates 70% of their land will be retained. Yet because the government refuses to sign any agreement, residents remain doubtful. “After all the protests, the government is going ahead. If they made the hospital a historical site, that would be great, but they wouldn’t spend the money to keep it in good condition,” Mr Cho says. “I don’t have much hope.”
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Japanese and Taiwanese speak two different languages, but share the culture of Chinese characters. Here, participants try to learn the residents’ names by asking them to write their Chinese characters on paper
Others refuse to give in. Wun-Hing Chang, who at 73 years old has considered Lo Sheng home for 59 years, serves as the Honorary Adminstrator of the Save Lo Sheng organization. He thanked Peace Boat participants for coming and parted with an urgent message: “Please talk to everyone and bring more people to this place. I haven’t given up. This is where I live, this is our life. This is our home, and the history is something that can be passed on to future generations. I won’t give up.”