◎ Shi Fanlong
The second time I came back, I photographed the victims themselves becoming supermen.
Three hundred tomorrows have passed. "Shovel Superman" was invited to participate in the annual harvest festival of the Ma Tai'an tribe and returned to the restoration. Old friends reunited. The tears and sweat were wiped away, and the smile that survived the disaster returned to the street. Sure enough, the mud disappeared, the house was shoveled back bit by bit, and 80% of the shops reopened. However, things are not that simple: the streets are clean, but people’s hearts don’t dry out so quickly! Some people used their remaining savings, while others borrowed money to reopen a store: "Just do it. Whatever you do, you just have to survive." This sentence is very Taiwanese. It is not a great declaration. It means that when you wake up tomorrow morning, you will still pull up the iron door, cook what should be cooked, sell what should be sold, and slowly pay back the money that should be paid...
Some people took advantage of the trick and opened a "Guangfu Ice Shoveling Room" and sold "Superman's Shoveled Ice": a plate of small white ice mounds, with a shovel-shaped spoon, shoveling out peanuts, taro, and red beans one by one. This is a series of cultural and creative products created after the restoration of Japan - "Shovel Superman's Spoon", "Shovel Superman's Ice Products", etc. The shovel that once shoveled away the mud is now shoveling out a new taste of new life.
Please read on...
The shovel and Superman's spoon shovel out the new taste of a new life after the disaster. (provided by the author)
As the photographer put it: "The first time I came here, I photographed Superman with a shovel; the second time I came back, what I photographed was the victims themselves becoming Superman." Starting from nothing and living again is a kind of superhuman courage in itself. That is the deepest and most powerful answer to "despair". Not shouting out hope, but - tomorrow, I will still be alive and well.
Walking into Buddha Street, time has not passed there
The only thing that takes your breath away is walking into Buddha Street - time doesn't pass there. Room after room, condensed in gray and gloom, is frozen into pieces of "installation art": the furniture inside the house and the motorcycle outside the house are still in their original positions; the layers of mud wrapped in them tightly bond the furniture and the motorcycle, and after drying, they are shaped into a "mud-machine integration". It's just that I would rather never see this kind of art in my lifetime. It's the scene of the end of the world.
The mud tightly wraps the motorcycle, and when it dries hard, it becomes a "mud-machine-in-one" installation art. (provided by the author)
Just when my hair stood on end, I heard chanting sutras one after another: "Namo Amitabha... Namo Amitabha... Namo Amitabha..." It was so faint that I got goosebumps all over my body. Following the intermittent sounds, I finally saw a real "existence" - a chanting device hanging on the roof beam, silently saving 19 souls. The wind blew through the empty house, and the sound of sutras continued.
At that moment, we couldn't help but ask: "Shovel Superman" can provide disaster relief quickly and effectively, why is the government's reconstruction so slow? But maybe, we can imagine it from another angle. If some places, such as Buddha Street, can no longer return to their former glory, is it possible not to wipe them out and level them in a hurry? Is it possible to preserve the original appearance of this disaster area? Let it become a museum to remember the disaster of the barrier lake; at the same time, also become a photography and art museum with the theme of disaster? Because nature never speaks or argues with man. It just pushes the problems that humans are unwilling to face when the time comes, pushing them before our eyes.
In fact, the wind blows for a year, the sun shines for a year, and the rain falls for a year. The land on Buddha Street has taken on a new look: a "strange" look. It used to be a warm home and a green countryside; after the disaster, it was covered with thick mud. The mud went from being wet to drying, and then from drying to cracking; now, weeds have grown in the cracks, and small round holes have appeared in the mud, where aquatic creatures have breathed and inhabited. Life is not waiting for reconstruction, it is always in the ruins, looking for the next place to start.
The land on Buddha Street has taken on a new look, with aquatic creatures breathing in it. (provided by the author)
Speak for those who cannot speak, leave a testimony for those who have been forgotten
And perhaps, it is here that photography has its sacred mission - not to take beautified photos of the aftermath of disasters, but to speak for those who cannot speak, and to leave testimonies for those who have been forgotten. The photos then turn into stories, and the stories are connected to each other; watching is no longer just watching. When different people stand in front of the same image, we may understand for the first time: a disaster not only changes the land, but also rearranges the relationship between people. Strangers can become each other's family; people with different life experiences can also find connections and resonate in each other's hearts because of a photo or a story.
The disaster destroyed our home, but it also allowed us to see the power of "love" again.
Lin Sheng gave this exhibition a title: "Love, so I bent down." This sentence may be the most precious understanding left to us after the flood recedes. Because love does not necessarily mean standing high; true love often means bending down - bending down to help a stranger; bending down to listen to a forgotten story; bending down to gaze at the wounds that we were unwilling to see.
Photography speaks for those who cannot speak and leaves testimony for those who have been forgotten. (provided by the author)
On the occasion of the anniversary of the Liberation Disaster, you are invited to enter this "Shovel Superman" photography exhibition with your family and friends. Please also bend down and take a look: at first, maybe what you see is just a photo; through the photo, you will see a disaster; through the disaster, you will see a group of people; through the stories of those people, you may eventually see - yourself.
Lin Sheng's lens may really take us through time, not just images, but our own hearts. Because the mud will eventually dry up and the news will eventually recede. I hope people's conscience will not ebb. Only when we are willing to bend down will the world stand up again.
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Free to speak" From barrier lake to Shovel Superman - the memory left by a disaster and the resilience of Taiwanese people (Part 1)
(The author is a PhD in religious anthropology from the University of London; civil society anthropologist and visual culture researcher)
