The Classroom Curmudgeon: Summer Camp, Part II

The afternoon's very emotional events are fresh as I write this, too close to the raw nerve endings of memory. What should have been, and indeed what was a wonderful experience for the children, was marred by a twist of bad fortune that saw one of the girls get hit by a motorcycle, and the driver painfully hurt with a broken arm. While we are all “counting our blessings” that the situation was not worse—the girl is going to be sore for a while until her many scratches heal—we are also saddened and upset by this accident. Mrs. Tien is especially distressed, for not only was she responsible for the safety of other people's children, but the road accident happened too close in time to the loss of her beloved husband two months ago in a traffic accident.

The day was supposed to be a field trip of cultural exchange and fun, and while Ya-ling accompanied the injured at a nearby hospital, the rest of the group went on to the Amis Mataan Wetland conservation area. The accident took place at the former Taiwan sugar refinery in Guangfu, Hualien. The factory now serves as a theme park of sorts, and is most famous for its many varieties of ice cream. We spent almost an hour there, the adults enjoying browsing in small tourist-trap shops while the children fed the koi and rode on the ox-drawn carriage. Of course, everybody was hopped up on sugar from double scoops of ice cream, so it was pretty easy to have fun. We were in the process of gathering the children together when misfortune struck. And while the children generally seemed to enjoy their visit to the Amis wetland park, I think the adults were generally worried about what was happening at the hospital.

The Amis guides first introduced the different kinds of traps they use for fishing, all made of natural wood materials and designed according to the behavior of the fish, eels, crayfish and other targeted animals. The guides then took the children into a demonstration pond, and allowed them into the water to try their hand at catching the fish that would later end up on our dinner table. The children, of course, had a wonderful time splashing after the fish. That is when things started to become uncomfortable for me. Certainly the afternoon at the wetland was something of an eye-opener. Here I dare to express observations I perhaps ought not to, for I confess to being far from “the loop” vis-à-vis being informed of and aware of the socioeconomic and sociocultural circumstances of this small community of parents and children.

I did not come into this experience blindly, for I have visited in a similar capacity another aboriginal community and seen children "at play." That was in a mixed tribal area somewhat south of here, in a foothills community where my former students served a week as volunteer summer camp teachers. Indeed, the play of the children in this community is relatively peaceful compared to what I have seen before. Of course, I am speaking of the amount of physical violence the children seem to use as a form of expression. They seem to be always hitting, punching, sometimes slapping and even kicking, although this never develops negatively into actual harm.

This may also have been my first experience with hyperactive children, although I dare not suggest that what I witnessed this afternoon was Attention Deficit Disorder or any similar diagnosable emotional problem. What I saw was two young teens, perhaps 14 years old, who simply could not remain stationary or focused for very long. After our negative experience at the sugar factory, the antics of these two inseparable friends was enough to drive me toward frustration and anxiety. While they remained in control during the fish farm demonstration, they quickly grew bored as the activity drew to a close and headed off on their own. Where they headed to was a long boardwalk over a lake, and when they were done climbing, balancing and walking upon the banister of the protective fence, they raced as fast and as far as they could until they were pretty much out of my line of sight. Two girls then volunteered to race after them, to retrieve them.

Ironically, after the four fast-paced teens returned, the entire group headed down the boardwalk to view a special tree at the far end—providing the boys another opportunity to balance upon the banister again, only this time with the girls there prodding and poking and generally threatening to unbalance them and send them toppling into the water and mud. On the bus ride back home the boys could not remain in their seats, and continued to try to get my attention. They twice took off their shirts in an effort to impress anybody who was within visual range and able to be so taken by their thin frames. When they moved to the back of the bus where they were well out of everybody’s vision, they made their way to the first level of the bus into the luggage compartment, forcing the bus driver to slow the vehicle and threaten them with police intervention if they did not return to their seats and behave.

My heart was broken by witnessing these boys and their attempt to gain my attention. I learned that at least one of them came from a damaged family, a home life to which words like “abused” and “alcoholic” were applied. I also was told that one of the girls, in response to an inquiry about what her family eats every night, admitted that their regular meals largely consist of wild grasses plucked from nearby fields. Nor is their experience unique. One of the local store owners made the snide remark that the local villagers never buy groceries, only liquor.

What could I, or what can I do for any of these children? These boys obviously need an adult to admire them, encourage them, and respect them. But this is not my place for providing any of these emotional needs to them. And while she is herself hurting from her so-recent loss, Mrs. Tien is in no position to extend herself emotionally for these boys. And perhaps what these boys so desperately need is the guidance of a male, a father figure.

Part of my heartbreak also comes from my suspicion that these children—this community-has somehow gone astray and lost too much contact with or respect for their own cultural and traditional heritage. They have lost their sense of worth and pride. In some terrible way the racism and injustices of the society imposed upon the tribes by a century of colonial abuse at the hands of both the Japanese and the Nationalists has socially and culturally emasculated them. Have they become a community without hope, without vision, without a dream for the future of their children?

I cannot answer any of these questions or suspicions, nor is it my place to do so. What I can and should do at this point is look back on the day and wonder what benefit it might be for the children.

Obviously the opportunity to get away from home and enjoy something fun like the sugar plant was important, if only for allowing the younger children an experience of away-from-home enjoyment. For the older children they had another opportunity to both bond and let off some steam through the splashing and laughing.

At a cultural level the children saw positive role models from another tribe, adults who encouraged them toward healthy ideas of working with the natural world. Who knows what effect the words of the Amis will have upon these children, as the guides persuaded them toward group cooperation rather than individual competition? The Truku children had a chance to compare tribal languages and traditions, and of course taste tribal dishes both different from or similar to anything they may be familiar with. This cultural exchange was a delightful new experience, especially as they heard stories about how the matriarchal Amis culture operates.

Despite the sadness and anxiety of the unfortunate accident, and despite my personal sadness of having to become aware of the sadder circumstances in which these youngsters find themselves, I believe the field trip this afternoon was good for the children. But once again, the benefits may not be visible for years, even decades, as these children mature and hopefully find brighter futures for themselves.