The Collective Memory of the Judiciary

Over the past month, a purely grassroots-led and organized cultural festival has been in full swing in Chiayi. Surprisingly, the venue is a prison—specifically, the Old Chiayi Prison built during the Japanese colonial period. In less than a month, eight thousand visitors have come to this old prison to participate in various activities, demystifying a once-grim and cold prison and transforming it into a new space of curiosity and exploration.

Putting aside how unique the physical structure is, how it uniquely and exclusively represents the typical prison architecture of that era, rich in both historic site and architectural vocabularies, and how worthy it is of preservation, what I am more interested in discussing is: what can legal professionals gain from this ancient prison architecture?

This is an interesting question because traditional legal professionals rarely incorporate such issues into the legal domain. We naturally assume this falls within the "jurisdiction" of cultural workers; although the building is a prison, it seemingly has little to do with actual positive law. However, this mindset may precisely be the reason why our legal culture remains barren. Just like in all fields in Taiwan, we are perpetually "historically blind." Every bit of what has happened in the past in Taiwan is either forgotten, destroyed, or deliberately distorted. In unhesitatingly discarding the traces left by our ancestors, we naturally also lose the possibility of a collective memory. Without the accumulation of collective memory, we certainly lose the foundation for self-reflection. Consequently, every reform is like a dynastic history detached from the past—without predecessors and without successors. We can no longer be certain whether progress is truly progress or whether change is truly change. Lacking historical coordinates, we may end up repeating the same paths or forgetting them altogether.

The importance of Taiwan's legal history is intertwined with the shifts in rulers. Different rulers confronted Taiwan with different legal systems and judiciaries. Throughout four hundred years of Taiwanese history, legal history has witnessed Taiwan's long road toward autonomy. However, just like other histories, our collective legal memory is equally faint; at best, it is reduced to a nostalgic and idealized old paradigm—such as the notion that the Japanese colonial period was characterized by harsh laws and excellent public order. Our memory, interpretation, and even exposition of legal history have always been lacking. The Old Chiayi Prison stands like a landmark, marking the reality of judicial treatment at the time. A prison is a powerful architectural vocabulary: control, suppression, rule of law, management... the forceful implementation of state power, representing a solid and agonizing memory.

Preserving a prison is not merely about preserving a building; it is about establishing the possibility of a collective memory, especially a collective memory connected to the judiciary—particularly when such memories are so scarce and heavy. As Chiayi's community cultural sector has already sparked a surging wave of concern over the future of this old prison, perhaps it is time for legal professionals to care as well. When the judiciary is viewed as a part of the humanities, and when the collective memory of the judiciary is valued, we may perhaps acquire a new foundation—a starting point for looking back, reflecting, and setting off anew.

※ Published in: Taiwan Daily