Neocolonial nostalgia obscures Taiwan’s contested heritage: How retro trends erase postcolonial memory and who benefits from this framing

Indigenous Taiwanese groups, such as the Amis, Atayal, and Paiwan peoples, view colonial-era buildings as symbols of displacement and cultural erasure rather than nostalgic relics. Their oral histories and land-based traditions challenge the dominant narrative of harmonious multiculturalism, emphasizing instead the need for reparative justice in heritage preservation. The article’s focus on 'retro' trends further marginalizes Indigenous claims to land and memory, as urban preservation efforts prioritize aestheticized colonial aesthetics over Indigenous land rights and self-determination.

The Japanese colonial period (1895–1945) involved systematic suppression of Taiwanese identity, including bans on local languages, forced labor, and the destruction of Indigenous sacred sites. Post-1945, the Kuomintang (KMT) regime continued this erasure by promoting Mandarin and suppressing Taiwanese Hokkien and Hakka languages, while also appropriating colonial-era architecture to legitimize its own authoritarian rule. The 'retro' trend today echoes earlier waves of nostalgia, such as the KMT’s 1980s 'Taiwanese culture revival,' which was itself a state-controlled project that excluded Indigenous and working-class voices.

Comparable cases in postcolonial societies show how heritage is often repurposed to serve state narratives. In India, colonial-era buildings are framed as symbols of 'shared heritage' despite their ties to British imperialism, while Indigenous groups demand their transformation into spaces of resistance. In South Korea, the colonial-era Japanese architecture in Seoul is similarly contested, with some communities advocating for its preservation as a reminder of oppression, while others push for demolition. These examples reveal a global pattern where heritage becomes a battleground for memory and power.

Academic research on heritage preservation in postcolonial contexts highlights how 'retro' trends are often driven by urban elites and state institutions, rather than grassroots communities. Studies show that such trends disproportionately benefit real estate developers and tourism industries, while marginalizing Indigenous and working-class perspectives. The article’s framing aligns with neoliberal heritage policies that prioritize economic value over historical accuracy or social justice, a pattern documented in works like *The Heritage Crusade* by David Lowenthal and *Decolonizing Heritage* by Sophia Labadi.

For many Taiwanese artists and spiritual practitioners, colonial-era structures are not mere relics but active sites of memory and resistance. Performances like *Theater of the Oppressed* in Taipei use these spaces to stage critiques of state violence, while Indigenous artists such as Sakuliu Pavavalung create works that challenge the sanitized narratives of heritage. The 'retro' trend, in contrast, reduces these spaces to Instagram backdrops, stripping them of their political and spiritual significance. This spiritual dimension underscores the need for heritage practices that honor both memory and ongoing struggles for justice.

If current trends continue, heritage preservation in Taiwan will likely become increasingly commodified, with colonial-era sites serving as luxury cultural assets for global tourism rather than spaces of education or resistance. This could deepen social divisions between urban elites and marginalized communities, particularly Indigenous groups and rural populations. Alternative models, such as participatory heritage management or truth and reconciliation commissions, could foster more inclusive and reparative approaches to memory. The future of Taiwanese heritage depends on whether it can move beyond nostalgia to address the root causes of historical injustice.

The article entirely excludes the voices of Indigenous Taiwanese, who have long been sidelined in heritage discourse despite their ancestral ties to the land. It also ignores the perspectives of Taiwanese laborers and rural communities affected by gentrification, whose livelihoods are disrupted by 'retro' urban renewal projects. Additionally, the framing overlooks the experiences of Taiwanese comfort women and forced laborers during the Japanese colonial period, whose stories challenge the narrative of harmonious cultural exchange. Centering these voices would require a fundamental shift in how heritage is defined and preserved.