The Personal and Cultural Impact of Taiwan's Guangfu Flood Disaster

Reporter/Provider - TaiwanPlus News
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In late September, 60 million metric tons of water and mud poured through Guangfu Township in Taiwan’s eastern county of Hualien. As one of the historic homes of the Indigenous Amis people, the flood swept away not only belongings but lifetimes of memories -- many deeply connected to the culture at the heart of Guangfu. In this episode of Zoom In Zoom Out, we talk to those residents most deeply affected, those spearheading efforts to restore Guangfu not just physically but to preserve their family's culture.

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One month after a barrier lake collapsed in the mountains of eastern Taiwan, sending 60 million tons of mud and debris into Guangfu Township, residents are still digging out—both physically and emotionally. 

The September deluge wiped out homes, belongings and decades of memories in one of the historic homelands of Taiwan’s Indigenous Amis people. Some residents have begun returning to what’s left; others remain displaced and uncertain about their future. 

Angah Looh, a lifelong resident of Guangfu, has been trying to live inside what remains of his home — now without a front door, windows or usable furniture. “Yes, when the water came, the chairs, the TV cabinet and cupboards all hit [the ceiling],” he said, pointing to where debris had slammed into the rafters. “The sand, the mud… it was piled up to here.” 

He spent about a week cleaning what he could. “About a week. We cleaned and washed it out. It ended up being like this.” Volunteers from across Taiwan — “Taitung, Taichung and even Miaoli,” he said — helped remove layers of silt that filled his home. 

When the flood hit, Angah was trying to move his scooters to higher ground. “The water suddenly came in. In less than three seconds the water was already up to here,” he recalled, raising his hand to chest level. 

His wife, Piyaw, was in Taipei at the time and spent days fearing the worst. She learned her husband survived only after neighbors filmed the mud levels outside the house. “He was still alive. I cried and hugged my daughter,” she said. “His safety was all that mattered.” 

Angah escaped by climbing onto the roof. “I grabbed onto the beam and got over here… I climbed up onto the roof,” he said, tracing the path he took as water surged beneath him. 

Today his home remains gutted. “Everything has been washed away, there’s nothing left. Absolutely nothing,” he said. Still, he insists on staying. “If I didn’t stay here, where could I go? I can only stay home.” 

For Indigenous residents, the question of where to go next carries deep cultural weight. 

Ipay-Kaeti, a representative of Fata’an village, has been pushing authorities to rebuild in a way that keeps the community intact. The temporary housing site selected by residents is on Natauran, high ground historically used by the village. “This area is one of the five original village sites,” he said. “No matter how heavy the rain or floods, it won’t be submerged.” 

Central to the decision was cultural cohesion. “Our Indigenous culture values both autonomy and community,” he said. Prefabricated housing scattered across distant land would “weaken our culture.” Instead, residents petitioned to stay near their homes. “We decided that no matter what, we have to stay together.” 

Local representative Cheng echoed that position. “We don’t want to be separated and scattered due to the flood,” he said. The government is now reviewing a two-month proposal to lease the chosen land. 

But recovery has been repeatedly disrupted. A week after interviews were conducted, another typhoon struck Taiwan’s east coast, causing the Matane River to overflow again and bury surrounding townships in fresh mud. 

For Guangfu’s residents, the timeline for returning to normal remains unknown — and, for many, unimaginable.