Léa Chen

Located in the western Pacific Ocean, Taiwan, being the largest island between Japan and the Philippines, is geographically valuable for both economic and political reasons. Since the early 1600s, Taiwan has lived through six colonial regimes. The Stars That Don’t Look Back focuses on the last two colonial periods: the Japanese Rule (1895–1945) and the White Terror period (1949–1991). 

After Japan's surrender in World War II, the 228 Incident broke out due to the failed administration of the KMT (Kuomintang) in 1947. The 228 Incident was the most tragic massacre in Taiwanese history during White Terror; over 200,000 bullets were fired at civilians by the KMT–led Nationalist government. Most of the casualties were men from age 15 to 64, making many women “political widows” at that time. The pain of men in these violent histories has been recorded in memorials and museums, but what I was curious about is: what happens to the women after losing their father, partner, and son in the same traumatic events? They were left out of the official papers and documents, always being portrayed by a third person rather than being the main character. Why are their stories and sacrifices insignificant, like the bullet shells from the 228 Incident—tucked away on the bottom shelf of a memorial, quiet and unnoticed?

To understand the history, I decided to start from my own family story. Both of my grandmothers were born around the end of Japanese Rule in the mid-1940s. Both worked really hard to support their families. Their devotion was evident, but not memorable. It was not until the past few years that I truly started to understand my mother’s sacrifices and the truth behind my grandmother’s mental illness. Within my own family, the roles that females play in the household were still underappreciated, even by a woman, myself. It was when my grandma had her mental breakdown five years ago that I started to see a pattern within my family for women to suffer mentally.

Before my grandma got ill, she used to love using a lipstick that was produced in Japan in the early 1970s. The bullet casing from the 228 Incident in this project serves as a metaphor for women’s psychological trauma in our everyday lives. By placing my grandmother’s lipstick delicately underneath the traditional food cover, they lay peacefully in my grandparents’ household. Like the women in the family, bearing trauma, yet still saving food for the loved ones that return home late for meals.

In order to focus on a memory that was overlooked in history, I started re-editing and cropping the family archival photographs. By pairing each archive with a new photograph, I searched for the details and symmetry of the movements, especially picking out events when women in my family were enjoying their time and having fun, unlike most traditional narratives of women: as objects of suffering, misfortune, and grief.

From the day my grandma got married, to my mother helping my grandma get up from a chair; from my grandma’s choir group photo wearing traditional costumes, to us three standing next to each other, holding hands. The intimate and peaceful moments that women share together in our everyday lives are not portrayed enough.

Fagge Dupan writes: “Bearing misfortune, yet shining brightly—it is a star on the other side.” Her words capture the strength and radiance of women who endure pain, yet continue to shape the world for future generations. Like the root of the tree growing into the soil, the spider’s web staying strong after the rain, the eye centring calmly in the storm, The Stars That Don't Look Back encourages viewers to search for a glimpse of inner peace in the safety net woven by women throughout history and memory.