Re-Learning Taiwan: A Foggy Tale and the Untold History of the White Terror
My dad always told me, “Always vote—it’s a privilege to take part in democracy.” I didn’t understand when I was younger, because the right to vote was one I took for granted in the United States. As I got older, I began to try to learn. I envied my peers who could spend a summer tracing their heritage, learning through pictures and stories told from their parents and grandparents. But where was my family’s story? I had met my grandma a handful of times as a child, so why didn’t she ever bother to share?
Since then, I’ve gathered bits and pieces of information over the years: the vast world of the Internet, intentional questions asked to my parents, curious visits to Taiwan as an adult, and, of course, pieces of media like A Foggy Tale (大濛) (2025). The revival of Taiwanese cinema over the past 20 years has generated artistic storytelling that examines this relatively recent history from perspectives that feel personal and relatable.
Directed by Chen Yu-hsun, A Foggy Tale takes place during the 1950s, in the middle of the White Terror period (1949–1992). This was a time of martial law established by the Kuomintang, characterized by poverty, powerlessness, and the violent silencing of perceived political dissidents, including journalists, thinkers, and activists. For many Taiwanese people—and for soldiers from China who believed they would soon return home—this period shaped a quiet, lingering trauma.
In a story that honors both of these perspectives while highlighting the lives of characters finding ways to survive and exercise agency amidst oppression, the film took home four Golden Horse Awards (including Best Narrative Feature and Best Original Screenplay). Its critical acclaim speaks to its ability to resonate with broad audiences, especially those like myself, who have felt disconnected from Taiwanese history but are now motivated to understand the past our grandparents rarely spoke about.
Film Still from A Foggy Tale 2025
A Story of Survival and Quiet Resistance
The film follows a young teenage girl, Yue (Caitlin Fang), around the same age my grandma was in the 1950s. She travels from her home in rural Chiayi to Taipei after learning her older brother has been executed by the Kuomintang. Her journey—to do the only thing she believes she can to preserve her brother’s dignity—reveals the quiet resilience of someone among the most powerless: a young girl from a poor family.
Upon arriving in Taipei, she encounters a range of morally complex characters. She forms an unlikely friendship with Chao Kung-tao (Will Or), a rough-edged soldier from Guangdong still holding onto the hope of returning home. Together, they navigate difficult, sometimes questionable choices to scrape together enough money to reclaim her brother’s body from a funeral home—a cost far beyond her family’s means.
They move through a version of Taipei that feels both distant and familiar: red brick buildings still standing in parts of the modern city, but surrounded by dust, bicycles, oxen, and narrow alleyways. Yet what feels most accessible and close to home are the people—friendship, the kindness of strangers, and the vulnerability of childhood are threads that transcend time and place.
Why Stories Like A Foggy Tale Matter
The story fills in emotional gaps that history books often cannot. As Yue’s journey unfolds, we begin to understand that she is not just a character of the past—she exists in the present, reflected in our grandparents, who continue to carry the weight of this history in ways that are often unspoken.
Films like A Foggy Tale are essential in preserving these stories. They offer younger generations of the Taiwanese diaspora a way to connect the dots—to understand identity not just as inheritance, but as something shaped just as much by silence, resilience, and survival.
As a part of the Taiwanese diaspora, I feel fortunate to see that A Foggy Tale is being shown around the US, including in San Diego this weekend at San Diego Asian Film Festival Spring Showcase hosted by Pacific Arts Movement (April 24-26). My hope is that we continue seeking out and sharing these stories—because they deserve to be remembered, honored, and carried forward.