Taiwan’s east coast villages are navigating the promises of industrial jobs and sustainability against the backdrop of contested land rights and environmental risks.

Taiwan’s eastern coastline is renowned for its natural beauty, attracting millions of tourists every year. As visitors admire the stunning ocean views on the train to Taroko Gorge, few will notice the cement plants dotting the coast or the mines tucked deep inside neighboring mountains.

In Heping Village on the northern edge of Hualien County, a prominent smokestack stands above Heping Industrial Park, which comprises a power plant, a cement plant, and an industrial port largely owned and operated by TCC Group Holdings (formerly Taiwan Cement Corporation). The complex is supported by nearby mines — some supplying limestone to TCC’s cement plant, others extracting minerals for different companies.

TCC promotes the park as a model of circular, low-waste development, but locals feel its impact more directly. More than 70% of villagers in Heping and neighboring Aohua Village — primarily Atayal and Taroko people — rely on TCC or its contractors for employment.

While most residents now accept industrial development, a small but vocal minority continues to push back, advocating for greater environmental protection and respect for Indigenous interests.

Environmental impacts

Cement production is resource-intensive, carrying significant environmental costs from emissions and mining.

“Mining is not sustainable — there’s just no way you can justify it in sustainability terms,” says Robin Winkler, founder of the Wild at Heart Legal Defense Association, Taiwan, an NGO specializing in environmental and Indigenous rights litigation.

In Aohua, some residents fear that intensive mining could destabilize nearby mountains and heighten landslide risks, especially in an earthquake-prone region like Taiwan. “Some areas targeted for mining have experienced landslides before — we should be extremely careful given their proximity to the lower village,” says Indigenous youth Lee Yuan-lung.

Village head Huang Tsung-ming is more optimistic, arguing that current operations are far enough from homes. He is also confident in existing regulations and government oversight. “Now, there are many agencies conducting safety inspections and monitoring operations, unlike in the past,” he says.

Water pollution is another concern. Yang Chunyi, a legal assistant who grew up in Aohua, describes how runoff from mining has discolored the Heping River, indicating degraded water quality that disrupts fishing, farming, and daily use for Indigenous communities. “The only time the water becomes clear is after a typhoon because the mines are forced to temporarily pause operations,” she says.

The Ministry of Environment (MOENV), which monitors environmental impacts, acknowledges its limited resources but says it is expanding the use of drones, satellite imagery, and CCTV to strengthen supervision across hundreds of ongoing projects.

For its part, TCC has also invested NT$3.7 billion (US$121 million) in underground transportation systems to reduce emissions from mining, though critics note that these innovations don’t address other environmental impacts.

Ironically, one of TCC’s flagship sustainability projects has become a source of controversy. In 2019, the company unveiled plans for a renewable resource recycling center in Heping, which would utilize a gasifier to convert household waste into alternative fuel. The remaining bottom ash would be incorporated into raw materials to produce clinker. Launched in partnership with the Hualien County Government to address mounting waste, the project quickly drew protests over fears of air pollution.

Despite pushback, the project moved ahead with government support and began operations in December 2023, processing 200 metric tons of waste a day.

Today, village leaders say that most residents support the project and trust TCC to manage impacts responsibly. “We are proud to help solve Hualien’s waste problem, but we hope TCC and the county will keep pollution to a minimum,” says Heping village head Tung Lien-i. Aohua village head Huang echoes this sentiment, emphasizing that only a small minority of younger residents still oppose the project.

While opposition has largely waned, some villagers continue to voice concerns about pollution and are pursuing legal action to hold developers accountable.

In 2021, four Aohua residents filed a lawsuit against the MOENV, the Hualien County Government, and TCC with assistance from multiple civil society groups. The plaintiffs argued that developers should have conducted a new environmental impact assessment (EIA) for the gasifier, rather than relying on a less comprehensive variance assessment.

Yang, who is one of the plaintiffs, points out that the cement plant’s original EIA was conducted nearly three decades ago — a process likely far less rigorous than what today’s technology and scientific standards would demand.

“The variance assessment is also fundamentally different from an EIA because it leaves the developer with no commitments or obligations,” she adds.

On June 25, 2025, the Supreme Administrative Court handed the plaintiffs a victory, overturning a lower court ruling in favor of TCC and sending the case back for further review. The justices stated that the earlier decision, which allowed the project to proceed without a new EIA, rested on inconsistent reasoning and a misapplication of the law.

The court also ruled that developers could not bypass requirements for Free, Prior, and Informed Consent (FPIC) under Article 21 of the Indigenous Peoples Basic Law. It ruled that restricting FPIC to “public land” was unlawful, as Indigenous territories predate the state.

The plaintiffs’ legal team called the ruling a breakthrough that could have major implications for enhancing Indigenous land protection.

Yang says she is optimistic but notes that a final ruling has yet to be made. “Expanding FPIC beyond public land would greatly impact these companies since they would have to spend more time and money consulting with Indigenous communities,” she says.

While some fear that broader FPIC requirements could infringe on private property rights, Yang explains that the industrial park sits on traditional Indigenous land that the government purchased and later sold to private companies.

“It may seem strange to have to ask others for permission to use your own private land, but I think it’s even more strange if you don’t have to inform others about actions on your land that affect others,” she says.

Apang Hiro, one of the other plaintiffs, underscores that their efforts are about the next generation. “We just want to show our kids that you have to advocate for yourself and defend your rights based on what you believe in,” she says. “Historically, Indigenous people conformed to the government, and we lost our land. Now, we must stand up for ourselves.”

Representation and consultation

In other industry expansion projects, Aohua villagers have been formally consulted through FPIC, with work permitted to proceed only if a majority votes in favor. However, critics contend that the process is flawed and fails to fully reflect Indigenous voices and interests.

One example occurred on August 16 this year, when Dayuan Mining & Industrial Co. held an information session in Aohua on a proposal to expand its Dayuan Mine. The meeting began with a short presentation, followed by an open discussion. Resident Lee raised concerns about the company’s environmental record. Meanwhile, local truck driver and veteran Balo argued that holding a vote immediately after the meeting left no time to address issues raised.

Some villagers grew impatient, interrupting Balo as he spoke. “It’s always him!” one person shouted, while others defended his right to raise questions. Ultimately, attendance fell short of the required quorum, and no vote was held.

The fraught meeting illustrated the difficulty of fostering open debate, as residents who speak out often face backlash and social pressure. Balo says that many villagers are quietly opposed but reluctant to voice their opinions, fearing they will offend relatives or community leaders.

“I asked my friend why he went to vote in favor, and he said because his uncle told him to,” he says. “This is just the nature of human relationships in the village.”

Others may not see the importance of asking questions and pushing back, especially since there is no tradition of advocacy in the community. “They just vote for the project to get a free bento or a pack of toilet paper,” he says. “It doesn’t matter to them.”

Balo stresses that he does not categorically oppose industrial development but simply seeks proper responses to his concerns and adequate compensation for the village. “The decision-making power lies with us now, but if the project passes, then we will no longer have control. We need to have clear conversations and resolve issues now to avoid the need for protests in the future.”

Redress and the road ahead

Alongside consultation, companies often provide “compensation payments” to offset adverse impacts. Local debates over project approval often center on whether payment amounts are adequate.

Village head Tung estimates that Heping receives around NT$40 million (US$1.3 million) annually from TCC. “Of course, we’re not allowing projects solely because of these payments,” she clarifies, noting that these funds have been highly beneficial in creating new economic opportunities and improving the lives of villagers.

Nonetheless, there have been concerns about the fairness of payment distribution. For example, village head Huang notes that Aohua is not compensated for the waste disposal project, despite being located within its impact zone.

“I’ve raised this issue repeatedly but still haven’t received a real response to this day,” he says. Huang is appealing to the Yilan County Government to advocate for Aohua, but remains concerned that the ongoing lawsuit could be counterproductive. “Heping gets compensation, but why don’t we? It’s because of the small minority of villagers who continue to protest.”

Not everyone is convinced that compensatory measures can undo years of harm. Yang contends that while money can solve many issues, “it cannot restore traditional Indigenous culture or reverse the loss of land and environment.”

Beyond direct monetary payments, some suggest alternative methods for companies to give back. Tung explains that TCC already supports Heping through buses for transporting residents to Hualien or Nanao, temporary disaster relief shelters, educational summer camps for kids, and a number of other initiatives.

Yang says these efforts could be further expanded. For example, TCC recently implemented an internship program for local students proposed by residents. “Not everything has to come back to money,” she says. “It’s about creating different opportunities and modes of collaboration.”

Some have also criticized TCC’s attempts to recognize and highlight Indigenous culture as a form of redress. Yang notes that the Indigenous-looking patterns on the industrial park’s smokestack have no connection to Atayal culture and that supposed local Indigenous legends featured in exhibits at TCC’s DAKA Park attraction were similarly fabricated.

It is worth noting that the majority of residents in Heping and Aohua today are unopposed to TCC and industrial development. “Those who were initially opposed have gradually accepted it,” says village head Tung. “People need livelihoods and jobs. They just hope companies will responsibly care for the community.”

Beyond more equitable compensation, some residents express hope that TCC can provide better job opportunities beyond low-wage labor to foster greater social mobility in the community.

Other villagers envision alternatives that can reduce reliance on heavy industry, including ecotourism focused on Atayal culture and natural attractions like the Aohua Waterfall. Proponents argue that such projects could diversify the local economy, even if transitioning would be difficult at first.

Activists stress that they are not calling for an immediate departure of industry. “We don’t want TCC to leave, we just want them to respect Indigenous voices and our land,” says Yang. “If you truly love the land and see it as the place that you and future generations will live on for your entire lives rather than just a vehicle for money and profit, I imagine that you would treat it very differently.”