The Last Hunters

Over the last few years, Taiwan's con-servation movement has risen to the level where there is discussion and debate on the merits of animal welfare. The people of Taiwan have been scolded for consuming wild animals, and the hunters among the indigenous tribes on the island, who are the direct source of these animals, have been labeled "wildlife terminators." In many people's minds hunting and environmental protection are diametrically opposed activities. In that case, why is the hunting culture of the aborigines now being looked upon as a repository of "ecological wisdom"?

Under an acacia tree on a steep slope, Sakuliu, a member of the Paiwan tribe who is a sculptor, sits cross-legged on a wooden platform he has built himself, with his back to Wutai Mountain and a view in front of the Southern Ailiao River. In a leisurely fashion, he draws the holy mountains of the Paiwan: Tamumu, Northern Tawu, Southern Tawu. Creeks and rivers also flow from his hand, leaving their fluid marks on the paper.

"Who would dare to offend in the abode of our ancestors?" As his eyes move from the mountains on his paper to the mountains in the distance, Sakuliu says that the tributaries of the mountain rivers surround the highest holy mountains, the realm of the tribes' ancestors and wild animals. There are also many traditional taboos and commandments restricting how people can use many of the wild animals belonging to this place. Hunting is only allowed in the area outside the sacred mountains. Since hunted beasts are provided by the ancestors, "Who dares to kill animals from the sacred mountains for their own benefit?" Sakuliu asks.

In the rivers of the Paiwan tribe there is always a zone called "laaolan" where it is forbidden to disturb the fish, shrimp and crabs. Lakes along the middle stretches of rivers are also protected zones, and it is only on the tributaries that the people of the tribe are allowed to fish. "Who would dare to enter the forbidden sections to fish?"

The narrowing of hunting culture

"When you mention hunting, many people glibly reduce it to just the torturing of animals," holds the Atayal writer Walis Nogang.

Since the 1980s, when the global environmental protection movement really got going, environmentalists have been alerting Taiwan to the importance of environmental and ecological preservation work with such slogans as, "We've only got one earth." Unfortunately, in the mountain forests of Taiwan, there are still some indigenous tribes with hunting cultures who have not been asked to participate in the Taiwan mountain forest preservation work and the setting of policy.

Although the cultures of the indigenous tribes have been gradually disappearing ever since outsiders began arriving in Taiwan four centuries ago, the conservation work done over the last several decades, especially the enactment of the Wildlife Conservation Law, has made almost all traditional fishing and hunting illegal. Hence this law that most people hold in high regard is viewed by the indigenous tribes as having rung the death knell for their hunting culture.

"In the national parks, the indigenous people are given less respect than the animals. The animals can freely look for food, whereas the indigenous people can't." This sort of comment is often heard when representatives of the tribes speak at relevant meetings.

The indigenous people's reaction is not simply sour grapes at having lost the chance to eat and sell mountain animals. "Traditional hunting culture can not be described by phrases like 'commercial transaction' or 'recreation,'" says Ming Li-kuo, a Han Chinese scholar who has made collections of indigenous people's music.

In order to prevent outsiders from misunderstanding, Walis Nogang, who once founded a magazine called Hunting Spirit, calls the indigenous people's hunting culture "mountain forest culture."

The meaning of taboo

For hundred and thousands of years, living with the bounty of nature, various indigenous tribes of Taiwan, including the Bunun, the Atayal, the Rukai and the Paiwan (all mountain-dwelling people); the Ami (who live both in the mountains and along the shore); and the Yami (who inhabit Orchid Island) might have different proportions of vegetables, meat and fish in their diet, but because their food all came directly from nature, with seasonal variation in the availability of their plant food and danger involved in hunting wild beasts, both hunting and gathering were given religious significance, and ceremonies and taboos were attached to them, so that they became an intrinsic part of social mores.

Sun Ta-chuan, vice chairman of the Council of Aboriginal Affairs, gives the example of his own Puyuma tribe. The Puyuma hold a monkey ceremony for children, and when youths come of age they must experience the rites of the great hunting ceremony, the purpose of which is to learn hunting techniques and recognize danger. They learn how to work as a group, and the ceremony passes tribal values on to the next generation. Through such ceremonial rites, youths learn all sorts of human values, coming to understand the meaning of life and cultivating their characters.

It's the same with fishing. Leading up to their flying fish festival, the Yami have a steady stream of ceremonies from March to June, and these also work toward socialization and the cultivation of character. "Hunting culture has vast implications, and the gathering of food is not just an economic activity, but also has a social, religious and cultural purpose."

Take, for instance, divining through dream interpretation, which is still practiced by the nine tribes. Dream content is used to determine whether to hunt or not. Divining from it may appear mysterious and strange, but its purpose is to clear the hunter's mind and strengthen his confidence so that during hunting he won't be easily defeated by the pressure and the dangers in the surrounding environment. Arguing before hunting is taboo, and ignoring this taboo will make one come home empty handed, for only if the mind is free from frustration and anger, will it resist fear when confronted with danger. Only in a mind free from distractions can courage be produced and can the spirits of gods and ancestors help, thus filling one with even greater courage.

A basic theme of life

In early society, great concern was shown to the wild animals and plants. In ceremonies that were an integral part of hunting and gathering culture, the people would show their gratitude to the animals they hunted-for only by eating these hunted animals were they themselves able to continue living.

"Many Rukai and Puyuma hunters believe that they are weak and in danger when they enter nature," Ming Li-kuo says. Only when the Rukai hunters have killed five wild boars can they don a headdress of wild lilies, which represents courage but also shows that they have only been able to catch boars by following the rules of nature. It is a measure of their understanding of nature and the number of life tests that they have passed.

The prayer of the mountain hunter is: "When the animal the creator has raised appears before me, please let me take him."

The traditional hunting attitude was to "ask the animals to come to the hunter," says Basuya Boyijernu, a professor at National Hualien Teachers College who is a member of the Tsou tribe. He explains that hunters don't smugly and complacently lay traps for animals, and don't make the number of kills their sole measure of success. Rather, divining from a good dream, they will have the gods of nature and their ancestors to protect them. "Their prayers are full of respect for nature, much like the respect Han Chinese farmers have for local earth gods."

The Rukai carver Lhidako-Patalinoko, who is regarded as a tribal treasure, once said that there were two things he dreamed about becoming when he was a small boy: a heroic hunter and a highly skilled furniture craftsman. Later, illness would affect his ability to run, but "the creator gave me incomparably good luck, and I successfully hunted deer, mountain goats, boar, hawks and even bear." For his miraculous luck in hunting, he thanks the gods.

In hunting cultures, there is no planning of food supply and no food stores; these societies don't believe that they have any private rights to the animals they hunt. They share their kills, first giving food to those who are close to them and then to those more distant, and the hunter's own portion is often very small. Ming Li-kuo notes that there are still some elderly Eskimos who believe that being eaten by a polar bear is a great honor which means one's descendants will be able to eat polar bears. In this exchange of life, the hunter and hunted have equal status. The biologist's way of putting it is, "Aborigines are one link in the natural food chain." Ming holds that aborigines and wild animals have a "living" relationship that can't be reduced to a single meaning.

Learning to be a hunter

For the older aborigines, hunting is not simply a way of getting food. At one meeting, the head of Hualien's Hsiulin Rural Township said that the tribe migrated from Western Taiwan to Hualien 300 years ago, and at that time they were already cultivating crops. They only called killing wild animals hunting when it was done in the proper zones. If they caught wild animals eating their crops and killed them, this was called "chasing beasts," not hunting. The true hunting season only lasted from the spirit festival in the late fall until about February 20. "People of my age remember fondly the old days when there were large tracts of mountain forest, where we could make use of our hunting skills and wisdom."

Although most aborigines may not have been hunters by profession, because hunters often confronted treacherous natural environments and because hunters brought food back with them, they were particularly able to represent the idea of receiving gifts from the gods. Just as how in other ethnic groups children look to certain figures as models, among the aborigines the hunter has a special place in the culture.

Apart from having a good sense of direction and being very observant about nature, hunters were the doctors and, with an understanding of weather patterns, the weathermen of their tribes. They would also serve as rescue personnel when fellow tribespeople encountered difficulties in the mountains or lost their way. And from time to time, members of the tribe would be able to share some of the meat that the hunter had caught. "It used to be that you could ask 100 children what they wanted to be when they grew up, and all 100 would say 'hunter,'" recalls Sakuliu. But only a few could pass the rigorous selection process. "Based on their many skills and accomplishments, it's only natural that the hunters would be given great importance."

Pigs instead of boars

"When I was little, my father brought me into the mountains to hunt, and when I used my machete to cut a branch I was immediately scolded, for my father believed that you should only pick dead wood for a fire," Walis Nagong says. The incident reflects a feeling, an attitude about life. It is unfortunate that school books can't teach these values, instead of only labeling hunters as animal terminators. "Cultures don't respect the functions of other cultures." The result of only one culture expanding is that it uses its laws to rub out other cultures.

Old people in the tribe catch fish with a vine that stuns fish when mashed and submerged in the water. This is a traditional method that has been used for thousands of years. But one night they were arrested and brought into the local police station for it. "Not being allowed to use your own method to catch fish shows that the aboriginal people's way of life is still not being protected," says Walis Pelin, one of Taiwan's seven aboriginal legislators. Pelin believes that the enactment of the Wildlife Conservation Law does not take into account the needs of aboriginal peoples.

With outside culture encroaching and the traditional culture of the aborigines disintegrating, those aborigines who want to revive traditional culture hold that festivals and ceremonies can serve to build tribal consensus and transmit their cultural legacy. But this year, farm-raised pigs have replaced wild mountain boars. "For the Tsou festivals, one must wear clothes made from animal skins. But today people resort to wearing clothes made from horse hide in order to make offerings to our ancestors, and horses aren't even native to Taiwan," says Basuya Boyijernu, who feels that the tribal ceremonies have become unnatural.

It is a great honor for the aboriginal hunters to kill a big animal. By so doing they receive the affirmation of the group and find meaning in their own existence. "It's not like you can just say, 'Don't hunt mountain boar any more, but we will give you farm-raised hogs in their place!'" says Walis Nogang, with humor and pain. From time to time there are descriptions of hunters' lives in Walis Nogang's novels.

Some more equal than others

Walis Nogang argues that national parks, in their control of the mountain forest resources, should first monitor animal populations, and then give excess animals to the aborigines or even issue licenses to hunt. The aborigines would accept licensing, and such a system would prevent their traditions from dying out overnight.

In the national parks, which used to be great expanses in which the aborigines would hunt but where now hunting is banned, the populations of Formosan rock monkeys and boars are increasing sharply, and these wild animals are beginning to encroach on agricultural lands. The parks ought to consider asking the aborigines to help cull some. "From a cultural standpoint, the way things are done now is foolish. From a hunter's perspective, if it's not foolish then what is it?"

Because of the efforts of aboriginal legislators, in 1996 the legislature passed revisions to the law allowing the hunting of wild animals for use in the ceremonies of indigenous peoples, which stipulate two week-long hunting seasons every year. It's just unfortunate that aboriginal ceremonies don't just fall in these two set times every year.

Ecological preservation is one of the great concerns of the age, and it is hard not to over-correct on its behalf and thus overlook the unity and equality of traditional hunting cultures with nature. Sun Ta-chuan says he was not anxious to debate the matter himself, but when he saw how legislators were misunderstanding and distorting hunters' lives, and that this was threatening the aboriginal people's way of life, "We had a responsibility to make our opinions known."

Ecological wisdom?

In the 1980s, among all the social movements, the environmental protection movement found the most resonance around the world. This, coupled with the rise of the aboriginal rights movement, caused environmentalists, in the wake of modern man's overdevelopment of land, to begin to reexamine methods of living and urge a return to natural, simple lifestyles. As a result, the complete set of cultural ceremonies and behavior that aborigines have as a result of hunting have once again been embraced. Many people believe that the aboriginal societies were free from pollution problems, and that they showed a respect for natural laws sorely lacking in modern society, respect that has been termed "ecological wisdom."

At the end of the 19th century, when the US Congress hoped to buy his tribe's land, the American Indian Chief Seattle made the Seattle Declaration, in which he expressed his doubts about the white man's buying and selling of land. Now, in the 20th century, international conservation groups regard it even more as a declaration about modern conservation and aesthetics. Now the mountain culture of the aborigines is also gradually coming to be described as a beautiful and moving culture.

Today, the ecological wisdom of the aborigines is not only a focus of ecological conservation conferences; the academic community would even like to preserve some traditional hunting activities as a means to the end of ecological preservation. The ethics that the aborigines show regarding the earth have even been viewed as the best basis for a local conservation philosophy. "Where can you find a local conservation-oriented culture? In the tribal villages," say many people.

Hsiaokui (Little Ghost) Lake, which the Paiwan call "Palisi," is an off-limits area sacred to both the Rukai and Paiwan. "This holy ground, where it is prohibited to tread, is also a water resources protection zone and a wildlife preservation area," says Kung Tien-chuan, who researches aboriginal life on his own. He describes it as a "natural trinity."

Life, not philosophy

Fu Chun, a visiting scholar at the Academia Sinica, holds that people are giving ecological meaning to aspects of indigenous life that were originally part of their religion and spirituality. These rules born from thousands of years of actual experience are closely tied up with their spirituality and ancestor worship. "We don't call it ecological preservation," says Sakuliu.

The methods the aborigines used to hunt were an integrated part of their lives. Fu Chun cites how hunting areas would be divided up between different tribes, which in fact reflects the balance of power between tribes. Slash-and-burn agriculture was an efficient method to first use up all the land in one place before going somewhere else. Tribes would use different people's land in rotation, which was fair and reflected an equality in society. Many taboos arose out of actual limitations to the natural environment. Perhaps people would avoid certain areas because of topographical features or past disasters.

Anthropologists, who don't think that it is necessary to attach the term "ecological wisdom" to the cultures of mountain aborigines, believe that even in the case of traditional aboriginal cultures, most customs arise from needs. The sharing of meat from hunting was a kind of tribal insurance. Meat wouldn't keep for long anyway, and in sharing your catch with others, there was an expectation that they would return the favor. This system of sharing did not mean that the hunter was being especially altruistic.

Today, many people hope to bring the functions of aboriginal hunting wisdom fully into play, but the respect the aborigines showed for nature, and the various related prohibitions and controls, did not constitute a philosophy or form of knowledge. They were part and parcel of a whole living culture. The various prohibitions all arose out of their way of life.

Just as hunting by indigenous peoples is now regarded as murderous behavior by many, if the indigenous tribes' "ecological wisdom" is just a slogan used by the Han Chinese, just an expression of sympathy and regarded as simply "food for thought," then it only shows that ethnic equality has not yet been achieved, asserts Sun Ta-chuan.

The biggest contribution that hunting culture is making to today's environmental discussion is in bringing it back to how to use such resources as soil, plants and water, so that we can "gain knowledge through experience," as Sun puts it. We need to advance our study of the relationship of aborigines to land, water, animals and plants and construct our own method of environmental conservation, before we can think about really putting down roots here in Taiwan.

Empty tribal barns

Especially today, when aborigines are discarding their mountain forest knowledge and culture, and gradually forgetting the stories related to hunting culture, protected areas are not being protected and the population is growing, with outsiders coming in. For the last generation farming was more important than hunting; hunting was only supplementary. Most of this generation simply doesn't hunt. Some people ask: If there are only 50 hunters among the 2000 people of the mountain village, then on what basis does one call the indigenous people's culture a "hunting culture"?

"Most of the tribal young people are just as ignorant about the mountain as the Han Chinese," Sakuliu holds. The younger generation no longer shows concern about common tribal granaries, and don't care whether they will be full of grain or not in 100 years; they don't care about the sacred mountains and the spirits of their ancestors, and they even ignore the old taboos, hunting to satisfy greedy, selfish desires: "In the tribe this sort of behavior had better not start to become common practice."

Walis Nogang, who had experience hunting as a child, holds that whatever nation or ethnic group has ruled Taiwan, it has forced the indigenous people to face challenges, but in discussing the extent to which hunting culture has been affected, one must look at current government policy.

Today national development focuses on the economy. Needless to say, this has put hunting culture under pressure. Walis Nogang, who emphasizes that hunting culture can not be dissected to view its parts in isolation, gently reminds us that the existence of hunting culture has meaning by itself, but today the relevant questions are these: Is hunting culture possible in today's Taiwan, and does Taiwan want it? Does this culture suit the future direction of Taiwan? Can it continue to have value, or is it something that has simply been made obsolete?

What's lost is what's valuable?

The ethics and knowledge of hunters are gradually being lost, but there are members of the new group of aborigines who want to continue to serve as guardians of the mountains, believing an understanding of the mountains will help them on their own path in life. Sakuliu, who plans on opening a workshop for aboriginal people in a tribal village so as to give youngsters an understanding of their own culture, believes that school curriculums ought to include a hunting-education class to teach them the right hunting values. Otherwise when the children have grown up, they will all be carrying mountain boars away on their backs to sell to lowlanders, serving as the pilferers of the mountain forests.

Now, even if not one in a 100 boys wants to be a hunter when he grows up, Sakuliu still believes that hunting has profound meaning in aboriginal society: "He fills up the imagination of other aborigines." Sakuliu notes that the mountain boars that hunters have returned with on their backs have worked their way into the patterns that old women weave into cloth and the shapes carvers whittle from wood. You can see hunters in the images of heroes drawn by children, and they provide a common topic of conversation even for the members of the tribe who have left their homes for employment outside the village.

Although now a few young people are being introduced to hunting by their tribal elders, it will not be possible for many aborigines to become hunters, and there is little possibility of returning to the hunting way of life. Inner values have changed as hunting culture has adjusted in response to the realities of the outside environment. In Sun Ta-chuan's view, there is nothing wrong with the Puyuma using straw monkeys in place of living ones. "What's important is the meaning contained within the ceremony."

Today, the discussion should turn from hunting culture to reasonable use of resources. Is it possible for the tribes to regain their traditional resource management systems, and share both the conservation duties and the resources? Legislator Walis Pelin holds that for government, it is important to discuss how to merge aboriginal hunting activities with natural resource controls. Government policy must take into account the wishes of the tribes.

Hunting just the beginning

The meaning of hunting culture is vast, and transcends the mere act of hunting. Relaxing the ban on hunting will not overnight bring a return of mountain culture.

Respect and awe for nature isn't something that is unique to the indigenous peoples of Taiwan. "Today, saying that the aboriginal people have wisdom is done in response to the needs of today's environment," says environmentalist Chen Hsiou-jung. "The real issue is an ethnic one." Chen believes that the idea of mutual respect between cultures is really the important thing that has been stirred up by the re-examination of hunting culture.

Both during the Japanese era, when tribal hunters were not allowed to carry firearms, and today, with environmental restrictions, outside powers have been weakening the hunting spirit, and the psychological effects of this are even greater. Today the tribes are trying to revive hunting culture, but hunting isn't everything, it is just one method to regain their culture. "Everything possible should be done to respect their right to use their own methods and participate themselves in deciding how their cultural legacy should be passed along," says Chen Hsiou-jung. "Cultural autonomy is even more important."

"Ecological wisdom" isn't held only by ethnic minorities. It's just that it seems that treasuring mountain forests, caring little for material things, and purifying one's spirit are never highly regarded values until such qualities have disappeared from the real life of the people.

The Last Hunters

Here are two memories about hunting:

"My father is almost 70. Although he is gradually losing his physical vigor, I have taken him to the mountains that he loves to raise his spirits. Whether or not we catch any prey is secondary. He will show me where boars have eaten the trunks of trees, leaving their teeth marks. This one must have been a big one, he tells me, because the marks are so high. And points to tracks, and tell me that yesterday a Formosan sambar or Chinese muntjac walked by. . . . Ah! How does one tell whether a sambar or muntjac walked by yesterday from this dark trail?" -Walis Pelin

"We, the Tsou of Mt. Ali love to eat the chrysalises of wasps. In the past, whenever you'd discover a wasps' nest, all you needed to do was to tie knotted string to the nest, and no one would mess with your bounty. When the time was right, you could happily go and claim your harvest. Collecting wasps' nests isn't simple work. There was a hunter in my tribe who would stand at the top of the mountains with his back to the sun, looking far and wide to see where the wings of wasps were flashing in the sun. Once he spotted them, he would race after them in hot pursuit. When their numbers started to increase, he would know that a nest was nearby. Wearing eyeglasses, I followed his index finger to gaze at vague, distant mountains. Where were there any wasps?" -Basuya Boyijernu

Hunters used to come into the wilderness as if they were returning home. After this kind of familiarity disappears, is it possible to reclaim hunting culture?

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When hunting dies out, can companion traditional ethical beliefs, like food sharing and sacred grounds, survive? The photo shows a bow-and-arrow competition recently held in Hsiulin Rural Township by the Taroko people.

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Hunters, boars, deer. . . they coexisted for millennia. One cannot simply criticize hunting based on contemporary concepts of animal rights and caring for animals. (photo courtesy of Tsai Ching-chang)

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With changes in the larger environment, indigenous people are also adapting to the practical realities of modern life. The pork, hung out like clothes to dry, is no longer from mountain boars.

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Many aboriginals acknowledge the need for young indigenous people to "refamiliarize themselves with the traditions of respect for the land and sharing of resources." Taiwan's other cultures are also facing the decline of tradition.

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Hunting culture does not only involve taking animal resources. Pan Shih-chen, a Paiwan primary school teacher in Taniao Village in Taitung, kept a record of more than 100 plants commonly used by elders in the village. It was like discovering a new continent! Not to mention the fact that she found some of the "gamina" the elders always talked about, and it tasted great!

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Going up into the mountains is like going home. Many indigenous people, young and old, love treks into the mountains, not only for nature or for hunting food, but for the collective historical memories they inspire. (photo by Vincent Chang)

With changes in the larger environment, indigenous people are also adapting to the practical realities of modern life. The pork, hung out like clothes to dry, is no longer from mountain boars.

Many aboriginals acknowledge the need for young indigenous people to "refamiliarize themselves with the traditions of respect for the land and sharing of resources." Taiwan's other cultures are also facing the decline of tradition.

Hunting culture does not only involve taking animal resources. Pan Shih-chen, a Paiwan primary school teacher in Taniao Village in Taitung, kept a record of more than 100 plants commonly used by elders in the village. It was like discovering a new continent! Not to mention the fact that she found some of the "gamina" the elders always talked about, and it tasted great!

Going up into the mountains is like going home. Many indigenous people, young and old, love treks into the mountains, not only for nature or for hunting food, but for the collective historical memories they inspire. （photo by Vincent Chang）