Taiwan's nine aboriginal tribes, which came here at different times from different places, and the later-arriving Han Chinese have made the island "an anthropologist's laboratory." In very few places do so many different kinds of culture survive in such close proximity. The interaction of these groups and the change that results--whether disruptive or harmonious, whether for better or worse--make for an abundance of excellent research material.
Only a short time ago, these much praised cultural roots were gradually being lost as they were subsumed in the cultural mainstream. No wonder that Sun Ta-chuan, a doctorate-holding member of the Puyuma tribe who teaches in the Philosophy Department of Soochow University, describes the tribes as "peoples in their twilight."
Fortunately, after encountering a series of setbacks, members of each tribe have realized that they must get back to their roots: the tribal village. Digging their own roots firm and deep, they have first worked to improve themselves, studying the traditional culture that has been passed down by their ancestors. Then they have gone on to influence others, convincing their fellows to return to the tribal villages. Their ultimate goal is to get these small multi-cultural side currents to enter the mainstream, where they will become essential elements of it.
But this journey is a distant one. Currently the population, lands and culture of the tribal villages are quickly disappearing. As a result, the tribal ceremonies have become mere formalities, put on only for reasons of tourism or politics; the tribal lodges no longer exist; the m other tongues and their oral literatures are gradually being forgotten; traditional social structures have been broken apart; and tribal elders, chiefs, and leading families have lost their positions of respect. A return to traditional culture would be difficult indeed.
Correspondingly, if those of us born in the larger, dominant society of Taiwan could shift our perspectives to try to understand the aboriginal cultures, this would help to shrink the distance between us and them.
On the day before the city and county elections were held, I went to Orchid Island to interview Syman Rapongan. En route I met my Yami friend Chou Tsung-ching in the Taitung airport, where for four days he and fellow tribesmen had been waiting for weather that would allow landings on Orchid Island.
Finally, we were given the go-ahead, and after a bumpy half-hour, we were there--though our plane needed two approaches before making a successful landing. Shortly after we arrived at Syman's house, he went to fish, and at dinner we feasted on his catch. His thoughtfulness moved me. I recalled years before when I went to Orchid Island to interview the island's mayor, Mrs. Chou Ya-Wen. Her husband Chung Suo-po also went to the sea early in the morning, bringing lobsters back for breakfast.
The way they treat their guests isn't much different from most people. Everyone will treat their honored guests to the best of their cooking.
It's harder to come in contact with deeper aspects of their culture, such as their cultural taboos, certain ceremonial rites, or the meaning behind their songs and dances. For instance, one night in Haocha Village of Wutai, I witnessed Chiu Chin-shih (or Auvuni as he is known among the Rukai) dip his index finger in his drink and flick it at the sky and the ground before drinking himself. He did so to show that he had not forgotten the gods and his ancestors, to display his desire to share goo d things with them. Han Chinese don't understand such customs:
Differences, after all, are what make different cultures valuable. As the "International Year of Native Peoples" comes to a close, why has the "white wave," which is how the tribal people have traditionally referred to the Han Chinese, still not recognized the cultural excellence of those whom they have traditionally described as "barbarians." Perhaps such recognition would help reduce the time needed for native people to "return to the tribe and revive the tribal culture. "
