Ming-chen couldn't agree more. While he seems happy to be employed by the government, he says even if he weren't working on the trail crews, he could still take climbing groups up the mountain and hunt at night. He concedes, though, that he hasn't killed anything in a while. "There aren't as many animals to hunt now ? if I killed them unnecessarily I would have bad hanitu and a bad life. The government talks about conservation, but we've been practicing conservation here for thousands of years."
Spiritual life
Hanitu is the Bunun word that refers to the spirit found in all animals, plants and rocks and is the core of Bunun belief. "Each human being has two spirits, given to them by their father," Lee explains. "One lives on the left shoulder and controls a person's self-interest. The spirit on the right shoulder provides for gentleness and altruism."
The outcome of a person's every action depends on whether their two spirits are more powerful than the spirits of other living things. No member of Bunun society is more powerful than the hunter. Although the meat he brings home supplements his family's diet, it also symbolizes the power of his hanitu, and can elevate his status within the community.
"Great hunters stand as honored members of Bunun society," Lee says. "They have a litany of ritual songs and festivals focused on hunting. Bunun music ? is very well known in the world of ethnic music." But Lee plays down the stereotype that Bunun excel at singing and dancing.
"As famous as the Bunun are for their singing ability, their language has no word for dance!" he says. "The jumping and clapping displayed by women during malasdapang, the feast of triumph, is simply that, jumping and clapping. ? They have no ritual dances. This is unique among the indigenous groups in Taiwan, who all have specific dance steps to accompany specific ceremonies."
No one told Ming-chen as much. Grabbing his rifle, he stands and begins singing, stomping out a dance as heartfelt as it is extemporaneous. He does not sound good and the thin trail-on-a-cliff that is my campsite is a perilous stage for a drunken man dancing in the dark with a gun, but he's nonplussed as to why I'm worried. He finishes off the bottle he's drunk mostly by himself and dons his motorcycle light to leave.
"This is the home of the Bunun people!" he says emphatically. I mispronounce the words and he bursts into laughter; "Bunun people" and "can't live" sound similar in Chinese
"I'm Bunun!" he says. "Of course I can live here."
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