Si Mateneng of the Tao indigenous community felt like he had reunited with a lost friend. While visiting Seattle’s Burke Museum of Natural History and Culture, he encountered a boat that had been in the US since the 1970s, first hanging in a restaurant then languishing in a warehouse before being purchased by a collector and donated to the museum. Si Mateneng could tell from the crosses on the vessel, known as a tatala, that it was built on his homeland of Orchid Island (Lanyu, 蘭嶼) after the introduction of Christianity in 1959. He could hardly contain his excitement.
Si Mateneng was also excited to see a small tatala carving from around 1925, as it used processing methods that no longer exist.
“Despite being in the US, the experience left me feeling transported back to Lanyu, completely immersed in the richness of Tao culture. It was a unique and captivating sensation,” he says.
Photo courtesy of SI Mateneng
Si Mateneng was one of two Taiwanese youth ambassadors participating in the annual Tribal Canoe Journey that took place from late July to early August. The idea is for indigenous peoples from the region to journey from their lands and paddle toward a chosen location. This year more than 100 vessels eventually arriving in Aiki Beach in the US state of Washington, home of the Muckleshoot tribe.
Taiwanese participation was made possible by nonprofit organization Indigenous Bridges, which established a “canoe family” relationship with the Nisqually in 2017.
During the days-long journey through the Puget Sound, Si Mateneng had the opportunity to “pull” (paddle) a canoe twice for four hours each time.
Photo courtesy of SI Mateneng
“It’s also an honor to pull, so everyone is fighting for the opportunity,” he says.
After the journey they spent time in Seattle, where Si Mateneng visited the tatala on display at the Burke Museum of Natural History and Culture and shared his knowledge with museum staff. That was the only event where they had to be somewhere at a set time.
“During the trip, we set out when the sun rose, landed whenever we arrived and meetings were held spontaneously,” he says.
Photo courtesy of SI Mateneng
FIRST ROWING
Soon after arriving, Si Mateneng was eager to try his hand on one of the canoes to “test his relationship with the ocean.”
But he had to wait as many wanted to participate.
Photo courtesy of SI Mateneng
At the next stop, they were joined by the smaller Chehalis tribe, who looked like they could use some help. He ended up paddling for the entire four-hour journey, and was contemplating taking the following day off when a Nisqually paddler asked if he’d like to participate.
“Without a moment’s hesitation, I responded with a resounding ‘yes,’” Si Mateneng writes in his journal. Afterward, the Nisqually gifted him a “warrior” t-shirt, which he saw as an acknowledgement of his inclusion within the community.
“I felt that I was a nobody at first,” he says. “But after paddling, they started introducing my name, where I was from and that I also came from a [boat] culture. Only then could I share my traditions with them.”
Photo courtesy of Gary Smoke
The communities perceive rowing the canoe as a healing, meditative process. Si Mateneng says that he had many worries before he arrived, and felt much calmer after.
“You have to focus on keeping up with the pace and making the correct motions; you don’t have any energy to think about other things,” he says. “You start really enjoying the moment.”
During the journey, the tribes explained some of their language and culture, and also kept participants motivated by dedicating each row to a cause.
“They’ll say, let’s pull 10 times for cancer patients, 10 times for those who lost family during COVID,” Si Mateneng says.
SHARED VALUES
About 20 canoes had congregated when Si Mateneng arrived, but their numbers grew along the way as more communities joined. Each stop had an indigenous host, and the paddlers followed traditional protocol by explaining who they were and asking permission to come ashore.
The host provided food for the guests, and Si Mateneng saw that they had much reverence toward the elders, who got to eat first, followed by the paddlers and then the rest of the participants.
Besides significant differences in structure and rowing style, he also noticed while the Tao still use their tatala in their daily livelihood, it’s become purely symbolic for the Native Americans.
“They place great importance on traditional practices, and that’s why they ride the canoes in the water once again,” he says. “They’re recreating what their ancestors once did, while respecting each other and their respective territories. This event really focuses on the humanistic aspect.”
Si Mateneng hopes that in Taiwan, he can also exchange and share with people more genuinely without worrying what each party gets out of it.
“It’s not just sharing what I have, but also my feelings and emotions on a more spiritual level,” he says.
On those rare days in Kaohsiung when the air is crisp and clear, the eastern horizon is dominated by a green wall that towers high above the Pingtung plains. This is the ridge running from Wutou Mountain (霧頭山), up to Beidawu Mountain (北大武山) at 3,092 meters. Many make the trek up to Beidawu, but very few walk the top of this wall over to Wutou, and for good reason: it is an unmarked, overgrown death trap with no reliable water and steep slopes full of rotten wood and crumbly rock. Last week, news emerged that a French couple called for rescue
Last week, the presidential campaign of Taiwan People’s Party (TPP) candidate Ko Wen-je (柯文哲) tapped Cynthia Wu (吳欣盈), the granddaughter of Shin Kong group founder Wu Ho-su (吳火獅), as his vice-presidential candidate. Wu and her vast wealth seem to fly in the face of Ko’s claim to be offering new, cleaner politics. She wasted no time putting the peasants in their proper place. Asked last week by a reporter if she would publicly reveal that she had given up her US citizenship, Wu tartly responded that it was an issue between herself and the US government. The following day, when
Hitting tennis balls across a tree-lined court in Thailand’s mountainous north, Connie Chen’s weekly private training session is a luxury the Chinese national could barely afford when she lived in Shanghai. China implemented some of the world’s toughest COVID restrictions during the pandemic, putting hundreds of millions of people under prolonged lockdowns. In the aftermath, younger citizens — exhausted by grueling and unrewarding jobs — are taking flight to escape abroad. With a relatively easy process for one-year study visas, a slower pace of living and cheap living costs, Thailand’s second-largest city Chiang Mai has become a popular destination. “During the pandemic, the
Comedian Xi Diao says he knows he should avoid talking politics on stage, but sharing a family name with Chinese President Xi Jinping (習近平) makes it hard to resist. Even his name is politically sensitive, the Melbourne-based amateur comedian tells audiences, setting up a joke about a group chat on the Chinese messaging service WeChat being shut down as soon as he joined it. The 33-year-old civil engineer gets nervous laughs whenever he breaks a de facto rule of Chinese comedy: Don’t say anything that makes China look bad. To most comedians, that means no jokes about censorship, no mentioning the president’s
RSS