In the far southeastern corner of Taiwan, tucked in valleys and plains hugging the sea, the Amis people find their domain.
One of the 16 officially recognized indigenous peoples Taiwan, the Amis were, at one point, the largest indigenous group in the country, counting over 200,000 members in 2014. They value community, keeping relatively large villages of 500 to 1,000 people, where they pass their properties, traditions, and norms from mother to children.
The Amis are a polytheistic people, and in the face of sickness, they turn to shamans and rituals. From late May to July, for example, when the fields are in full bloom and the harvest is bountiful, many Amis fall prey to a disease called malifong, a blanket name for any animal- or human-caused contagion.
While the farmers toil in the fields, the poultry suddenly die off in large numbers, with no clear cause. Some see this as an opportunity for a feast, but others know better. Something so ominous as this could only be a warning from the ancestors, and warnings should be feared.
As a preventive measure, Sikawasay, Amis shamans, would perform the Miva’va’ ritual to protect their rice paddies and other crops. When the rice ears start to shoot, typically toward the end of May, Amis children wield a po’ot, made by the village elders from the betel plant, to pound the ground, making loud noises to drive the evil plague spirits away.
The broom-like po’ot, it is said, is the Amis’s sacred tool against diseases.
Left behind
When the global coronavirus pandemic exploded earlier last year, the entire planet was thrown into confusion. But when the dust settled not long after, it was clear that Taiwan belonged to a small but elite group of nations that had successfully cowed the outbreak.
This victory, in no small part, could be attributed to extremely early action: In late 2019, when COVID-19 was but a nameless rumor, Taiwan had already tightened in-bound travel from mainland China. For nearly a year since, they have kept their rally strong, recording less than a thousand total cases and under ten deaths.
In the country’s blazing success against COVID-19, however, its indigenous peoples— making up 2.7 percent of the total population—have been largely overlooked, forced to rely on their ancient wisdom.
This is so much so that members of Taiwan’s indigenous group have even started joking about it:
“Ohi Kacaw! A’han cuwa taroma kamo? Misimsim do suna no mako!”
“Hey, Kacaw, when are you coming home this month? I miss my grandson!”“Aiya, Ina, Ira ko ‘Icyng’ ka daini! caai ka taroma anini a volad!”
“Oh grandmother, I cannot come home this month because ‘COVID’ is coming!”“Ah? Ci maan ko ‘Icyng’?”
“What? Who is ‘COVID’?”“Caai, Ira ko tataangai no adada!”
“No, it (he) is a serious disease!”“Haw? Kankamen tala I-sinan ci ‘Icyng’!”
“Really? Tell COVID to go to the doctor soon!”
In the fictive conversation, a young, indigenous city-dweller tries to explain to their grandmother why they couldn’t come home to the countryside to visit. Things quickly go south, though, when it becomes clear that the older woman has no idea what COVID-19 is. Even as the pandemic holds hostage millions of people the world over, she remains oblivious to it.
It may have just been in jest, but the joke lays bare key issues that Taiwan’s indigenous groups face: lack of proper and timely information, poor access to medical resources, and difficulties in keeping their communities safe and healthy, and to the most important issue, the personification of distrust that have been attached to the face of colonial medicine. COVID-19 could only have aggravated these challenges.
A statement released by the United Nations urged its member-nations to “include the specific needs and priorities of indigenous peoples in addressing the global outbreak of COVID 19.” In this regard, Taiwan may be performing less than spectacularly.
Insufficient self-sufficiency
But indigenous people are hardy. Through generations of isolation, they have learned to take care of their own and to depend on no one else. In response to the coronavirus pandemic, then, Taiwan’s indigenous groups have taken it upon themselves to fill in wherever the central government may be lacking.
Many tribes, for instance, have moved to limit or cancel their activities and rituals order to minimize the possibility of transmission. Others, like the Paiwan in Tuban, Taitung, nearly on the opposite end of Taiwan from Taipei, turn to some of their most powerful rituals.
Paiwan shamans perform the pakiqecan ritual to seal their tribe’s bamboo gates, cleanse the village grounds, and cover it, thus protecting it from the disease. In the 21st century, this has only been the second time that the Paiwan had to resort to the pakiqecan; the first was in the early 2000s, in response to the first SARS pandemic.
Refusing to let physical distancing measures cut the flow of indigenous knowledge and practices, many tribes have also started to redefine their social networks, bringing family members together via new infrastructures.
Many harvest festivals, for instance, have gone online, while families and communities are turning to video calls or social media to stay connected with each other.
Indigenous people also rely on their traditional “epidemic-prevention food” to make themselves feel secure. These are wild vegetables, like ginger roots and baker’s garlic, that tribes believe will protect them. In the face of the COVID-19 pandemic, these foods have seen an explosion in popularity.
But these are all only stop-gap measures. In these tribes, access to proper health information is sparse and quality healthcare is out of reach. The infrastructure that separates tribes from modern society is the same infrastructure that drives them further into silence. Indigenous communities remain mostly ignored, and the root causes of the problem continue to be untouched.
When COVID-19 does eventually enter an indigenous community, their traditional means of self-protection will not be enough. The isolation that has taught them their strong self-sufficiency may also be their undoing. ●
Yi-tze Lee is an assistant professor at the Department of Ethnic Relations and Culture, National Dong Hwa University, Taiwan. His research interests include contemporary Taiwanese indigenous peoples, Amis ritual practices, environmental change, and indigenous science and technology.