"The myriad things of the world start with their names." In Han Chinese society, people long ago gathered together in great populations, giving rise to Chinese institutions regarding the clan, the people and the nation. The aborigines of Taiwan, on the other hand, lived in scattered settlements across the wilderness, and even different villages of the same people might have no contact with each other. As a result, the way they have chosen names differs greatly from the Han Chinese.

Their names, passed down through the generations since ancient times, are like stars that invite later generations to see wisdom in their twinkling.

In the Iwan village of the Ami people of Chengkung Township in Ilan County, every new birth meets a warm welcome.

Huang Kuei-chao, whose 40 years of work to record local customs have earned him the moniker "the Iwan scribe," says that the Iwanese believe that a baby isn't a person in the womb, but perhaps the spirit of an animal or a plant. It is only fully human when it is named after birth. "We view the name as symbolizing the soul," Huang says. "It's a person's second life." From this you can see how important names are to them.

If a baby is a couple's first child or is born when the field work is light, his naming ceremony will be particularly grand. At nightfall of the child's second day, the whole tribe gathers for "Pasirawan," a feast to welcome the child into the tribe that is held in conjunction with a fish-catching ceremony. Although suckling at Mama's bosom, the child is given a place at the table and a serving of pickled meat. As the meat is served, the child's name is uttered, and she or he is thus introduced to the tribe.

Iwanese society is matriarchal, and their mothers' names precede their own. But because everyone is very close anyway, people usually find it easier to call each other by only their given names.

One Light

Because an elder's name is often chosen for a baby's given name, a lot of people have the same names, and nicknames are used to distinguish between them.

"We choose a name that befits a person's behavior or his physical characteristics," Huang says. For instance, several are known as "Lifok" (Bruce Lee) because they like to fight. Those who like to drink might be known as "Lasong" (drunkard), and those of disheveled appearance might be known as "Kakadit" (dirty). The disabled too are given names that befit their handicap: "One Light" for someone blind in one eye, or "One Coconut" for someone deaf in one ear.

While these names might sound as if they have a derisive edge to them, the Iwan invest them with no such meaning. "Names that are a mixture of praise and reproach are the history of a person's life in miniature," says Huang with great animation. "If you have many nicknames, it means that you have had a colorful past." Furthermore, when children are taught from a young age to face the reality of their handicap, they won't have a complex about it when they grow up. So nicknames serve an educational purpose.

Kacaw, an Ami from Changpin Rural Township in Taitung County, says that 13-year-old boys of his tribal village join the men's lodge to learn the legends and skills that will allow them to become men. The elders give them names based on their performance. Kacaw's group of adolescent boys were called the "papaya bunch," a name that brings knowing laughter to Huang's lips.

In the course of their training, the elders asked Kacaw's group to catch fish in the river. As dusk approached and they still had no fish, they resolved to call it quits and bring home papaya instead. The elders were gravely disappointed, and to strengthen the group's sense of honor, they called them the "papaya bunch" so that they would never forget this shameless performance.

Using names to remember something is not something unique to the Ami of Changping. Similar examples are found among the Paiwan of Tashe Village in Pingtung County.

Place of the "bad men"

Tashe Village is the home of the Paiwan sculptor Sakuliu Pavavalung, who knows stories his grandfather has told him about events of his great great grandfather's generation. He says that his great grandfather was known as Pairang because his father (Sakuliu's great great grandfather) wanted to commemorate their first contact with the people of the plains.

In fact the Taiwanese word "pailang" means "bad man." In those days Sakuliu's great great grandfather often heard the Han Chinese use this word. He didn't know what it meant, but just thought of the land beneath the mountains as the land of the "Pairang" people. Little did he know that it was a word the Han used to mock the aborigines.

Sakuliu's own name was the name of his paternal grandmother's father. Because Sakuliu's mother had given birth three times to children who died as infants, after he was born his father picked the name of a fearless ancestor that even the evil spirits respected in the hope that his son of the same name would share some of the same characteristics.

At the mention of this ancestor, Sakuliu finds it hard to conceal his adulation. "My great grandfather was short, with red eyes, and the soles of his feet were as rough as fish nets," he says. "He could walk on mossy places without slipping. He was good at climbing cliffs and trees. He was very strong, and whereas others had to exert great energy to kill a pig, he would thrust the knife deep into a pig's body with one stab."

His family worked for generations making knives and hammering iron. They were ordinary people. Sakuliu inherited this tradition and made it more glorious. What makes him most proud is rediscovering the art of making earthenware pots. Earthenware pots were betrothal gifts given by Paiwan nobility. Later, these skills were gradually lost, and many of the daughters of the nobility were unable to marry.

To commemorate the revival of this craft, Sakuliu gave him the name of Reretan, which means earthenware pot.

Close to nature

In order to revive Paiwan culture that has been lost in modern society, Sakuliu quit his job at a very young age, and went to interview the elders of his tribe, so as to leave a record of their knowledge. By now he has probably recorded more than 300 names, but these are still less than half of all used by the tribe. "Paiwan names reflect the close relationship of tribal life to nature."

Over the course of his research, he came across one family that was particularly good at hunting, whose family name was Kalingsan, which means "true iron wire" (which is used in making traps). (Paiwan family names, unlike Western or Han Chinese family names, may be changed when one leaves the ancestral village.) The four sons, like their father, were good hunters: Zalet, which means he whom the hunted beasts bow before; Rugus, which means one after another; Kunukun, which means that more beasts to be hunted keep appearing; and Puragas, which means the antlers of the deer are as thick as trees in the forest. The daughter was named Livang, which means glittering blood stains on a knife--the idea being that the clan's frequent kills would keep her knife freshly stained.

Sakuliu has discovered several family names in the northern Paiwan tribe of Ravar that describe natural phenomena of great power, with such meanings as earth, sea, earthquake, avalanche, thunder, etc. Legend has it that their oldest ancestor, whose name Takivalit meant "passing down the family legacy," was hand-crafted by the gods.

Later the gods made a neighbor named Palavelav ("conversation") so Takivalit wouldn't grow bored, and then they made a servant named Madiling ("miser") to help care for the mountain forests. The three of them established society in its basic form and were the first ancestors of the Northern Paiwan.

In comparison to the Paiwan, the Atayal lack names. Yuka Nava, who lives in Jenai Rural Township in Nantou County, is chairman of the Alliance of Taiwan's Aborigines. He says there are only 12 commonly used Atayal male names. Perhaps this is because the Atayal traditionally lived in the mountains in small groups of five or ten households, and did not need a lot of names.

The Atayal first names are their own given names, and their last names are their fathers' names. Half-joking, Yuka says that the Atayal are pretty laid-back about selecting names. Atayal society is patriarchal, and the father's word carries tremendous weight. When Yuka was a boy and his father remarked that he was small and skinny ("yuka" in Atayal), the name stuck.

Many people are given the name of deceased heroes or ancestors, in the hope that they will obtain otherworldly assistance. In Wushe in Taichung County, many have the name Mona, after Mona Lutao, a hero who fought the Japanese in the Wushe Incident.

A tolerant and generous people

Paolaban, a Puyuma scholar, says that in the Puyuma Pinlang "Betel Nut" tribe they usually call each other by their given names, but they still know to which clan they belong. He learned from his mother that his own Palabang clan was a branch of the Pasarat clan started by his great grandfather, and it meant, "easily embracing of others, tolerant and generous." Whether intentionally or not, this is exactly the impression that Paolaban himself gives others.

Paolaban says that he doesn't believe that names alone can explain Puyuma history, but from the waxing and waning of a clan you can still see the transfer of tribal leadership. In the past, the Puyuma leadership was controlled by the Nanwang Pasara-at clan. But during the Japanese era, in order to set the Puyuma against themselves, the Japanese encouraged another clan, the Rarat, to establish a Nanwang tribe, and they were successful in their bid for leadership. Although the Pasara-at lost their political power, they maintained religious authority. Down to the present, other tribes still look to their lead during the annual Monkey Festival.

For the Tsou tribe around Mt. Ali, the basic social unit is likewise the clan. Yuchumu Eh Boizhonu, academic affairs director at Tapang Elementary School on Mt. Ali and a forceful advocate of studying one's mother tongue, says that almost all Han Chinese surnames of Tsou people are transliterations from the Tsou.

For example, the name of his clan sounds much like the Tsou word for wind, and legend has it that his earliest ancestor was blown in by the wind. The surname of Chu is close to their word for fire, so one family so named is said to have an ancestor who was adept at raising fire by rubbing sticks.

There is another clan with the Chinese name Cheng. Everyone knows they had a stingy ancestor. Over the phone, Pu laughs heartily, "His descendants aren't happy about it, and they would rather people stopped putting so much stress on that."

The aboriginal Taiwanese who use their traditional names can almost all tell a colorful story about their names relating to family characteristics, tribal traditions or some ancestor. And as they tell their tales, in their eyes you can almost see the brilliant night sky of the mountains, where every star, large or small, sparkles.