When I first started making documentaries, I was often told that some indigenous directors would live with the tribes long-term for filming. Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman, a Tao man, was one of them. In the past, I only saw his work on TV but never met him in person, until we ran into each other in a proposal meeting held by an indigenous agency. He left a deep impression as a candid and straight forward person. Just when I wanted to talk with him for a bit more, he was gone, making the encounter a brief but memorable one.

 

Since then, we did not keep in touch, until I received an invitation from the National Culture and Arts Foundation (NCAF). Although I felt my writing capability had room for improvement at times, the prospect of writing for the project was very appealing, because the Orchid Island, or Pongso no Tao, was a charming place exuding life force. Not only that, the project presented an opportunity that was hard to come by where I got to have a dialogue that went beyond ethnicity and generation with a fellow director that was so much more experienced than I was. With that, our interactions transcended race and culture.

 

Writing for the project spanned from 2023 to 2024, during which, I made three visits. The first visit took place in the National Museum of Prehistory. After Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman's keynote speech on Oceanian topics, I conducted an interview with him. The second visit was to his hometown, the Orchid Island. There, I witnessed how he and other fellow Tao men built a Tao fishing boat. The third visit occurred in March 2024, where we returned to his studio in Taitung City. Sitting in front of his editing platform, I conducted the final interview.

 

 

Director Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman working on post-production editing (provided by Sayun Simung).

 

 

As someone who looked to learn more from a veteran documentary filmmaker, I was privileged to witness the generational dialogue in indigenous imagery when I became part of the writing team of this project. I was given a chance to further ruminate on the subjectization of imagery interpretation rights. As a pioneer director in Tao people's imagery narration, Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman's work serves not only as a cultural record, but also as affirmation of the Tao people's identity and cultural dignity.

 

In the interviews with him and his work, I could feel his deep sense of responsibility—how to be deferential when presenting the life of the Tao people in an authentic manner, and not from an outsider's' perspective.

 

 

 

With regard to sentimental narrations and arguments produced from youngsters of the indigenous tribes embarking on a journey to seek their identity, what Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman said was epic— you can't even dive down to 10 meters yet, why discuss the things about 30 meters?

 

What he said highlights the complexity of sense of identity and cultural comprehension, as well as reminding us that for the young generation of indigenous peoples, the process of finding self-identity is not a simple thing. On the contrary, it is an intertwining process, not at all singular. Nevertheless, the convergence of culture, history and personal experience makes it challenging and worthy of reflection.

 

For young people who grow up in cities and rarely get in touch with their own tribal culture, they will need to explore in-depth to truly get to know and identify with their indigenous heritage. It requires not only going back to their tribes, and getting to know their ancestral folklores, but also preparing themselves to embark on a spiritual root-seeking journey. They will need to feel the sentimental bond and cultural value hidden well beyond the surface. It is imperative for cultural exploration and interpretation to have adequate depth and understanding. If the process dwells on superficial things, it can easily become a stereotypical or biased interpretation. This is especially so for indigenous people who seeks a way home to their tribes. They are required to muster the courage and wisdom to go deep underwater, uncovering and protecting the cultural root that is quintessentially theirs, before they are able to reconstruct their identity which is supported by their discovery. Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman evidently went through this process. His love and passion for his people goes beyond words and the life he chooses to live warrants reverence.

 

 

 

With each visit, I managed to get closer to Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman's core creative principle and gain a better understanding of his creativity motivation. Despite being behind the camera, his set high targets and was very strict on himself in meeting these targets. He was a professional diver turned documentary film director who also worked on many films as a cinematographer before. Nevertheless, shooting underwater was his specialty.

 

I learned his journey of becoming a filmmaker and how he improved his skills on motion photograph as a plane photographer. As he invested increasingly more time and energy in his creative process, I came to understand that he was so much more than a creator with exceptional technical skills, but a documenter who had intense love for culture.

 

He mentioned that he started out on photography underwater with 16 mm camera. However, knowing that plane photography would limit his storytelling, he began to learn motion photography and switched from analog to digital recording. He said that during the age of analog, all photographers had the kind of gumption that did not tolerate failure. Unlike digital camera where one photo could be selected out of a hundred, with an analog camera, they had to take the killer shot once they decided to press the shutter. Therefore, they must spend sufficient time to observe and contemplate the lighting of the environment and the composition of the photo. They were circumspect that way.

 

 

Director Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman's antique underwater analog camera (provided by Sayun Simung).

 

 

Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman's professionalism and attitude were also reflected in all his creative projects later on. I believe that he is truly using imagery for storytelling. He likes to emphasizes that he opposes to interfering with the usual condition and events of the people he shoots. He does not pass judgment, and only seeks to present the actual situation as it is. For years, he insists on the truthfulness of his work as a director.

 

Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman worked as a director and filmed his first documentary, Lan Se Chi Bang in 2000. Since 2002, he joined film crews as a cinematographer. For example, in The Best of Times directed by Chang Tso-Chi, he worked as a consultant for underwater photography. The Best of Times won Best Feature Film in the Golden Horse Film Awards that year. Two years later, he worked as the cinematographer for a documentary entitled Chronicle of the Sea, Nan-Fang-Ao. Due to his long-term interest in ocean issues and environmental justice, he also took up the role of cinematographer for a Public Television Service (PTS) documentary entitled Spirits of Orchid Island. The documentary was well received and won many awards. Whether it is composition, lighting or camera movements, every decision he makes reflects a natural control of the imagery he creates and the sentiment he tries to convey. Treating ocean as his homeland, he is keen to portray the dynamic of the underwater environment, so that every frame exudes vigorous energy.

 

 

I am often surprised whenever I watch Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman's work. I am especially impressed by his "Photography Proposal," where he delineates the storyline. The procedures he undertakes are well in order. The end product always captures faithfully what he pens in the proposal, with hardly any discrepancies.

 

As the process of filming a documentary often comes with unpredictable complications, when writing the proposal, a creator will produce a vision and a framework, giving flexibility to the actual filming process. This can also provide an opportunity for the documentary to "grow into itself." Therefore, when I see him executing his proposal down to the last word, it makes me wonder if I have been too lax with my own work. Nevertheless, this is an unexpected gain. I have a deeper understanding of his creative attitude and how he pursues perfection in every detail in both the proposal and actual filming alike. Due to his scrupulous execution of his proposal, his work not only renders great artistry, but also steady professionalism.

 

However, many documentary filmmakers are often a one-man crew. Creatively, they film and edit their own works. Likewise for Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman, his works always bear his signature style. This is attributable to his high-level aesthetic pursue since a young age. I believe that to him, imagery should not be a documentation tool. It should serve a more important purpose to indigenous peoples in telling their own stories with facts—let me tell you who I am, rather than who I am according to you. Thirty years ago, before the indigenous peoples picked up a camera, they would serve as subjects of observation and interpretation. Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman, nevertheless, remains adamant. For several decades, he insists on narrating their own identity locally and placidly in his hometown at the Orchid Island. Because of that, he often improves his technical skills. Whether on underwater photography, lighting or composition, all of which render his utmost pursue of quality. This is also one of the reasons his work is so genuine and moving.

 

 

 

 

 

As mentioned, Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman released his first documentary, Lan Se Chi Bang, in 2000. His latest work, The Spirit of Pongso no Tao released in 2024, is his 19th. Nevertheless, from 1995 to 2024, it has been 30 years since the indigenous peoples first picked up a camera and told their own stories.

 

Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman always adopts the ocean as the theme of his work, and conducts low-key filming in the Orchid Island. His path is very different from mine in which I did most of the learning in the main island. The Orchid Island is an open island. In the past, residents were free to enter and leave the island. They were never subject to much regulations. People came and went and explored other islands nearby by a fishing boat. Therefore, as one of the maritime people, he is familiar with the currents and wind, and can find directions by looking at the stars. Nevertheless, the Atayal people are careful in observing the boundary of their territories, traveling on their land and forests to seek out their paths and palate. Whether it is the vast ocean, or the depth of the forests, they are the lifelines for us all. To creators like me and Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman, they are an exuberant source of inspiration and artistic sustenance.

 

Being both a mainlander and a Tao man, Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman's work often presents diverse viewpoints and incorporates the ocean culture into daily lives. This is, to a large extend, because of the influence he received from his grandfather.

 

Therefore, I asked him an old question that cannot be overlooked— what is the meaning for the indigenous peoples when they pick up a camera and tell their own stories? He believes that the identity of an ethnicity and their source of knowledge should come from the people of that ethnicity. "Why should you speak on their behalf? Why not let them express their life experience from their point of view in a way that they want?" Interpreting one's own culture from the perspective of a local will give context to the narration. It will fortify the subjectization of an ethnicity. It is not necessary for someone to be of Tao origin before he or she can engage in interpretation. It is about "the right to narrate and interpret should be underpinned by the connection to the ocean."

 

Therefore, to Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman, what his imagery harbors is more than his technical skill or artistry, but rather his comprehension and narration of his own culture. Such interpretation that comes from within and constitutes a product of subjectization is able to, to the largest extend possible, reveal the true form of the ethnicity. The imagery bestows stronger empowerment to the Tao people because of their connection to the ocean.

 

In our interviews, his eyes would light up whenever he talked about the days he spent in a fishing boat with other fellow Tao men. In the boat, everybody worked hand in hand for the same goal by making use of their knowledge of the ocean and physical strength. In an age where traditions and culture are vanishing, such presence, company, and solidarity are hard to come by and unforgettable. After all, it is the collective people that come before an individual, not the other way around. Indigenous peoples care a lot about relationship and reciprocation, that is, an extension of mutual help. Extended family, nature, even relationship with an "enemy" are important to them. They constitute a network of people that sustains the triangulation of their identity and sense of belonging.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Tao people is facing the same problem as any other indigenous people in Taiwan, that is, their tradition, practice and culture are disappearing. With the advancement of engine technology, the Orchid Island is seeing more motorized fishing boats trawling the ocean. Stories of men fighting the ocean with their bare hands are getting rarer. In his latest film, The Spirit of Pongso no Tao, Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman speaks of how the population of the island are growing, but the fish population is dwindling. His helplessness when ruminating the development is evident. With the adoption of modern technology, Tao's traditional way of living is disappearing. Not only a cultural chasm is thus created, the nuanced balance with nature is also broken. As the island population grows, and fishing boats are becoming more advanced, the ocean can no longer supports human as generous as before. The dwindling fish population embodies the isolation of the Tao people from nature. In The Spirit of Pongso no Tao, he not only tells stories of the past, but also tries to issue a warning— if the reverence towards the ocean is not restored, the ocean that once sustained the ocean culture of the Tao people in abundance may become a utopia of the vast blue that only exists in people's memory.

 

 

The Spirit of Pongso no Tao film-still (provided by Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman).  

 

 

 

In this documentary, Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman also filmed his uncle, Siapan pamiling, an elder from Iranmeylek. He often reflects on the island he grew up in whenever he is filming. In recent years, due to tourism, many residents rush to build guesthouses. Although he worked in tourism before, he tends to see beyond the profit. Instead, he often asks himself how he can give back to the island. His works have always been more than just narratives that restore subjectivity as a Tao filmmaker. He is very clear of his positioning— his fellow Tao men of the Orchid Island authentically present their lives and culture through his works. This allows him, like all other indigenous directors, to correct the stereotypes perpetrated by the mainstream society.

 

 

In the documentary, Siapan pamiling paddles day and night placidly, chanting folk verses. The chanting is much like a ritual. Tribal people will greet, make small talk, express gratitude, ask for blessing from the living beings in the ocean. Sometimes, it can be talking to oneself, "I didn't see any fish shoals today. I didn't get the gift of the ocean." To indigenous people, music is instrumental in expressing their feelings. As I listened to Siapan pamiling chanting old verses, the sense of familiarity was heartwarming. The melody was quite similar to Lmuhuw (oral tradition) of the Atayal people, while the content was different.

 

 
The Spirit of Pongso no Tao film-still (provided by Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman).  

 

 

Verses chanted by Atayal elders are mostly about the history of migration, old teachings passed down for generations, code of conduct, et cetera. Both Lmuhuw and Tao chanters will improvise according to different circumstances. The tune is very endearing to me. I suppose music is indispensable in the indigenous communities and daily lives after all. It not only expresses the nuanced and subtle feelings of indigenous peoples, but also passes down wisdom and philosophy of our oral history.

 

Through The Spirit of Pongso no Tao, Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman not only filmed his uncle, Siapan pamiling's life, but also ruminated on how he can contribute to his homeland as a Tao man. The profit brought forth by tourism is enticing, but the price to pay is disappearance of culture and dwindling of natural resources. Nevertheless, he knows that as a Tao director, his self-identity can serve as a form of protection and faith in the heritage. The documentary not only speaks out on behalf on the Tao people, but also reveals diverse and truthful facets their culture, thereby contradicting the stereotypes perpetrated by the mainstream society over time. It can allow more people to get to know the real stories of the island.

 

 

 

 

When I found out I was going to interview Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman at the Orchid Island, I thought I was going to join him when he was filming in the open ocean. Little did I know, I was going to the forest with a few Tao elders and men. Perhaps, it was probably my inclination towards the land. The mountains agreed with me. Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman and some of the Yayo elders and youngsters happened to go to the mountains to get some logs for making a Tao fishing boat. That day, I saw how the elders led youngsters in performing a ritual in the woods, and talking with trees. They kept each other company and learned from one another. Even for people who didn't do much, by watching the elders intently, the space itself created a great memory that was shared by all. I felt fortunate because they did not normally take a woman with them when they secured logs from the woods. With much gratitude, I quietly followed the elders and entered the Tao forest.

 

Entering a family forest was sacred. I felt accepted, endorsed and approved to be let in to the area. Although I was not a Tao, by participating in the process, I felt like I had witnessed the birth of a Tao fishing boat. Like Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman said, "This is a sacred moment."

 

 

 

 

When the tribesmen worked, the unity was very amiable. They joked a lot. Interestingly, when they cut up the logs for making the boat, I asked them when they would finish. They looked at one another and replied synchronously, "That's up to the boss!" (They turned and looked at Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman.) Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman smiled back. Actually, I was familiar with such situation. A few years ago, I returned to my tribe and initiated the production of The Way of Sqoyaw. At first, I was the only person who worked on it. But soon, like a stone being cast into the water and ripples spreading, people in the tribe began to join in, from proposal writing, application for funding, to arrangement of activities and participation of fellow tribesmen. The process was gradual, primitive even. The pace in the tribe is very different from the external world. For people of different age groups, the meaning of "going home" can mean different things. The "route" taken is almost certainly different. But one thing that is common is the "route" is always a long one.

 

Although I share a similar experience with Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman in our going home journey, one thing that is different between us Is our gender. People often ask me it is more challenging to work in a tribe as a woman. Would it be easier for a man? I am always confused. Why do people think that time stops in the tribes and that the tribes are living a life like they did a century ago? Actually, in traditional communities, men and women have different roles. With the contemporary change in culture and society, life in a tribe is also changed, although the method of change may not be what the mainstream society thinks it is. Nowadays, every indigenous tribe in Taiwan is facing the imminent disappearance of traditions and languages. Even though some elders still strictly observe old practices, based on my observation, passing down these practices is not easy. Nonetheless, the attitude of the elders is becoming more patient. They care about actual actions taken by somebody and how these actions can contribute to the tribe. They want to know what one can do for the tribe. To them, a learning attitude of humility, respect for gaga (traditions and conventions), diligence is very important. Therefore, not many gender restrictions are imposed.

 

In addition, in our creative path, Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman and I both try to practice our cultures through our work. We do a lot of learning when we produce, working to reconstruct the subjectivity of ethnicity for different generations based on a fragmented culture. During my interviews, I also revisited his creative journey over the decades. His journey was like a mirror, showing the challenges ahead of me in the tribe. It fortifies my belief that the recovery of imagery interpretation rights by indigenous people in contemporary times demands immediate attention.

 

I spent the day recording Tao elders in the forest, and how they built a fishing boat. I not only saw how Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman and his people working together, but also felt the cultural weight and responsibility boat building represented. What he pursues is beyond enriched imagery and sound technical skills. His identity and response to his own culture are well portrayed in his imagery, documenting Tao's tradition, as well as preserving an invaluable memory for generations to come. 

 

As my trip to the Orchid Island coming to an end, I kept thinking about the mesmerizing blue ocean and Siapan pamiling's chanting. As I stood in front of the tree which was about to be turned into a Tao fishing boat, I came to realize that I myself had become part of the tribe. Just like how others called Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman "the boss," maybe in the creative process, any creator would unknowingly become an important piece of the puzzle.

 

 

 

Producing documentaries in his hometown at the Orchid Island, Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman has always adopted the "ocean culture" of the Tao people as the core of his work. After accumulating years of experience as a director, his radar is extended to the Pacific Ocean. With prior experience as a crew member of a Tao fishing boat, he hopes to preserve with real actions the navigation skills that are diminishing amid the colonialism history. He works to reconstruct the connection of sailing of his ancestors to maritime routes by understanding how his people making use of stars and positions of islands from oral history and archaeological resources.

 

Therefore, in recent years, he has been conducting field research in the Batan Island of the Philippines, Palau, Yap Islands of the Federated States of Micronesia, making countless round trips over the years. He spent a wonderful time with the locals of the Yap Islands. Once, they went out to catch lobsters. Surprisingly, he caught more lobsters than any of the locals. This won the locals' trust. Gradually, he became one of them where he worked and lived with them, and shared the catch. The relationship was an honest one that formed naturally. With time and rapport accumulated, they would treat you as family from another island.

 

Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman once said that for maritime people who dare and navigate the ocean, "It isn't the stars that move, but the islands." People who have never led a maritime life will not understand the saying. But from the perspective of earth's orbital revolution and rotation, it is entirely conceivable. I suppose this also reveals his roving life.

 

 

 

Every interview I had with Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman would give me a brand-new revelation. When indigenous creators discuss their work and film production, they do not revolve around the technical aspect. Rather, they often discuss their experiences in the tribes and perception on cultural heritage. In this day and age, we are at a critical junction. The fading of the older generation means that it is incumbent upon us to inherit our traditions. How can we make use of films that tell our stories and exert influence?

 

Every film is like a light shed. Although we cannot predict how far brightness can be cast, it does not mean that the light is not worthy of being lit. It definitely does not mean that without a market, the story is not worthy of being told. Maybe, it is like what Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman said, "We will find a path no matter what." With time, the resilience of indigenous peoples will gain more strength, turning them into more adaptable and powerful individuals when facing challenges posed by their environment. Chang Yeh-Hai Syaman himself is an exemplification of that. While documenting his uncle’s life in the ocean through the lens of a camera, he walks a path of filmmaking that is uniquely his. As he embarks on the maritime routes their ancestors took, his own experience is also preserved through a camera and got to be replayed like a film of his life story. This is all thanks to his grandfather who inspired him as a Tao man. In the process, he also embodies his own ocean life. Despite the ups and downs along the way, his journey of returning to his ethnic roots will go on for a lifetime.

 

 

*Translator: Linguitronics