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In the battle over identity, a centuries-old issue looms in Taiwan: hunting

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In the battle over identity, a centuries-old issue looms in Taiwan: hunting

Teyra Yudaw (left) and his daughter, Ciwang Teyra, are members of Taiwan’s Indigenous Truku tribe.

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Teyra Yudaw (left) and his daughter, Ciwang Teyra, are members of Taiwan’s Indigenous Truku tribe.

An Rong Xu for NPR

TAIWAN — Ciwang Teyra grew up in Hualien County, on the eastern edge of the island of Taiwan, where winding roads snake around the edge of mountains and the Pacific Ocean glistens down below.

She was raised in the Indigenous Truku tribe and can recall leaving Hualien County for the first time and encountering Han Chinese people who had never met an Indigenous person before. They would ask her ignorant questions like, “Did you ride a wild boar to get to school?” or refer to her by a derogatory term in Mandarin that roughly translates to “barbarian.”

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When Ciwang looks back at those memories now, she can laugh. But it was this kind of discrimination that led to her work: She is a professor of social work at National Taiwan University, where she focuses on the historical trauma Indigenous people face in Taiwan.

Ciwang Teyra says her dream has always been for the island of Taiwan to be more inclusive.

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Ciwang Teyra says her dream has always been for the island of Taiwan to be more inclusive.

An Rong Xu for NPR

Her research has found that because of centuries of colonial oppression, Truku people suffer immense mental health consequences. Her people, she says, did not historically have substance abuse problems, increasing suicide rates or increasing incidents of domestic violence. Now, they do.

Taiwan is an island that has passed through many colonial hands over the last 400 years ago, from the Dutch to the Qing dynasty, the Japanese and, in the 1940s, the Nationalists who fled from mainland China to Taiwan.

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These days, the Indigenous people of Taiwan are continuing their fight for inclusion and acceptance, in part through their struggle to regain hunting rights.

The question of identity hangs over Taiwan

Waves of colonization have inflicted centuries of violence upon Taiwan’s Indigenous people, forcing them out of their homes from near the tops of the mountains to the foothills below, and diluting their languages.

Taiwan has 16 official tribes, and while the current government has invested in protecting Indigenous languages — in contrast to language suppression and assimilation policies in place during Taiwan’s martial law era — long-standing perceptions prevail on the island.

The mountains that are part of Taroko National Park.

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The mountains that are part of Taroko National Park.

An Rong Xu for NPR

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Ciwang’s father, Teyra Yudaw, is a prominent activist among the Truku tribe. He says, “A lot of average Taiwanese people would say to me, ‘You’re Indigenous — you’re not Taiwanese.’ I say, ‘Because I’m Indigenous, I am a real Taiwanese person.’”

Identity is on the minds of most people on this island, which is located within sight of mainland China’s eastern border. The Chinese government has been intensifying its military presence in the Taiwan Strait in recent years, threatening an invasion if it is provoked.

How a presidential candidate would handle cross-strait tensions was a top issue for many voters before the recent presidential election. Taiwanese voters made history on Jan. 13 by electing the incumbent party for a third term — a party that considers Taiwan separate from China.

Teyra Yudaw feels Taiwan’s Indigenous people have become second-class citizens.

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Teyra Yudaw feels Taiwan’s Indigenous people have become second-class citizens.

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Today, the political leaders of this island and much of the populace seek to carve out an identity separate from mainland China. A growing majority of Taiwan’s population identifies as solely “Taiwanese” today rather than “Chinese,” according to research by the Pew Research Center.

So the questions of whom Taiwan belongs to and what it means to be Taiwanese confront the people of this island frequently — particularly the Indigenous people, who make up about 2% of the island’s population.

Teyra, who wears a near-permanent smile on his face, makes his living running a bed-and-breakfast in Hualien County these days, but his life’s work is centered on advocating for Indigenous rights and broadening education about their culture and history.

The Pacific Ocean can be seen from the foot of Taroko National Park.

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He meets regularly with Taiwan’s outgoing president, Tsai Ing-wen, as part of an Indigenous advisory council, and while he acknowledges that she is the first president to have formally apologized to the Indigenous people for centuries of “pain and mistreatment,” he thinks gestures can go only so far.

“We have become second-class citizens,” he says. “Even though our feet are planted on this land, we are not allowed to manage our own affairs. We are wanderers on our own land.”

Among the affairs Teyra would like for Truku people to manage on their own: hunting. The practice is central to the traditional Truku way of life. Yet, like so many other rights the Truku hold dear, hunting has been restricted by the Taiwanese government in recent years.

How hunting rights became a flashpoint

When Teyra was a child, he went into the depths of the mountains for 42 days with Truku elders. They taught him to maintain the trails and tend to the wild bees, and they told him stories of their ancestors.

Young Teyra learned how he could help maintain the equilibrium of the ecosystem. And at the end of the journey, his elders taught him to hunt a goat. Teyra, now 70 years old, looks back on that experience and explains that for the Truku, “Hunting is not just about killing animals — it’s about protecting the land, about protecting the mountains.”

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Slin Yuki (left) and Masaw Busin demonstrate their hunting routine in the Taroko area of Hualien County.

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Slin Yuki (left) and Masaw Busin demonstrate their hunting routine in the Taroko area of Hualien County.

An Rong Xu for NPR

For thousands of years, the Indigenous people of Taiwan hunted without interference. Then, when colonization began in the 1600s, the rights of Indigenous people to live and hunt on their ancestral land began to be stripped away, bit by bit.

Today, Teyra considers the government of the Republic of China (Taiwan) yet another colonizer taking away their rights to hunt and, ultimately, to function as an autonomous, self-governing community.

“Every colonizer is the same to us. They all came to subjugate us,” he says.

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Indigenous hunters are barred from killing protected species, are required to use certain kinds of traps and guns and, until recently, were required to ask the authorities for special permission that involved reporting which kinds of animals a hunter planned to target and how many.

Truku people can now apply to undergo training that grants them licenses to hunt in certain areas, but their ancestral territory is still restricted to them because it is now a national park. Truku hunters like elder Low Shi consider such restrictions offensive.

Truku hunter Low Shi says Indigenous people have long been the caretakers of Taiwan’s land.

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Truku hunter Low Shi says Indigenous people have long been the caretakers of Taiwan’s land.

An Rong Xu for NPR

“We don’t need the government to regulate the way we hunt because we already regulate ourselves,” he says. “For example, we don’t hunt during mating season. We hunt in a way that preserves the balance of nature.”

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Environmental activists have argued against loosening hunting restrictions, saying wildlife must be protected, but people like Low Shi point out that Indigenous people have been caretakers of Taiwan’s land for thousands of years and that their ancestral knowledge must be trusted and respected.

The road to healing

Ciwang Teyra has applied academic research to uphold what her father has been fighting for, saying that restoring hunting rights is one step toward healing.

“If we are able to practice hunting, we are allowed to follow our elders, we can see intergenerational relationship building,” she says. “If we are able to practice hunting culture without any worry about legal impact, then we can heal.”

The mountains that are part of Taroko National Park.

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The mountains that are part of Taroko National Park.

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The road to healing from centuries of abuse is likely to be complex and long. Ciwang and her father, Teyra, are both glad to see Indigenous languages and culture being taught in some schools across Taiwan now. And they see hope in future administrations continuing to work with Indigenous people to give them back their land and the autonomy they seek.

Ciwang says her dream has always been for the island to be more inclusive. It is a great irony to her father that the people who were in Taiwan first even have to seek inclusion. But he adds: “This land belongs to people who understand its history begins with Indigenous people. As long as you love this land and you recognize that history, then you are a friend of the Indigenous people of Taiwan.”

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A judge says the Kennedy Center must update him on its plans — and address that tarp

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A judge says the Kennedy Center must update him on its plans — and address that tarp

A tarp covers the facade of the John F. Kennedy Memorial Center for the Performing Arts in Washington, D.C., on June 13. A federal judge has asked the arts complex’s leadership to explain the purpose of the tarp and the surrounding scaffolding.

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Alex Wroblewski/AFP via Getty Images

On Wednesday, the federal judge overseeing the Kennedy Center lawsuit ordered the center to give him a status report on the center’s operation and programming within the next few weeks. Judge Christopher R. Cooper also said that the Kennedy Center must explain the purpose and status of the tarp and scaffolding that have been placed over the front of the arts complex, where until recently both President Trump and President John F. Kennedy’s names were both displayed.

In a directive issued last Tuesday, Judge Cooper had given Kennedy Center administrators three days to update him on the arts complex’s immediate plans regarding construction, programming and public access. Trump, who now serves as the center’s chairman, had announced July 5 as the date the venue would close for major renovations.

Last Friday, on Cooper’s due date, lawyers for the Kennedy Center filed a request asking for an extension. In that filing, Matt Floca, who was promoted as the center’s president and CEO in March, said that the Kennedy Center’s current management intends to present its board with “an array of options” for trustees to vote on at their next meeting on an unspecified date in mid-July.

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According to Floca, the options are a complete closure for extensive renovations; a partial closure “enabling some continued public access and limited programming” while some renovations are undertaken; and “a highly limited series of phased closures to address only the center’s most serious infrastructure needs while scheduling and maintaining a full slate of programming.”

In his newest order, Cooper denied Floca’s request for an extension. And he mandated that the center file a status report within seven days of the center’s July board meeting or by July 31, whichever date is earliest. He also ruled that the report must “indicate the purpose for and status of the tarp and scaffolding,” which were erected by workers over the center’s front signage in the early morning hours of June 13.

When asked for comment Wednesday, the Kennedy Center pointed back to the documents its legal team submitted to the court.

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4 ways to design a dreamy summer, according to a happiness expert

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4 ways to design a dreamy summer, according to a happiness expert

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I tend to romanticize summer. The movies and TV shows I grew up with made me think that the season was about adventure and big-time transformation.

I imagined myself building a tight-knit friend group and getting out of a pickle together, like in The Sandlot or Camp Nowhere. Or traveling across the world, say, to Greece, like Lena Kaligaris, a character in The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, having a whirlwind summer romance and returning an entirely different person.

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I’ve never actually had a summer like that.

Even when your expectations are more modest than mine, “so often, the summer just flies by, and we haven’t taken the picnics or gone for the day trip or whatever it was that we thought we were gonna do,” says happiness expert Gretchen Rubin.

Rubin, author of The Happiness Project and host of the podcast Happier With Gretchen Rubin, has been sharing ideas on social media about how to make the season more memorable and satisfying.

She walks through four exercises to help you get what you want — and more — out of the season. Print out our worksheet here, fill it out and stick it on your fridge to keep you accountable. Or take a screenshot and post it to Instagram (don’t forget to tag @NPRLifeKit!).

🍑 Give your summer a theme

Pick a single word or phrase that you want to embrace this season — something that captures the feeling you want to have over the next few months.

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“My theme for the summer is ‘ketchup,’” Rubin says. “It has a kind of a summer feeling, because you think of putting ketchup on your burger.”

“It’s a metaphor,” she says. It means to look for “whatever I could add [this season] to make something elevated and more fun.”

Meanwhile, my theme word this summer is “juice.” I no longer think that I need to travel far or completely transform to have a delicious summer. I just need to take advantage of the abundance that the season offers: ripe peaches and tomatoes, juicy softball pitches and the opportunity to feel juicy in my body when I wear a bathing suit.

My Dream Summer worksheet to print.

Print out our worksheet here, fill it out and stick it on your fridge to keep you accountable. Or take a screenshot and post it to Instagram (don’t forget to tag @NPRLifeKit!).

Malaka Gharib/NPR


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🪣 Create a summer bucket list

What do you want to do this summer? On my bucket list: ride the Ferris wheel at a summer fair, have more barbecues at my parents’ house and see the sunrise at least once.

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After the Eaton fire, ‘In the Gardens of Eaton’ finds unexpected beauty in loss

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After the Eaton fire, ‘In the Gardens of Eaton’ finds unexpected beauty in loss

Night is falling in Altadena as bats circle, peacocks wail and photographer Kevin Cooley tries to capture what’s left of a tree.

Using strobes and a long exposure time to allow the maximum amount of available light to hit his lens, Cooley snags about 50 shots of the 20-foot-tall tree, which stands vigil over a street where nearly all the homes burned. The tree’s limbs were lopped off in the wake of January 2025’s Eaton fire, which ravaged Altadena and part of Pasadena, but all these months after the fire, there’s new growth on the tree.

Photographer Kevin Cooley sets up a camera to take photos for his series.

(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)

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Little tufts of green leaves have emerged from the raw cuts where the burned branches once were, proving the tree to be more resilient than its otherwise relatively stark exterior might suggest.

A fine art and news photographer for decades, Cooley, 51, is using pictures like the one he snapped of the tree as part of his new project, “In the Gardens of Eaton.” A collection of 6,000 photos and counting that Cooley has taken around Altadena on wild lots where homes once stood, “In the Gardens of Eaton” aims to capture bits of natural beauty that have endured despite the ravages of the fire and its aftermath.

Cooley has lived in Altadena since 2000 and he knew his neighbors well. He started working on the photo project several months after losing his home in the fire. He’d enlisted a group called Samaritan’s Purse to come up to his lot, where he’d found a metal flat file he’d used to store his photographic prints. Cooley was hopeful some had survived, but when the group popped it open, he says it quickly became clear that the burning metal had acted somewhat like an oven, burning almost everything inside to a charred crisp.

A ponytail palm on Athens Street at dusk.

A ponytail palm on Athens Street photographed for Kevin Cooley’s “In the Gardens of Eaton.”

(Kevin Cooley)

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One piece Cooley could identify, though, was a 2020 copy of Wired magazine for which he’d shot the cover. It featured a swirling plume of smoke, accompanying the story “The West’s Infernos Are Melting Our Sense of How Fire Works,” and the irony wasn’t lost on him.

“You could still kind of make out the word Wired across the top of the masthead and something about that just blew me away,” Cooley says. “It’s as if the whole thing had come full circle. I immediately wanted to photograph it in the same way I had originally photographed the smoke, which was in a studio with lighting, and I guess that made something click for me. I started feeling like there was a way to make something positive after the fire, and that’s when I started spending more time back in Altadena.”

Driving around town, looking at the lots and the wreckage, Cooley says he started to notice the bits of nature that were trying to persevere. He spotted a begonia poking through a burned fence on his neighbor’s property and snapped a photo, and soon he was accumulating more and more similar images. Cooley says if you’d told him before the fire he’d be taking so many pictures of flowers, he’d have scoffed, but now images like one he captured recently of a group of blooming roses in front of a cluster of dead vines remind him that perseverance is possible no matter the odds.

Photographer Kevin Cooley poses for a portrait in a gallery.

Cooley stands in front of some of his photos on display in a gallery in Culver City.

(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)

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“It’s inspiring what nature is doing up there,” Cooley says. “We live in this environment where fire is very much part of the ecology, but people’s gardens are also pushing through. Nonnative species and native species are both there. And people are planting more wildflowers, and it feels cathartic. It’s making me excited to rebuild too, because I really can’t wait to get back.”

Letizia Ragusa, an Altadena resident who lost her home, says Cooley shot her flower-filled lot without her even knowing it. Before the fire, her yard was a wonderland of 16 fruit trees, a koi pond and both a vegetable and an herb garden. All of that was lost in the blaze. As a method of coping and of shoring up the land, Ragusa enlisted a Sierra Madre company called Hardy Californians to plant a remediation seed mix across her lot.

El Molino geraniums captured for Cooley's “In the Gardens of Eaton.”

El Molino geraniums captured for Cooley’s “In the Gardens of Eaton.”

(Kevin Cooley)

Seeing the native plants and flowers begin to pop up on her lot was important, Ragusa says. She’s been living in a rental with her family since the fire, and there’s no yard or room for a garden.

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“It’s just really comforting to me to have some sense of control when everything else feels so out of control right now,” Ragusa says. “At least I have this little piece of land that I can plant things on and I know it’s what’s going to happen. It’s very predictable, and I also think it makes other people happy. I see people driving and walking by that stop to look at it. And our neighbors have all commented on it too, so that’s nice.”

The pictures Cooley took on Ragusa’s property were of rows of pink and purple native flowers and sunflowers set amid city lights and a dreamy sunset. Ragusa says they’re surreal and beautiful.

“It’s outdoor photography, but with a studio element,” she says, noting that she’s especially open to Cooley’s process because she’s an artist herself, previously producing ceramics and sculpture from a home studio that she also lost.

Cooley works sets up lights for a recent photo shoot.

Cooley works sets up lights for a recent photo shoot.

(Jason Armond / Los Angeles Times)

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While the initial photos Cooley took of her yard were from the street and her driveway, she’s since given him permission to go deeper into her lot. It’s something Cooley says is important to him because he knows firsthand that a lot of people’s lots are what he calls “hallowed ground.”

Most of the pictures Cooley has taken so far have been from a distance, though he has set up his equipment near the end of people’s driveways to get a good photo. As word of Cooley’s project has gotten around Altadena — with one resident posting a photo of him on their lot captured via trail cam to a local Facebook group, looking for more information — more and more people have expressed an openness to having him come shoot their gardens.

Honeysuckle on Via Maderas captured for “In the Gardens of Eaton.”

Honeysuckle on Via Maderas captured for “In the Gardens of Eaton.”

(Kevin Cooley)

Cooley has created a Google Form for interested residents to use and he keeps a spreadsheet of the responses in a clipboard on his car’s dashboard. When he’s at a loss for what to shoot next, he’ll glance at it, mentally mapping out addresses in his mind and looking at resident-submitted descriptions of their lots, which include phrases like “We don’t have much left, but we saved our banana plant” and “[Our house] made me into the gardener I am and I adorned her in plants.”

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Cooley says he intends to shoot photos for all the owners who have responded to his Google Form, hoping to gift them prints when the project is complete. Starting in July, he’s headed to Portugal for a six-month art fellowship, but says he plans to continue the photo project later. Cooley would also like to produce an art book of his favorite photos from the project.

He’s also aware that, in some respects, he’s up against a time limit in terms of what he can shoot. He says he spent the beginning part of the project “rushing against the Army Corps” as they were clearing lots, and now he’s trying to photograph rough-and-tumble lots full of nature before their owners level them and start to rebuild.

Calaveras Roses at nighttime.

Calaveras roses photographed for “In the Gardens of Eaton.”

(Kevin Cooley)

Sometimes, Cooley says, he had to shoot on lots where he hadn’t known the owner. When he started the project, he made an effort to track down who lived on the property before he set up his camera, but the process was surprisingly arduous and he’d often lose his intended shot as flowers or plants died or changed shape.

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“It wasn’t practical,” Cooley says. “It’s not that I didn’t want to, but I just couldn’t figure it out. I will eventually, though, and then I’ll be able to present people with a photograph when they’re back in their new homes.

“I just think Altadena is a special place,” he says on a spring day. “Six months ago, it was so depressing to come up here, but now it’s not. It’s still emotional, of course, but seeing all the rebuilding, it’s clear that people see value in being here, even now. When all this is done, if Altadena is even 50% or 75% as special as it was before, it’ll still be great.”

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