Ⅵ – 身份認同、原漢雙族裔 Identity, Indigenous Han MixedIdentity

「或許，我們充其量都是這蒼穹之下的一片畸零地。」

截至今日接觸到「畸零地景藝術」的這段時間裡，每回聽到不同人交換著心中的畸零地景時，總是把自己一次次的投射在「畸零狀態」之中。而這個「畸零狀態」超越地景、遠過藝術之外，對我而言更像是一個不斷因為談論而持續擴散的概念。

以過往經驗作為畸零的切角，在2023年研究計畫《以舞蹈構作叩問當代原漢雙族裔的身份認同》中，實踐製作的作品《脈脈》不偏不移的用自己的身份，訴說一件事情。在這個文化、血脈的畸零地裏，這些畸零的切線，隨著生命歷程更迭，這份混雜的邊境感越來越清晰。所謂「原漢雙族裔」，是指原漢不同族群通婚後所生下的第二代。在社會環境、同儕看法，以及原住民族「污名化」等影響下，為尋找生存的立足點，原漢雙族裔經常在「原、漢」二種身分中遊走（杜曉梅，2015）。站在排灣族與閩南人交會的邊陲，其破碎的狀態如同身處在無形的畸零地之中。

基因學家亞當・盧瑟福德(Adam Rutherford)在文章「如何駁斥種族主義者」中指出：「種族純化是一個純粹的幻想，對於人類來 說，沒有血統純正的種族，只有多種血統混合而成的混合體」(Rutherford, 2010)。他的言論直接了當的點出了當今種族基因的悖論，筆者認為倘若如此的不同、但我們更多的是相似。然而在概括論建構而成的社會中，我們只能用一己單薄之力闡述對於身份的叩問。

對於承接著兩個文化的輪廓，內心感受到被包覆、同時也畸零。如同曾哲偉在東港「畸零地景藝術交流會」分享到，法國社會學家Étienne Balibar的文章《何謂邊界》指出：「邊界本身是結果，而非事先存在的。」在面臨臺灣對於「族群位階」以及「族群意象」時，當我擁有漢人與原住民的身份，同時擔著過多的刻板印象跟資格的質疑，每當我面對他人對於我身份的質疑時，內心總會掀起強烈的情緒波動。這種身份上的邊緣感與畸零感，讓我不斷反思自我認同的複雜性。我的文化背景既是一種自豪，也是一種無形的束縛，它讓我在社會中既無法完全融入，也無法完全脫離。

如果說異質的身體是後天加註的，那我便也能說人總是在要強調自己的地位跟身份的時候，就會想要質疑甚至掠奪掉瓜分自己紅利的邊緣聲音。畸零地有時就會以這樣僵持不下的狀態下被辨識，風景並不總是光彩，但存在的價值、議題需要一直被看見。

在交流會中聽著不同的人講述著迥然不同的事，我認為能用藝術作為論述的切角，不計任何形式，我們都是無比的強韌跟幸運的。雖然畸零地景藝術的樣子尚未成型，畸零之於藝術的想像也容易讓人感到存疑。但從旁觀察下來，有趣的是困惑所衍生出的意義交換，來自於自根連結的叩問，進而看出畸零地景藝術的概念能在不同的維度裏發酵膨脹。我們將這一片片畸零地帶進這個社群裡串連跟擴張，試探著邊界的我們將這一片片畸零地帶進這個社群裡串連並擴張，試探著邊界的延展與再造，讓每一片被遺忘或不被重視的空間，都重新在藝術與生活之間找到自身的可能性，成為社群共鳴與再生的基石。你心中的畸零地景是什麼呢？

“Perhaps, at most, we are but a fragment of the vast landscape beneath this sky.”

In the time I’ve spent engaging with the concept of “Marginal Landscape ” every time I hear different people exchange their thoughts on their own marginal landscapes, I find myself projecting again and again into a “marginal state.” This “marginal state” transcends landscape and extends beyond art—it feels more like a concept that continuously expands as it is discussed.

Reflecting on past experiences as angles into the marginal, in my 2023 research project “The Use of Dance Dramaturgy in the Inquiry of Han-Indigenous Biracial Identity”, the work “Veins” was created to tell one story—without deviation—through my own identity. In this marginal landscape of culture and bloodline, these marginal lines grow ever clearer with the passage of time. The so-called “Indigenous-Han mixed heritage” refers to the second generation born from intermarriage between Indigenous and Han groups. Due to societal environment, peer perception, and the stigmatization of Indigenous people, mixed-heritage individuals often oscillate between these two identities—”Indigenous” and “Han”—in their search for a sense of belonging (Du Xiaomei, 2015). Standing on the border where the Paiwan language and Southern Min meet, the fragmented state is like being in an invisible marginal landscape.

Geneticist Adam Rutherford, in his article “How to Refute Racists,” states: “Racial purity is a pure fantasy. For humans, there are no racially pure groups—only mixed bodies made from multiple lineages” (Rutherford, 2010). His argument directly addresses the paradox of racial genetics today. I believe that, despite such differences, we are ultimately more alike. Yet in a society built on generalizations, we are left to individually express our inquiries about identity.

For those carrying the outlines of two cultures, the feeling of being simultaneously enveloped and marginal is deeply felt. As philosopher Étienne Balibar shared in his essay “What is a Border?”, “The border is a result, not something that preexists.” When confronted with Taiwan’s “ethnic hierarchy” and “ethnic imagery,” I find myself struggling between my identities as both Han and Indigenous. With these identities come an array of stereotypes and questioning of my legitimacy. Each time others question my identity, it stirs up intense emotional reactions. This sense of marginality and fragmentation forces me to constantly reflect on the complexity of self-identity. My cultural background is both a source of pride and an invisible constraint, preventing me from fully integrating into society while also making it impossible to completely detach from it.

If we consider a heterogenous body as something added later in life, then I might also say that people often attempt to challenge or even strip away the marginal voices that threaten to diminish their own position and identity. Marginal landscapes are sometimes recognized precisely in these unresolved, impasse-like states. Scenery is not always dazzling, but its value and the issues it raises must continuously be seen.

At the exchange meeting, listening to others tell their vastly different stories, I believe that by using art as an entry point for discourse—regardless of form—we all possess incredible resilience and fortune. Though the form of Marginal Landscape Art has not yet fully emerged, the very idea of marginality in art often raises doubts. However, from observing on the sidelines, what is interesting is the exchange of meaning that arises from confusion—a questioning rooted in self-connection—which shows how the concept of marginal landscape art can ferment and expand across different dimensions. We bring these scattered marginal spaces into this community, connecting and expanding them, testing the extension and reinvention of boundaries. In doing so, each forgotten or overlooked space finds its own possibility between art and life, becoming a cornerstone of communal resonance and regeneration.

What is the marginal landscape in your heart?