Taz

Beginning in the 1830s and 1850s, Chinese peasants, hunters and gatherers settled in the south of the Far East, where they married women from the local peoples. Their descendants gradually formed a community with its own language, customs and kinship, living in isolated homesteads along the rivers and the coast.

When the region came under Russian rule in 1860, the Taz were christianized in the Orthodox faith, but the new administration did not always distinguish them from Chinese migrants. In the 1930s, the Soviet period brought forced deportations of Chinese and Koreans, and the Taz were at times included among them. In 1938, most were resettled in a single village, formerly occupied by deported Koreans. Between the late 1950s and the 1970s, much of the traditional culture was lost.

For generations, the Taz lived from fishing, hunting and gathering in the forests and rivers of the region, in search of salmon, ginseng, mushrooms and seaweed. Over time, they adopted farming and settled life, with vegetable gardens and the raising of pigs, chickens and ducks. The table keeps the heritage of northern China: steamed dumplings, stuffed buns and thin-dough pastries still recall where their ancestors came from.

The traditional language, a form of northeastern Mandarin enriched with Udege and Nanai words, has practically ceased to be spoken. Today Russian is the language of the home, the school and work. For this reason, preserving stories, songs and family names has become a way of keeping the memory of the people alive.

Before the nineteenth century, the faith of the Taz combined diverse elements: veneration of ancestors, Manchu folk religiosity, Buddhist influences and shamanic practices, inherited from both the Chinese side and the Tungusic peoples. The world was seen as inhabited by presences that called for respect, and the remembrance of the dead held a central place in family life.

After the arrival of Russian administration, the Taz were linked to the Orthodox Church, and most of those who declare themselves religious today identify with it. In many homes, however, faith tends to be more a cultural inheritance than a personal, living relationship with God, something only each family can say for itself.

Since the traditional language of the Taz has practically ceased to be spoken, the language of the heart for almost all of them is now Russian, in which the Bible has long been available, in printed editions, in audio and in digital format. The issue, then, is less a lack of translation and more a lack of contact: many Taz may never have opened the Scriptures or heard anyone explain them in a simple and personal way. The natural path is to bring the Word in Russian, through relationships of trust.

The main barrier may be that Orthodox identity is held in a nominal way: feeling Christian by tradition can give the impression that one already knows the gospel, when in practice many have never heard it clearly. Added to this is the small size of the people, scattered among villages and towns, which makes any continuous witness difficult. Assimilation into the Russian world and the weakening of their own language and memory also mean that few see the Taz as a distinct group, and almost no one thinks of reaching them in a specific way.

The people face the challenge of continuing to exist as a people: preserving memory, the language of their grandparents and the sense of belonging to a history of their own in the face of the pressure of assimilation. There is also a need for care for the elders, who keep the stories of the community, and for opportunities for young people to remain connected to their roots.

On the spiritual level, the Taz need Christian friends who know them by name, accessible communities of faith in their region, and discipleship that helps move from an inherited religiosity to a real encounter with Jesus.