Interviewer: Can you tell me about your experience growing up with the Baishou Dance tradition? I’ve read a lot about it, but I’d love to hear what it was like to witness it firsthand.
Mr. Peng: (Smiles) Ah, Baishou Dance… yes, that’s something deeply rooted in my memory. I grew up in a small village in Laifeng County, where the Baishou Dance is more than just a performance—it’s a way of life. Every year, around the Lunar New Year, the entire village would gather in the ancestral square, and we would start practicing weeks before the actual celebration.
Interviewer: What was it like to participate in those preparations?
Mr. Peng: (Chuckles) Well, when I was a boy, it was almost like a rite of passage. Our elders took the Baishou Dance very seriously. They would teach us every gesture, every movement. You see, Baishou isn’t just about dancing. Each move symbolizes something—plowing fields, sowing seeds, even mimicking animals like the eagle or the toad. There are stories embedded in every step. I remember my father telling me, “Learn the dance, and you learn the history of our people.”
Interviewer: That sounds so rich with meaning. Were there any special moments during the actual performance?
Mr. Peng: Oh yes, the most powerful moments were always at night. We’d light huge bonfires in the village square, and the air would be filled with the sound of drums and the suona. The atmosphere was electric. The whole village—men, women, children—everyone would join in, wearing traditional Tujia clothing. We’d sing the Baishou songs in our dialect. Even now, when I hear those tunes, I feel the same sense of unity and pride.
Interviewer: It sounds like such a strong communal experience. How has the Baishou Dance changed since you were young?
Mr. Peng: (Pauses) It has changed, yes. Back in my day, the dance was more about honoring our ancestors and reflecting on our agricultural roots. These days, it’s performed more for festivals and tourists. It’s still beautiful, but I sometimes wonder if the younger generation truly understands its meaning. We used to perform to honor the land, to connect with the spirits of our ancestors. Now, it’s more of a spectacle—though still an important tradition.
Interviewer: Do you think the meaning of Baishou Dance has been lost?
Mr. Peng: Not lost, exactly… but perhaps softened. You know, when we danced, it wasn’t just about enjoyment. There was a spiritual element—each step, each movement was like a prayer for good fortune, good harvests, and protection from our ancestors. It brought the village together in a way that few other things could. Now, people are more focused on the performance aspect, rather than the deeper meaning. But it’s still a bridge connecting us to our past. As long as we keep dancing, that connection won’t be broken.
Interviewer: It’s fascinating how traditions like this adapt over time. Do you think Baishou Dance will continue for future generations?
Mr. Peng: (Nods) I believe so, but it will depend on us—the elders—and how we pass it on. My son knows the dance, and now he’s teaching his children. It may look different, but the essence will survive. Traditions evolve, but they carry the heart of our people. Even if it’s just for show sometimes, it still keeps the Tujia spirit alive.
Interviewer: Thank you for sharing this with me. It’s clear that Baishou Dance is more than just a dance—it’s a living tradition.
Mr. Peng: (Smiles warmly) Yes, it is. It’s our story, told with our hands. And as long as we keep telling it, the dance will never truly fade.