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The Maladeg Peace Zone and the Dungos peace Pact

Designed by the people themselves, the Maladeg Peace Zone stands out as the most unique all over the country. It sprang forth in Maladeg, a coastal barangay of Sultan Gumander, Lanao del Sur, a province whose population is more than 93 percent Maranao Muslim.

In Barangay Maladeg itself, the population is 90 percent Maranao and 10 percent Christian, compared to the town of Sultan Gumander which is nearly 98 percent Maranao. Maladeg is made up of 876 houses in all. When the peace zone started, there were only more than ten Christian houses, now there are more than a hundred.

Many of the Maranaos do not come from Maladeg. A good number of them came from the nearby towns of Nunungan, Calanugas, Malabang, Ganassi, Karomatan and Balabagan, They either came as evacuees during Martial Law days or simply sought shelter on account of unstable conditions in their places of origin.

The Muslim residents are clustered on the north side of the coast, the Christian residents on the south side. The leading families, the Antons, stay in the middle. The Muslims and the Christians used to be mixed in the early days but because of differences in culture, which were built-in irritants among them, it was decided to separate them. The Christians allow the sale and drinking of liquor and the raising of hogs, while Islam prohibits them. There has been no trouble since the separation of the two communities.

Elected leader of peace zone is 60-year old Manuel Anton — more popularly known as Bob, half Maranao, who is a Catholic Christian. Youngest in a brood of eight, his father was Miguel, half Spanish, one-fourth Maranao, one-fourth Maguindanao, former Chief of Police and four-term mayor of Malabang, Lanao del Sur. His mother is Mareg Limano of the respected Ibrahim clan of Pualas, Lanao del Sur. Her own father was the former Sultan Dalumangkob of Pualas.

Married to Trinidad Carpio, a charming Zamboanguena, Bob is referred to endearingly by the Maranao residents as the Ama-Ina (Father-Mother) of the zone. One reason he is called Ina-Ama, said Mauyag Ampuan, one of the original authors of the Peace Zone, is that “he protects his family, meaning not only his blood relatives but all the people who believe in him in the peace zone. When his family is in distress, he forgets himself and he will take maximum measure to save the lives of his family.”

All the signatories of the Covenant of Peace and Development —the original of this document is in Maranao — used to be Bob’s mortal enemies, ridu-ai in Maranao, with whom his family was at war for more than two decades. They were sworn to eliminate his family from Maladeg; his family fought them to survive. In the process he lost some members of his family. He himself is a veteran of countless armed encounters with them. Now, they are allies, sworn to protect each other in the peace zone.

When they arrived in Maladeg, said Sangcupan Kilab, one of the authors of the peace zone, there were about ten houses there. They conferred with the Antons. They decided to create a committee whose task was to fix all kinds of rido (family feuds), and also to prevent the escalation of trouble particularly inside the zone. There were so many rido all around them at the time. Now, the committee has more than 30 members and the houses have increased to more than 800.

They also decided to create a Peace Zone which would be bounded by areas inside Turayas to the east, boundary of Liangan-Subuan to the west and then, going up to the north, Kalumpang or Kaludan and then going up to Mamaanan and back of Turayas. The area is about seven kilometers in width and about 15 kilometers in length.

The members of the peace zone represent clans; they also have Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF) and Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF) commanders among them, all sworn to uphold the eight rules and regulations of the zone. The Zone did not have a name in the beginning, just a Committee made up of 13 leaders, and the covenant was not written either (it was put on paper later). From the original 13 in 1978, the Zone covenant’s signatories have now increased to 41. Four of the signatories are MNLF commanders, one is a Chief Inspector of the Philippine National Police (PNP) and another is a Colonel of the Philippine Army. The incumbent mayor of Sultan Gumander is so pleased with the peace and order situation in Maladeg he decided to relocate his office there.

A Council of Elders sees to it that these rules are implemented. To ensure proper implementation the rules are disseminated to all the families in the zone. Where a family or clan is unable to implement the rules, the signatories — datus and leaders — of the covenant will take over the implementation. They have a community jail for violators. The first tenant was the son of Bob himself for a minor infraction, proof that he favored no one. The community respected him for that. Many others have been imprisoned there, including soldiers and members of the Civilian Armed Forces Geographical Units (CAFGUs). There are no exceptions as long as they violate the rules.

Armed conflict, gambling; the use of prohibited drugs, any form of criminality, in fact, anything considered bad, are prohibited inside the Zone of Peace. Good deeds are encouraged.

Outsiders who wish to reside inside the Zone are required to seek the permission of the Council of Elders and commit themselves to a strict compliance of the rules and regulations prior to approval.

Any outsider of the Zone who has rido but does not wish to be part of the rido, can avail of sanctuary inside the Zone, provided he will promise to renounce violence and cut off his support for his relatives involved in the rido. This also means that he may not use the Zone as his base of operations to participate in rido. The Zone leaders, in return, will provide him protection and assistance from any troublemaker.

They also have a committee whose members are constantly alert for any outbreak of actual conflict or potential conflict. If they feel that a conflict is about to break out, they would immediately visit the involved parties and talk them out of it. Where armed conflict has already broken out, they will ‘visit the contending parties and persuade them to a cease-fire. As soon as the parties agree, the next move is to get them to negotiate for a peaceful resolution. In cases of murder or attempted murder, Zone rules require that the weapon used in the crime must be turned over to the Committee before resolution.

The committee has not only confined its services to the people of Maladeg, it has also extended assistance to those in need in nearby Maganding, Malabang, Nunungan and Karomatan.

Women violators, married or unmarried, may not be subjected to interrogation without the presence of male relatives of the first degree.

The Committee’s success record in settling conflicts has been spectacularly high. Also, contrary to the practice of mediation common among Maranaos of requiring a fee of 30 percent of the settlement sum, they as mediators do not charge a single centavo for their services. Neither are they compensated for their work. They have also built a reputation for fairness, regardless of social rank.

Feedback from the People

Some feedback from the signatories will reveal the extent to which the Peace Zone has been successful in creating a new way of life in Lanao del Sur. In the interviews with the Maranao leaders, they were asked to respond especially to two questions: (a) Describe life with rido and life without rido, and (b) Why did he choose to live in Maladeg?

Originally from Nunungan, Mauyag “Mawi” Ampuan has lived 40 years in Maladeg. He is one of the authors of the Peace Zone and is also one of the signatories of the Covenant of Peace and Development. Asked about his opinion on life with or without rido, he said: “A person without rido can go anywhere. A person with rido is like a carabao tethered to a tree. He can only move around as far as the rope will allow”.

To Ustadz Ampaso, originally from Uyaan, leader of more than 50 families from the same place and one of the original signatories of the covenant,life with rido is being a “prisoner inside your own household.” What attracted him to Maladegwas that the place is “peaceful and I decided to stay here because this is where I found peace of, mind.”

Kadi Abbas who hails from Nunungan heads more than 200 families. He has lived in Maladeg for the last 20 years. He commented: “When you have rido, you are never stable, you are like a prisoner. You cannot work, you cannot go out of your house, you cannot extend assistance to anybody because you are afraid to go out. Your enemy might be somewhere else and might take any a chance on you. He can kill you.”

He chose to stay in Maladeg because of the work of Bob and his brothers. He told Bob Anton: “We have identified you as people who are concerned about helping other people especially when they are oppressed, when they are hard up. Your family is always there to extend assistance to these oppressed people, to these people who are financially hard up. And most of all, your place is identified with peaceful coexistence among the inhabitants. We find this place very ideal for future plans. This is the place where we can rest with peace of mind. This is a place where we can feel safe even if we have enemies. We believe you will not leave us unprotected.”

Said Datu Bra who has lived in Maladeg for 40 years, “The bad thing about rido is that our livelihood is really paralyzed. The advantage of having no rido is you are free to move wherever place you like to go, no problem.” As to why he chose to stay in Maladeg, Datu Bra said this is where he discovered that he can make a living in peace.

Alim Abu Jabir, originally known as Khlaid Rajah Muda Ali, is from Nunungan. He studied Arabic in Matampay, Marawi City and went to

Kuwait University on a scholarship. He graduated in 1991. He came home when Iraq attacked Kuwait. As an Islamic teacher, he moves around a lot. Even if he does not concern himself with the rido of his clan, he still takes precautionary measures. He plans his movements. He is aware that rido is prohibited in Islam. One of the things he does in his travels is to tell people the efforts being made by the people of Maladeg.

But how does one sustain the, peace zone? Makaorao Sarif, Sultan sa Liangan and regular emissary during settlement processes, believes that to maintain the integrity of the peace zone, the datus must first of all agree. Every leader must discipline his followers and his subjects. When the datus agree among themselves, it means that they have one motive, which is to find peace for themselves and their followers. Leadership is very important. The participation of leaders and datus is very important to achieve this aim.

The Dungos Peace Pact

In August 1999 a group of Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF) soldiers arrived in Dungos, Tulunan, North Cotabato to inform the people that they were going to establish an armed detachment there, Dungos being part of the MILF Camp Rajamuda.

The Christian and Muslim residents of the place met with them to inform them that they have this peace pact in Dungos not to allow any armed men inside the area. And this included the military and police as well.

They recalled that this Peace Pact was signed on 20 March 1995 by representatives of the Christian and Muslim inhabitants of the Barangay. Among the signatories were Dungos Barangay Chairman Mario M. Baloniebro, Jr., Mayor Rodolfo Penafiel of Tulunan, and the parish priest, Father Buenaflor. The witnesses included no less than Governor Rosario Diaz of Cotabato, Congressman Gregorio Andolana of Cotabato, Mayor Ibrahim Paglas III of Datu Paglas, Mayor Saidona Pendatun of SK Pendatun, the Provincial Director of the PNP, the Battalion Commander of 40IB, 6ID, and Boy Hasim, Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF) Brigade Commander of the Upper Kutawatu Revolutionary Command.

Sometime after the signing, a delegation led by Mayor Peñafiel traveled to Camp Abubakar where they informed Hadji Murad, MILF Vice Chairman for Military Affairs about the peace pact. The response of the MILF leader was encouraging. As a result of the August attempt of the MILF to establish a detachment in Dungos, the people again conferred with the MILF leadership. The latter decided to respect the agreement of the people.

The Dungos peace pact was born out of the turbulence of the early 70s and the insecurities resulting from the raging war between the Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP) and the MNLF. It was also inspired by the successful creation of the Peace Zones of Sitios Miatub and New Alimodian, and Barangays Bituan, Banayal and Tuburan in the same municipality of Tulunan that became one of the Ten (10) Outstanding Awardees for development programs throughout the country. Declared as Special Development Area (SDA), the Peace Zones gained the support of the national government and were extended financial support for the people’s livelihood program.

Among the agreements of Dungos were the settlement of internal conflicts by peaceful means and the disallowance of armed groups, including the military, to enter the area unless requested by the members of the Ad Hoc Committee.

Lessons from the Peace Zones

What the peace zone of Maladeg and the peace pact of Dungos teach us is that the people need not wait for results in the top level negotiations between the Government of the Republic of the Philippines (GRP) and MNLF or the GRP and the MILF. They know what kind of peace they want and they can agree among themselves within the community. Self-regulation is an important ingredient here because it illustrates that establishing a peace zone or the creation of a peace pact area and maintaining the same requires vigilance and a constant demonstration of the stakeholders’ political will. There is nothing better than peace that flows and is nurtured from within.

Subanun Folklore

Introduction

Prior to the coming of the Spaniards, many Philippine ethnic groups already had epic singers, their songs being a part of their daily life and activities. During their revelries, those endowed with good voices sang or chant them. One group that possesses a rich lore is the Subanun of Sindangan. They are the descendants of Indonesians who constituted the first wave of immigrants from Eurasia that settled in our country. Their legends, tales and myths, which are elements of social cohesion with supernatural powers and their mythical rulers, usually showing their relationship with the life of their forebears.

The Subanun’s form of social organization is based on an agricultural  and culture that abhors foreign elements. Their social life, authority structure and customary laws fully satisfy their needs so that they are averse to outside power, thus fostering the continuity of their ancient culture. In the words of Datu Agdino Andus of Sindangan:

Tibaqan boq sasuko pagligawatan migsarabi ami, boq di
ami malyagdon bElongan nami sogposakaq nag
makaguran. Donig baliyan na Marikano na pabolongEn
siya di nami sog batad nami. Sugaq maqo si Datu Tangkilan
Andus, lingatan gopyaq boq migbaksay tanan sabaq
longatan. Daq ami pagpatod di nila, boq pidiyonan nami
sogbatad nami.

Freely translated, this runs:
Our family and our subjects are so closely bound together
we do not want our customs and traditions to die. Once
American missionaries came and proselytized us and told
us to do away with these traditional laws. My father, the
late Datu Tangkilan Andus, roared with anger, refused them,
and we continued our simple way of life.

For their livelihood the Subanun today raise enough food on the the hillsides through the kaingin method of cultivation(swidden agriculture) and engage in hunting wild animals and fishing. These activities allow them to store enough foods and permit them to have ample leisure for social and aesthetic pursuits. They have developed rituals and ceremonies where chants and folksongs have become essential elements. The folksongs also serve them in their daily activities, and as entertainment after coming home from work or during feasts.

The majority still live the way their ancestors did centuries ago. They still follow age-old customs and shun modem conveniences precisely because, economically speaking, they cannot afford the latter. Those who are already acculturated and educated have, however, adopted some modem conveniences of life whenever they are able to.

The Subanun are mostly cut off today from one another by mountains and rivers. They are usually found in the remote areas of Zamboanga del Norte and Zamboanga del Sur. In one local group, they may number only from 20 to 30 families. Their tools and weapons are primitive and include spears, traps, bolo, bow and arrow and poisoned darts. They raise a few pigs and other domestic animals.

It is saddening to note that among the present Subanun generation their folklore legacy seems to hold no binding and deep interest anymore. They are little by little corrupted by what they hear from the transistor radios and alienated from their cultural heritage. The present setup of society has changed their way of life to a certain degree. Most Subanun youth in Sindangan love to listen more to the radio programs after their work in their kaingin rather than sing their own songs.

Sindangan in the past was called Giyakowan. It is one of the important towns of Zamboanga and is now a very progressive
municipality composed of several barrios and sitios most of which are inhabited by Subanun. Every barrio has a river or tributary named after the place, except Mandin, which is the name of a former datu.

In Sindangan Bay alone, Subanun number more or less 2,500 and most of them are already educated. There is still a great number who are ignorant and suffering from poverty.

H. Otley Beyer (1911) describes the racial characteristics of the Subanun as being of very mixed physical type, with the Indonesian traits predominating. Both the short and tall mongoloid types are fairly numerous, but the Negroid types are rare. An exclusively Papuan Australoid mixture is evident, and in the Indonesian types the Caucasic element often predominates

The Subanun today are of slight and slender build, fair-complexioned, with high forehead but a rather flat nose. Their bodies are not deformed. They usually have well-rounded limbs, clean and supple. Young women are gracefully pleasing in person, very modest, shy. and industrious.

A Subanun has well-set, expressive and suspicious eyes. He can be temperamental when his pride is hurt, but stays calm when in his proper mood. Men have a peculiar way of standing while they converse. They lean on anything, on a post, or on a wall, standing on
one foot while the other rests on the knee like a heron. When tired,they just shift their weight to the other leg and resume the same position.

Although living in a fairly warm region, the Subanun are clothed colorfully, resembling the Muslims. The men at times wear turbans, tight-fitting shirts open at the chest, and loose, baggy pants. The women wear skin-tight, long-sleeved jackets and skirts, mostly in loud colors, and have their ears pierced. A great number of them  no longer wear the old kind of clothing today since they have found out that they can be comfortable with our modem way of dressing. In the past, both sexes grew long hair, tied into a knot and held onto the head by a colorful turban. Today, most of them sport short hair, but he turban remains in use by some. Young Subanun girls, unlike other ethnic groups, are not separated from their parents at the age of puberty. They stay home with their family, recognizing their father as head. The young women keep their virginity until marriage.

A Subanun obviously presents a culture more primitive than other ethnic groups like the Ifugao. His social organization is typical of the primitive type which moves freely from one large forest area to another, felling trees and cultivating the clearing as a kaingin, and after two or three harvest periods abandons it for another virgin forest. The Ifugao in this respect are superior, for they make their rice terraces and irrigate them; more importantly, they have permanent villages. On the other hand, a Subanun plants rice that needs no permanent system of irrigation. He depends on the rain. He calls this system of planting gobod or sawd. A Subanun cares little about his farm, leaving his rice to struggle for existence side by side with cogon. If the rice outgrows the cogon, he gets a good and abundant harvest. He spends a great deal of time hunting, fishing and gathering food for his livelihood. Aside from the rice, he grows root crops like gubi (sweet potatoes), ginampay (ubi), lampan (yam), and banggala (cassava). There are Subanun in Sindangan proper, however, who are already practising wet agriculture, a system which they have learned from the Visayans.

Most Subanun are outwardly friendly, although inside they are still suspicious of foreigners and fear outsiders. But most of them are hospitable, even more respectful than any Christian could be. There are however, among them turbulent and fierce individuals. These stay in the most remote places and are called Manggahat. Even the good Subanun fear the Manggahat, probably because these make no exceptions in their attacks. These Manggahat, deep in the night, bring bamboo spears which they use in piercing the floors of houses to satisfy their murderous proclivities. Very few of the Manggahat, however, are said to exist today.

Beliefs

The Subanun are polytheistic for they believe in different gods and spirits whom they worship the way they are conceived, either as malevolent or benevolent. Superior gods or spirits are called diwata who instinct the Subanun medicine man on how to perform and practitioner rituals. Their Supreme diwata is Gulay (Gulai) or Asog. The Subanun believe that the spirits of diwata possess the power of causing conception without any human intervention and the offspring becomes an efficient balyan.

They call their priest gulilegan (shaman) who is responsible for performing rites and ceremonies during feasts and other community activities. The Subanun have greater respect for the gulilegan (shaman) than the balyan. The gulilegan is consulted in case of epidemics when he performs a liqing. A gulilegan is also called to interpret the good omens when a new site for a house is selected and is consulted in the choice of a forest for a kaingin clearing. While the most important duty of the balyan is to cure the sick, they believe that the gulilegan also has powers to cure. Like the balyan the gulilegan also possesses a certain degree of knowledge of plants used for curative purposes. A gulilegan does not interfere in civil affairs. There is nothing that prevents a headman from becoming a gulilegan if he meets the qualifications; that is, he must be able to talk to spirits, cure the sick, and perform rites through the use of supernatural powers. The Subanun usually know the datu’s power and limitations and can easily judge the quality of a performance which is extraordinary.

A gulilegan is not only employed to drive away the evil spirits. He is also able to do good and evil, to cause a disease, to defeat an enemy or cause his death. People in the past believed themselves lost and helpless without them. In marriage, the datu performs the ceremonies. However, a gulilegan’s blessing, though not necessary, is at times asked for by the couple so that they will have a happy home and raise healthy and happy children. When a gulilegan dies, the Subanun believe that he is only asleep so he is not buried but is left in a little house built solely for him. They believe that some gulilegan attend conferences in heaven with the supreme gods and return after being dead for some time. Stories of resurrection have been told by them. Thus, when gulilegan Oknip, Liyo’s father, died, he was not buried for five days because he remained warm although he was no longer breathing. After five days, he came to life again. Only twenty years after this incident did gulilegan Oknip finally meet his death.

The balyan are wizards, both men and women, who have mysterious associations with the spirits of diwata and are believed to possess healing power for all forms of illnesses. In a Subanun society, a medicine man of repute is one whose eccentricity verges on insanity. This characteristic does not lessen the credibility of the balyan. It is taken as perfectly natural that a man possessed of spiritual power can be dominated by spirits and can be weak in concerns of ordinary things. A balyan s vocation is usually decided during some long period of sickness and depression in early life and even during adolescence. One balyan recounted that during an illness in his youth he heard a diwata calling and telling him that he would be his familiar spirit. As soon as he recovered from his illness, this man entered into a kind of discipleship under a balyan by learning the varied rituals for several years after which he himself became an expert. A medicine man of renown claims to have a special friend among the diwata and it is these spiritual beings that he calls on for important occasions. During festivals when many bukar (altars) are set up, he always builds one for his special diwata friend. Most balyans are sincere, but to impress people they sometimes overact and fake supernatural phenomena.

In treating a patient, several steps are observed. When the balyan is called, he listens first to the story about the ailment. He diagnoses based on his concepts of ailments and diseases. He can differentiate one skin disease from another except that no criteria of the diagnosis of the disease are considered. Then anything that the patient has done lately which the balyan thinks might have angered the gods or one of the spirits of his tribe is reviewed and interpreted for anyone of them might have brought vengeance on the patient. No one among them supposes or knows that the illness comes from something wrong in the bodily processes. The balyan is convinced that any disease is the work of an offended spirit.

Frake, in his 1961 study of the diseases of the Subanun, found out that their diagnosis does not measure up to etiological criteria. He explains it in this manner:

Etiological criteria are diagnostically significant responses
to questions of “etiology”, how did the patient encounter
his illness? These questions ask, “Why did it happen to
me?” rather than, “What causes this kind of disease?”
Diagnostic knowledge of the kind of disease does not give
knowledge of on “etiology” in this sense. Confident
determination of etiological circumstance requires
communication by divination or séance with the
supernaturals. Since this kind of communication seems to
be costly, patients reserve etiological searching for cases
when ordinary medical (kabulungan) treatments
premedicated on diagnosis have not met with success.
Etiological determination generally enables the patient to
undertake propitiatory rituals (kano) with therapeutic value.
But some etiological circumstances, notably those
involving human agency, cannot be counteracted by
propitiations of supernaturals. These cases require
treatment with specially acquired medicines such as charms
(pegbelingen), amulet (bulung penapu‘), potions (gaplas),
and antidotes (tekuli‘).

Consequently, if the patient has a stomachache, the balyan believes that a cruel spirit has entered the patient’s body and is tormenting him. The medicine man proves himself a good match for the enemy. He drives away the evil spirit by his spells, incantations, charms, and potions. He is really a wizard skilled in all magical devices for the protection of the human body.

As soon as the patient recovers from his illness, a kano (rite) is performed. Offerings like chicken, pork and eggs (cooked without salt and spices), betel chew, and pangasi are placed on the bukar (altar). The balyan performs the kano by calling and invoking the gods and goddesses to dine. He prays to them, thanking them for the recovery of the sick.

A balyan usually has two functions: performing at festivals and curing the sick. He can be in a trancelike condition when a spirit speaks through him. He perspires all over during the trance. Some can dance up to a frenzied state and then act as a medium. But very few have the power to communicate with a spirit.

If health is not restored through the interventions of the balyan, then the Subanun believe that the sins of the patient may be too difficult for the diwata or the spirits to forgive; otherwise, why were the offerings not given due importance? Under such circumstances, they believe that greater offerings must be made even to the extent of resorting to human sacrifice.

A balyan of repute may ask only for a minimal fee since the people feel it is his obligation to perform at rituals. The amount paid to a balyan for ceremonies is 16 panels of coarse imported cotton cloth and 4/5 of a picul of husked rice which is certainly enough for his needs. To earn a living, the balyan works on a kaingin like any ordinary Subanun.

The Subanun believe that Gulay or Asog, who lives in the heavens, is the head of all the diwata. Gulay and Asog is the Supreme Being, the greatest and the most powerful diwata, and creator of all things including people. He is well disposed toward people and defends them, their homes, and their crops from the attacks of evil spirits. he is the most just and good god who gives happiness to everyone. He has a keen foresight for the end of all, and ultimately, he is the “master of life and death, is very ancient and eternal.” He can punish evildoers since he possesses a power that controls lightning and thunder.

Supernatural beings, according to the Subanun, act according to their spiritual attributes. In most cases they cause illness because they want to be remembered with sacrifices and offerings. The spirits do not desire wealth but want sumptuous food and drink, particularly rice wine. They do not make extreme demands by causing illness or epidemics, but first give the people ominous warnings like the hooting of birds, dreams, thunder and other threatening events to remind the people of their obligations.

The Subanun believe in the existence of evil spirits which can be divided into three types: the munluh who are of gigantic size and who dwell in the mountains and forests; the gwak-gwak who are earth-dwellers, winged and devourers of human flesh, with the power to change themselves into a bird of unusual size and color; and the mitubu and mamanwa (goblins) who dwell in caves, trees, and rivers.

The call of birds of omen has much significance to the Subanun. The glimon (wild dove), which has a special relationship with people, is believed to be interested in human affairs. This belief originated from the Negritos who lived with them for some time in the past. This bird is believed to be the receptacle for the soul of the ancestral infant who died at a tender age. From the bird, the soul enters the womb of an expectant mother in order to give life to the infant she is soon to deliver. Aside from the glimon (wild dove) and the sibukok or kokok, the Subanun believe in two other birds as heralds of ill fortune: the bulatok and the tamiqang. If these birds alight on a new house, Subanun will abandon the new dwelling. They make sacrifices to the tiboghok and the ginaghaw, birds that take the shape of Dipuksaya, the goddess who dwells midway between heaven and earth. In these rituals, done by a balyan or a shaman, the favorite foods of that spirit one offered. The food they serve during the offering is not eaten; the Subanun believe that it is only the gimud (spirit) of the food that this spirit partakes of.

The kano-makers are simple and humble folks. The kano is their highest form of community gathering and their most artistic expression. Here, they bring the best that they are able to create like dances, music, songs, costumes, and ritual practices. The kano is a time for paying obligations for special favors and where there is more to eat and drink than usual. Kano performances require some sort of ceremonies. Some types of kano offerings are:

boklog – The most expensive of celebrations, it is a feast lasting five days or more. The celebration is grand, bewitching and interesting, and requires preparations of a month or two. During the celebration, the Subanun dance days and nights on a specially built swaying bamboo platform called the boklog. The shaman and the balyan take care of the rites and ceremonies.

gampang – This is performed at the mouth of a creek or river, the purpose of which is to appease the angered gods and spirits that bring illness to the people as a punishment for their offense.

• Marriage kano – This is the specific prayer of newlyweds entreating the gods and goddesses for good health and a happy married life.

• Baptism kano – This prays for the long life and good health of a child. The person who sponsors the child is called the minganak.

papilis – Before opening the forest for a kaingin, a Subanun asks permission from the spirits of farming ventures to allow them to work there.

kanolupa – While the plants are growing, they hold a prayer asking that the plants be spared from pests and other destructive forces of nature.

kano for the sick- Without the use of medicine, this kano is performed with the hope of appeasing the angry gods, asking them to heal the sick.

pasungko– This is held after harvest as a sort of thanksgiving to the gods and goddesses.

A ceremony may be complex or simple depending on whether one or more offerings are held. Ceremonies are named after a constituent offering, the boklog being one of the features.

It is only in the marriage kano where the chieftains accept money. The fixed amount for a wedding is fifteen pesos to be divided among the three chiefs: nine pesos for the datu, three pesos for the timuway, and three pesos for the saliling.

Food and Drink

Drinking plays a very important part in Subanun social life. Gasi or pangasi is offered to a visitor of rank whether a stranger  or not. Pangasi is considered as essential as food especially during feasts. To them, it is rude to refuse the drink offered. To make pangasi, rice is pounded and then mixed with parts of certain plants like the roots of the grampic, sili fruit (pepper), ginger, roots of onions, roots of jackfruit, tungog tree, bosiyong, leaves of lindang plant, roots or leaves of pineapple, and rice husks.

The mixture is first cooked and laid aside to ferment. Later, this is made into balls and dried. These balls, termed tapay, are stored. They cook again another amount of rice. They spread this cooked rice on the mat and while it is still hot, some powdered tapay are poured into it. The mixture is laid aside for some hours (24 hours being the most) until fermentation is well underway. This mixture is called ginamon. The ginamon is poured into the bandiq (big Chinese jars) and then water is poured in to cover the ginamon. Sometimes, rice husks are not used.

The resulting liquor is drunk sooner or later according to the desired taste. The longer the liquor is kept, the stronger the intoxicating quality becomes. They flavor it with vegetable ingredients to give it a pleasant odor. Wild ginger mixed with sweet smelling herbs are mostly favored. Subanun sometimes make some beverages from sugarcane juice and alcoholic drinks from honey and millet.

In the boklog, a drinking rivalry becomes an introductory part of the gaiety. Before the drinking begins, the datu designates an influential man to tie knots in various pieces of rattan attached to the wall, in a conspicuous place, each knot representing a certain unit of value of gongs, brass, jars, or pieces of cloth. The datu then shouts to the audience that the knots represent the amount of fines which will be imposed on any man who commits offenses during the feast such as quarreling, stepping on people, and hurting the women. In case trouble arises, the man offering the drink is punished along with the culprit.

In drinking, no glass is used. Before the jars are served, there are rice straws arranged nicely by cross-sticks to keep the reeds steady. The people sip the pangasi through the reeds. They drink one at a time and after each drink water is poured in to fill up the jar. This water is poured into the jar with cups of coconut shells, each of which has a hole in the center. The hole is plugged by a finger which can be released to allow water to flow into the jar. Several cupfuls of water are added to replace the amount of drink for each one. The amount drunk by each one is carefully recorded. The drink becomes more and more diluted as the drinking continues but the drink is transferred to a fresh jar before it becomes very weak.

As the drinking proceeds, the participants become less formal and the turban is allowed to fall off. When they are quite drunk, they start reciting verses and chanting songs, especially parts of the epic, Ag Tubig Nog Keboklagan. During the drinking, big gongs are beaten together with the kolintangs for many hours at a time. The younger men, after drinking awhile, sometimes jump and dance by pairs or in a ring. Men and women join hands and dance rhythmically around the Maypole in the boklog. Men, women, and children are allowed to drink, eat and sleep in the host’s home until the feast is over.

Rituals for the Dead

One finds the Subanun united most especially in death. When the balyan has exhausted all his means to cure the sickness which they believe is caused by evil spirits, there is loud wailing and weeping in the house for sometime. The datu is informed of the death. It would not take much time for everyone in the village to know. Soon every Subanun gives his contribution, either in cash or in kind. Preparation for the funeral is then started.

Funeral customs differ from one district to another, although differences may be slight. An example is the following ritual for a dead wife narrated by Datu Agdino Andus:

The dead was cleaned first and then wrapped with a
white cloth by the balyan and then placed in a coffin
(hollow log) with some provisions. The balyan burned
incense, beat the bowl and murmured prayers. A cock was
killed and its blood smeared on all parts of the room
including the feet of every person present. This is to drive
away the evil spirits who may be present. Next, the coffin
was covered and the widower went around the coffin seven
times and under the coffin also seven times. As the dead
was carried away, the widower held on to a stump to let
the dead proceed alone to her own destination.

The coffin was brought to a grave half a mile away. In
the early days, only the coffin bearers went with the funeral.
The graves were quite shallow so that wild animals could
dig them out. It was not uncommon to see bones scattered
all about. Friends and relatives did not go with the funeral,
only the coffin bearers. Today, most of them have adopted
the Christian custom of burying the dead.
Before the coffin is placed in the grave, pieces of wood
are placed under so that the coffin would not touch the
ground. Pieces of wood and leaves are placed over the
coffin before covering it finally with earth. The people
throw the loose earth on it until it forms a mound.
After the burial, all those who went with the burial
will have to get a piece of banana petiole dipped in ashes
and then throw it away before going up the house where
they would eat, to counteract any misfortune brought by
them from the burial place. The bearers of the coffin had
to take a bath in the river before coming up the house so
that bad luck which may have been brought along with
them will be washed away.

Henceforth, every time the widower eats, he always leaves a place at the table for his dead wife and invites her to eat with him for three successive evenings. He mourns for her for a week or two or until such time when he can hold a timala or pimala (a kano for recent death). Until he holds the timala he is under strict restrictions. The timala or pimala is held to appease the spirit of the dead and to save the soul.

Some restrictions on the widower are:

1. He is prohibited from remarrying before the timala.

2. Gong-beating, which is related to happiness and other gaiety,
is not allowed.

3. No gay or loud clothing can be worn, especially red, which is
a gala color. White is their mourning color. Black also can be
used.

4. The chief mourner should not comb his hair so he looks untidy.
He should not clean himself but put on shabby clothes. He
changes clothing only after the timala for the spirit of the
dead might be slighted.

5. He cannot operate any business.

6. The mourners must always stay in the house so that their labor
is uninterrupted.

Widows, just as well, have to observe the timala restrictions. All these restrictions compel them to give a prompt performance of the timala.

The Subanun believe in life after death. The souls of the good who die go to goliqan or langit (heaven), while the bad souls go to the Mekalang (a river). As a punishment, the soul keeps on swimming in this river continuously. To save and appease the soul, the timala is performed.

While still alive, the good feel rewarded if they have good health and good crops from their kaingin. As a reminder the old folks always tell this to the living:
“Pasiya kasungka adon, paglalatan
nagmagbabayaq.”

Translated freely as:
“Always be good and Heaven
will reward you.”

This ceremony is simple. A bukar (altar, about a foot square made of bamboo or twigs) is built and rice, chicken meat, cooked eggs, tobacco and wine are placed on it. These are all cooked without salt and spices. If they like to use a binabalay (a bigger altar) they may do so. After the rites, large gongs are hung in the house and Joyfully beaten and the widower goes outside, changing his clothes. His severe mourning is over. After the pimala, he can marry again.

Boklog Puluntuh (Causing the Dead to Rise to Heaven)

The boklog puluntuh is the Subanun’s most expensive feast so that only the well-to-do could perform it. A time comes when the datu calls the entire Subanun community to hold a common boklog. Everyone contributes and the feast is prepared. This boklog takes a month or more in the preparation and lasts from five days to one week. This is not held in a house but on a platform made of bamboo and raised 10 to 18 feet from the ground. This structure sways but is supported at the comers by upright beams. At the middle, a paglaw (beam) passes through like a Maypole. Below, it reaches to a durugan (a thick hollow log as big as a large coconut trunk and almost three meters long), laid horizontally on the ground. It lies over a number of large empty earthen jars sunk in the earth, which serve as resonators to the durugan when struck by the paglaw (beam). A few leaves and sticks intersperse to prevent the jars from breaking. A long pole, serving as a crosspiece, joins the long central pole and makes it go up and down with the latter when the Subanun dance, causing a very full, loud, booming sound which reaches up to some kilometers away.

The most important features of this boklog are the feasting and drinking. The balyan and the gulilegan take charge of the ritual ceremonies. The dancing, however, is only incumbent on the balyan and the gulilegan. As long as the two perform their duties satisfactorily, they believe that the spirits are kept in a good mood and will not interfere with their gaiety. The boklog is usually performed for a death anniversary, which they remember and celebrate like Christians do, and also for the recovery of the sick, the thanksgiving after a good harvest, and for the weddings of those who can afford.

Early in May 1969, this writer personally attended the Puluntuh nog Malinatay (puluntuh for the dead) in honor of the death anniversary of Datu Agdino’s father. Puluntuh is translated by the shaman as “causing to rise,” that is, causing the soul of the dead to rise to heaven. It takes a month or more to prepare for this because of the pangasi-making which requires a much longer time.

Two little altars are built in preparation for this particular ceremony, one under the dancing platform (boklog) and another one outside. One altar is reserved for the male mEnluh and the other for the female mEnluh, The mEnluh grows malevolent, they believe, when not treated with due respect. MEnluh becomes good at times and drives the manumad, who are evil, away from the boklog.

The ceremony done, the killing of a suckling pig follows. They smear blood on the posts of the swaying platform. They invoke the Diwata Dipuksaya, believed to dwell midway between heaven and earth. Here, another altar is made where food again is served. Five gulilegans take turns, two of them women, in making the invocation. After the invocation, the five dance at one time though not more than eight times around the altar. This is followed by a ceremony on the path going to the platform. An altar is erected on.

the pathway to the datu‘s house for two birds: the tibughok and the ginaghaw whose shapes Diwata Dipuksaya sometimes takes. There is no dancing here, but the birds are invited to partake of the food. The gulilegan take turns dancing in these ceremonies for they have to perform from sunset, through the night, until the next day. The performances are continuous.

The fifth altar stands in the house of the datu. It is for the spirits mitubu or mamanwa. Aside from the usual food prepared, the mitubu is served wine while the mamanwa only water, for it does not care for wine. Diwata mitubu, the source of the stream, defends the people from the manumad or manamat.

The sixth and the last ceremony is the most important and the most colorful, though in the olden times it included inhuman acts. In this ceremony, only the widow or widower gulilegan can officiate. A big altar is put up draped with men’s and women’s clothes in the belief that the spirits of the dead will wear them. Favorite foods are placed on the altar. Burning of the incense follows. The gulilegan wraps a stick with man’s clothes (like a scarecrow) while alluding to the deceased and dancing around the altar. He is followed by another gulilegan dancing, and bearing a stick wrapped in women’s clothes, in honor also of the dead. The three dance around the altar, then take a rest, and repeat the ceremony after some minutes.

A long pause occurs. The highlight of the puluntuh, the ceremonial killing of a white cock, is to come. The cock is tied to the floor. The principal gulilegan sits near it, then sings and chants inaudibly. Slowly he loses his voice chanting and with a large stick beats the head of the cock killing it instantly. His words are inaudible and unintelligible. He refuses to repeat for the record because it will counteract the ceremony.

In the rancheria of Ley, a part of Sibuguey Bay, the Subanun there possess a tradition concerning a great chief who frequently sought relief from physical exhaustion by the sacrifice of one of his slaves whose blood and heart he consumed while these were still
warm. A mound on a steep bluff overlooking the river at Ley is claimed to be the sepulcher of the famous and greatly feared Subanun chief. This tradition, however, died away with this chief for today these Subanuns no longer follow it.

Here are the general categories of those who are considered
participants in these ceremonies and rituals:

1. Getaw– These refer to any person or persons interested to attend the offering.

2. Kanaq-kilawan- Supernaturals. These are the diwatas.

3. Gimud– Souls. These are the spirits living in trees, rivers, streams, etc., who are invoked during the offering.

4. Getaw telonan– Demons. These are the spirits living in the deep forests.

5. Manumad (manamat)– Ogres. A collective name given by the Subanun to malevolent spirits. They are malicious and stupid. They live also in thick forests, big trees, in rivers and streams.

6. Getaw SindupEn– Sunset gods. The spirits who rule the region where the sun sets. They roam about and when they are hungry cause injury to people so they will be given some offerings.

7. Mamanwa or the mitubu (goblins). Good spirits who drive away the evil ones from the feast.

8. Diwata– Skygods. Gods and spirits living beyond the earth.

9. Ocean gods- gods or spirits who rule the sea.

10. Getaw SEbangan– Sunrise gods. They rule the region where the sun rises.

11. Getaw-bayag– Underworld gods. They rule the underworld.
12. Kilawan– Mortals. The people or the sinners.

13. Sug minanu don– Functionaries. They are the ones responsible for the performance of the ceremonies.

14. Balyan (balian)- Professional functionaries.

15. Bataq balyan– Invocators. They can invoke spirits but do not have the ability to talk to them.

16. Gulang balyan or shaman– Mediums. These are the ones who can speak directly to spirits.

17. Shaman– gulilegan – These are the priests.
18. Menindoway– Interviewers. Those people who get information.
19. Sug pikanuqan don– Beneficiaries. Those who are responsible for holding the kano.
20. Sug suminawop don– Audience. The general public.

Folktales

We get a glimpse of life’s canvas through the people’s folklore which gives us ideas on their concept of creation, customs and traditions, values, behavior or character, beliefs, and oral literature. The essence of folklore can hardly be contained in a definition for it exists side by side with the people’s experiences, their physical feats, and mental skills which have been handed down orally from one generation to another.

The Philippines, since ancient times, has been known to possess a rich folklore, though this remained uncollected and unrecorded for a long time. Dean S. Fansler, professor of English, and Professor H. Otley-Beyer, anthropologist, took turns in handling  the folktale courses in the University of the Philippines before the Second World War and did a great deal of collecting through their students. After collecting from 1908-1914, Fansler was able to put out Filipino popular tales in 1921. Since that time, collectors, notably E. A. Manuel (1955a and 1955b) and many others, have followed suit. They emphasize more, however, the collection of folklore from ethnic groups.

The Subanun, like other pagan groups, have their own folklore, little of which has found its way into print, though it forms a significant part of Philippine oral tradition. Their folklore includes accounts of their customs and traditions, folktales, accounts of festivals (kano), proverbs, poems, riddles (gatok), legends and myths, and numerous folksongs (babat).

BetabEt (Myths & Legends)

  1.   Ag Teriponan Neg Mona Buwaya

Don daw denganto dig benowa neg Gayan, Liloy, Zamboanga del Norte, don neg  gido don. Ag panday megabil ngalanen si Logoloqan sarabok daig bataqen.
sa negendaw balenen merigo dig tubigan. Sa metobos merigoq enig mitagen, tanowaqan neg gonap dig posoqen. Anig balenen merigo sa megendae poq milingasa togarang.
Dagid meteranta don sa tedo merigo don demaig mitowa neg gonap dig lawasen.
Mendali tenaroqen tog bataqen endiqen na migaya megenEng dig tasan (balay neran). Sinogoqen tog bataqen balan neg balay tog tubig poq dito na pegbenowa.
Mesaqel da isya sog gembataq ampora baig matanen saba sa alanen.
Dagid sogoqan ma nog ginaqen. Mendadi megbenowa na si Logoloqan ditog diyalem nag tubig.
Tenaroqen tog bataqen bendowan sog Timuway, endig meg pedlak neg mematay metetobo dig tubigan. Dagid meglangit sog Timuway sa medengEgen, patuloy sinogoqen sog goripEn meg peglak neg menatay metetobo tog diyalem galad ni Logoloqan. Mendadi sinilabat ni Logoloqan sog menatay neg bebaqen, dayon ginebEn sog galaden. Sa memitaqen sog bataqen bisan merat dig ginanen senomalem dig tubigan. Andayon nito ag teriponan neg buwaya.

Source:
Filemon Dagongdong
Liyos Ambog

Legend of the First Crocodile

Many years ago in the village of Gayan, Liloy, Zamboanga del Norte, there lived a widow. She was a weaver named Logoloqan. She had only one son.

One day, Logoloqan took a bath in the river. After her bath, she was surprised to see a fish scale on her feet. She continued taking a bath everyday since she always felt very warm. She was surprised to note that every time she took a bath, another fish scale grew on her body.

Finally, when she had so many scales all over, she told her son that she could no longer stay in their house. She requested her son to build a fence by the bank of the river where she could live.
With tears in his eyes and sadness in his heart, the poor boy obeyed his mother. So by the river bank Logoloqan lived by herself.
There she again requested her son to tell the Timuway and his followers not to throw any dead animal into the river. At this, the Timuway got angry and asked one of his slaves to throw a dead fowl over her fence instead. Logoloqan caught the dead animal in her mouth and broke out of her fence. She bade good-bye to her son and swam away into the river. There she wandered and became the first crocodile.

2.   Ag Teriponan Nog Mona Niyog

Don neg megdoway don neg batagan. Sog gembataq meyak neg sedaqan. Mengadoy yen sa endaq idon neg sedaqan. Gamaqen boq ginaqen megsokat neg sedaqan gendaw-gendaw.
Megsala delabong sog gembataq mengadoy. Megsak neg gemay. Megsak sedaqan. Megtaroq sog ginaqen, “andon tadon daidon sedaqan. Misekeg dopiq. Endiq ita mikepenengaw sedaqen, poq medelm na.”
Kini bataq kini endiq na mesek pa mengadoy. Mendadi sog gamaqen, sog Niyog, merarat boq meminog boq megsilabo dig lupaqan.
Mingadoy sog sawanen, “Megandon ka don?” Menalap sulo sog sawanen. Pikimaniman sog sawanen dig lupaqan, dagid endiq na meta nog sawanen. Meteranta na sog sawanen. Sog gembataq mesekpa na mengadoy. Sog gamaqen enda na dema puliq.
Megsesalem ig benowa meta nog sawanen merangas neg pegimolan ditog kileboqen ni Niyog. Don naig ganitan, panganten tubilen, boq bonganen.

Sog Niyog anda na uli. Mengadoy sa gid puli sog gembataq. Po daidon neg sedaqanan. Enalap nog ginaqen sog pegseboqananen. Beneklaqen, ma nanam neg sedaqan. Ba merengas. Benigayen tog bataqen. Boq megtaroq, “an mo yen. Yon merangas neg sedaqan niya. Kin lama sog gama mo.”
Tedo denganto en neg ngaran neg gayokuwin Niyog. Eningeranen neg Niyog tedo pa tog getaw denganto kito.

Source: Pulqueria Bentilan

The Legend of the Coconut

There was a family with an only child. The child wanted some viand. He cried when he ate without viand so the father and mother had to prepare some for him all the time. One day he asked for some viand. Mother said, “Sorry, we do not have any. It is raining. We cannot go and look for some. It is already dark.”
The child kept on crying. So Niyog, the father, pitying the son, went down. He hurried downstairs. But down he fell on earth.
Mother cried, “What happened to you?” Mother got a lamp. She looked for her husband downstairs. Mother did not find him. How worried Mother was! The child kept on crying. But Father did not come back.
Early in the morning. Mother saw a beautiful plant at the place where Niyog fell. It had roots, trunk and palms.
Niyog did not come back. The child cried for food again. But there was no viand. Mother got the fruit downstairs. She split and tasted the meat. It was good. She gave it to her son. “You eat this. This is good viand for you. This is your father.”
From that time on people called that tree Niyog. Niyog was named after the lost father, Niyog.

3.    Ag Teriponan Neg Gutong

Ag gasal neg Subanen gegoden megabEl. Bisan pa nemon megabEl da sog doma. MegabEl dag baka, megabEl dag gapas.
Sog denganto donig mona enaq. Don daw wig bataqen. Gembataq kini pengeranen si Gutong. Gutong meliyag meglimit. Gendaw-gendaw balenen meglimit. Sigi lak megleksowan, manek dig gatep. Endiq sog megpitod tog ginaen. Bisan alandon mitaqen alapanan. Donig gendaw  sog ginaqen megabEl. Laong nog ginaqen, “Gutong, peglemit ta tog liyo.
Donig baleng ko dini. Tog Iiyowa peglimit gopiya. Diya peg lEkso-lEkso dinig gopido. Diya pemenek dik gatepan. Melaboqa bos dini nan.”
Indaq meben milabo sog Gotong. Milaboqoren sog balenen. Mendadi liningitan sog ginaqen. Migbaksay neg langit, “Nema mesaba mo sog baling ko.”
Pegowaden sog goyanan. Pineglaken sog goyanan tog Gutong. Megtaroq soq ginaqen, “tamo pe tuboqan ka gikog tuboqan ka neg bok. Angaya tog gorangan. Ditang ka pagbenowa.”
Mendadi sa maniya! Sog gayanan mitana tog gembata. Andaq mesano tinoboqan na bok. Empangitig gongaren. Melega ig matanen. LinomEkso tog dongawan. Mekogog. Mendadi senomampak tog giyowanen. Megodas dayon tog ginaqen. Metaroqen, “Mangayo tog gorangan. Penengaw mo lak dito sa embogaqa dinaqen.” Mendadi enito ag tereponan neg gutong tedo dig bata neg Subanen garanen si Gutong.

Source: Conchita Perlada

The Legend of the Monkey

Weaving has long been a Subano industry. Even today they are still weaving. They weave abaca fibers. They weave cotton thread also. In a village there was a mother. The mother had a naughty son. The boy was named Gutong. Gutong liked to play. He played and played all day. He jumped and jumped. He climbed the roof. He did not obey his mother. He liked to get things he could see.

One day the mother was weaving. Mother said, “Gutong, please play outside. I have work here. Outside you can play. Do not jump and jump around my work. Do not climb the roof. You might fall on my work.”

In a moment Gutong fell down. He fell into the loom.
So mother got mad. She shouted with anger. “Oh, you destroyed my work!”

She took the shuttle. She threw the shuttle angrily at Gutong cursing him. Mother said, “I hope you will have a tail; you will have hairs. Go to the forest. You should live there.”

What evil luck! The shuttle stuck to the boy’s back. Little by little hair grew on him. His face became queer. His eyes became bright. He jumped out of the window. He jumped and jumped. Then he jumped down the trees. He bade goodbye to mother. He said, “I’ll go to the forest. Find me there if you miss me.”
Monkeys are called guiong in the Subanun dialect. They originated from the naughty boy, Gutong.

4.  Ag Kalibugan Tedo dig Subanun

Sa mangaya to Kipit, meta mo ig benowa megeranen Bayangan. Sog begoden pa kini Kipit mekepenglaw pa daidon nog layen meg benowa don longkan pag Subanun. Lak pa si Timuway Sukli boq sog ngodanen Memowan boq dalag peglegetawanen.
Si Timuway Sukli embero mekison asma pegendekan nog dalag gensakopanen. Poq bisan maganto metawar embetad mekison imbantay dig ginsakopan. Ig berogqanan boq kekesonen medepit dig kereyoqan beqowa. Metiba nag geranan besiyap denen dagid endiq da embaloy.
Mendadi don nog geranon boq dalag peglegetawanen tedo pa tog Meka. Ni iliyag geran domap dig dalag Subanun balen nog goripen.

Sapulo dekso na pegoberoberay dagid endiq malap si Timuway Sukli. Liyaganen don endiq da mekolangen nog dalag Subanun.

“Sa dan poq metas peg gomoro diyo meliyag don oripenan nog gensakopanen ko,” tenaroq ni Sukli, “di niyo ami oripenay poq don daig
mibiba dinami mani pasiyag.”

“Sa kiya meliyag mampo dinami dalag geranon megtagi ita sampay somol. Liyagen tag dagat nog Bayangan pametangan nog dalag getaw nog megaped sekayan. Ayen sog dagen dig tagi ta kini papas meg megpendag.”

“Edanan ta mendaqo,” taron si Sukli. “Yaqa mag mememoras yaqa pegona.” Kini Kipit kini enig teglenganta.

Sog Salip megona ag misilag sakayan putaw enig benalen neg gendanan, linolid tog dibabaw dagat. Duwa dekso empoliq dayon mipuli dito neran. Sog dalag geranon megbeksay poq ilan na daw ig megpendag.
“Nadaw, diyan niqa na gid,” tenaroq nog Salip. “Bal niqa gekteb megagamo, po sa dagengka amo ig goripEn namo,” sara tawan Geranan megtaroq.

Monday si Sukli, megendeg tog dagat dayon menenabi. Boq miseripot sog godanen si Memowan meniyan tog gopeden. Dayon menendeg tog dibabaw nog dagat. Mada minindig dig pesaqan nog geksoden. Mipanaw megdayon peglimbaylimbay. Pigilibidlibiden sog puro nog Bayangan. Pito dekso megdayon empoliq ditog pesaqan. Megbeksay sog dalag peglegitawanen sabe liliyag mendadi sog dalag Geranon endaq pegataroqtaroq.

“Nandaw, memendag gami. Pegtinoday niyo sog dalag pegligitawan. Amo nandaw goripEn na name,” megtaroq sog dalag Subanun nog Besowan. Sog Salip boq sog gensakopen endaq pegtaroq taroq.
” Bisan ita di name oripenan ba nyo”. Inig teroqeng ko. Awo bo dala gensakopen ko megbenowa dini niyo sampay omol. Amo pegbentay ko.”
Si Timuway Sukli, ito dan mekison ma, miliyag na donn sogtoro nog Salip. Mendadi mibantay iran na di Sukli. Mendadi sog dalag getaw megdipag boq megdipag dig tubig Kipit iran meg benowa.
Sa menatay na si Sukli, sog Salip enig megligemo don sasuko dalag remetar bo dalag kebebuwan megera neran emoway di Sukli. Merengas sog Kubolen. Benal pa dig bEto neg merayo dig tubigan. Sa meg maqanto na sog dalag Subanen nog Mebilin ditog Salip megiselam na iran nog pangilanan nog kalibogan. Domag  kalibogan meta ta dig  layen benowa. Sog genda peg geselam in nandaw ig mibelen nog Subanun. Ag subanon don nog begaden bow pekisonan.” Donig dalag lagaqen tedo dig pengapo pa nog pemgapoken nog don da demig kiliwat do dalag, geranon.

Source: Giobano Bernardo, Labason Zamboanga del Norte.

The Origin of Kalibugan (From a Subanun)

If you happen to visit Barrio Kipit, you can see an island offshore. This is Bayangan Island
Long ago, Kipit and tMs island were not inhabited by people other than the Subanun. Only Timuway Sukli, with his brother Snake, and his people lived there.
Timuway Sukli was such a powerful and brave man that he was respected by all people. Because he was kind and helpful, he was loved and honored by the people very much. His bravery and power were known in near and far away places. Many Moros attempted to capture him but in vain.
Soon a Salip (a Muslim title), with his men, arrived from Mecca. They wanted to convert the natives to Islam. Timuway Sukli refused. He wanted to preserve his Subanun beliefs.

“So long as I am still alive, my people and I cannot be made Mohammedans,” Sukli said. “I  have my own customs and traditions which were handed to me by my forefathers,” he continued.

“Well, if you don’t want to be converted to Mohammedanism, let us have a contest to prove our wit. We shall cross the sea to Bayangan by foot or any means with the exception of a boat. Whoever is defeated in this contest will become a slave.”

“Well, I’ll try my best,” said Sukli. “You are the invader so you have to cross first.” Kipit Beach was the starting place.

The Salip used a big iron bowl as a means of transportation. He started. The bowl moved fast across the sea towards the island. It went two times around the island and returned to the shore. The Moros shouted and applauded, feeling assured of victory.

“Now, this is your turn,” said the Salip. “You do your best or else you will get captured and be our slaves,” said the Moros.

So Sukli stood on the sea and prayed heartily. All of a sudden his brother Snake passed by him. Then he stepped on the surface of the sea. As he stepped one foot after the other dry sand received his feet. He walked on the surface of the sea easily and swiftly. He went around the island of Bayangan seven times and returned to the shore. His people applauded with happiness while the men of the Salip remained silent.

“Now, we won the contest,” said the natives in chorus. “Your chief went by some means while our chief went by foot. You shall all be captives and be our slaves.” The Salip and his men remained speechless.

“Neither one of us could be slaves anymore. I may have this to say. My people and I will live with you here for the rest of our lives. I may adopt your own way of life.”

Timuway Sukli, who was kindhearted, agreed to the appeal of the Salip. He adopted Salip. So the two people lived side by side along Kipit river for some time.

After the death of Sukli, Salip attempted to bathe the grave of Sukli. The grave cracked and there was a violent earthquake so Salip discontinued pouring water. Some of the natives, however, were baptized. Those who were baptized were made Mohammedans now called Kalibugan.

Some Kalibugan are found in many places of the Archipelago. Those who refused to be Mohammedans, have remained as of now Subanun.

 

5.   Uma Ig Baboy Man ma Pegemolan

Don daw denganto Subanen migbenowa dig geksod gorangen. Don neg meka benalanen pegimolan nog ratpenganen. .

Sala megendaw initaqen sog dala pegemolanen longkan na lak daw ganit. Paglikan na baboy talon. Sala bagiyen pegbintayanen sog benalanen. Eniglodanen boq megpitang nog terawanen. Andaq meben diya na sog dala baboy talon. Donot penongkalen sog dala gonEd enanen sog donen. Linengetan sog Subanen. Eninaten sog torawanen donot tenegbakanan sog meselagdon. Misogat soglawas nog baboy dagid mikegebek pa dig merayo.

Tenentol dema nog getaw sog dogo nog tenegbakanen sompay menatang dig lipo. Don meg goway mengentobo ditog lipo kini. Enowoten megdayon menangay tog diyalem pegonotenen ig dogo. Sa menatang na tog goksed nog lipo en neg menitagen ag mekigorang pegbelilid dig toroganen. Meteranta sog Subanim mansi don nog ganeren kini ma sog mekegorang. En meg meqenaqanaqen mansi meglekan tog benalanen kini megorang kini. Sambot kinayangen sog karisan penotolsinen agolo sog mekegorang.

Tebaqan domanen minita neran sog kepatay nog konotan neran. Mitaksiya da neran negembero da siya. Sa ma niya geneted neran sog Subanim. Dayon gomabek sog Subanun en lak mekita don sog gembata memenowa. Menatengaran tog dibabaw, en neg medengeg neran ag dala beksay subay daw endiq na mengentubo sog goway. Anen da neran ag pegemula nog Subanun.

Dito mesonay nog mona Subanun ig baboy menambelongen deg memenowa ditog kontan neran.

Source: Patricia H. Zamora

Why Pigs Eat Root Crops

There was once a Subanun who lived near a forest. He had a small farm planted to root crops.

One morning he found some dug-up roots. They were eaten by wild pigs. The following night he watched over his farm. He hid on a tree stump with his spear. At last the wild pigs came. They ate the root crops and even the leaves. The Subanun got mad. He took his spear and speared the biggest one. He hit the body, but the pig was able to run away.

The farmer traced the drops of blood from the pig till he reached a cave. There was a rattan growing at the bottom of the cave. He went down there and saw traces of blood. When he reached the bottom of the cave he saw an old man lying in bed. The Subanun was surprised to see the deep wound and fresh blood of the old man. He believed that this was the pig that ate all his crops. He drew his bolo and cut the neck of the old man.

All the relatives of the old man heard of the death of their leader. They avengened their brave leader. They chased the Subanun farmer. But when they were climbing, the rattan was cut by the Subanun. Only a mother fairy and her son survived. With a loud voice they shouted and promised to kill the Subanun and eat all his rootcrops when the rattan grows.

The Subanun believe that wild pigs are fairies that avenge the death of their leader.

 

6.   Sog Nonok tog Sicayab

Sog denganto pa, Diwata megregit digkilawan. Ag dala getaw megpematay. Sog dala gimud misigwag dig dala gembenowanan. Ag doma megbenowa dig Sinipaqan boq dig tubig. Sog doma ma pituboqen. Sog duma dig gorangen.

Dig Dipolog don neg baryo pengilongan Sicayab. Tog Sicayab don nog gembagel nonok don. Pengindikan nog dala getaw. Poq pegbinuwanen daw mEmenwa. Sa mendawan, medeng-eg tatengteng nog pangan sa linsag wala dig gabi. Megrimet nog piyano. Mekitawa eran, mengembarot ig gins.

Ag dalag getaw mendak meg perani dito. Megpitod iran don niyamEmenwa (mamanwa).

Source: Lourdes Torrino, Sindangan

The Balete Tree of Sicayab

Long ago, God punished the people. The people died. Their souls went to different places. Some lived in the brooks and rivers. Some lived as animals. Others lived in trees.

In Dipolog, there is a barrio named Sicayab. In Sicayab there is a balete tree. The people are afraid of it. They fear the spirits living there. During full moon the spirits make merry after the bell rings at eight o’clock in the evening. They make sweet music. They laugh. They dance. The air becomes sweet.

The people are afraid to go near it. They believe that there are spirits living there.

 

Gokayton (Folktales)

 

7.   Si Ibid boq si Likpaw

Don daw dengan to gibid boq likpaw megsambat boq migbales ilan daw patik. Denganto pa pengriroken ni Likpaw ag lawas nog gibid. Petangas ni Likpaw sog yanog gibid. Pengrirokanen sog gibid nog medarag, melonaw boq metem. Megtaro sog likpaw, “endiqa perigo sa gabi.”

Dadi sinmokle sog gibid. Rinerukanen dema sog likpaw. Ag kenoroken tog Likpaw metem boq gemputi.

Mitakaw neran medengog ag gosig. Andaq metobos nog gibid menlgkso iran dayon dig tubigan.

Tedo denganto sampay nandaw ig Likpaw sa mekedengig nog gosig gito menglikso dig tubigan sog gibid endaq empareng sog kosoken poq puti pase senomampak dig tubig menegan paig sa gabi. Mesanag gopya ay kerok nog Likpaw poq ma mogasay nog kisampak nog likpaw endiq ma nog gibid.

 

The Ibid and the Likpaw

(The Big Lizards)

Once upon a time Ibid and Lipkaw (two lizards) agreed to color one another. They gathered dyes.

Lipkaw painted the body of Ibid. Lipkaw used the best design. He painted Ibid yellow, green, and black.

Lipkaw said, “Do not take a bath for a day.”

Then Ibid did his turn. He painted Lipkaw also. He painted Lipkaw black and white.

Suddenly a dog barked. Ibid was disturbed and began to paint Lipkaw faster. They they both jumped into the water.

From that time on and the until now the big lizards swim in the water when they hear a dog bark.

Lipkaw’s design was coarse. It was coarse because it was hurriedly done. However, Lipkaw has a brighter color than Ibid because Ibid’s was washed before the day was over.

 

Source: Giobano Bernardo, Labason, Zamboanga del Norte.

 

8.    Ag Bulatok GoripEn Nog Koo

Sog begodan pa megsambat ma siyag Bulatok boq Koo.

Mendadi sogmegduway nog koo, meg balilan megsalag neran dig pokot nog belagen. Mendadi sa meningemo na sog koo, gilaqen may nog bulatok. Indaq meban mesonan nog koo boq mesekopanEm dayon. Migbisala iran dayon  tog tipole, endaq pekegaya sog bulatok. Endayon nog selaqan nog bulatok, megbal nog koo, megluwang nog gayo. En mendaqo ig bulatok megbal nog salag nog koo, menglowang nog gayo.

Source: Dyamelon from Sioran.

The Bulatok, a Slave of Kalaw

Once upon a time, the kalaw and the bulatok were close friends.

Once a kalaw couple made a nest among the vines. When the kalaw laid eggs, the bulatok took them. Not long after, the kalaw caught the thief. The case was brought before the eagle who was responsible for settling their problems.

The bulatok was found guilty and he was sentenced to be a slave of the kalaw. He was to make a nest for the kalaw as soon as the kalaw had bored a hole in the tree.

 

9.   MEngluh boq Maya

Endiq meketorog sog mEngluh saba taroq meg dala maya. Dayon daw okapay nog mEnluh sog sarabok maya. EnemenEn dayon sog maya kini. Laong nog maya, “diq mo daliqanay, kemEngluh.”

Metaroq sog mEnglu penginod poq mendek don sa mekegowa sog maya.

“Megoksog poq dali,” laong nog maya. Tenomko sog mEngluh.

Laong nog maya, “Nemong laong ito da ina torogtorog nilan.” Miginod sog mEnglu, “oo—oo—oo.”

“Nemon nito sa ina bebehlid na iran.” Mengenod sa gosay. Mengenod da gosay sog mEnglu.

“Nemon nito si ina boq amaq megikep na iran.” Meketawa sog mEnglu, ha—ha—ha—ha—ha—ha. Endiq do sinipitay poq meratan.” Lenomayog dayon sog maya sa meketawa sog mEngluh.

Source: Itip from Sioran.

The Giant and the Maya

The giant could not sleep because the maya were very noisy one day. So, he snatched one of them and put it in his mouth. The maya pleaded, “Please do not eat me yet.” The giant nodded, “Oo—oo—oo— 00,” for fear that the maya might escape. “I have a story to tell you,” and the giant nodded again. The maya said, “By this time Mother and Father must be going to sleep already.” The giant nodded. “Now Mother and Father must be lying down already,” and the giant nodded. “Now Father and Mother must be embracing already,” and the giant laughed loudly and said, “Don’t continue, that is indecent.” The maya immediately flew away.

 

10.    Susoq boq gosa magbanta

Begoden megsambat peg gosa boq susoq sog mona pag tempo. Sog gosa linomebog dig sapaq meteba susoq don.

Laong nog susog, “patEd, meglomba ita gomabak.” Meketawa sog gosa, “yaqa miliyag meglumbaq?” Laong nog susoq, “mata, sula megrikirado yaqa da gosay ig mesikad?”

“Andon meg bato ta? laong nog gosa. Daidon ma lak, basta iposan ta sa ita ig dagen dinita,” laong nog susoq.

“Sa somEbang ig bulan police dini poq meglumba ita.” laong nog susoq.

Megbisala dayon meg dala susoq. Sa meg baksay sog gosa, megsembag giran. Andaq meban senomebang ig bulan boq mitowa sog gosa. Laong nog gosa, “na patEd, toreponan ta na.”

“Wa-a ba menebEn na ami mengandam,” migtaroq sog susoq.

Dayon neran meglumba. Ginomabak dayon sog gosa dig pEntad nog sapa. Megebik sog gosa manga duwa binalan, megbaksay dayon, patEd susoq, ayenka ma? “Kini do,” laong sog susoq. KaliqEn iposay
mitaqen sog susoq tog sapa. Gumabak na giday, mga pat binalan dagid dito da padon sog susoq. Saba lingit nog gosa, pensotenen sog dalag susoq, poq dininlotEn na sog dilaqen saba baktosan. Inig tereponanen, neg susuq sa tempo sebang endiq gomowa poq mendek dig gosa.

Source: Monmon from Sioran.

The Deer and the Snail

A long time ago, the deer and the snail were close friends. Once, the deer went to the stream where there were many snails.

The snail said, “Brother, let us have a race.” The deer laughed, “You want to race with me?”

“Why not, is it because I am slow and you are fast?” said the snail.

“What shall be our bet?” asked the deer.

“Nothing, just to see who will win,” said the snail. “Come back during a moonlit night.”

At once all the snails gathered to confer. When the deer shouted at them, they shouted back.

At last the moonlit night came and the deer went to the snail saying, “Let us start our race, brother.” Oh, yes, we have been waiting for you.”

They started and the deer ran as fast as he could. When he had to run a Kilometer he shouted, “Friend snail, where are you?” The snail answered right there on the spot where he stood.

The deer ran again almost four kilometers. He shouted at the snail and there there it was before him.

The deer got angry and he squashed all of them. This is the reason why snails do not go out on moonlit nights.

 

11.    Ag Manok-Manok Kulago, Na Meg Tuyod Ma

Sog begadon pa gendaw don neg gido libon, megbenowa tog dadaqen. Pegorapan ma ni a sog gembataq, po daidon neg megorangen.

Donig teinpo, sinogo megorang sog gembataq, “angayaq tog lekaw,” laong nog Dadaqen. Sa mekaqEn dagid sog dala gutong dito, diyali dim poq pitayengko yaqa.

Mipanaw sog genbatag andaq tanan pegelemonsal, ito dan goripEn ma. Sa menatang tog mesan, inig medetenganEn sog dalag tugong dito peglekan na nog dalag mais. Benogaw nog gembatag dagid eni ma megpetod sog dala gutong.

Endaq meben diya na sog Dadaqen, migpataypatay lenget, poq moma endaqen ma bogaway sog gutong. Dagid mitakesiqan da tanan nog Dadaqan.

Pegbentolbentol nog Dadaqen sog gembataq taman endiq na mekegina. Meteranta sog Dadaqen poq sog gembataq tenoboqan mag bimbol, emgnga ig matanen, donig gektokan. Mibaloy dayon nog manok neg kulago.

Inito ig tereponan nog manokmanok kulago sog bata kini.

Ami dalag Subanun migpetod dig kulago sa megtaroq, di meben domg matay, poq megtuyod ma.

Source: Liyos, the informant.

The Owl, the Bird that Curses People

Once upon a time, there was an orphan living with his aunt. He was treated harsly by the aunt.

One day, he was ordered by the aunt to watch the cornfields. “Go to the cornfields and watch carefully for the monkeys might come and eat the corn,” said the aunt. “If the monkeys eat them I will kill you.”

The boy left without without breakfast. He was being treated like a slave. As he arrived, the monkeys were already eating the corn. He drove them away but the monkeys ignored him.

Not long after this, his aunt arrived and became very angry at the sight of the monkeys eating the corn. She whipped the boy so hard he  fell unconsious. She was surprised to see that the boy grew feathers, his eyes were big, round and sharp and he had a long beak. He became an owl. That was the beginning of the owl.

The Subanun believe that when the owl hoots it is cursing the people so that the death of someone in the community soon follows.

 

12.    Ag Melibegon Dinomato

Donig bego megdoway milibigon sog laki. Mendadi meglegebo iran dig buwid gorangen, adon daidon nog bawang neran. Sa maniya na kiya, megbenowa na iran dirog benowa neran poq endiq ma tonen miligay ig laki kini sa eponan pag langaw sog sawanen.

Don nog gindaw metektaken neran nog masin boq sadaqan. Laong nog sawanen, “Ale daidon nog masin ta boq sedaqan, usoga.”

Menosog dayon sog lakenan. Tog dalan iran don nog mesalag nonok. Maglanan don nog laki kini kenebit dig likod, dayon meglingay. Mitaqen ag merengas libon begat. Megtaroq sog libon diya mendak, donot tenendoqen sog nonok, sadarok mibaloy magbalay neselag. Laong nog dim poq pitayengko yaqa. libon kini, “ayenka anpy?” Laong nog laki, “Mangayo, menabo.”

“Pemonon ko yaqa”, laong nog begat ini, “Taroq mo tog lakeyo moliq di poq megbataqo mesait neg teyangko.” Donot tenoranan nog libon begat sog laki nog gangit bayo.

“Umani,” laong nog laki. “Inon sog mekawa nog rerong nog memenowa,” laong nong nog libon.

Mendadi endaq na pegeben sog laki, poq merart ma tog libon kini. Endaq mebEn medayag na nog laki sog taboqan. Mendadi eniginompitin sog tenoro nog libon kini ayen sog mitas getaw dito nog lumakpaw dig taboqan inito sog sawanen.

Midayag tito nog laki kini sog getaw nog mitas pagsobwat nog salapi belisanen nog don gayo. Pegtoqosan nog laki kini megpomping dig poq nog niyog. Enig metaqen telo lompokan nog salapi nog linompok nog laid memenowa.

Anda mebEn medelendem nog laki melegibon sog gangit benigay nog libon begat.

Kinebitan megdayon sog laki memenowa, meglanantan, “Mona mitamoniya?” laong nogmitas laki. “Bigayan mo nog sawamo nog gangit nog gayo, poq moliqa daw mesait tog tiyanen megbataq daw. “Ayan ma sog gangit gayo?” laong nog laki mitas. “Kini da,” donot pinita nog laki senogo sog gangit gayo.

Sinelabit nog memenowa sog gangit gayo, “uliq mo dinan,” alap mo na kito salapi kiya, tedo lumpokan. Dengan misilabit nog getaw mitas sog gangit gayo endaqen na dayon meta sog memenowa.

Gnmabak dayon moliq sog laki malibigon pagpisan nog sako mipeno nog salapi. Endaq na tanan saloy nog masin saba liliwagen. Inito dayon tereponanen dinomato iran, boq megawa Iran dayon tog bego neran poq mendek iran elapen poliq nog memenowa.

Source: Dyamelon of Sioran.

A Jealous Husband Gets Rich

Once there was a couple. The husband was a jealous man. They steyed in a cave in the mountain so they would not have neighbors, They lived a very miserable and lonely life. The husband wouldn’t even allow a fly to land on his wife.

There was a time when they ran short of salt and viand. The wife said. We have no more salt and viand; you go down and buy some.”

At once he left and passed by a big balete tree. He was surprised when someone touched his back. He looked back and saw a pretty pregnant woman. The woman said, “Fear not,” pointing to the balete tree which turned into a palace. The woman asked, “Where are you bound for?”

“To the cockpit to buy our needs,” he replied.

“May I ask you to tell my husband to come home. I am feeling labor pains.” She gave him three bundles of roots.

“What are these for?” asked the man.

“So you will see my husband, the mamanwa,” said the woman. He didn’t tarry for he pitied the woman.

Not long after that, he saw the man described by the wife as the tallest of all the people inside the cockpit. He was gambling. He received money and replaced them with leaves.

The man hid behind a coconut and looked at the mamanwa and went to him who exclaimed in surprise, “Why can you see me?”

“Your wife gave me roots to make you visible to me so I can relay to you the message that your wife is feeling labor pains.”

“Give me back the roots,” and the mamanwa snatched them from the man. The man could not see him an5nnore. He took the bundles of money and went home at once. The couple left their home in the cave and moved to another place where they will be away from the mamanwa.

Introduction to the Epic,
Ag Tubig Nog Keboklagan

During the first week of May 1968, this writer went to Sindangan to ask Datu Agdino Andus if they would be holding another boklog (this writer had already attended previous boklogs). At that time they were already preparing some pangasi, gagongs and kolintangs which were brought to the datu’s house, and many were giving their contributions for the great event. They told this writer to be back on the 14th of the month so she would have enough rest since the rites would be started on the16th.

Equipped with camera, tape recorder, and provisions, this writer, with her husband. Col. F. C. Ochotorena, proceeded to the place. It was in that revelry where she heard Liyos Ambog sing the epic which bewildered the audience, since the singing was continuous from early evening up to about one or two o’clock in the morning. She only stopped when she needed some pangasi to clear her throat. The song continued off and on for several days but the writer could not record the song because of the noise made by the Subanun when they shout and danced on the boklog, the sound of the gagongs and kolintangs, and the sound of the durugan. This writer proposed to record it in the house of Liyos in Bunawan, Salug (some 20 or 25 kilometers from Sindangan).

During the one week celebration of the boklog, she took time to interview the bEgelal (respectable men in the Subanun society). At times she had to stop the interviews to attend rites. Lieut. Lucas Sumaoy and Sgt. Galicano Enrico, whom her husband requested to come along, helped her in the interviews.

The epic was finally recorded on the third of November, 1968, during the semestral break. It took time to start since the singer at first seemed to show some discomfort and refused to sing. After some time, she got adjusted to the situation and the final taping was done.

The tapes used were small rolls so that frequent stops had to be made in the changing of the tapes; also, the noise of the crowd prompted us to go off and on for some time. Even if we made several stops the chanter never got lost. The whole epic recorded consumed forty-eight rolls of tapes. The taping started usually at seven in the evening and went up to one or two o’clock in the morning. Sometimes it was started at eight and ended at three. The writer lost no time in recording the song because the old woman was sickly. Just after the recording, the old woman had a breakdown. The writer had to take her to her home in Dipolog City to put her under the care of a physician. After a month, Liyos was able to go home.

A Family of Epic Singers. Subanun love to listen to this epic but no one else can fully sing it today. No one cares to memorize it. Mongkos, the older brother of Liyos, used to sing it but he is too old and sickly to sing now. Liyos’ children, Dyamelon, Lopya, and Minda can sing only little portions of the epic. Liyos’ ancestry takes pride in the fact that they are the only ones who can fully sing this epic.

Ocnip, the informant’s father, died a centenarian in 1962, while his wife, Anaya, died at the age of 80 in 1956. Today, Liyos, the thirteenth generation from their remotest ancestor, Banug, is the lone singer of this epic among the Subanun in Zamboanga del Norte. In her younger days, she sang to the accompaniment of a kutapiq (a two-stringed instrument) which she herself played. Now older, she seldom plays her musical instruments.

Liyos chants the epic with flair and relish during evenings, but she does it languidly at daytime. As a matter of fact, she does not want to chant the epic at daytime. In the evening the silence allows her voice to float in the air, which arouses in her the spirit to chant. She rarely uses an expressive modulation of her voice so that her chanting becomes matter-of-fact. But there are staccato effects in the chanting. This style of singing and the fact that the epic narrates an adventurous love story, full of the courage of their own people who were endowed with supernatural powers in the past, attract Subanun of all ages to listen to the epic. The audience keeps alive and gay so that the singer would not feel drowsy.

The epic Ag Tubig Nog Keboklagan identifies the Subanun in more than one, aspect of their culture, including their customs and religious beliefs, their manner of dress, speech, and character as a people with poetic insight and lyrical taste. It depicts the beginnings of their kinship with the Muslims.

Most of the places mentioned in the epic have more names than one, simply because it is traditional among the Subanun to name these places according to meaningful events, beauty, or the nature of the things or people therein. The various names given to a place in the poem render the lines more poetic, thus fitting their desire and poetic purpose at the same time that they are given more freedom of expression.

Sindangan is variously called Sirangan, Minirangan, or Limakwasan, all of which mean “land of the rising sun.” Keboklagan (refers to Cotabato) means “a kingdom that cannot be trampled upon by the ignorant” (here referring to the Subanun). The Muslims believed and were aware that they were more advanced in culture than the former.

Dibaloy (meaning “on the other side”) is Zamboanga del Sur province; Walo-Sabang or Tonagan (meaning “melting place”) is Lanao, the place of the Maranaw Muslims who are very famous for brassworks like brass trays, brass wall decorations, big brass vases, etc. As far as the informant and the Subanun people are concerned, this epic is an oral lore handed down from generation to generation since the time of their ancestor Banug, the earliest ancestor that Liyos can recall.

The epic depicts Subanun customs, beliefs, and traditions and also their social intercourse with the Muslims. Their customs and traditions are vividly and richly illustrated, giving the reader a clear idea of their lives in the past. Foremost among these is their belief in sacrificing a person as an offering to the spirits. Timuway suddenly cut off the head of one of his men in the boat when it refused to glide over the salty waters. Their boat was described as having a crocodile front and a snake-tail, with carved sides and fully decorated. This shows that the people are lovers of intricate designs and have an artistic taste and feeling. This artistic sense can also be seen in their colorful way of dressing which almost imitates that of the Muslims’.

In their daily activities, mamaq (betel chew) is indispensable to them, it being a symbol of their hospitality. It is even considered food by most of them and is shown in many parts of the epic. Most of them eat very little, then take their time for the mamaq.

Dowry in marriage is clearly shown when Taake offered his own to the bride. Polygamy is also practised, as evidenced when later determined based on the content and action when the epic was their God, Asog, announced that Taake will have a first and second wife.

Prominently shown is the relationship between the Magindanaw (Muslims under the sultanate of Magindanaw) and the Subanun. Though there had been conflicts in the past, many Subanun men have married Maguindanaw women and out of those unions came people known as the Kalibugans.

Trade with the Muslims, which has been going on for many years, is likewise depicted in the epic, their principal attraction and interest among the Subanon products being upland rice.

There is a vivid depiction of their boklog which still exists in all Its realism during the celebration of weddings and other feasts promised to the deities. The virtues of their women: shy, modest simple, and industrious are also described.

The epic is composed of 7,590 lines. This writer, for convenience divided it into eight songs: (a) Death and Birth in Two Families; (b) Childhood at Sirangan; (c) Love and Courtship at Keboklagan, (d) Taake and Tomitib’s War at Keboklagan; (e)Rendezvous with Death in Walo Sabang; (f) A Brief Sojourn at Pampang Gogis Bulawan; (g) Rest and Merriment in the Kingdom of Dibaloy; and (h) Return to Sirangan.

The stanzas, however, are irregular. Most of them are kilometric, ranging from four to thirty lines or even more. This is so because it is conversational, repetitious and full of stereotyped phrases. Much difficulty was met in the determination of stanzas because neither in the pausing, the breathing nor the halting in the chanting can the stanza be determined. The singer stops wherever her voice and her breathing, allows her to stop. The phrases Diyan ta padaw giday (At this time), Dayon (Then), Patuloy (Continue), Sadinan ta pema don (At this instance), and many others serve as leading words to start a line though this is not true in all cases. The stanzas were later determined based on the content and action when the epic was being transcribed.

In her interview with the informant the researcher was able to establish three generations of singers. Liyos, the informant, learned the song from her mother, Anaya; Anaya learned it from her mother, Sapar. Sapar was only six years old when she learned the song according to Liyos. Liyos usually sings this epic in festivals except when sometimes invited by some groups of Subanun to sing even if there is no important occasion at all because they enjoy listening to her. Oftentimes she is invited to sing at Sindangan proper by the Subanun there. According to Liyos, Ag Tubig Nog Keboklagan has another melody. She prefers however, the melody she used earlier. She shakes with laughter when asked to use the other melody. Asked why, she does not give any reason but keeps on refusing.

Liyos Ambog

Liyos Ambog was bom in Lipakan, Salug, Zamboanga del Norte to a known Subanun couple, Oknip and Anaya. The couple were bEgelal (that is, they held high positions in Subanun society), Oknip, being a gulilegan (shaman) during his time and Anaya, a gomanoman (minstrel).

The year of Liyos’ birth is not known because, during that time, the Subanun cared not about their birthdays. However, today she claims she is sixty-five or more. If this is accepted, then she must have been bom sometime in 1905. Her two brothers used to be good epic singers, too, but she is the only one persisting to this day, the two being too sickly and too old to sing.

Liyos had a great, great grandfather, Batug, who was gigantic, according to tradition, but whose brothers and sisters were of normal sizes. Batug was the fourth generation from their ancestor Banug, the remotest ancestor they could recall. Batug was not married because no woman of his size could be paired with him. Batug’s grave can still be found in Lipakan. This is marked by bamboo trees which serve to indicate his size. The grave is more or less ten meters. According to Liyos his breast measured seven palms in breadth from nipple to nipple. During the time when Subanuns were threatened by the Moros, Batug would go to the sea and seize the kumpit (Moro boat) and throw it away, drowning the Moros. The Moros feared this giant.

During the eighth generation of Liyos’ ancestry, the Spaniards came and Litan Banug became a Kapitan (captain). Their eleventh generation ancestor, Godok, was the first Subanun to pay his cedula dunng the Spanish regime. Liyos’ father, Oknip, was of the twelfth generation and was endowed with supernatural powers, for he could transform himself into any size he liked. Liyos partly learned the song Ag Tubig nog Keboklagan at the age of five and the whole of it at the age of eight but she was not allowed by her mother to sing alone in feasts until she was twelve. According to Liyos, this epic has been handed down from generation to generation until it was learned by their family. Since then, Liyos’ ancestry has been known in Subanun society for their ability to sing this epic.

Aside from epic chanting, Liyos also sings the Cambanaq and the Ginarong, plays Subanun instmments and dances well. She plays the following:

1. kutapiq – This is a two-stringed instrument.

2. killing — This is a bamboo instrument equivalent to a harmonica. Sometimes it is called suling.

3. tanggab – Sometimes this is called sanggab. It is an instrument of bamboo with three holes on the upper part and a hole below, aside from the mouthpiece. This is like a flute.

4. sigitan – This is a bamboo instrument with five strings made out of the bark of the bamboo itself. One end of the instrument has a node while the other has a hole. When playing, the hole is covered with the left hand in close-open motion, while the right beats the strings with a small stick. The instrument gives a bass sound.

Liyos married Selmo and has three children: Lopya, Minda, and Dyamelon, the youngest son who helped the writer in the transcription and the translation of the epic. Liyos lives with her son in Bunawan, Salug, Zamboanga del Norte where they found a good forest for kaingin until in 1970 they moved farther to Sioran.

Translation

The hardest problem encountered in translating Subanun is to adequately render meaning in English. The writer believes that a correct translation carries over both the sense of the original and the power of such originality.

A word-for-word translation was attempted at first but the writer soon became beset with difficulty since there are words that are untranslatable to English. What became more practical later was a line-by-line translation. In instances where a word had no English equivalent, a descriptive phrase or clause was used instead.

Untranslatable words, especially names, were retained and provided with footnotes. Some words are already archaic and are not used ordinarily in Subanun daily conversation. In such cases, the help of old Subanuns was asked. Mongkos, Kamoy, Baqeg, Iset, and others helped the writer in this regard.

Although translations cannot be fully exact because of the morphological and lexical differences of languages, and the different social and cultural backgrounds, yet, the writer feels confident enough to say that attempts at being faithful were made and so no major deviations from the original occurred.

The Summary of the Epic

Timoway, a datu of Sirangan, had a wife who was about to give birth. But he wanted to go to other places to sharpen the tools of chiefs and increase his source of livelihood. His wife refused because there was no one to assist her during childbirth. But her husband insisted, since they did not have anything to provide their child with. So the wife finally consented.

Timoway left with Kasanggolan (a datu of lower rank who acts as an assistant to a higher datu) and fifteen of his men from the kingdom. Upon arriving on the shore, he arranged his men and soon they were ready to go when the boat refused to move. They believed it wanted first a sacrifice. Timoway cut off the head of one of his companions and soon the boat glided over the sea as fast as it could.

They dropped by the place of Sakabandar whose wife was also pregnant. Despite her condition, he also departed with Timoway.

While they were on the deep sea, Diwata Pegdaraman, the goddess of the wind, lightning and thunder saw them. She invited them to her place but they refused. Pegdaraman got mad. She sent wind and thunder. Big waves appeared on the sea and their vessel broke into two. They all perished.

The boat, though broken, still sailed back to Sirangan and informed Timoway’s wife of the incident. The wife wept until she felt labor pains. She gave birth to a baby boy at the same time as the wife of Sakabandar.

Timoway’s son grew fast at night and became handsomer in daytime. At seven months, Taake cried aloud without stopping and this disturbed the whole of Sirangan. Gongs (gagong) were beaten and so each one went to their place to help. Just then the baby spoke and asked his mother if he had a father, and that if he had, what his occupation was, what he did everyday, and whether his death was caused by an offense committed by someone. When the boy knew the real story, he was glad that his father died without being killed by anyone.

His mother later gave Taake the hook and line, his inheritance from his father. With this he went fishing in their kingdom’s waters. With the help of some powers, he caught binfuls of fish. He was soon famous for fish.

One time, he asked clothes from his mother because he decided to go fishing in farther waters. This surprised the decided to go fishing in farther waters. This surprised the mother since he had gone fishing for a long time but never did he ask or some clothes. He told her he was ashamed because he often met some Visayan and Muslim girls.

He ventured to fish again. This time he sailed to the deepest water. There he saw a fish as big as a hill with golden scales. He caught the fish as big as a hill with golden scales. He caught the fish with his hook but it pulled harder. It pulled and pulled him for seven months on the water. On the seventh month Taake heard the explosion and roar of the big waves. He was then in the deepest part of the sea. An eel barred his way. The eel told him to go home for the place was dangerous  and added that it was willing to conduct him home to Sirangan. He struck the eel instead  with his sword and the eel drowned. More  big waves came and later Taake lost his balance and fell into the deep sea. He went down, until he saw a shore under the water and there saw a horse with his hook and line in this mouth. He ran after the horse with his bolo but it ran away.

Here, at Keboklagan he looked around and saw a high tow He ran up the ladder made of golden blades till he reached the top. He saw a beautiful girl almost undressed. When she saw him, the lady of Pintawan invited him and offered him mamaq (betel quid). They chewed, and day by day he wooed her. After seven days of wooing, she consented to his plea of marriage and they lived together.

The news about the Subanun was soon known by Towan Salip Satoron and Sorotan Domatong. Angered they were and they summoned the people through their gagong to make Taake their sacrifice.

The lady of Pintoqan who was like a sister to the lady of Pintawan (wife of Taake) told Taake and his wife to return to Sirangan. Taake refused on the ground that he had not done anything wrong. He wanted to face the datu and explain his presence there. But the people of Keboklagan were already preparing to kill him. So he had no other recourse but to fight, and with his strength, coupled with his supernatural powers, he fought.

Back in Sirangan, a datu named Tomitib Manaon, dreamed that he saw a Subanun fighting alone in the Keboklagan kingdom.  He prepared to leave in order to help him. He went to see if Taake was at home but the  sons of Balo Laki and Bata Tubig informed him that they had not gone to his home for sometime. He proceeded to Keboklagan while tlie other two datus followed. Immediately, Tomitib mshed to the place where Taake was fighting and fought hard and dashed at Soroten Domatong until Domatong fell. Taake saw Tomitib and stopped him. He confronted the latter and asked him why he immediately fought without inquiring about the cause of the fight.

Later, when the girls of Keboklagan saw Saulagya Maola, a datu of the place, coming, they explained to him the whole cause of the trouble. Maola remembered a promise he made to his sister, the lady of Pintawan, that anyone who can go up the ladder of karis will marry the girl, be it a dog or a pig. He then called all his datu to a conference and told them about the promise. But, the datu wanted to fight. So Saulagya divided Keboklagan into two, the other half belonging to him agreeing not to participate in the fight. On the other hand, Tomitib Manaon asked Saulagya Maola if he could marry the girl of Pintoqan. Before Saulagya could answer the lady turned Tomitib down for his rough manners. Without any excuse, Tomitib Manaon ran to the crowd and began to fight once more. When the datu of Liyo-Liyo saw the fight, he rode on his horse and went to the battleground. As the fight went on Saulagya Maola kept on beating the gong and the kolintang. The people fought hard while the datu of Liyo-Liyo and Tomitib Manaon were engaged in a hand-to-hand fight. They continued until all the people died. All the Sirangan datu then proceeded to other kingdoms to fight some more.

They marched to the kingdom of Dibaloy. They challenged its chief, Bataqelo, to a fight. Lilang Diwata, sister of Bataqelo, gave Taake a name. He called him Malopanyag meaning, “he fights in all places.” In this kingdom, Taake and Tomitib led the fight until half of the people died. Then they felt pity for the place so they proceeded to another kingdom. They passed by the kingdom of Pimarisan because the people of that kingdom were their kin. Then they went to the kingdom of Todongtodong. Here, they were invited first to a mamaq session before they started to fight. They fought hard until all in the kingdom became lifeless.

All the conquering datu convened and agreed to move on to the kingdom of Walo Sabang ruled by Egdodan Magsorat and Egdodan Sebagan. The eight datu refused to fight and instead they let only their subjects fight. The subjects fought hard but their datu just looked at them. The Sirangan datu were surprised to see that as many men as were cut became alive again. After seven months of fighting, Taake became tired and fell asleep on the battleground. Tomitib fought alone. Just then Taake dreamed of a pretty girl telling him to go to the Walo Sabang pintawan, in the guise of Towan Salip Palasti’s face to get their powerful medicines. He followed every instruction until he succeeded. When he came back, the people whom they felled did not retum to life anymore.

The datu of Walo Sabang knew that Taake had in his possession their powerful medicines so they were helpless. But then Tomitib fell dead on the battleground. Taake became depressed for he was alone, but with the help of the ladies of Keboklagan, who were equipped with supernatural powers, Tomitib came to life once more. The fight then continued until all the datu of Walo Sabang died.

Asog this time looked down and saw that the other world, the world of sinners, was very quiet for there was no life and no fire burning. He went down to earth and told Malopanyag to stop fighting and to return to Sirangan. Upon Arrival, Asog urged him to hold a boklog where each of them would be given his parter in life. Asog fanned the kingdom and all those who had died lived again.

All the datu finally agreed to go home. Upon their arrival at Sirangan, they saw that Taake’s mother was dying because she was pining and longing for her son. When Taake kisses his mother and told her he was her son, she recovered. The whole kingdom of Sirangan came to life, trees stirred, birds sang and everything became alive. They prepared the boklog afterwards. When it was through, all the datu of different kingdoms were invited and there they weregiven partners in life by their god, Asog.

 

Sprituality of the Fort-Pilar Pilgrims

Using an anthropological lens, I aim to describe in this paper the spirituality of the pilgrims of Fort Pilar Shrine in Zamboanga City. I will start by situating pilgrimage as a subject matter in anthropology and offer my choice of treating the same subject matter, as I appropriate Michel de Certeai’s praxis. I will then proceed by showing a glimpse of the historical Fort Pilar field to contextualize the physical space where the devotion to the La Virgen del Pilar emerges through time. Tracing a history of this devotion will introduce us to a kind of practical spirituality, characterized more by actions and practices and less by reflection. Then, I will proceed to show that practical spirituality is praxis and a rich ground for reflection and spiritual discoveries. In this part, I will also attempt to imply that reflection is also praxis. Then, I will end this paper with a few suggestions on how to facilitate the practice of reflection for greater spiritual emancipation.

Pilgrimage in Anthropology

In anthropological literature, the pilgrimage phenomenon has largely been treated with a structuralist tone, if we recall Emile Durkheim and Victor ‘Rimer, although Alan Nlorinis (1992) gives credit to “Bharati (1963; 1970) and ‘Rimer (1973; 1974a; 1974d; Turner and Turner 1992, 7) as those who first gave the subject serious attention within the anthropological mainstream.” With the Durkheimian inclination, “many writers on pilgrimage have perceived the activity as a crucial operator which welds together diverse local communities and social strata into more extensive collectivities- (lade and Sallnow 1991, 3). Pilgrimage, therefore, has an integrative function to societies and cultures. limier, however, offers an alternative to this functionalist view of pilgrimage. For him, it is a liminal phenomenon, with the pilgrims motivation towards communitas. Pilgrimage stands against, if not outside, structures as opposed to the functionalist’s pro-structural inclination.

More recent field researches on pilgrimage have however challenged, if not contradicted, the Turnerian view. The problem with the Turnerian model is that it “not only prejudges the complex character of the phenomenon but also imposes- a spurious homogeneity on the practice of pilgrimage in widely differing historical and cultural settings”(5). Sallnow and Eade look at the functionalist and Turnertan approaches to pilgrimage study as both with structuralist foundation because pilgrimage is “seen as either supporting or subverting the established social order” (5). In acknowledging the shortcomings, Sallnow and Eade say: “In order to transcend this somewhat simplistic dichotomy, it is necessary to develop a view of pilgrimage not merely as field of social relations but also as a realm of competing discourses” (5). The trend, therefore, shifts to discourse analysis.

While my fieldwork shows incongruence with the Turnerian model, it also deviates from a discursive treatment of pilgrimage. The main reason is that the Fort Pilar Pilgrimage is more of a practice than a discourse. If I wish, I may succeed in showing competing discourses within the whole sphere of my fieldwork, but only if I were to interrogate the pilgrims’ thoughts and voices. Then I can put together those views for comparison and contrast of some competing discourses about pilgrimage. Yet, the subjects may not even think the matter worth discussing with other people. If no one asks, they may not express them. The ethnographer’s text of competing discourses may not really mirror the field in which people do not really engage in discussions. In the Fort Pilar Shrine, pilgrims neither compete with their ideas on spirituality nor on pilgrimage. In fact, Dudut, one of my pilgrim interviewees, says: Wala man namo na ginahisgutan kung unsay buhaton or unsa and among ginabuhat didto sa Fort Pilar: Ginabuhat lang man namo (We don’t seem to really discuss what to do or what we do in Fort Pilar. We simply do).

The focus of this study then tends toward viewing the pilgrims’ practices which are rooted in their tradition–interactions with locations, religious objects, built structures, and people—as they do pilgrimage at Fort Pilar and find new expressions in their dispositions. One basic element in pilgrimage is travel. As pilgrims start out on a journey, they walk on roads, pathways, and on spaces. They may take a ride, but as they enter the Shrine, they walk on specific locations. There, they touch objects, catch smoke from the burning candles, and even kiss statues of saints. Sometimes, they may hurry to leave the Shrine. At other times, they may want to linger and pray in different bodily positions. Going to the Fort Pilar Shrine means something to them.

Yet, all this has a bearing on how these pilgrims are introduced to this kind of spirituality. Pilgrimage is a product of traditions and the pilgrims’ simple improvisations. Hence, this study focuses on the spirituality embodied in the pilgrimage to Fort Pilar as a practice. To complement such kind of spirituality, this study will also show the need of reflection to harness the beauty of praxis as the nature of practical spirituality. I employ both interpretive and qualitative designs by interviewing pilgrims and personally involving myself in the Fort Pilar Pilgrimage.

Spirituality as praxis

What lens will I use as I start to see, travel, and sense with the pilgrims? Here I will demonstrate my appropriation of spirituality as not mere faithfulness to some theological doctrines whereby pilgrims have to follow what the doctrines say, but as a matter of experience only made possible but not determined by the doctrines. The miracle-legends, for example, of La Virgen del Pilar, to use Certeau’s word, permit different spiritual experiences, without objectifying the legends, since these experiences cannot exhaust their permitting character. In the same way, the miraculous experiences of the Fort Pilar pilgrims allow them a different way of looking at the world and life, thereby permitting them to experience spirituality in various ways. “The event is `historical’ not because of its preservation outside time owing to a knowledge of it that supposedly has remained intact, but because of its introduction into time with various discoveries about it for which it `makes room”‘ (Certeau 1997, 144). The miracle-legends of La Virgen del Pilar seem to have become a condition for pilgrimage and devotion to Fort Pilar.

Certeau claims that “die event is lost precisely in what it authorizes” (145). What it authorizes is a manifestation which “is no more than a multiplicity of practices and discourses which neither ‘preserve’ nor repeat the event” (146); that is why the original event is lost int he plurality of what it allows. Certeau also mentions however that the initial event becomed an inter-location: Something said-between” (145). It seems then that as the original event becomes “more and more hidden by the multiple creations” (147), it also reveals itself as it is said in between, though not revealed in any one. It is in the continuing growth of the plurality that we might see the increasing revelation of the past event. This revelation, however, does not finalize in any form of multiplicity, hence the past event still cannot be objectified in knowledge or in a doctrine. Similarly, the Fort Pilar pilgrims’ continuous devotion to La Virgen del Pilar is plurality of spiritual experiences made possible by some past events, revealing the richness of its beginning without objectifying it at once. The past event dies in the particular but lives in the plural.

It is by this that we can posit the authority in the plural as Certeau puts it: “The plural is the manifestation of the Christian meaning” (148). In this light, the truth of the Fort Pilar pilgrims’ spirituality lies not with any group known in the Fort Pilar Shrine or any priest managing the communal activities, but in the plurality of the pilgrims’ experiences. This plurality is not reduced to one. What marks spirituality is its capacity to pluralize in difference. Difference should not be placed in the context of opposition, but in the context of plurality manifesting a reality of spirituality.

In the context of difference, every “one” has a limit. “The limit is the ultimate law of death (the irreducible existence of the other is manifested in the experience of one’s own limit and death), of solidarity (each one is needed by the others), and of meaning (which cannot be identified with an individual presence or with knowledge or an objective property because it is given by the very relationships of faith and charity as an interlocution)” (149). It is by this that we suspend our judgment about the so-called fanaticism often associated with popular religiosity.

While the condition of the Fort Pilar Pilgrimage implies a past event, its understanding implies the integration of the present, which in turn implies a moving on to the future. Moreover, pilgrimage is not just a movement in time but also in space where boundaries are traversed. It is in crossing boundaries that one realizes its limit. Popular spirituality is indeed a movement-praxis. Praxis “belongs to a different order from the institutionalized of theological statements from which it starts, and which it may condition” (152). Language, and perhaps meaning, cannot contain praxis. It departs from them and conditions another language and meaning. In other words, praxis is an act in the light of knowledge, but also in its darkness. It is a risk. “Praxis always brings about . . . gradual or abrupt displacements which will make possible other laws or other theologies” (152). Hence, Fort Pilar spirituality may spring from the miracle-legends, but continually reformulates them in a variety of new personal miracles, stories and experiences.

It is this spirituality as praxis that in turn sustains the pilgrims’ sacred journey as practice, from which it is also grounded and permitted. “Irreductible direclty to language, yet finding its meaning in language and providing yet new levels of meaning to language, this praxis, formed by separation from and transceding language, is fundamentally a necessary and permanent conversion” (153). The pilgrims’ spritual travels are enriched by the same pilgrimages, which also enrich their spirituality. Fort Pilar spirituality may indeed be a new form of spirituality made possible by praxis.

The Fort Pilar in Zamboanga City

One of the oldest and most historic structures in the Philippines is a square-shaped stone fort called Fort Pilar. It is situated at the southeastern part of Zamboanga City. At this corners are four bastions, of which the main is the southwest corner facing the sea, forming an ace of spades technically known as orillon (Spoehr 1969, 4). Originally, there were two entrances: One was where the present and the only entrance is situated; the other was located where the present and the only entrance is situated; the other was located where the present shrine stands and was the main entrance then (6). “Subsidies (for its construction) came from Mexico and from within the community in Zamboanga. After Cavite, it was the most important naval outpost in the entire country [Philippines]” (Rodriguez 1995, 30).

As early as 1598, the Spanish colonizers under Juan de Ronquilo built a fort in La Caldera to protect the first Christian communities. It did not last, so another forth had to be built, this time near Rio Hondo in Zamboanga City. Under the supervision of Father Melchor de Vera, SJ, a famous missionary-engireer and architect, the Fuerza Real de San Jose was built on 23 June 1635. The Spaniards abandoned this fort on 7 January 1663 in order to fortify embattled forces in Manila. Over time, the fort succumbed to neglect. By order of General Gregorio Padilla y Escalante in 1719, the Fort was reconstructed over the ruins of its old foundation under the direction of the Jesuit priest and engineer Juan de Ciscara. It was renamed Real Fuerza de La Virgen Nuestra Senora del Pilar de Zaragoza.

Gen. Vicente Alvarez attacked the Fort and defeated Spanish Gen. Diego delos Rios, who surrendered on 18 May 1899. I .ed by Gen. J.C. Bates, the American forces seized the Fort on 16 November that same year. On 2 March 1942, Fort Pilar was seized and occupied by the Japanese Imperial Forces. The American liberation troops, in collaboration with the Philippine Guerillas, recaptured the Fort three years later. ‘Fhe Fort was taken over by the Republic of the Philippines on 4 July 1946. Later, the Armed Forces of the Philippines (AFP) claimed Fort Pilar in its name.

It was perhaps the protection and security provided by the various forces that occupied the Fort that allowed its surrounding communities to develop. The influence of the Fort Pilar on Zamboanga and its people is indeed historical and it is for this reason that its influence has continued to the present.

According to Enriquez (1984, 89): “Her image [Our Lady of the Pilar], a garishly painted basso rilievoio of a woman with a child [Jesus Christ] in her arms, high up on the parapet of the moss-covered muralla [Fort Pilar], was, on the 19′ of October of each year, the object of the biggest pilgrimage in all Mindanao.”

At the start of every October begins the festivities intended for the celebration of the Fiesta Pilar in Zamboanga City. For a week or so, the festivities include agri-aqua trade, regatta, street dance, street party, parade, cultural presentation, beauty contest, sportsfest, competition, concert, exhibit, and other entertainment. The traditional afternoon procession and the High Mass at the Shrine of La Virgen del Pilar highlights the feast day on the 12th.

Stores proliferate in and around the Fort Pilar Shrine. Within the Shrine itself are the altar, the trapezoidal houses, the Blessed Sacrament, the benches, the Shrine’s office and, the candle site. Pilgrims visit the Shrine with certain levels of interests—some influenced by their promise, some by the need of grace, and others for thanksgiving. They buy candles from the stores or from itinerant vendors who begin to ply their trade as early as five o’ clock in the morning. The vendors also sell different religious objects. Pilgrims can also have souvenir photos of their visit taken by photographers who actively encourage them to avail of their business.

Within the Shrine are locations of prayer and devotion where pilgrims visit with indefinite priorities because of the unpredictable conditions brought about by having to share space with other pilgrims. There are times though, like at noon, when many of these locations are deserted. There is also the Shrine’s office where pilgrims can ask about thanksgiving masses and other Shrine activities from the clerk assigned by the administrator, who is usually a priest from the diocese. There are two main groups that coordinate with the administrator: One is the La Liga that serves in the mass activities, and the Corte de Honor that helps in the physical maintenance of the Shrine. These groups attain some cultural and social capital as they develop themselves to better serve their purpose in the Shrine. The Philippine National Police (PNP) secures the Shrine in coordination with the administrator.

The Fort Pilar Shrine may be seen as a field of “structured spaces of dominant and subordinate positions based on types and amounts of capital” (Swartz 1997, 123, citing Bourdieu). But as a field of pilgrimage, it is beyond being a field “of power struggles among holders of different forms of power, a gaming space in which those agents and institutions possessing enough specific capital to be able to occupy the dominant positions within the respective fields confront each other using strategies aimed at preserving or transforming these relations of power” (Pilario 2005, 170, citing Bourdieu).

A history of the Fort Pilar devotion

Taking off from biblical and theological bases to some concrete observations, Rodriguez (1995) describes the national as well as international historical development of Marian devotion. The extensive historical observation of Marian devotion in the Philippines only points to the needed situational observation on Our Lady of the Pillar devotion, particularly in Zamboanga City. It needs historical digging from literary archives of the people of Zamboanga and empirical evidence of what precisely these devotees in Zamboanga City perceive and do about their devotion. Thus, a line between doctrinal prescription and actual manifestation must be drawn in representing the devotees of a particular setting.

Moreover, the rapid processual changes in the Fort Pilar Shrine and in the devotees appeal to the need to focus on these people on the manner of their belief, predisposition, and spirituality. The particularly of the devotion in Fort Pilar to Our Lady of the Pillar of Zamboanga may show a different historical process of devotion indeed. For instance, Rodriguez says, on the other hand, that “the historical development of Mary’s cult can be attributed, as both cause and effect, to an extraordinary flourishing of Liturgical texts; especially well known are songs and homilies by Eastern and Western Fathers of the Church” (47). On the other hand, Enriquez says that “this undocumented incident [the miracle-legend of the sentinel and the Virgin], enacted in reladas during her fiesta almost every year at the Fort, must have given rise to the people’s belief in the Virgin’s love for Zamboanga” (190), hence their devotion. What used to merely be a frontispiece atop the main entrance of the sentinel and Mary. In time, the Shrine earned the reputation of being miraculous to both the Catholics and the non-Catholics who go there (Navarro, 1982; 1984, 197). In this sense, the devotion to Our Lady of the Pillar in Zamboanga City was born out of The legendary miraculous intervention of the Virgin Mary for the City and the people therein.

All this only points to a further research that does not see devotion only according to what is written, but also according to the pilgrims’ practices, which are rooted in previous events. It might be helpful at this point then to reiterate Fr. Alejo’s appeal on matters of popular religiosity: “Please let us give serious attention to the way ordinary people are finding God” (Alejo 2004, 52).

Tradition, according to Ellenie, a nun and a pilgrim of Fort Pilar, is mainly the first element that brings many people of Zamboanga to the Fort Pilar Shrine. Their relatives or guardians would usually bring them to Fort Pilar Shrine. Their relatives or guardians would usually bring them to Fort Pilar for various religious purposes. Mamang Choleng traces the roots of her devotion to La Virgen del Pilar: Porcausa se na mi maga mayores (It was because of my parents that I got to go to the Shrine). Daisy and Dudut, said: Ya principia yo mi debocion cuando ya segi yo con mi mayores si ta anda sila na Pilar (I started my Fort Pilar devotion by going with my parents when they went to the Fort Pilar Shrine). Today, many parents bring their babies to the Fort Pilar Shrine, notwithstanding the dusty roads and crowding people. Even the “elbow to elbow” crowd during the street dance on 12 October does not prevent parents from carting their babies or small children on the roadside to watch the spectacle. Jojo, another Fort Pilar pilgrim says: My mother used to bring me to the Shrine when I was a child.” This clarifies what Nanay Presing, an old Fort Pilar volunteer and pilgrim, also says. In her words: Cuando ya abri yo miyo ojos, ansina ya man kame (When I opened my eyes, that’s the way we did things already).

There are stories and miracles about the Fort, to include miraculous apparitions of the La Virgen del Pilar, told in some legends and as experienced by the pilgrim’s relatives or guardians. These testimonies are taken on faith and serve to influence Zamboanga pilgrims to personal devotion. Encultration obviously plays a major role as to why Zamboanga residents do pilgrimage at Fort Pilar. However, these are not the only reasons.

Some start their devotion because they experience great personal problems. For this reason and with the advice of other pilgrims, they visit the Fort Pilar Shine to ask for guidance, help, or healing. Eventually, La Virgen del Pilar’s indulgence is felt as they find relief and allevation from their difficulties. Tintin, a married pilgim, has a story: “El di miyo andada na Fort Pilar porcansa na maga pesao problema ya pasa cumigo cuando casaoya yo. Ya pruba yo primero pidi ayuda alla na Fort Pilar. Despues ya experiensia yo el epecto poreso hasta ara ta anda yo siempre alla na Fort Pilar.” (My going there was because of some compelling problems that happened to me when I got married. I tried at first to seek help from Fort Pilar. Then I experienced the effect, so that until now I still go there at the Fort Pilar Shrine). This then leads to the belief, in the same way other pilgrims are led to, that La Virgen del Pilar in miraculous.

Mamang Choleng, a Zamboangueña pilgrim, has her own reason, too: Yo principia yo serioso anda na Pilar cuando ya experiensia yo un milagro. Un dia, yaman aksidente yo. Dol nu puede ya yo kamina. Ta lleba cumigo mi tata na Fort Pilar y alya ta resa iyo. Despues, ya queda yo bueno como un milagro kay maka estrania el di miyo alibio (I started to seriously go to Fort Pilar Shrine when I experienced a miracle. I met an accident and it was almost impossible for me to walk. My father brought me to the Fort Pilar Shrine and there I prayed. Then, I got miraculously healed).

Belief, then, has something to do with their experiences rather than with what they simply hear from other people or from teachings. As pilgrims like jojo, Mommy Angelin, and Nanay Presing acclaim: Ta cre yo ay ya experiensia yo su milagro (I believe because I experience her miracles).

As the pilgrims continue to go to the Shrine, they eventually internalize the practices and gain a sense of owning their experience. This means visiting the Shine is not based on sheer obedience, tradition, or the novelty of the experience, but also because they will it. The belief they have of Fort Pilar and its patroness is, in the first place, a product of their interaction with the Fort environs from which emerges a personal explanation of their need to go to the Shrine. The foundation of the belief they have of the Lady and the Fort finds connection and relevance to their current needs. For the pilgrims, these needs are usually special and important; they are relative to survival, health, economics, moral, mental, attitudinal — almost constitutive of a person’s well-being.

The belief they have of La Virgen del Pilar is historical and not limited to only one epoch or to the many legends attributed to her that pilgrims vaguely remember today. It is not also traceable only to their observations with their parientes (relatives) from long time ago. Included in the sources of their belief are the day-to-day experiences of the many answered prayers believed to have been miraculously facilitated by the La Virgen. Ellen, an Episcopalian pilgrim of Fort Pilar, confidently says: Cuando ya pidi yo ayuda cunel La Virgen ya pasa yo miyo board exam (When I asked help from the La Virgen del Pilar, I passed my board exam). Dudut has the same story when she passed the Test on English as a Foreign Language (TOEFL) that allowed her qualification to work abroad. They believe that it is God who answers their prayers, but La Virgen plays a big role as intercessor. This makes La Virgen their “mother.” Yet, there are those who think that it is La Virgen del Pilar who directly answers their prayers.

Other people’s experiences of answered prayers strengthen belief and motivate many to go to the Fort Pilar Shine. The pilgrims seem to be the kind of people who are willing to try what others suggest or believe, especially when urgent needs arise. Perhaps many of them uphold what Mommy Angelin, an old pilgrim, claims: “To see is to believe.”

For many, the Fort Pilar is a more inviting destination to express their hopes and desires. The Churches are considered merely as places for attending masses and for normal thanksgiving or prayer. In the Fort Pilar Shrine, aside from the everyday mass, the pilgrims sense the loving presence of a mother who can guide and help them in fulfilling their important needs, especially the difficult-to-achieve ones. That is why Dudut, a nurse and a pilgrim, professes: Mu anha ko’s Fort Pilar labi na kanang depress or broken hearted ko (I go to Fort Pilar especially when I’m depressed or brokenhearted). She considers Mary as her “Ordinary mother.” Ellanie, another pilgrim, even considers Mary as a real friend with whom she has an intimate relationship.

Yet, there is also a gray area as to why people go the the Shrine. In many instances, pilgrims say, nu sabe yo porque (I don’t know why). After acknowledging the element of belief and miracles, some would still find mystery in what they do and could not really say why they go. As Ellanie muses, Ta lleba lanf comigo niyo pies (I am just carried by my feet). In moments of deep emotional stress, she just finds herself in the Shrine. Pilgrims find mystery in shy they just find themselves preparing to go to the Shrine without much planning and decision. They find themselves in the practice of pilgrimage and do not have enough awareness why they travel.

This is not to say that they do not entirely know why they go to the Shrine. This is only to imply that pilgrimage and devotion is more of an act than a fact. Pilgrimage and devotion is not usually talked about, but walked about. Thus, words fail to explain why and it is only when they are asked, like in an interview, that they start to articulate what is implied in their pilgrimages. It is in this sense that I find the Fort Pilar Pilgrimage a potent phenomenon to explore.

Practicality in Spirituality

I notice in mu encounter with the pilgrims of Fort Pilar that they organize (although with much variation) space, time, meaning, and communication implicity. By implicity, I mean the organizing acts lie much in the level of practice than in the level of reflection. For example, Daisy, a working mom and a pilgrim, says: Hinde ya yo ta pensa cunel camino (I don’t think of the route anymore). Tintin, another pilgrim, also says, “The length of the travel is not important. We do not think of it anymore.” Their devotion start in tradition then proceeds to belief. They organize time as manifested by their choices and temporal manipulation. Their spirituality is formed through the immediacies and urgencies of their daily life, but they hardly reflect on them. They organize communication as they have ways and forms of praying or dialoguing with their Deity or saints. They convey messages in their gestures and in their silence without really reflecting on these. In Daisy’s words: “It has been practiced, but not discussed.” They organize meaning as they put value and significance on many things they do in the Fort Pilar Shrine. They also have the sense of the many figures and symbols in the Shrine, but very few moved to articulate this. Their spirituality takes form in the recreation of meaning, but they hardly sense this.

Pastoral theologian Mary G. Durkin (1988, 19), comments that “parents are the first and most influential religious educators, “For many of these pilgrims, the beginnings of the devotion to Fort Pilar rest on the practice of accompanying guardians or parents as they go on their pilgrimage. There is an element of blindness here. Aside from having been brought to the Fort Pilar Shrine at a very young age, children were clarified by adults on what and why they reach the age of reason, they more often than not carry on this tradition of practical spirituality, seldom feeling the call to articulate it.

The central characteristic of practical spirituality is practice. It is a spirituality of actions and practices rooted in a culture less of reflective expressions of piety. It is popular religiously in the context of ordinary spatial, temporal, and communicative involvement. To be reflective is to be consciously sensitive to the messages and implications of what happens, to be thinking beings actively “re/reading” human experiences to further awareness. Practival spirituality does not necessarily help the pilgrim grow in terms of reflective ability, but it may very well be for this reason that it can recruit practitioners.

This, in as far as I reflect, this is my reading of the Fort Pilar Pilgrimage. I must, however, warn that I do not intend to purport the idea that no one practices reflective spirituality in the Fort Pilar Pilgrimage. There are those who reflect on what they do as they travel to Fort Pilar, but they are few. This phenomenon perhaps explains the pilgrim’s struggle to find expression about what they do when they are asked about their pilgrimage. Most readily admit that Nu sabe yo porque yo se la ase (I don’t know why I am doing that). Others say, Ancina ya came cosa ta ase (That has been how we do things), Ansina ya came ya engranda (We grew up with this kind of practice), and Por enasa se na di among mayors (It is because of our parents or guardians). The most unexpected answer I got as to why they go the Shrine was. No bay lang (It is just nothing). At that time, I was tempted to think that perhaps the question was wrong because it assumed reflective spirituality on a phenomenon that lacked such.

Part of the practical spirituality is the habit of simply hearing (as different from listening) religious doctrines and popular experiences. Even if many attend the everyday mass at Fort Pilar Shrine, many still do not exhibit the messages in their communities. As diocesan priest Fr. Mike says: “(It) is widely observed that people do not apply what they need hear and say” — and indeed, the observation may hold true for many Christians in Zamboanga City. During mass, recollections, and retreats, the priests remind the faithful of the gospel messages in layman’s terms. As one observes, there are many churches in downtown Zamboanga City and in its barangays. The people attending masses in there places of worship are numerous, too. Yet the question still lingers, “Why don’t we do what we hear and say?” Perhaps it is because people are embedded with practical spirituality. Of course, there are many who apply what they hear and say within the context of their belief. Yet, my interviews with many pilgrims of Fort Pilar seem not to show this.

During the 2004 and 2005 Ateneo de Zamboanga University (ADZU) processions to the Forth Pilar Shrine, the novena prayers were said loud enough, attracting mush attention from the people on the sidewalks. The procession/pilgrimage to the Fort Pilar was indeed full of prayers and and show of sacrifice. No wonder, my impression was that it was a spiritual act and an expression of who the participants were. This impression was not entirely wrong.

My interview with some students and friends who participated in the 2005 ADZU pilgrimage did not disprove the mentioned popular opinion — of not doing what they hear and say — perhaps because my interviews were not about it. However, there was a common thread that ran through their answers to my queries: They did not bother to ask what they were doing in relation to their spirituality. The students agreed that they were not really thinking about the pilgrimage, even as they participated in it. What was quite clear to them was that they joined the procession, they walked, they prayed and they went with their companions. Behind the actions was nothing really related to the question of their action and spirituality.

There seems to be a rich spiritual experience as many pilgrims do pilgrimage, novena, rosary, and attend mass. However, this spiritual experience seems to lie more in practice than in awareness. Many of my questions about what they did and what these actions meant were left unanswered. They seems to do what they hear perhaps because they think less of what is heard. Also, these pilgrims who do not often think of what they do seem not to do what they say. Perhaps this is because these pilgrims think less of what they say. Saving is actually doing, hence practical. It is an act that very few of the pilgrims think about or reflect on.

This is where the organization of spirituality rests more on practice than in awareness. However, there seems not much growth in simply doing things without being aware of them or internalizing them. What growth would there be in the self when it is not deeply aware of itself?

Praxis and reflection

To understand practical spirituality requires that one not only relate it to its past or dig up its characteristics, but also to situate its being present in the context of a process for the future. As a continuing act, practical spirituality is a movement-praxis. Practical spirituality may spring from events and discourses of miracle-legends or from a tradition, but that it also continually reformulates them. “Irreducible directly to language, yet finding its meaning in language and providing yet new levels of meaning to language, this praxis, formed by separation from and transcending language, is fundamentally a necessary and permanent conversion” (Certeau, 153).

One example that leads to this point is perhaps how many pilgrims of Fort Pilar consider La Virgen del Pilar as the mother of Jesus Christ who serves as the intercessor to the grace of God the Father. In other words, many pilgrims are aware that when they ask for healing or any help, the first share it to La Vrgen del Pilar and ask her to deliver those pleas to the Most Powerful God the Father.

But there are pilgrims who directly pray to La Virgen del Pilar in the belief that she can miraculously heal and help them. They feel no need to bother God the Father with their concerns. They think of La Virgen del Pilar as a Divine Mother who miraculously helps them in their needs and problems in the same way as God the Father does. The pilgrims’

communication to La Virgen del Pilar has become so intimate that the dialogue seems to have gone exclusive and personal. Hence, to these devotees, La Virgen del Pilar seen-is to be on the same footing as God, a belief that courts unorthodoxy if not outright heresy. Whatever the case, many pilgrims articulate their spirituality in the context of religion with small “r” rather than with capital “R”.

In recognition of the pilgrim’s tendency toward this unorthodox belief, the administrator of the Fort Pilar Shrine tries to lead pilgrims into the Eucharistic awareness rather than what is believed to be popular religious practices.

It can be noted, however, that this unorthodox belief does not even threaten the day-to-day pilgrimages in the Fort Pilar Shrine, contrary ‘ to what Turner implies when he says, “I am at present inclined to favor the view that a pilgrimage’s best chance of survival is when it imparts to religious orthodoxy a renewed vitality, rather than when it asserts against an established system a set of heterodox opinions and unprecedented styles of religious and symbolic action” (1972, 229-230). There are many other unorthodox practices in the Fort Pilar Shrine that are observable up to the present, like some of the sacramentals (punas-punas, putting of rosary beads in the vehicle for safety, kissing the statues of saints, etc.), but do not in anyway lessen the pilgrimage’s survival. On the contrary, I am inclined to believe that they contribute to the propagation of pilgrimage to the Fort Pilar Shrine because many have proven the emancipatory effects of these unorthodox practices in their ordinary lives. Pilgrimages like this promise to proliferate because their value and significance resonate with the humanness and the mundane life of pilgrims.

The pilgrims’ dialogue with the Deity and/or deities does not only show dependence vis-a-vis providence, but also intimacy. This intimacy is clear in the way pilgrims relate to La Virgen del Pilar. This relationship is so intense that in its being so popular, some describe this religiosity unorthodox. Beyond comparing this religiosity to doctrines is its appeal to solidarity in prayer – an appeal more to the truth of the pilgrims’ being as experienced in everyday life than to the truth found on texts.

This observation surfaced during my interview with those pilgrims. However, the observation was not foremost in their mind. It was my series of questions that led us to acknowledge their communication with La Virgen to be so, especially to those pilgrims who have a background on some Catholic doctrines. This only implies that they do communicate more than they think about their communication. It is in an event, like an interview, that a realization such as this happens. It is in communication still, like in an interview, that how they communicate and what it implies can be observed. To assume, therefore, that “you can’t wink (or burlesque one) without knowing what counts as winking or how, physically to contract your eyelids, and you can’t conduct a sheep raid (or mimic one) without knowing what it is to steal a sheep and how practically to go about it” (Geertz 1973, 12) is without assurance.

The pilgrims’ consideration of La Virgen del Pilar as God implies praxis that may have been influenced by some institutionalized doctrines (although much of the influence is from the miracle-legends of La Virgen in the Fort Pilar in Zamboanga City), but which may condition or influence the same doctrines. This practice is indeed different from the institutionalized prescription on Christian spirituality. This does not even resonate with what many learn from schools or from seminaries.

It is in this fashion that the institutionalized spiritual language finds difficulty in accommodating this peculiar practical spirituality. It is the nature of this kind of spirituality that challenges the language of dogmatism and orthodoxy. What is exciting here is what this practice can contribute as it shakes norms and accepted maxims. It can indeed open up new theologies or new ways of becoming spiritual. In it lies the potential for better understanding and learning of popular spirituality.

As praxis, practical spirituality emerges as a rich ground for reflection and spiritual discoveries. Its being practical for quite a long time in the history of the Fort Pilar Pilgrimage increases its potentiality for understanding and meaning. It awaits its revelation through the pilgrim’s reflective responses. It is there, ready to be deciphered and to be reflectively organized. It is Waiting to be thought of and to be articulated. In a culture of much practicality, the call for reflection is not only more of a need, but also of a promising project for spiritual growth.

Abstract images usually accompany reflection. The latter in its process would normally find much sense and product by focusing on the former. It is my contention, however, that reflection can best harness its worth when complemented with praxis. Abstract images can indeed broaden imagination and reflection, but may not find expression in the actuality of life. Many of those imaginations are enjoyed mostly by the mind, less by the body. ln this sense, reflections from images empty of actuality usually have short life spans in the consciousness of people. It is perhaps when reflection is derived from praxis that it will easily be practiced. What use does reflection have when it does not penetrate into the everyday life of people? Its worth is seen when it is able to give language to what is happening in communities and by which new praxis emerges to Continue this process.

Considering practical spirituality as praxis would constitute a call for attention and focus. This call, however, is never a simple cultural project. It may require a paradigm shift, but this shift must start on the practical level. A culture with much focus on practicality has to use what it has mastered in developing a new habit. Reflection, therefore, is not a mere mental act but must also be practiced. Pilgrims have to slowly make a habit of reflecting over their own spiritual experiences. Making reflection a habit will surely unearth the mysteries of the long-been-waiting practical spirituality to be self-manifested in language and praxis. It is by developing the habit of reflection that the Fort Pilar spirituality may be given proper attention and pilgrims may gain better grasp of their own spirituality.

Juxtaposing reflection with practical spirituality may give pilgrims the venue for better spiritual understanding. It will be a process of organizing meanings on t he nature of their spirituality. Their spiritual experiences will then be names and descriptions. It is by this that practical spirituality will be given processual form and substance and would truly become praxis.

The call for reflection over practical spirituality then is a call not only to understand the kind of popular spirituality pilgrims practice, but also to decipher its relevance for the everyday life in the community.. Durkin (21-4) suggests that there is a failure to link Marian devotion to real-life situations, like the male-female relationship and family life. Perhaps the reason for this gap is that the Fort Pilar Pilgrimage is a practical spirituality with less reflection and hence the same project of reflection may bridge the gap. Even Durkin’s suggestive integration of Mary’s images in the family spirituality (26-31) presupposes a reflective element in the believers.

If indeed it would seem difficult for a culture immersed with practicality to reflect over its spiritual experiences, reading reflections that are based on events rather than mere words would be helpful. These reflections are often read in papers and heard in masses or spiritual discourses. Reflections based on words or texts may help, but much more proper for reflection is the popular spirituality of the people themselves. This is because praxis is ricer that words. Any events is an opportunity for reflection. It may perhaps be better to reflect on how things are said than what are said. In the Fort Pilar Shrine, it is the pilgrims’ practical spirituality as praxis that would serve as food for thought, which in turn would be challenged by consequent spiritual practices. This process, I am inclined to believe, emansipates pilgrims who are faithful to what they do.

For roughly 300 years, Protestants considered additional enthusiasm for Mary a form of “Mariolatry.” However, Protestants are now-restoring Mariology (Van Biema 2005, 40), perhaps because of the undeniable force of reflection over human spiritual experiences. It may be a new way of interpreting Mariology. Not merely as texts in the Bible, but also as Mary’s event. In the same way, the recent concern of many religious denominations to Marian reinterpretations is, for me, a result of the reflective response to the forceful call of popular Marian spirituality in the grassroots level. Taking this as praxis may indeed challenge previous doctrines and theologies. In the end, only when theologies are reflected from spiritual experiences can we spiritually grow and put substance to a profound adage: “Life is a pilgrimage.”

Zurich trained Jungian analyst and clinical psychologist Thomas Patrick Lavin (1988, 32-47) theorizes that there is such a thing as Christianity’s Mary Complex, which in history has been repressed by the patriarchal foundations of Christian theologies. This repression has resulted tot he denigration of the female identity through the years and the hindrance of discovering the “divine aspect of the feminine and/or the feminine aspect of the divine as symbolized Mary, “Borrowing Carl Gustav Jung’s neutrality of complexes and there potentiality for human wholeness, Lavin, in a forceful way, suggests the balancing of the Mary’s images become a source of deep religions experience and discovery of God. In this way Lavin believes that the Mary Complex will heal a suffering culture.

In the contemporary period, as Lavin implies, there is an increasing Marian attention both in the Church and in popular piety. Marian devotion is central in the Fort Pilar. This, however, does not automatically imply a full participation in Lavin’s exhoration on Mary because the Fort Pilar Pilgrimage is more of a practical spirituality than a reflective one. Pilgrims there manifest Marian Spirituality, but much of the actual Marian images and symbols are not yet quite clear and reflectively processed in their consciousness. Hence, I propose that only in habitual spiritual reflection can the pilgrims of Fort Pilar actively participate in what Lavin suggests and find emancipatory grown in spirituality.

Mga Ulod ug Bitok sa Kalag

Editor’s note: Mga Ulod rig Bitok sa Kalag (Maggots and Worms of the Soul) was read at the Annual Conference of Philippine PEN (Poets, Essayists and Novelists) held on 30 November-1 December 2001 in Duni aguete City. The theme of the conference was “Return to Literary Arts.” The Tagalog translation of Pagusara’s speech, Mga Uod at Bulate mg Kaluluwa (pp. 161-166) which fell under the subtheme of `Writing as Liberative Art” was distributed to the audience during the speech.

In this speech, Don Pagusara expresses his views about the cultural alienation of the Filipinos. He begins with two anecdotes showing how ridiculous Filipinos have become in communicating with each other in English. Pagusara specifically targets writers who look down on their own native languages, writers “who think in English” and are proud to claim that “English is their first language.”

He asks, “If language is the soul of the people, what happened to the souls of persons who have rejected the language of their people and who have adopted instead a foreign language?”

His answer: “Aside from their dark skin, they cannot be identified as Filipinos anymore because the character of their voice has changed. They exerted much effort in exercising their tongues so they would sound like Americans. And true enough, a few of them have succeeded in learning the mysterious swerswers, and they are very good at nasalizing (mopahungaw) words through their flat noses.”

He laments the fact that the writers who should be the bearers and promoters of local culture are themselves imprisoned by “foreign culture, foreign language, and foreign elitist standards.” They themselves need to be purged of the “maggots and worms of the soul.”

May usa ka istorya. Si Felipa, usa ka dalagang Bisaya bag- ong miuli isip balikbayan gikan sa Amerika. Dili na siya patawag sa iyang angga nga Epang . Yungit na siya mobinisaya ug daghan nang pulong nga dili niya hisabtan sa sinultihan sa ilang lugar. Si Naldo nga karaang ulitawo dakog tinguha kang Felipa ug busa kanunayng nagyampungad sa balay sa dalaga.

Usa ka hapon, misuroy si Felipa kuyog ni Naldo sa may baybayon. Paghikakita sa bangkang naglayag, nakasiyagit si Felipa sa dakong kahimuot dungan tang pagtudlo ngadto sa lawod, “Wow, dhats a seylbowt?”

Si Naldo nga gihilasan sa pag-o-iningles sa babaye nagyawyaw sa iyang kaugalingon, “Sibot sa imong lobot? layag man na!”

Unya nagyapayapa si Felipa nga miubog sa dagat. Apan nakatunob siyag tuyom ug tungod sa kasakit, mitiyabaw, “Agaaaaay! Naldo.”

Nahikatawa si Naldo nga nagkanayon, ‘Da, agay ka man lagi?”

May lain pa gyung istorya. Si Ms. Duhaypusod nga maestra sa Grade III nagminaot pagpahamtang og multa sa iyang mga pupil nga masakpang magsultig binisaya: “25 centavos per Bisayan word”, mi-anunsiyo siya..

Usa ka higayon, gipatindog niya ang usa ka pupil, “Felix, use dog in the sentence.”

Nagpangalot sa ulo si Felix, pero naka-recite ra gihapon, “Fader an Mader dog lasnayt, mam!”

Misiga ang mats sa maestra ug mipag-ahi sa tingog, “Felix, gib me 25 centavos. You speak one Bisayan word.”

“Mam, ikaw sad mam, ingon kag dog”, miprotesta si Felix.

“Felix, you gib me P1.50 more because you speak additional six Bisayan words “, mipakanaog og hukom si Ms. Duhaypusod.

“Mam, nomor mane, Man! Pangwarta man nang imo, Mam” ug midagan si Felix pagawas sa room.

Nasukog samot si Titser, misinggit, “Hoy, hoyl Balik ngari, wa kay batasan, ha!”

Kining duha ka mugbong istorya akong sabakon sa usa ka awit nga akong gikomposo may dul-an na sa baynte ka tuig karon. Ania. . .

Alyenasyon REFRAIN:

[Refer to the Original Copy]

MGA HIGALA: Ang gilarawan niadtong mugbong istorya ug niadtong awit way lain kundili ang mga tawong nahimulag sa kaugalingong kaliwat – ang mga alyenado o alienated nga mga Filipino. Kita ang mga alyenado. Kita ang naluka sa kaugalingong kaliwat uggianod ug nahidagsa sa laing kultura. Apan gipaka-himaya nat.’) ang langyawng kultura nga nagbilanggo sa atong kalag.

Kun dunay angay makalingkawas sa pagka binilanggo, kana walay lain kundili kitang gitawag og intelligentsia. Kita ang mga bag-ong ilustrados. Dili ta ignorante sa kasaysayan, apan wala gyud ta maleksiyon sa kasaysayan. Kun dunay angay tandogon sa hisgutanang “pagpanulat isip malingkawasnong alampat” (writing as liberative art), kana walay lain
kun dili kitang mga nagpaka-aron-ingnong sangkap sa kaalam ug katakos sa natad sa katitikan ug kultura.

Sa pagka tinuod, kining hilisgutang “writing as liberative art” talandugon uyamot. Apan angay gayung utingkayon ug tukion para sa atong kaugalingong kauswagan, o di ba kaha, kaluwasan. Talandugon, tungod kay dili kalikayang ugkaton dinhi ang isyu kabahin sa lengguwahe. Ug kun maghisgot na tag lengguwahe, dili sab kalikayang matandog nato ang kuwestiyon: Unsay angay sagopon ug panggaon—ang langyaw o lumadnong pinulongan?

Sa akong tan-aw, ang kamalingkawasnon sa literatura may duha ka dagway malingkawasnon sa indibiduwal nga ang-ang ug malingkawasnon sa katilingbanong ang-ang. Sa indibiduwal nga ang-ang, ang kamalingkawasnon sa literatura nahasang-at diha sa kuwestiyon sa gawasnong pagpahayag sa uska tawo. Mahimong makalingkawas ang usa ka indibiduwal sa mga gapos sa iyang kalag, kay mahimo niyang hatagag agianan ang iyang mga damgo, mga mithi ug mga kahigwaos pinaagi sa pagpanulat. Ug ang indibiduwal nga pakigbisog mahirnong maoy tumong ang paglingkawas sa pagkahigot sa tradisyon—sa karaang mga pagtuo ug naandang mga pamaagi o mga lagda. Nanghinabo kini sa natad sa pagpanulat: ang pangahas nga pagbiya sa kinaraan ug pagdiskubreg bag-ong agianan sa ekspresyon dinha sa pamalak ug panugilanon.

Sa katilingbanong ang-ang, ang magsusulat naghupot og dakong kabilinggan sa katilingban nga iyang nasakopan. Wala siyay kalainan sa magbabalaod diin ang iyang pagpanulat makaumol og mga hunahuna para mabag-o ang panglantaw sa katawhan. Importante ang papel niyang gihuptan para sa kausaban kay mahimo niya paghabwa sa mga ulod ug bitok sa kolektibong kaisipan sa katawhan. Ang panulat makapaamgo sa katawhan sa ilang mga hiwing panghunahuna ug dubok nga panglantw.

Ug ang kaamgohan mao man ang inahan sa kausaban.

Apan sa hisgutanang kausaban, ang katawhan lamang maoy tinuod nga motibong puwersa sa pagmugnag kasaysayan, dili ang intelligentsia, dili ang mga magsusulat, bisan pa man kun ang magsusulat usa sa mga tigpabukal og damgo. Hinonoa, ang maong damgo angayng maitos sa hinugpong handurawan sa katawhan. Ug kini mahimo lamang kun ang kinabag-an sa katawhan makasalmot sa mga kalihokang pangliteratura. Buot ipasabot, literaturang gikan sa masang Filipino para sa masang Filipino – usa ka literaturang mohimpos sa kalingkawasan sa katawhan gikan sa kolonyal nga panglantaw ug uban pang hiwi ug dunot nga kaisipan.

Unsay bili sa literaturang naglutaw sa panganod, wala magtugkad sa kasingkasing sa katawhan? wala gisabak sa kaisipan ug balatian sa kinadaghanan? layo sa eksperyensiya ug kinabuhi sa masa?

Subay niini, walay tinuod nga kalingkawasan kun ang atong literature wala gisaulog sa lumadnong dila – sa “inahang dila sa kaliwat” nga rnaoy angay himayaon sa iyang kadungganan, ug angayng pahinungdan sa tibuok natong katakos ug paninguha. Subo palandongon nga kadaghanan sa atong mga magsusulat nagpakahanas sa langyawng lengguwahe, apan yungit sa kaugalingong pinulongan. Nagminaot ta sa pag-isip sa atong kaugalingon nga hawod mo-iningies. Konohay, Mingles ta kun maghunahuna. Wala na tay pagtamod sa pinulongan sa atong kagikan. Hambogero kaayo tang moingon nga Mingles maoy atong “first language”. Ug labaw pa kasalawayon niini, dili lang kay gisalikway nato ang atong lumadnong pinulongan, ato pa gyud kining gitamay, giyam-iran, gibiaybiay, gikataw-an, giyatakyatakan. Sa atong pagdalayeg sa pamalak sa langyawng lengguwahe mabiaybiayon tang magkanayon, “Poetry is not for pedestrians” (Ang pamalak dili para sa mga nagtiniil).

Kun ang.lengguwahe “diwa o kalag sa kaliwat”, unsay gidangatan sa kalag sa mga tawongnagsalikway sa pinulongan sa Hang kaliwat ugmisagop na hinoon sa langyawng dila? Gawas sa lagom nilang panit, dili na mailhang Pinoy kay nausab na ang karakter sa ilang tingog. Muna-muna sa ginhawa nilang exercise sa ilang dila aron moparehas sa dila sa Amerikano. Ug tuod man, may pipila kanila milampos pagkat-on sa kahibulongang swerswers, ug maayo na kaayong mopahungaw sa pislat nilang ilong sa ilang mga pulong.

Palandongag maayo. Di ba dako kaayo tang kataw-anan?

Sa pagkatinuod, kitang gitugahag katakos sa lengguwahe nagpakabuang sa atong kaugalingon. Sa atong pagtuo, hawod na ta. Pero ang kamatuoran, wala ta makaalinggat sa unsay angay, sa unsay husto, sa unsay gikinahanglan. Siyaro, sa kalantip sa atong salabutan, wa gyud ta makakita sa abnormalidad o anomalya sa atong sitwasyon? Bisan unsang pangatarungan na lang atong gipasibaw aron depensahan ang dako natong kakwanggol.

Mokatawa ta ugmoyam-id sa mga dili-kaayo-kamao mo-mingles. Pero, wala ta kaagpas nga kita diay maoy dakongsalawayon. Ug kita maoy dakog impluwensiya aron sila usab mag-o-iningles. Atonggihimong kataw-anan ang atong kaugalingong kaliwat. Imbis kitay sanglitanan sa paghigugma sa atong kaugalingong dila, kita na hinooy miunay pagyatak niini. Maoy atong gigamit ang sumbanan o istandard sa mga langyaw sa pagsukod sa atong alampat. Maoy hinungdan nga gikataw-an ug gitamay nato ang mga mugna sa halayo sa akademya o di ba hinoon, wala makatagbaw sa western standard nga atong gisagop.

Sa ingon niining sitwasyon, kitang mga magsusulat diay ang angayng unahon pagpurga aron mahabwa ang mga ulod ug bitok sa atong kalag!

Ingon niini ta ka alyenado. Ingon niini ta ka binilanggo sa langyawng kultura, langyawng lengguwahe, ug langyawng sumbanang elitista. Ang pangutana ug hagit: Manlimbasog ba ta paglingkawas ning salawayon ug makauulawng sitwasyon? O magpadayon lang ta pagpaunlod sa huyong-huyong sa pagpaka-aron-ingnon?

Tapuson ko kining akongpamulong pinaagi sa pagbasa og uska balak—

[Refer to the Original Copy]

Daghang salamat sa inyong pagpamati. Hinaot unta nga ang temang “pauli sa pinulongang namat-ag”.
 
Mga Uod at Bulate ng Kaluluwa

May isang kuwento. Si Felipa na isang dalagang Bisaya umuwi bilang balikbayan galing sa Amerika. Ayaw na niyang magpatawag sa kanyang palayaw na Epang. Bulol na siya magbisaya at maraming salitang Bisaya ang hindi na niya maintindihan. Si Naldo na isang matandang binata ang nangungursanada kay Felipa at palaging nasa bahay ng dalaga.

Isang hapon, namasyal si Felipa sa tabingdagat kasama si Naldo. Nang Makita ang isang bangkang de layag, tuwang tuwa si Felipa at sumigaw, “Wow, dhat’s a seylbowt!”

Si Naldo’y nakikilig sa pagi-ingles ni Felipa at umuusal sa sarili, “Sibot sa imong lubot… layag man na”

Mayamaya biglang tumahak si Felipa sa dagat, pero nakaapak siya ng tuyom at napasigaw sa tindi ng sakit, “Agaaaay, Naldo!”

Napatawa si Naldo, ‘Da, agay ka man lagi…” (Ayan, nag-agay ka rin…)

May isa pang kuwento. Si Ms. Duhaypusod na maestra sa Grade III nagpasimuno ng patakarang pagmumulta sa kanyang mga pupil kapag nahuling nagsasalita ng binisaya: “25 centavos per Bisayan word,” sabi niya.

Isang araw, pinatayo niya ang isang pupil, “Felix, use dog in the sentence.”

Kamot sa ulo si Feliz, pero nakapag-recite rin, “Pader an Mader dog lasnayt, mam!”

Nag-apoy ang mata ng maestra at sa matigas na boses, “Felix, gib me 25 centabos. You spik one Bisayan word.”

“Mam, ikaw sad main, ingon kag dog,” nagprotesta ang bata.

“Felix, you gib me additional P1.50 because you spik 6 Bisayan words,” nagbaba ng hatol si Ms. Duhaypusod.

“Mam, nomor mane, mam! Pangwarta man nang imo, mam…” at tumakbo si Felix palabas ng room. Nagalit ang titser, sumigaw, “Hoy, hoy! Balik ka rito, wa kay batasan ha!”

Ang dalawang maiikling salaysay ito ay lalagumin ko sa isang awit na nilikha ko may ilang taon nang nakalipas —

Estranghero
REFRAIN:

[Refer to the Original Copy]

Mga HIGALA: Ang nilalarawan ng maiikling salaysay at ng awit ay walang iba kundi ang mga taongnapapalayo sa sariling lahi—ang mga alyenado o alienated na mga Filipino. Tayo ang mga alyenado. Tayo yaong napawalay sa sariling lahi at naanod at natapon sa ibang dalampasigan. At yumakap sa kulturang dayuhan na siyang nagbibilanggo sa ating kaluluwa.

Kung mayroon mang dapat makalaya mula sa pagkabilanggo sa dayuhang kultura, yaoy walang iba kundi tayong nasa sector ng intelligentsia. Tayo ang mga bagong ilustrados. Hindi ignorante sa kasaysayan, ngunit hindi naleleksiyon rig kasaysayan. Kung mayroong dapat isasalang sa usaping “panulat bilang mapaglayang sining” (writing as liberative art), iyan ay walang iba kundi tayong nasa sector na nagiculcunwaring sangkap sa dunong at talino sa larangan ng panitikan at kultura.

Sa katunayan, ang usaping “panulat bilang mapagpalayang sining” ay napakamaselang usapin. Subalit dapat talakayin alang-alang sa ating sariling pag-unlad, o di kaya’y katubusan. Maselan, sapagkat di maiiwasang ungkatin dito ang isyu ng wika. At kung pag-uusapan ay wika, hindi tin maiiwasang masangkot ang usaping: Alin ang nararapat ipakatangi at pakamahalin — ang dayuhan o ang katutubong wika?

Sa aking palagay, may dalawang antas ang pagiging mapagpalaya ng literatura — mapagpalaya sa indibiduwal na antas at mapagpalaya sa panlipunang antas. Sa indibiduwal na antas, ang pagigingmapagpalaya ng literatura ay nakasalalay sa prinsipyo ng malayang pamamahayag. Puwedeng lagutin ng isang indibiduwal ang mga gapos sa kanyang kaluluwa, dahil puwede niyang bigyang daan sa tula, kuwento at anupamang anyo ng panitikan ang kanyang mga pangarap, mga mithiin at mga rimarim sa buhay. Ang indibiduwal na pakikibaka maaaring naglalayong humulagpos mula sa pagkakatali sa tradisyon—sa mga lumang paniniwala at nakasanayang kaparaanan at tuntunin. Nangyayari ito sa larangan ng panitikan: ang pangahas na pagtakas sa makaluma at pagtuklas ng bagong lagusan rig ekspresyon sa panulaan at pagkukwento.

Sa panlipunang antas, taglay ng manunulat ang malaking katunglculan sa lipunan. Wala siyang pagkakaiba sa mambabatas na kung saan ang kanyang panitik ay maaaring humubog ng mga konsepto na magiging kasangkapan tungo sa pagbabago sa pananaw ng sambayanan. Mahalaga ang papel !Ilya para sa pagbabago. Pwede niyang palabasin ang mga uod at bulate sa kolektibong kaisipan ng sambayanan. Ang impluwensiya ng kanyang panitik nakapagpatanto ng sambayanan sa mga baluktot na pananaw at bulok na kaisipan sa lipunan.

At ang pagkatanto, alam na natin, ang siyang ina ng pagbabago. At sa usaping pagbabago, ang sambayanan lamang ang siyang tunay na motibong puwersa sa paglikha ng kasaysayan, hindi ang intelligentsia, hindi ang mga manunulat, bagama’t ang manunulat ay isa sa mga taga-ukit sa pangarap, haraya at bangungot ng masa. At ito’y magagampanan lamang kung ang nakarararning mamamayan ay kasangkot sa paglikha ng literatura. Ibig sabihin, “literaturang mula sa masa at para sa masa” —isang literaturang hahantong sa paglaya ng sambayanan mula sa mga gapos ng kolonyal na pananaw at ba pang mga baluktot at bulok na kaisipan.

Anong kahalagahan ng literaturang nakalutang sa himpapawid, hindi nakalapat sa kasingkasing ng sambayanan? hindi kinakanlong ng kaisipa’t damdamin ngnakararami? hiwalay sa karanasan at buhay-buhay ng masa?

Alinsunod dito, walang tunay na kalayaan kung ang literatura ay hindi ipinagdiriwang sa inangwika7sa “wika ng lahi”–na siyang dapat itinatangi, pinagpupuri at hinahandugan ng buong kakayahan natin at tiyaga. Malungkot isiping karamihan sa ating mga manunulat ang nagpakadalubhasa sa dayuhang wika ngunit bulol sa sariling wika. Mapagmalaki tayong nagpapahayag na “ingles tayo kung mag-isip.” Hindi na natin kinikilala’t ginagalang ang ating lahing pinaggalingan. Hambog mating sasabihing ingles ang ating “first language.” At ang pinakamasahol pa, hindi lang natin itinakwil ang ating wikang kinamulatan, ito’y hinahamak natin, nilalait natin, iniismiran natin, pinagtatawanan natin, niyuyurakan natin. Sa kapupuri sa panulaang ingles, mapanglait tayong nagwiwika, “Poetry is not for pedestrians” (Mg tula ay hindi para sa mga nakapaa).

Kung ang wika ay “kaluluwa ng lahi,” napaano ang kaluluwa ng mga nagtatakwil sa wika ng lahi at ang niyayakap ay dayuhang Bukod sa kulay ng kanilangbalat, mahirap silang makilalang Pinoy sapagkat nag-iba ma ang tunog ng kanilang pananalita. Pinag-exercise nila nang todo ang kanilang dila para maging kapareha ng sa Amerikano. At totoo namang mayroong mangilan-ngilan sa kanilang natuto rim sa mahiwagang swerswers, at pahumal na rim kung magsalita kahit pislat ang kanilang mga ilong.

Pag-isipang maigi. Di ba’t ang laki ng pagiging katatawanan natin?

Sa totoo lang, tayong pinagkalooban ng kakayahan sa wika ay nagpakaloko sa ating sarili. Sa ating akala’y napakagaling na natin. Ngunit mahirap isiping hindi natin nalilirip kung alias ang karapatdapat, kung alin ang wasto, kung alias ang kinakailangan. Sa sobrang talas ng ating isipan ay hindi natin nakikita ang malaking abnormalidad natin upang ipagtanggol ang ating malaking kakwanggolan.

Tumatawa tayo at umiismid sa mga di-gaanongmarunong mag-ingles. Pero, hindi natin tanto na tayo ang kamuhi-muhi. At may malaking impluwensiya sa kanila sa pagsusumikap nilang mag-ingles. Ginawa nating katatawanan ang ating sariling lahi. At imbis na tayo ang maging modelo sa pagmamahal sa sariling wika, tayo pa ang yumuyurak nitol Ginagamit natin ay pamantayang dayuhan sa pagpapahalaga sa ating sining Kaya’t walang ibinabatbat at pinagtatawanan natin ang mga likhang sining ng malayo s a akademya o di kaya’y hindi nagIcasiya sa pamantayang kanluranin na ating kinukupkop.

Sa ganitong sitwasyon, tayong mga manunulat pala ang dapat maunang magpurga upang mapaalis ang mga uod at bulate sa ating kaluluwa!

Ganito tayo ka alyenado. Ganito tayo ka bilanggo sadayuhang kultura, dayuhang wika, at dayuhang pamantayang elitista. Ang tanong at hamon: Magsumikap ba tayong lumaya mula sa kasuklam-suklam at kahiyahiyang kalagayang ito? 0 hayaan na lang mating tuluyan tayong mabaon sa kumunoy ng pagkukunwari?

Wawakasan ko ang aking talastas sa pamamagitan ng pagbibigkas ng isang tula…

potahe exotika

halina’t ipagdiwang natin itong potaheng
hain mula sa bungong pinaglulutuan
ng ating dunong at katangahan

malaon na rim nating pinakukuluan
itong labis mating naiibigang laman
higit sa lahat ng karneng ating alam

lagi nating dinadagdagan ng tubig
ng di maiibsang pagmamahal
at puspusang pagsasanay

binab an tayan, ginagatungan natin
ating sarili madalas natin utu-utuin
madali lang ang karneng ito lutuin

nasisiyahan tayo sa sariling kakayahan
luwalhati para sa atin ang makahigop
sa sabaw ng kanyang kahiwagaan

pero ngayon panga nati’y nangangalay
sa kangunguya nitong singtigas-ng-goma
ng-unit pinakamamahal nating dayuhang dila.

Maraming salamat po sa inyong pakikinig. Sana ang temang “return to literary art” ay magiging “batik sa katutubong wika.”

Marital Rape: The Case of Remedios Baudon

The search for Remedios Baudon finally ended when I tracked her pr down to her “hiding place,” the Camp Domingo Leonor, which   is the seat of Davao City police command. A most unusual refuge, I thought then, for rape victim-survivors like Remedios, to have taken shelter in the police barracks.

My search for her began when the Women’s Feature Service (WFS) asked me to write a story about Remedios who had just won a conviction against her husband for marital rape, the first Filipino woman perhaps to have ever come forward and sue her husband for marital rape. Despite its significance though, the story merited scant attention from the media, which at most carried the story in the inside pages and merely detailing gory, graphic facts of the rape.

I was no different actually from the rest. While I knew that marital rape is now penalized under the new Anti-Rape Law, it remained an abstract legal parlance for lawyers like me. Marital rape, while not expressly defined by law, is now tacitly recognized because of the provision that “a husband may be the offender of a rape charge and the wife the offended party.” It took an assignment for the WFS that made me see the extent and prevalence of marital rape, how it has been a living, tangible reality for many married women, how it shatters lives, homes and dignity, and how, for one woman, it meant losing a baby.

Until now, four years after it was passed, the innovation brought by the Anti-Rape Law is not known to people outside feminist groups and the legal community. ” That woman is crazy,” a taxi driver commented when told about the conviction of Remedios’s husband, Eleuterio, who was also a driver of the same company. ‘No wife in her right mind would want her husband arrested, much more accuse him of raping her.”

In a culture that regards sex in marriage as “wifely duty,” marital rape is a fiction, an aberration, an exception. “Traditionally, marriage is understood in our culture to include the marital obligation of spouses to give each other the right to each other’s body,” writes Presbitero J. Velasco, Jr.,(1998) a justice of the Philippine Court of Appeals. Thus, it comes as no surprise that the criminalization of marital rape was met with apprehension for its possible “negative impact on the family and the adverse psycho-social and emotional repercussions to children.” Marital rape is regarded as a threat by some, fearing that it may be “detrimental and inimical to the preservation of marriage.”

Because marriage in the Philippines is an inviolable social institution, the state has a duty to protect it at all costs. Prior to the Anti-Rape Law, a husband cannot be guilty of rape of his own wife because of the “matrimonial consent which she gave when she assumed the marriage relation.”

“There is a tension in our society between those who want all women to be protected from sexual assault and those who are concerned about protecting the marital relationship,” declares Mittie D. Sutherland in her 1992 article, “Assaultive Sex: The Victim’s Perspective.” It is this sort of tension that I wanted to explore in this paper. And so one November morning I entered the gate of Camp Domingo Leonor, armed with copies of the court decision, case stenographic notes, and a few notes on marital rape downloaded from the Internet. I asked directions from the sentry and found myself in the office of my “contact,” Police Major Lorna Molina. She introduced me to Remy whom I had expected to be someone younger. Enough of the myths that I myself had fallen prey to, portraying rape victims to be young, virginal-looking women. Remedios is 38 years old, but just as defenseless and vulnerable, I would later learn, and this is her story:

I come from a small barrio called Lica, in Mlang, Cotabato, the tenth of 15 children of a farmer. When my father died, I left to work as a househelp in Davao City. Years later, I was hired as canteen helper in a hospital. In the city, I had no relatives, only a few friends in the boarding house where I stayed. One Sunday, my friends invited me to go to the park. I refused but they were insistent, so finally I relented. What I didn’t know then was that they were setting me up for a ‘blind date’ with a man named Eleuterio.

I met him in the park. Soon after, my friends left me with him. When I insisted on going home, he offered to accompany me. We rode a taxi but I started to notice something unusual when the places became unfamiliar to me. ‘This is not the way to my boarding house,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry,’ I remembered him saying, ‘I’m taking you to my house because it is late. It is not safe for women to be alone at night.’ It was then that I got scared, but I didn’t know how to go home. Finally, we arrived in a house where there were children and adults. His relatives, he said. Seeing the children somehow assured me that maybe he meant no harm. He brought me to a room and left me very soon. I fought off sleep but I was very tired that I dozed off. Sometime in the middle of the night, when all was silent, I woke to find him all over on top of my body. I pleaded for him not to touch me. But he raped me, threatening to harm me if I shouted for help.

Soon after the rape, I left my boarding house. But he was able to hunt me down by following me from the hospital where I worked. Not long after, he forced open the lock of my rented room and waited for me. When I arrived, I was surprised to see him and immediately asked for him to leave. But he insisted on staying, saying that he intended to live with me. I had no choice but to allow him because I was afraid and he already ‘touched’ me.

In my barrio, I had a neighbor who was beaten up (gikulata) by her brothers for having been ‘touched’ by a man. A woman who has been ‘touched’ loses her honor if the man does not marry her. I was afraid of getting pregnant because I have seven brothers. If they found out that I had been ‘touched,’ they might beat me up also.

At first, he was very sweet and kind, trying to woo me. But I never loved him. After a month, the beatings started. He came home drunk all the time, and I suspected, high on drugs. He would kick and punch my breast, my back, thighs and legs. He got a kick out of seeing me covered with blood first before having sex with me. I often refused because it was very painful. He wanted to do it the way animals do it, he said, ‘doggie style.’ He loved it when I had menstruation because he was happy to see blood.

Still, I pretended to be happy and remained hopeful that maybe someday he would change. I even brought him to my barrio to meet my mother and brothers. No one ever knew the ordeal that I suffered with him, not my mother, my brothers, or even our board mates. They did not know that he treated me like a pig.

After a year and half of `living-in’ with him, he proposed marriage. He said that when I become his wife, I would be his property and he could do anything with me. I remembered answering back, `Maybe you mean to beat me up.’ Still, I consented thinking that maybe he would change when I become his wife and the mother to his child. But I was wrong. He never became husband to me because he was often away for days, for weeks, and came home once in a while only to have sex with me. And the beatings became worse.

I was three months pregnant when he came home on the morning of September 4, 1999. He barged into the door and found me folding clothes on the floor. let’s play basketball,’ he said. Every time I heard him say that, I crouched it? fear for I knew what he meant. I refused, fearful of my baby in my womb. But he dragged me to the floor, ripped my underwear, and forced himself on me. Soon after, I found blood in my genitals. He left me soon after. That same night, he returned to rape me again despite the pain. And the bleedings did not stop. Two days later, I brought myself to the hospital where I was told that I had a miscarriage.

Ten days later, he returned. Despite my condition, he demanded sex again. When I refused, he held a knife in my neck and forced me to have sex. ‘Better kill me now I can no longer bear the pain. I am not a dog: I pleaded with him. I spent days and nights crying over the loss of my baby and the pain in my genitals. I wandered on the streets like a crazed woman not knowing where to go. One time, I found myself entering a house where an old woman took pity on me. I was desperate and wanted to kill myself. But she told me that if I did, I could not give my baby justice and my husband would only be laughing at my dead body. I went to San Pedro Church and asked my baby to help me seek justice against the father who killed her. The Lord is truly kind because right after the church, I found myself entering the Camp Domingo Leonor where I accidentally met Maj. Molina who is my town mate. Not only did she give me food and shelter, she helped me file a case. A few months later, my husband was arrested and was found guilty by the court Now I am happy because my baby was finally given justice.

The Remy Baudon Case: A Profile of Marital Rape Victim-Survivor

Remy’s case is a complex one, composed of multi-faceted layers that had to be plucked bit by bit in order to be comprehended. Taken from a legal standpoint, the crimes committed by her husband were the following rape (the sexual assault during the first date, but was condoned when Remy entered into marriage with the offender), physical injuries (wife-battering), marital rape aggravated by the fact of pregnancy which makes the crime heinous, and intentional abortion (for the miscarriage because the husband knew that she was pregnant at the time of the sexual assault).

But Remy was not aware that her husband had committed violations against her person and honor. Perhaps it was the societal expectations of her as she had perceived that deterred her from seeking protection. Coming from a barrio where virginity is equated with chastity, her belief is that women should marry the man with whom she had her first sexual contact. A woman who loses her virginity outside of marriage also loses her honor and place in society.

Based on these perceptions and beliefs, it is logical to conclude that it was more out of fear, fear of being punished by her family and society that compelled her to keep her burden in secrecy and shame. (If they (brothers) found out that I had been ‘touched,’ they might beat me up also) It was also out of this fear of rejection by family and society that made her allow her perpetrator to live with her, that made her enter into a loveless marriage, which is also to a certain extent, a form of salvaging a “damaged honor.” Through marriage and pregnancy, she also believed that the ordeal would stop, that the beatings would cease. But these proved to be false hopes.

Through all these, she bore her sufferings in silence. “I pretended to be happy and remained hopeful,’ again rising to the expectations of society that married couples are supposed to be living in wedded bliss. Besides, she believed that it was her obligation, “a wifely duty,” to submit to her husband’s sexual needs.

It took the life of the baby in her womb for the ordeal to stop when the interventions came—police, judiciary, religious, and women’s support groups.

Societal Perceptions on Rape

“For feminist researchers, rape is ultimately a result of sex role stereotyping in the form of learned gender roles,” Sutherland notes. “Society labels behavior as feminine or masculine based on early socialization, which is reinforced by the normative, institutional, and legal structures of the society!”

Society perceives rape as a forced intercourse in which the vagina is penetrated by the penis and ejaculation results. There must also be some form of resistance from the victim, who sustains injuries in warding off the attack, who immediately reports the attack to the police. She must not also be a woman of loose morals. The perpetrator is a psychopathic stranger, and there is a witness to the assault. Sutherland says, “Such perceptions shape the ways we as a society respond to rape in legal definitions, criminal justice system responses, and the way we treat the rape victim. The perceptions also influence the victim’s response to the rapeevent, which partly explains why the incidences of rape remain underreported.”

Two theories are presented as to the motives for rape: (1) as an act of male dominance and (2) as a simple act of aggression. Sutherland (quoting Gordon and Riger 1989) however says rape is really a form of male dominance and thatwomen have been carefully socialized to this viewpoint. Feminists see rape as an ” extreme form of sexual exploitation and as a violent method to keep women in their place,” Sutherland notes. “Male dominance in the form of rape is merely aggressive behavior towards women, which is an inevitable part of the culture. Males are socialized to be the aggressive seducer and females to be passive prey and sex objects.”

Sutherland (quoting Knight, Rosenberg, and Schneider 1985) reviews the various profile types of rapists and classifies them into three groups as follows: ‘One is aggressive during the offense either to enhance his sense of power or masculinity or to express feelings of mastery and conquest. A second commits rape out of anger toward women and seeks to hurt, humiliate, and degrade his victim. He becomes sexually aroused in response to violence and commits brutal, sometimes bizarre assaults. The final type has an extensive criminal history; sexual offenses are only one component of any impulsive, antisocial lifestyle.”

Remedios’s husband displayed acts which are deemed to be a combination of the first two—aggressiveness and anger. I want to marry so I can do anything with you.

The Occurrence of Marital Rape

An Act of Violence

Most researchers agree that rape in marriage is an act of violence–an abuse of power by which a husband attempts to establish dominance and control over his wife (Bergen 1999).

A strong indication supporting the theory that marital rape is an act of violence are the research findings that majority of women who are raped by their partners are also battered. Called “battering rapes,” the victims experience both physical and sexual violence in the relationship. “Some are battered during the sexual violence, or the rape may follow a physically violent episode where the husband wants to ‘make up’ and coerces his wife to have sex against her will,” -Bergen also says.

Other women also experience “sadistic’ or “obsessive” rape which involve “torture and/or `peverse’ sexual acts and are often physically violent.” Husbands also often rape their. wives ” when they are asleep, or use coercion, verbal threats, physical violence or weapons to force their wives to have sex.”

By Remy’s account, Eleuterio would beat her either before or after the rape, and liked to engage in perverse sexual acts.

The Risk Factor

There is no composite picture of a husband-rapist but these men are often portrayed as “jealous, domineering individuals who feel a sense of entitlement to have sex with their property.” However, some risk factors are cited, which include the following “women who are already battered, pregnancy, being ill or recently discharged from the hospital, drug and alcohol use by the abuser.” Strikingly, many of these factors are present in the Baudon case, which only highlight the fact that Remy was victimized because she was particularly vulnerable, having no friends, relatives and other support systems.

The Effects of Marital Rape

Marital rape often has severe and long-lasting trauma for victim-survivors. The physical effects of marital rape may include “injuries to the vaginal and anal areas, lacerations, soreness, bruising, torn muscles, fatigue and vomiting.” Campbell and Alford (1989) report that one half of the marital rape survivors in their sample were kicked, hit or burned during sex.

Specific gynecological consequences or marital rape include “vaginal stretching, miscarriages, stillbirths, bladder infections, infertility and the potential contraction of sexually-transmitted diseases.” The rape caused Remy’s miscarriage. According to a medical report of the Davao Medical Center, it was caused by trauma in the cervix during sexual intercourse which may occur when it is done without the women’s consent.

Sutherland also says, “sexual assault is a severe, traumatic, and often life-threatening event from which many victims never fully recover.”

The Prevalence of Marital Rape

Throughout the history of most societies, it has been acceptable for men to force their wives to have sex against their will. This legal exemption is traced back to Sir Matthew Hale, Chief Justice in 17th Century England when he wrote, “The husband cannot be guilty of a rape committed by himself upon his lawful wife, for by their matrimonial consent and contract, the wife hath given herself in kind unto the husband which she cannot retract” (quoted in Russell 1990). Because of this, wives have been treated as the property of their husbands and the marriage contract is deemed an entitlement of sex.

However, the pioneering researches made on marital rape reveal that it is an “extremely prevalent form of sexual violence,” accounting for approximately 25 percent of all rapes (Randall & Haskall 1995, cited in Bergen). Researches also estimate that between 10% and 14% of married women experience rape in marriage.

Despite the prevalence of marital rape, this problem has received little attention from social scientists, practitioners, the criminal justice system, and the larger society as a whole. “It was not until the 1970s that we began, as a society, to acknowledge that rape in marriage could even occur,” Bergen observes.

The same may be said in the Philippines where marital rape is yet to gain public attention. “Many Filipino wives do not realize that they have a right over their bodies,” says Sister Josephine Bacaltos, executive director of the Women Network Group, a consortium of women groups in Davao City. “Treated as chattels or property by their husbands, a lot of women become resigned to their fate, until it reaches a point that their bodies can not take it anymore,” she says.

Remy is only one among scores of women physically injured and raped by their husbands or live-in partners. The Coalition Against Trafficking of Women reports that husbands account for 53.8 percent of the perpetrators of domestic violence and rape. More than half of the victims are married.

In Southern Mindanao, husbands comprise more than half of the perpetrators of the 719 reported cases of violence against women (VAW) from June to December 1999, according to the National Statistical Coordination Board.

Four out of 100 respondents in Southern Mindanao were also physically harmed while pregnant, a figure higher than the national rate of only three out of 100 women. This may be due to the campaign by women’s groups urging women to report VAW cases.

While these statistics show the rise of domestic violence, there is scant data on the extent of marital rape in the Philippines. So far, only Remy has filed a case in Davao City and won a conviction.

Feminist researcher Rosena Sanchez, co-coordinator of the Ateneo Task Force on Gender, Sexuality and Reproductive Health, says that while there is yet no local research done on marital rape, the issue crops up in forum group discussions among women in the communities. She cites in particular a 1996 study made among women working in one of the banana plantations in Davao.

The women, according to Sanchez, even coined a term – “Langkat Panty” – to refer to the act by which the husbands force their wives to have sex. Hyperbolically, the women described their “panties as being stretched to a kilometer” by their husbands when they refused, prompting them to wear two kinds of panties: one with garter in the morning, and one without a garter in the evening.

Triumph

“I was convinced that she was telling the truth,” explains Judge Renato Fuentes of the Regional Trial Court in Davao City when asked why he sentenced Eleuterio Baudon to reclusion perpetua. His decision states: “It is now clear and definite that a husband cannot utilize his right of sexual intercourse with his wife, perfunctorily as he pleases, without the consent and cooperation of the wife.”

His landmark decision is being hailed as a “breakthrough in jurisprudence” by women advocates, which they say is also sending a strong message to husbands that they can no longer force themselves upon the wife.

Remy is earning commendation for paving the way for other women to come forward and for showing them that they have a chance. ” We are demystifying the people’s belief that marital rape cannot happen. But it does, even in love marriages,” says Lyda Canson, executive director of the Bathaluman Crisis Center.

Remy’s triumph was not hers alone—it was shared by a network of institutions and support systems: the police, the judiciary and the women’s support groups such as the Woment and the Bathaluman. Much of the credit belongs to the Women’s and Children’s Desk of Davao City police, who assisted her in a tedious formal process that ranged from blotter reports, evidence gathering, the filing and prosecution case, the arrest of the offender, the court trials, up to the conviction. Not only were they present in all these stages, the WCD police, in particular Major Molina, also took her into custody by providing board and lodging in Camp Domingo Leonor.

Remy though was not able to hire a private prosecuting lawyer because she could not afford one. But there was a fiscal who understood her case and who was able to prosecute it successfully towards conviction. The judge was sympathetic and readily acknowledged the existence of marital rape sans the prejudices and biases that are usually attendant in sexual assault cases.

Conclusions

The novelty of the Baudon case has brought about a felt need to study and understand the whole concept of marital rape which represents “the changing tide of legal innovations,” as Judge Fuentes describes it. It is so because the penalization of marital rape is the fruit of lobbying efforts made by women to break down cultural barriers on gender-biased discrimination. It challenges well-entrenched beliefs and myths adhered to by traditional society which sanctions and perpetuates the continued oppression of women, a challenge also addressed to the institutions that bind society.

Remy Baudon is a victim, not by her husband alone, but also by us, the institutions, and society as a whole. Her perceptions on the expectations demanded of her as a woman, perpetuated by our culture itself, are the culprit to her bondage—physical, emotional and mental. To some measure, we stand as her aggressors also, and despite the abundance of socio-legal protective measures, we have failed to protect and defend her.

Were it not for the death of an innocent (the fetus in her womb), the interventions would not have come into play. Instinctively, we sheltered her from life’s blows because she was a mother agonizing over the death of a baby. It was not so much because she was a wife—oppressed, beaten and raped by a husband—it was more out of pity and mercy on her as a mother who lost her baby.

But while society failed her at the start, it was the institutions which delivered her from oppression. Society was able to recover from its failure, to deliver its intervention and assistance, to liberate her from her ordeal. While this society is torn schizophrenically between traditional cultural beliefs and the recognition of woman’s struggle for gender equality, it can still resolve its conflicts and strive to correct its faults and errors.

Cyberspace as a Political Public Sphere

People aspire for the opportunity to participate in the political processes promised by a democratic government. In the context of nation-states, however, this mass appeal of democracy makes the very practice of democracy problematic. The citizens are too numerous to be present in the public spaces where political deliberation and decision-making take place. They can only be represented, therefore, by a few that the public spaces can accommodate. Representation, then, simply means the exclusion of the large majority from active participation in the processes o f governance.

Research on democratic theory partly includes research on spaces for active political participation other than the parliamentary halls. Technological advances have offered partial solutions to the problem. In his work, the German philosopher Juergen Habermas (The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere: An Inquiry Into a Category of Bourgeois Society. Translated by Thomas McCarthy [Cambridge, Mass., The MIT Press, 1982]) explores the contributions of the mass media in expanding spaces for participation. While print and broadcast media have allowed for the massive spread of information, they do not provide opportunities for interaction. They have only promoted a form of governance in which the citizens are mere clients and consumers of political products prepared by press relations officers of the administration.

A very promising area of democratic theory research is that which is opened by the Internet revolution. The Internet revolution has presented itself not only as a technological revolution but, more importantly, as a social revolution. It has generated structures that have important implications on social relations.

For this paper, I will reflect on the virtual reality of cyberspace as a communication medium and a locus of communicative relations, in relation to the social philosophy of Juergen Habermas. I will explore the promising aspects of cyberspace as a public space for active, democratic political participation. The question is: Can cyberspace be a political public sphere in the Habermasian sense? First, I will present cyberspace and its communicative structure. Second, I will present Juergen Habermas’s understanding of the liberal public sphere and the principles operative in it. Finally, I will show how cyberspatial conditions approximate the liberal public sphere, thereby revealing the political importance of cyberspace as an area for discourse.

Cyberspace

Cyberspace refers to that virtual space created by computer systems networked to each other, like the Internet. It was a term first coined by William Gibson in his science fiction novel, Neuromancer. In cyberspace, events occur and have relative position and direction, but not in the three-dimensional manner of events in real space (Bryan Pfaffenberger and David Wall, One’s Computer and Internet Dictionary, 6th Edition, 126). Here, spatial boundaries break down.

Cyberspace owes its being to the United States military through their Advanced Research Projects Agency (ARPA). They wanted to “increase their command and control capability by enabling communication across a variety of physically dissimilar media, including satellites.” They also wanted “to create a robust network capable of withstanding outages, such as those that might result from a nuclear exchange.” In the event of a nuclear strike, they planned a scenario wherein the heads of the different branches of government are housed in different bunkers, but are in constant and secured communication with each other. This scenario allows the government to remain in control despite a nuclear war (Pfaffenberger and Wall, 30).

The network’s success as a communication medium prompted the expansion of linkages beyond the military and its partner agencies and universities. The network was capable of such an expansion because “its technology allows virtually any system to link to it via an electronic gateway” (Pfaffenberger and Wall, 269). Thus, today, almost every country is wired to the Internet. Millions of government, corporate, educational, organizational, and personal computers and computer networks are linked together into what has been called the “community of networks.”

Cyberspace, as a locus created by a network of computer networks, is primarily a medium for communication. Persons communicate through computers linked with each other by means of technology designed for audio, video and data communications. A computer installed with a network card or a modem can hook up through telephone to an Internet

Service Provider (ISP). These ISPs connect their computer network to other computer networks through telephone cables or satellite. Complementing these hardwares are communications softwares that allow a variety of forms of communication. The oldest forms of communication in the Internet are the electronic mail (e-mail) and the bulletin board system (BBS). The e-mail is the fast version of the postal mail, pejoratively called snail mail. Linked by high-speed data connections that cross national boundaries, e-mail lets you compose messages and transmit them in a matter of seconds to one or more recipients in your office, to another office in another city, or to a friend in another country.

The BBS is an electronic version Of the bulletin board. You can dial a BBS, post messages, upload and download public domain software, or play electronic games. Within the BBS, the newsgroup developed. This is a misnomer for seldom is there news here; discussion group is a more accurate name, but newsgroup has already taken root and is more commonly used. The newsgroup is a discussion group that is devoted to a single topic. Users post messages to the group, and those reading the discussion send reply messages to the author individually or post replies that can be read by everyone in the group. Both e-mail and BBS are interactive, but not real-time, communication utilities.

The Internet also offers interactive, real-time communications called “chat.” There are four types of chat forums available: the Multi-User Dungeon, Object-Oriented (MOO); the Internet Relay Chat (IRC); the Web (Java) Chat; and the ICQ (“I Seek You”). Chatting usually happens in a forum or conference where two or more callers, on-line at the same time, engage in conversation with each other by taking turns typing. The chat forum is capable of private and/or public exchange in real-time. In public channels, all chatters see in their monitors everything exchanged. Private conversation is also possible; technically, it is called “macking.”

All these communications taking place in cyberspace happen largely in the same way as face-to-face or telephone conversation. Unique cyberspatial conditions, however, have introduced new social organizations that traditional forms of communication can never produce. Intelligent, automated communication devices developed more recently have allowed the formation of virtual communities that transcend national, geographic and temporal boundaries.

Juergen Habermas’s analysis of the liberal public sphere will help us in understanding this novel phenomenon. The Habermasian theory will provide us with the criteria for presenting the necessary elements of cyberspace as a political space, as well as the clues for articulating its political implications.

The Liberal Public Sphere

Juergen Habermas’s political intention of furthering “the project of the Enlightenment” demanded a shift from a subject-centered “philosophy of consciousness” toward an intersubjective “paradigm of understanding” (Stephen K. White, Reason, Justice and Modernly: The Recent Work of Juergen Habermas. Cambridge, Mass., The MIT Press, 1980, 27). According to White (1980, 4), “[t]his paradigm focused on the structures of intersubjectivity which are implicit in the understanding achieved in ongoing linguistic interaction, or ‘communicative action’ as Habermas calls it”. Among Habermas’s earliest attempts on this paradigm-shift involved the reconstruction of a public sphere in which critical-rational discourse takes place. As Thomas McCarthy points out, the importance of this reconstruction lies in the idea central to democratic theory, which this sphere claims to embody: “that of rationalizing public authority under the institutionalized influence of informed discussion and reasoned agreement” (Habermas, xii).

A Public of Private People

The public sphere generally refers to a space where people gather together to achieve an aim that affects all, that is, the public. Habermas points out that civilized history is replete with public spheres. The pop’s of Ancient Greece was a public sphere. The masters gathered together to leave behind the privacy of their households and appeared before their equals to compete or act in common. In the Medieval Ages, the royal courts served as the public sphere. Monarchs and nobles represented their resplendent authority before the people, dispensing their regulations to loyal subjects. In the era of modern liberal societies, the educated, private people gather together in salons, “table-societies,” or townhalls. These modern public spheres are venues for announcing what they think of issues in literature and politics. The public sphere, therefore, is a locus where what is hidden from others appears; where what is absent presences; where what belongs to the individual becomes common. The public sphere, in other words, is that place characterized by publicity, by pronouncements to the public.

Habermas distinguishes the modem liberal public sphere from the classical public spheres of ancient Greek democracies and Medieval monarchies. The classical public spheres were composed of public authorities: masters of households, and monarchs and nobles. They were all public persons vested with the authority to run the state. The liberal public sphere, by contrast, is composed of “private people come together as a public” (Habermas, 27). These are ordinary individuals without public authority who, nevertheless, gather for a public purpose. Habermas traces the beginnings of the liberal public sphere to the rise of the bourgeois class.

The bourgeois class was made up of the educated, such as the doctors, pastors, officers, professors, schoolteachers, and scribes, and property-owning peoples, such as the “capitalists,” merchants, bankers, entrepreneurs, and manufacturers. They performed important social functions, but had no power to rule. They were, in other words, the civilians. Thus, Habermas also calls the liberal public sphere as the “public sphere of civil society.”

This franchise would later on be expanded. The bourgeois class would be joined by the working class, the black subcultures, and the feminists, to broaden this “public of private persons.” This expansion is not surprising. Habermas understands that this public sphere stands or falls on the principle of universal access. “A public sphere from which specific groups would be eo ipso excluded was less than merely incomplete, it was not a public sphere at all” (Habermas, 85). Publicity, therefore, also means universality. No individual or group can be excluded from participation in this sphere on the basis of economic status, race, gender, or any other basis for subgrouping.

Moreover, the liberal public sphere, as a gathering of private people completely disregarded status in their dealings with each other. They did not relate with each other as equals in rank; instead, they related with each other based on tact. This means that status and rank are not determining factors within the public sphere at all.

The Political Function of the Liberal Public Sphere

According to Habermas, the Greek model of the public sphere drew the citizenry together to act in common, performing such properly political tasks as administration of law and military survival. The medieval model drew the subjects together only to receive regulations from their rulers. In both models, the public sphere belonged to the sphere of public authority, performing state-related tasks. These public spheres functioned primarily for the regulation of the res publica. The liberal public sphere breaks away altogether from the sphere of public authority and into the private sphere, and turning into the “ruling authorities’ adversary”.

Habermas explains this shift by reminding us of the primarily private foundation of the triumphant commercial and financial capitalist enterprises in the sphere of civil society. The sphere of civil society is characterized by private initiative and laissez-faire operation that leaves everything to market laws. State authorities, however, still maintain mercantilist policies in dealings with private businesses. Habermas argues that mercantilism never favored state enterprises. While the state encourages private initiative to establish commercial and financial enterprises, the same state steps in to regulate these enterprises. The state, therefore, ambivalently promotes “the establishment and dissolution of private businesses run in a capitalist manner” (Habermas, 24). This ambivalence has led to a problematic relation not only between the state and the capitalists, but also between the state and the consumers, who are affected by these public regulations as well.

The state’s unwanted interference in the self-regulating system of free-market competition is seen as arbitrary and unpredictable. It precludes the rational calculation of profits that is to the interest of private persons functioning in a capitalist fashion (Habermas, 80). This state interference, therefore, has provoked civil society to become critical of public authority in private matters. Moreover, this public meddling also has transformed civil society’s reproduction of life through commodity exchange and social labor from the domain of private domestic authority into a subject of public interest (Habermas, 24). This has led to civil society’s critical reflection on and expounding of its interests. The liberal public sphere has attained its political function.

The private people gather together as a public to confront public authority on the issue of the regulation of civil society. They are out to claim “the public sphere regulated from above against the public authorities themselves” (Habermas, 27). This does not mean, however, that they are out to wrest control of the state itself and rule in its stead. What they aim at, rather, is the protection of the private sphere and its interests from state interference. They intend to engage public authority in “a debate over the general rules governing relations in the basically privatized but publicly relevant sphere of commodity exchange and social labor” (Habermas, 27). Thomas McCarthy expresses it as the attempt to replace “a public sphere in which the ruler’s power was merely represented before the people with a sphere in which the state authority was publicly monitored through informed and critical discourse by the people” (Habermas, xi). In other words, the liberal public sphere aims to make public authority accountable for its legislation. This is a demand to rationalize domination.

The rationalization of domination can only be achieved in two ways. The first is through the “full publicity of parliamentary deliberations” (Habermas, 63). This means that public authority must keep the public informed of all bases of political decisions. The press and the public hearings conducted by public authorities serve as institutional bases for this publicity. This requirement of publicity accomplishes the demand for rationalization, since it prompts public authority to propose legislation that can be rationally justified, and veer away from those that are purely whimsical. The publication of parliamentary deliberations leads to the inclusion of the public’s opinion in legislative matters.

The second way in which the rationalization of domination can be achieved is by submitting the political issues to the forum of the public of private people gathered together in a critical-rational debate. What may be an arbitrary decree of public authority becomes a rationally concluded, universal law when passed through the “public competition of private arguments” that aims at consensus or public opinion (Habermas, 83). In this sphere, power as the exercise of political will is transformed into the implementation of rational agreement. What makes this transformation possible is the public sphere’s use of communicative reason as a medium of political confrontation. The guiding principle of this medium is not feasibility, but universal agreement based on the unforced force of the better argument. Within this sphere, therefore, publicity is also operative. In other words, each one is allowed to express his views, his interests, his needs, his opinions and arrive at a position transcending private interests and expressing the public stand.

This rationalization of domination, according to Habermas, can only lead to the dissolution of domination altogether. As Habermas (82) says, “the binding of all state activity to a system of norms legitimated by public opinion already aimed at abolishing the state as an instrument of domination altogether”. In other words, in making public opinion the final forum for all political deliberations and decisions, public authority loses its power to dominate. But at the same time, the public sphere of private people renounces this power to rule. They are only interested in maintaining a domain free from coercion. Anyway, Habermas points out, sovereignty also cannot be attributed to public opinion at all.

Cyberspace As A Political Public Sphere

Like the liberal public sphere, cyberspace is a locus of human communicative relationships mediated by a network of computers. As such, cyberspace gathers people together and allows them to be present to each other. While there is interactivity, however, they are not present to each other in bodily form. Instead, their presence is simply as computer bits on a screen, usually in textual form. Their identities are indicated merely by Internet Protocol addresses. The usual bodily indicators of presence are not there. Nevertheless, it offers the advantage of being a broader sphere of interaction. There are no spatial boundaries that limit the number of participants in the public sphere. One of the major problems faced by the liberal public sphere when the franchise was expanded to accommodate everyone was “how to fit everyone inside the town halls.” The public spheres that were physical spaces have to address problems of communication and interaction when the public just became too large to fit inside the spaces. If everyone is to be informed, interactivity has to be sacrificed; if interactivity is to be maintained, the public has to be kept small, resulting in the marginalization of the rest. The broadcast media like the newspapers, the television and the radio solve the problem of information, but have to give up interactivity among the members of the public sphere. Habermas tells us that this compromise has resulted in reducing the public into mere consumers of information. Cyberspace as a broadcasting but interactive communicative structure addresses both problems of a large public sphere simultaneously. Newsgroups and chat forums have been structured by programmers for such a purpose.

Cyberspace, like the liberal public sphere, is also truly public in the sense that it is universally accessible. The liberal public sphere sets minimum requirements of communicative competence; cyberspace also sets minimum requirements of online communicative competence. Online communication competence refers to the ability of a person to hook into the Internet because of his having access to a computer with a modem, a telephone line, and an Internet Service Provider. Notice that I said “access to a computer” and not “have a computer.” This distinction is important because public Internet terminals are being established everywhere. For a surfing fee that is gradually becoming cheaper, anybody with a little cash to spare can now go online. Internet access is not anymore simply for the affluent; though it cannot be denied that they still have better access because of their affluence. Many libraries now have public terminals for their students. In the United States, the Clinton administration has embarked on a free public Internet terminal project for the least privileged members of American society. Most nations in the world are also already hooked up into the Internet. Access to cyberspace is not a First World privilege anymore. Log anytime and you can see people from even the poorest nations logged in also.

The chat software, servers and communication channels are all public domain—that is, free and easily accessible. The softwares have become user-friendly, especially the Windows-based ones. Minimum orientation is required to open the softwares and log into public channels. One Internet Relay Chat (IRC) guidebook boasts that all you need to graduate from “newbie”—jargon for a novice chatter—to professional chatter is familiarity with five basic commands. For those who need more, every chat software comes with an online help file; and there is always somebody online willing to help or boastful enough of his knowledge to tell you what to do.

Registration to these that servers is also free and usually protective of personal information. While some types of chat rooms ask for personal information as part of registration, there are guarantees of privacy; putting in fictional information is also common practice. Most chat rooms, though, just don’t bother you with personal information for admission into the channels. All you need to do is click on a server you would like to join, specify a nickname for yourself, and you’re in.

Since the participants enter the channels disembodied and usually anonymous, usual social barriers cannot operate online. Any distinguishing mark of the person and his personality—obvious in face-to-face communication—are absent online. A new chatter can, therefore, easily enter any communication channel without telling who he is in real life. His characteristics and personality only become known when he informs others about them. Everyone, therefore, with the minimum requirements–that is, competence–to communicate online is allowed to participate in almost any chat ongoing in the tens and thousands of public channels in cyberspace. Or you can start your own conversation channel.

I said “almost any chat ongoing,” because not all chat rooms are really publicly accessible. There are chat rooms designed by their operators to be private, that is, by invitation only. If you know the nick of the operator, though, you can ask to be invited. But these private chat rooms are more the exception rather than the norm in cyberspace. The norm is still that communication channels are universally accessible.

Cyberspace is also like the liberal public sphere because it remains within the private domain. It has been described as a decentralized communication system. Even though it started as a military-government project, cyberspace evolved into a network that is completely beyond government control. Anyone with access to a computer with a modem and a telephone line can apply for connection with an Internet Service Provider without having to ask for a government permit. Once online, what you do is primarily your own responsibility.

On the downside, this has led to the proliferation of the every kind of abuse imaginable without hope of control. Monitoring of all interactions occurring in cyberspace is impossible, even for the most powerful monitoring agencies like the United States’ National Security Agency (NSA). On the upside, cyberspace has become a venue for the most creative projects and interactions today. This lack of limitation and coercion has opened the floodgates of the imagination.

However, cyberspace cannot be said to have assumed a truly significant political function, as the liberal public sphere has. Conversation topics in the Internet vary widely. Most of these are private interests that people think deserve public recognition and discussion. Many of these never acquire their desired publicity though. If one surfs in cyberspace, one will find websites that seldom get visited because the public is not interested in what they offer, or chat channels whose operators are never successful in attracting chatters to come and stay. Conversation topics range from the banal to the profound, from the profane to the sacred. There are channels for teens as well as for the golden aged. There are channels for philosophy, for politics, as well as for a particular nation or religion. These serious channels already have their mainstays, but they remain few in number; very few compared to romance channels that are bursting with chatters. It is in these serious channels that critical-rational discussion in the manner of the liberal public sphere is taking place.

On 23 May 2000, at about 9 o’clock in the evening, I accessed the politics channel of chat server Undernet and stayed there for a few minutes. Two discussions were underway. The first was about the issue of racism. The contenders were white Americans and Latinos. There was the usual labeling, but there was also serious discussion on the implications of sending Latinos out of the United States. The second discussion centered on the basis and implications of the possible Bill Clinton disbarment. One interesting question was whether Clinton, as president, could pardon himself. Ideas were flying around when I left. This experience reveals the presence of serious critical-rational discussion taking place in cyberspace, but does not yet reveal the political influence that such a discussion may have. Three real cases, however, may reveal that potential.

Also early in 2000, the United States organized an online “town hall meeting.” Harking back to the town hall meetings of Revolutionary America, the White House allowed an online, real-time chat with Bill Clinton. A website functioned as a virtual town hall, with Clinton visibly and audibly interacting with chatters who logged in from around the world. Much of the discussion focused on political programs.

A few years back also, Bill Clinton also published an email address that American citizens could use to get to him directly with their opinions. The emails allowed people to tell the President directly what they thought and what they wanted done.

Here in the Philippines, cyberspace was also a very important communication medium in organizing the Anti-Charter Change movement against the Ramos administration. While rallies, demonstrations and press releases were being done nationwide, a website and mailing list were also created. The email list included the email addresses of people who were major rallying points during the event, people who were in the position to observe events, analyze their impact, or mobilize people. The e-mail list became one quick communication utility for circulating on a national scale information and analyses about the event. The significant e-mails were then posted on the website for wider circulation.

Currently, there is the Philippine Forum mailing list, called phforum. Its members belong to the under-age-50 leaders from the different sectors of the Philippine nation. The discussions in this mailing list are usually related to policies of the Philippine government. The current discussions in this mailing list are focused on the Mindanao problem.

Here in Mindanao, I know of two politically inclined mailing lists. The older list, founded on 23 November 1998, is a web-based group that posts and discusses issues related to the improvement of domestic and international air linkages in Mindanao. Began during the height of the PAL crisis, the “airlinkages” mailing list includes top business, government, NGO, and academic people in Mindanao.

The newer list is the mindanao1081 . It is composed of significant Mindanao personalities from the business sector, the government sector, the media, the academe, and the NGO. The discussions within this members-only email list focuses on political issues affecting Mindanao. It serves as a reminder of the danger of Martial Law when people keep their silence. The significant mails are published on their website.

These experiences successfully reveal the potentials of cyberspace for political discourse and action, even here in the Philippines. With the principles of universal access and equal participation operative in this arena, critical-rational discourse governed only by the unforced force of the better argument is now a reality for all who are communicatively competent.

Vernacular Peace: Research Agenda on Indigenous Peace Strategies

The seriousness of the conflict in some areas of Mindanao demands that we engage in what a well-known peace advocate calls a   “constant shaping and reshaping of understandings, situations, and behaviors” (Boulding 2000). To do this, we need to explore all possible resources for peace, especially the voices that are not often heard, such as that of the Lumad. It is a pity that even in the most recent survey of peace initiatives, the Lumads’ contribution is not recognized (e.g., INFOS 2001). In response to this, we have started a research on the `vernacular peace strategies’ among the Lumads. The research aims at recognizing and documenting indigenous peace practices, with a view to utilizing them for peace education and conflict transformation.

We believe that this objective resonates with the Lumad collective aims as well. The recent Indigenous Peoples Peace Statement confirms this eagerness of the Lumad peoples themselves to “review and revive the sacred agreements of old” for the sake of Mindanao peace and development (Mindanao Indigenous Peoples Peace Forum, 17-19 February 2001, GSP Camp Alano, Davao City).

This bibliographic essay has two parts. The first serves as an initial survey of literature focused on the methods of resolving conflicts employed by the different ethnolinguistic groups in Mindanao. The last portion offers a research agenda based on the gaps in the existing literature and advocacy needs.

While the ongoing conflict has attracted students of culture and society to tackle various aspects of the problem, tracking them down has not been simple. Collecting these materials has made the researchers inspect resource centers from Zamboanga to Butuan, from Marbel to Marawi, from Davao to Cagayan de Oro, and even to Manila. We have had to collect them from different libraries, academic departments, files of nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), and personal collections. Some of the articles have been published either as separate essays or as chapters of books. The rest of this essay reflects the result of the bibliographic survey.

Vernacular Peace Strategies

One of the early works which deal exhaustively.on indigenous methods of conflict resolution is the classic 1970 book, Tiruray justice: Traditional Tiruray law and morality written by Stuart A. Schlegel. The book, which is often quoted by social scientists and researchers studying the topic, stands out as an excellent source of prevailing tribal concepts of law, morality and justice. Owing mainly perhaps to the length of fieldwork time and extent of interaction devoted by Schlegel among the Tedurays, his work is able to chronicle and document their customs and traditions focusing on dispute settlement proceedings, albeit written from the vantage point of a Westerner. A whole chapter is devoted to the kefeduwan, a moral leader embodying the legal authority, and the tiyawan, described as “a formal adjudicatory process, which is the setting for the formal negotiation of agreements, and for the nonviolent settlement of disputes.” The tiyawan stands as the primary Teduray alternative to bloody feuding.

In the final chapter entitled “Tiyawan as Law,” Schlegel successfully argues the existence of a system of rules in the Tiyawan process that is akin to a legal system. Departing from the traditional understanding of law as a codified array of rules, rights and obligations by which members of a society abide under pain of sanctions and penalties, and operating within a regime of complex judicial structures, he returns to the basic premise on What (indeed) is law? Corollary to this is the question What is indisputably a legal system?  Following the analysis presented by H.L.A. Hart in The concept of law, Schlegel concludes that “the Tiruray tiyawan system is a manifestation of law”

Although devoid of adversarial proceedings that characterize other legal systems and a legislative authority that enacts codified laws, the Tiyawan system is legitimate in that it is operated by officials accepted by the tribe for that function. A council of elders also stands with absolute adjudicatory and punitive powers, which may in another society be a complex judicial structure of trial and appellate courts. It has a source of rules—the general moral code—from which it derives what is right and what is wrong. Schlegel however concludes on a warning note that the “elegant tiyawan system of their traditional world seems destined to disappear.”

Ethnographic studies on the indigenous peoples of Mindanao are scarce and are mostly descriptions of the people’s cultural life. Only a few deal with the indigenous political and legal systems. Schlegel describes the intricacies of the Tiyawan system; Frake (1963)’ analyzes Subanon law as part of the people’s social life; Garvan (1931) investigates the Manobo political system of the early 1900s, including an intricate procedure of conflict settlement (Burton and Canoy 1991).

Seeking to delve deeper into the concept of justice among the indigenous communities, and to understand their system of jurisprudence (law and concept of justice), Erlinda M. Burton, PhD, and Easterluna S. Canoy did a 1991 comparative study of customary laws and resolution of conflicts among the Mamanuas, the Manobos and the Talaandigs of Northeastern Mindanao. Entitled The concept of justice among the indigenous communities of Northeastern Mindanao, the study delves into their political system, customary laws, and the process of conflict and dispute settlements. Its focus however is the definition and perception of justice among indigenous cultures.

The study notes the possible collision between two legal systems: the Western-styled national legal system and the actual practices in Philippine communities that have their own mechanisms for adjudicating and settling disputes. It makes a distinction between industrial societies that have elaborate and formal institutions with clearly delineated roles (legislative, judicial and executive), and non-industrial societies that lack specialized institutions for dealing with conflict. Nonetheless, Burton states that this does not indicate an absence of a system of social control of which law is a part.

Among the recommendations presented by Burton are (1) the need for an expanded study into custom laws and the intricacies of the resolution of conflict and the execution of justice; (2) an investigation into the effects of the Katarungang Pambarangay Law on the political structure and dispute settlement processes and the law’s acceptability among the indigenous communities; and (3) possible integration of the data system in the community into the national legal system.

A more specific study which sought to compare a government-sanctioned system and a traditional/indigenous system of conflict resolution has been made by Antonio San Agustin Segovia. His masteral thesis looks into both the Katarungang Pambarangay and the Bong Fulong as systems of dispute settlement. A Bong Fulong is a respected elderly B’laan who is entrusted and empowered to settle disputes. The research. problems center on the following areas: (1) the kind of disputes brought  to the attention of the Bong Fulong and the Katarungang Pambarangay; and (2) the procedure, speed, costs entailed, monitoring and evaluation of, and difficulties encountered in settling disputes. Among his major findings are that all kind of disputes can be brought before the Bong Fulong and not all can be brought before the Katarungang Pambarangay (because of its limited jurisdiction as mandated by law). In a survey he said he conducted, majority of the B’laan respondents allegedly prefer the Katarungang Pambarangay as a mode of settling disputes.

E. Arsenio Manuel’s book, Manuvu’ social organization (2000a) carries detailed descriptions, insights and analysis on the Manuvu’s family system, kinship system, the community and local organization, social control and the datuship and tribal hegemony. As in other tribal groups perhaps, it is the datu who wields a judicial function by conducting a hearing whenever a dispute arises. There are different kinds of datus performing these functions: the ta:ukum datus who hear the cases, ta:usay datus who settle cases with reparations, and the bahani’ datus who are military leaders. Although there is a brief explanation of the role of datus in settling disputes, the book however has a limited discussion on conflict resolution strategies.

Manuel later released a paper rendering a more particular treatment on the subject of Retaliation in Manuvu’ custom law: Key to Tagalog behavior of pagtatanim (2000b). Retaliation or suli’, he says, is a tool for restoring peace and order in Manuvu’ society. He cites three examples in which the wronged individuals have no other remedy but to take the life of the wrongdoers. In order to avert a counter-retaliation, which often leads to pasulioy (feuding), a panuvuk is given to the other party. Panuvuk means damages in Manuvu’ custom law. Manuel however clarifies that unlike the pagtatanim ng sama ng loob in Tagalog culture, Manuvus do not harbor lingering feelings of wrath or anger but rather take immediate revenge. His paper ends with a comment that modern Philippine law appears to be more punitive than Manuvu custom law.

Another ethnographic material is The culture of the Mamanua (Northeast Mindanao) as compared with that of the other Negritos of Southeast Asia 1975) by Marcelino B. Maceda. Like Manuel’s book on the Manuvus, which was written in 1968, the author notes the absence of works studying the culture of the indigenous people. His book carries detailed accounts of the economic and social life of the Mamanuas as well as their religion and mythology. Only a page is devoted, however, to crime and punishment. As with other tribes, a headman is in charge of the administration and execution of justice. Punishment ranges from ostracism to death depending On the gravity of the offense.

We might also extend this survey to include even the practices of the Islamized tribes. The ongoing peace negotiations between the Government of the Republic of the Philippines (GRP) and the Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF), for instance, has required consultations on the importance of the customary laws in settling disputes, especially those touching on land ownership and assertion of identities.

Thomas M. Kiefer in his book The Tausug: Violence and law in a Philippine Moslem society (1972), observes that Tausug culture is heavily preoccupied with the problems of violence and its control but is quick to dispel notions that all Tausugs are violent. His statement is derived from insights he gathered while doing fieldwork with the Tausugs for two years (1966-1968). He also notes that the Tausugs, like many ethnic groups in the Philippines, are as obsessed with litigation as they are with the conflict which makes it necessary. By litigation he means to include informal processes such as mediation of disputes. (In Tausug society, there are three kinds of laws: (1) sara kuraan (Koranic Law); (2) sara agama (interpreted religious law); and (3) sara adat (customary law.) The ultimate goal of all forms of law among the Tausug is the achievement of karayawan, a word that means goodness, peace, ritual purity, tranquility, happiness, or pleasure.

The author emphasizes the twin concepts of justice and law: law has to ensure that justice will be done and that there is order in society. The Tausugs, Kiefer stresses, opt for justice rather than order. Inherent in them is the striving for justice that “they are willing to bring down the whole world in chaos in order to achieve it.” This emphasis on justice, he says, is evident in the absence of ritualistic or arbitrary methods of solving disputes. Unlike other peoples in Southeast Asia who adopt methods by consulting a horoscope or divining from the liver of a chicken, the Tausugs resolve conflict by reference to the specifics of a system of religious justice, or by mutual agreement among independent persons fully in control of their own interests.

The concept of compromise is absent among the Tausugs because the litigants exhaust the discussions until they are sulut, that is, fully satisfied with the terms of the settlement. Conflicts should also be brought out in the open which are resolved through the intervention of a go-between. Usually, there is a headman, the datu, who represents the law in the sense that he has knowledge of the code. There are three basic kinds of adjudication procedure among the Tausugs: judgment (paghukum) by a competent authority, arbitration (paghukum muslihat), and mediation (pagsalasay) by a go-between.

Kiefer’s case study of the Tausugs reveals that they regard their society as a whole inasmuch as the society reflects the idea of a unitary law (sara) mirrored in the sultanate and its institutions, a unitary religion (agama), and a unique style of life and set of customs (adat).  The study also analyzes the religion—a mixture of Islam and folk beliefs which are vestiges of premodern times. The book ends with a chapter discussing the present relationships between the Tausugs and the Philippine government. He laments that the government has ignored the crux of the issue: the competition between two legal systems, the collision between traditional common law and Philippine government law. Despite the decline of the sultanate and the many changes wrought about by modernization, he asserts that the traditional Tausug legal system is still a reasonably effective instrument of justice.

The findings that emerge from the Kiefer study are further elaborated in a masteral thesis, Conflict resolution strategies among the Tausug of Jolo, presented by Domingo Aranal. The thesis focuses on five major problems, namely: (1) What is the Tausug’s concept of law? (2) How do the Tausug of Jolo resolve their conflicts? (3) Do these strategies involve traditional practices? (4) What conflicts are addressed by the traditional process of conflict resolution? (5) What are the steps taken to preserve such traditional practices for successful resolution of conflict? Except for the last, Aranal’s research questions echo those of Kiefer. An innovation is his attempt to establish a link between the peace and development paradigm and the traditional way of conflict resolutions. This means that the indigenous conflict resolutions adhere to the peace and development paradigm. Present here are the elements of (1) participation in terms of decision-making, (2) empowerment in terms of recognition and acknowledgement of the accumulated knowledge of the Tausugs and (3) appropriateness of customary adat laws in their cultural system and also in their legal system.

Nelissa  Soliva-Jorolan’s dissertation, TThe Maguindanaons of Saranay, Pikit: Their struggle in resolving conflicts (2000), tackles a customary practice known as rido (feud). Rido usually occurs between families and often always leads to killings. Soliva-Jorolan traces the various methods of resolving the conflicts that erupted in Saranay, Pikit. The families first try to resolve it among themselves with the intervention of the Council of Elders, after which a kanduli is held, restoring goodwill between the two feuding families. An important feature that the study introduces is the apparent involvement of NG0s—the community Peace_ Advocates of Cotabato in this case,— in bringing about peaceful reconciliation.

In recent years, advocacy for the recognition and respect of indigenous ways of conflict resolution has been gaining ground in Mindanao; spawning a surge of cross-cultural dialogues among the Lumads, the Moros, and the Christian settlers. Literature on this subject includes papers, articles and proceedings. One such proceeding, which contains a wealth of materials on conflict resolution strategies, is the Peaceweavers: .A proceedings manual on the indigenous way of conflict resolution and grassroots peacebuilding (Miclat and Prieto 2001), produced by the Initiatives for International Dialogue (IID). Peaceweavers is the product of several consultations and workshops conducted between January and April 2001. For the first time perhaps in the history of Mindanao, Lumads, Moros, and Christian settlers gathered and reflected on their experiences, collated and drew a blueprint of conflict resolution methods as well as a peace-building plan and resolution. What emerges here is a collage of peace-building and conflict resolution strategies already being practiced, including traditional and non-traditional ways and or a combination of both.

Agenda for Future Research

A careful review of the existing literature cited above would reveal a paucity of materials devoted to the subject of indigenous means of conflict resolution in Mindanao. This despite the recognition of the existence and effectiveness of indigenous legal systems that are still being widely practiced today in tribal communities. It is interesting to note though that, of late, at least two masteral theses and a dissertation utilized it as a subject, namely, Aranal’s Conflict resolution strategies among Tausug (1999); Segovia’s The system of settling disputes in the KatarungangPambarangay law and Bong Fulong among the Blaan of South Cotabato (1993); and Soliva-Jorolan’s The Maguindanaons of Saranay, Pikit: Their struggle in resolving conflicts (2000).

Of those accounted for, three scholarly works stand out, namely, Schlegel’s on the Tedurays, Kiefer’s on the Tausugs and, to some extent, Manuel’s on the Manuvus. They focus on indigenous legal systems that conflict with the existing Western-patterned state legal system. Burton and Canoy’s Comparative study on the concept of justice among indigenous communities is a trailblazer in this field, having been conducted in the early 1990s. While there is indeed a dearth of literature on the subject, there are however a number of ethnographic sketches of tribal communities, such as Manuel’s
Manuvu and Maceda’s Mamanua. But they do not dwell much on the topic of conflict resolution.

As recommended above, there is still a need to look into the impact of the collision of two parallel legal systems: the government-sanctioned legal system, on the one hand, and the existing indigenous legal systems still being practiced among tribal communities, on the other hand. A study may also be made into the effects of the imposition of a Western-patterned system that may well be a contributing or aggravating factor leading to the erosion of a tribal heritage.

Another interesting point emerging in this literature survey is the apparent similarity, almost uniform, pattern of conflict resolution strategies in both Muslim and non-Muslim tribes. Standing in the middle of a conflict is a headman, a datu, performing judicial functions aided with an assembly or a council of elders.

From all this, we can identify some gaps that can serve as pointers for future research, through continued archival work as well as long-term fieldwork.

1. Peace Management and Peace Process. Peace research should go beyond conflict resolution. What do Lumad tribes do to prevent conflict, and how do they manage achieved peace? Going deep into this should lead us to more philosophical concepts, some of which have already come out in some forums. We need to elaborate, for example, on the much-talked about but hardly written palabian woy gantangan of the Manobos as mentioned in Helvetas-Oxfam peace manual, Maluntaron ug malabutayon nga pagdumala sa katilingban: Manwal sa pagbansay Panagtagbo-IPO CB. The most challenging item in this area is the current struggle of the Lumads in finding a meaningful participation in the ongoing GRP-MILF peace talks. If the GRP-National Democratic Front talks also push through next year, then this poses an additional challenge for the Lumad advocates of peace. Phase II will probably have to monitor the sequence of events and the results of the Lumad peace initiatives.

2. Peace and Conflict Rituals. In several statements coming from Lumad assemblies, particular rituals are mentioned as having potential in reaching out to groups in conflict. Alejo’s Generating energies in Mount Apo (2000) study of dyandi, pamaas, kalundili, pakaa’t kallo, and kalivungan, challenges future research to be more sensitive to the political uses and multiple interpretations of so-called traditional rituals. We have to go on field documentation of these rituals—especially the tampuda around Agusan, Bukidnon and North and South Cotabato areas—and determine in what way, under what circumstances and to what extent these cultural resources could be made viable in both policy and education purposes. These rituals can shed more light on Lumad and Moro relations.

3. Biographies. Francisco F. Claver’s ethnographic biography of Dinawat Ogil: High Datu of Namnam (1973) remains a lonely but extremely important voice in highlighting the lives of flesh-and-blood individuals who embodied and practiced their tribes’ law and lore in paghusay. But people are less moved by principles than by examples. While most peace education manuals rely on conceptual formulas and technologies, we probably need more life stories. We therefore need more biographies of individuals who embody the struggle for peace in their own way. Can we name Manobo or Teduray peace heroines?

4. Folktales. If we are intent on promoting peace in education, we would need local folktales, both traditional and improvised, that we can reproduce as children’s stories. Research on this cultural resource among the Lumads could enrich our vocabularies for peaceable conversation and imagination. We suggest that this should form one important contribution to the current discussion on how to integrate Lumad perspectives in mainstream education, such as manifested in Meeting the challenges of Lumad education: Summit on Lumad education (1999) and the Comprehensive Mindanao education plan (1997-2014).

5. Role of Women and Children. We can presume that not much of the existing literature touch on the role of women and of children in peace matters. Our research should be alert to this possible line of exploration. It is a pity that in Woman for peace: A study on the impact of the armed conflict among the women in Mindanao (Burton et al. 1992), the indigenous women did not get any particular mention. Future research should match the oral admission in meetings and conferences that women indeed play a significant role in peace efforts.

6. Spirituality. In all serious peace discussions, spirituality continues to be a source of creativity and renewal. Lumad spirituality would most probably turn out to be a main aspect in the ensuing research,
especially if we relate it to ecology. Datu Migketay and Rev. Mars Daul have always called for a more serious appreciation of the place of spirituality in peacemaking (Cf. Miclat and Prieto 2001, 20-21). Studies that touch on indigenous spirituality, such as Schlegel’s recent book Wisdom from the rainforest. Spiritual journey of an anthropologist (1998) and Harry Arlo Nimmo’s Magosha: An ethnography of the Tawi-Tawi Sama Dilaut (2001) and The songs of Salanda (1994), should be encouraged but should be shown to have impact on peace matters. The indigenous peoples in the eastern region of Mindanao deserve better treatment in this type of research.

7. Violence. We will miss out many things if our research does not face the question of how Lumads understand violence. Studies on prejudices and biases, such as Rosalita Tolibas-Nunez’s Roots of conflict: Muslims, Christians and the Mindanao struggle (1997) miserably neglect the perspectives of the Lumads. This “habit” clearly emerges even in documentary films like Bookmark’s Mindanao: Healing the past, building the future (1999). Studies on cross-cultural meanings of violence can shed light on Lumad interpretation of events, like development aggression and media exposure. This entails a careful analysis of how traditional conflict resolution works, and to what extent these traditional strategies can cope with modern conflict situations. This section definitely has to be grounded on the actual extent of the Lumads’ readiness for war.

8. Legal Angles. One thing that emerges from Phase I of this study is the need to take a closer look at the legal implications of documenting and applying customary laws on peace and conflict. To what extent are they compatible? Since most of the sources of conflict in Mindanao have something to do with land, how could the recognition of indigenous ways of peace management and conflict resolution fare with the punitive and legalistic system of the State? Extremely very little is being done in this field. Perhaps the only exception to this neglect is the effort of Augusto B. Gatmaytan, for example in his “Change and the civided community: Issues and problems in the cocumentation of customary laws,” Philippine Natural Resources Law Journal (2000).

9. Changing Contexts. This should not form a separate research topic but should inform all the rest. Peaceweavers of IID’s Miclat and Prieto  (2001) reveals the complexity of the social and political situation in which some traditional peace strategies may not work without being transformed and adapted. Karl Gaspar provides a more thorough description and analysis of the contested political and economic arena in which the contemporary Lumad movements have to learn to negotiate and occupy. This he shows in his book The Lumad in the face of globalization (2000b) and in his yet unpublished doctoral dissertation, “Contestations, negotiations and common actions: A study of civil society engagement in the Arakan Manobos’ struggle for self-determination (2000a).”

Despite the rhetoric of “tri-people” in Mindanao, the political and cultural affairs in the island remains simply “twin-people”. The Lumad voices drown in the dominant exchange between Muslim and Christian groups. Researchers can participate in the process of balancing the power ratio in Mindanao by highlighting the possible contribution of the Lumads. We suggest that future research along this line will have to be designed according to these identified gaps in the existing literature and the expressed needs of peace education and intervention. The Lumads’ insights on the historical roots of conflict and the cultural springs of peace might yet yield for us a substantial harvest of meaningful development.

The Samas Dilaut: From the Seas to the Highways

To outsiders, the Samas Dilaut have always been Bajau (variously spelled Badjao, Badjaw, Badjau). This is also the designation used on them by anthropologists like Bruno Bottignolo, Jose Arong, and until very recently, Harry Arlo Nimmo. Among themeselves, however, they are Samas Dilaut, not Bajau.

In literatures they have been traditionally identified as a separate group from the Samas of the Sulu archipelago. Many scholars and anthropologists classify them as a sub-group of the Sama tribe, thus, identifying them as part of the Moro population. In its 1981 ethnographic map the National Council of Churches of the Philippines-People’s Action for Cultural Ties (NCCP-PACT) identified the Bajau as the 13th Moro group. They however do not belong to the Moro people. While they speak the same Sama language called Sinama and share some of the sociocultural practices of the Sama people, they were never Islamized, never took part in the three-centuries of anti-colonial struggle, and never been part of the centralized structure of the Moro proto-nation (Arquiza, etal. 2000, 19).

One theory of the origin of the Sama Dilaut states that they were boat people who migrated to the Philippines from Johore, Malaysia in the early 14th century. Others argue that they were originally of the Philippines as land-based Sama group who inhabited the Sulu archipelago before other ethnic groups came. Anthropologists Harry Arlo Nimmo states that while it is difficult to pinpoint a Sama Dilaut homeland, there is strong evidence suggesting that the Samas evolved as a linguistic, cultural group either within the south-central Sulu or eastern Borneo and From there dispersed to their present location in the Sulu islands.

One evidence that attests to the Samas Dilaut being indigenous to Sulu is their language. The Sama Dilaut speak in the same tongue as that used by other Sama groups of Sulu. They also share many cultural characteristics with the latter, indicating that the land-dwelling Islamized Sama groups and the Samas Dilaut were once one people. Nimmo points out that compared with the Tausug language, which appears to be more related to the dialects spoken by other inhabitants in the north (suggesting that the Tausug might not have been native to the Sulu islands), the Sama language (Sinama) is more closely related to those spoken by the inhabitants of Malaysia.

As a tribe, the Samas Dilaut are a highly dispersed group. Warren (1985) says that the tribe’s identity was derived from their nomadic way of life, and this prevented the crystallization of cohesive kinship groups. The nuclear family was about the only discrete kinship unit that they recognized. Traditionally each boat household comprised a family, which formed temporary alliance with other families (boathouses) in a mooring site. A basically egalitarian society, the Samas Dilaut had no recognized leader except a panglima, a generally older man, who served as arbiter in case of conflict (Warren 1985, 68). Beyond this moorage no formal political organization existed, but because of the many kin ties and frequent movements among several moorages. these constituted a single, albeit dispersed [Sama Dilaut] community (Nimmo, cited in Arquiza, etal. 2000).

Historically, the sea-roving Samas have maintained ties with neighboring shore groups. During the reign of the Sultanate of Sulu they performed an invaluable role as procurers of sea products, mainly as pearl drivers and tripang (sea cucumber) fishes. Warren say’s that for provisioning the Sultanate’s trading needs, they were assured of protection. However, as a marginal group with no land and property and neither a territorial base nor the internal political structure to weld localized kindred groups into viable political communities, the Samas Dilaut are perennially dependent on strand-dwelling Tausug or Sama headmen for their security and meagre benefits. What helped them out from becoming totally subjugated by shoreline and inland rulers was their mobility and their ability to shift allegiance. This must also be the reason why they are about the only ethnic group in the Sulu islands that did not get proselytized and did not fall under the absolute control of the Tausug chieftains. Such a unique position set them apart from the slaves and other subjects of the Sultanate (Warren 1985, 67-69).

Throughout history, the Samas Dilaut have been an outcast group. Islamized groups in Sulu consider them physically repulsive and “impure.” The Tausugs, in particular, call them pejorative names, such as luwaan (“that which was spat out”, referring to God’s rejection of their way of life) or pala-u (an unflattering description of their  houseboat and seadrifting ways). During the Spanish rule, there were proscriptions against their entering villages, and in Zamboanga under the Spanish colonial government they were not allowed to carry arms, a mark of their low status in a militant society (Warren 1985, 68 citing Furber). Contempt for the Samas Dilaut in the Sulu islands is backed by legends explaining their outcast position.

As a tribe with a long tradition of independence from shoreline rule, the Samas Dilaut have an ethnocentric world view, according to which water is central to their lives, and land is but a speck in a vast sea where they reside. The government and its institutions, along with the residents of the land are outsiders to the Samas Dilaut world. The Samas Dilaut, thus, would not and could not own land since to do so would be to get tied down to it (Arquiza, etal., 39).

The Northern and the Southern Samas Dilaut

Nimmo classifies the Samas Dilaut into two types: the northern, and the southern. The northerners are found in Siasi, Jolo, Basilan and Zamboanga; while the southerners are found in Tawi-Tawi, Sibutu, and Semporna in Sabah. The southern Samas Dilaut are interconnected with intermarriage and important kinship ties and regard the northern group as different from them although few and insignificant kin ties exist between them. They traditionally fish in nuclear family groups, are predominantly reef-dwelling and limit their movement to nearby reefs (Nimmo, cited in Arquiza, etal., 21).

Compared with the southern group, the northern Samas Dilaut are more mobile and adventurous. Traditionally they fish in male groups, leaving behind their families in the moorages. Some of them seasonally sail to as far as the waters of Palawan, Cagayan de Sulu, Borneo, Celebes and even Manila Bay (Nimmo, cited in Arquiza, etal., 21). Unlike the southerners who regard themselves as coming from one ancestry, the northern Sama Dilaut subdivide themselves into different sub-groups. Both disclaim any affinity with the other (Alojamiento and Tiannok, 2001).

At present, the northern Samas Dilaut’s mobility and adventurousness can be manifested by their audacity to leave homeland (Sulu Islands including Basilan and Zamboanga) and go to cities all over the Philippines to beg Since fishing has become unviable, many of the northern Samas
Dilaut have left the seas for the streets. A good number of northern Samas Dilaut have migrated to the south, most notably in Sitangkai in Tawi-Tawi where fish and other marine products are relatively abundant. They however do not consider themselves permanent residents of Tawi-Tawi and are generally indifferent to the island’s mainstream life. They occupy the shallow waters and seasonally go home to their homes in the Sulu islands to pay tribute to their `mboh (ancestors).

Of the now sedentarized southern Samas Dilaut, many are still dependent on fishing as a source of livelihood although the problem of piracy has forced many families to leave the occupation to the men. Many have likewise turned to seaweed farming and trade-based occupation (fish and sea cucumber dealing, porterage, transport, warehouse labor). Having close kin ties with those in Sempurna (in Sabah, Malaysia), they frequently visit their relatives there. The southern Samas Dilaut enjoy free ingress and egress in Sabah.

The northern Samas Dilaut population of Sitangkai are migrant fishers who seasonally come to the island every time fishing and other economic activities in the north are going down. Some of them came as early as the 1970s while others trickled in between the 1980s and the 1990s. All of them however consider themselves transients in the island even if they have not gone back to Sulu in the last twenty years. They dissociate themselves from the other Sama groups in Sitangkai and insist that they live in the place only to engage in pagosaha (occupation). If their means allow them, they see to it that they visit their relatives in Sulu or go back somewhere to their hometowns.

The Samas Dilaut of Sitangkai

In the 1970s with the outbreak of war in the Sulu Islands, hordes of migrants came to Sitangkai. The advent of seaweed farming beginning in the seventies up to the nineties also encouraged the continuous influx of Tausug populations, even Visayans from Dumaguete and Cebu. The town is now host to settler communities of Tausugs from Jolo, Tapul, Parrang, Siasi and other places in the north, and Sama Dilaut groups from Jolo, Kabingaan, Laminusa and other northern islands.

The Tausugs started coming to the islands after the outbreak of the secessionist rebellion in Jolo. With the continuous decline of the copra industry beginning in the later part of the 1980s many Tausug farmers turned to the more profitable seaweed farming The shallow seas of Tawi-Tawi became the logical choice to resettle in, and Sitangkai’s wide “open” seas enticed many families to take advantage of the agar-agar boom. In time, hundreds of hectares of what used to be fishing grounds for the native Samas Dilaut turned into vast seaweed farms of migrant tribes.

Sitangkai’s population is multi-ethnic, classified into five general categories: the Tausug, the Chinese, the Samas Beheng (sedentary Sama), the Samas Dilaut, and the Bisayas. There are classes within each of these categories, but as ethnic categories the Tausugs are the political elite group; the Chinese are the merchant class; the Samas Beheng are the commoners; the Samas Dilaut and the Bisayas are the lowest-ranking groups. The Tausug’s powerful position has its basis in the tribe’s monopoly of the town’s political resources. Having minoritized the indigenous Sama populations (Samas Beheng or Samas Sitangkai and the sedentarized and semi-sedentarized southern Samas Diliut), the Tausugs have come to dominate as well the political and economic life in the island. The Chinese, on the other hand, being a pioneer merchant class, have long secured their social position in the island and established their hold in its economy.

The above ethnic classification is further class-determined. There is a class of endemic, sedentary Sama population who call themselves Samas Sitangkai or Samas Beheng, who practice Islam as a religion and who set themselves apart from the “Samas Palau’ or Samas Dilaut (sea-dwelling Sama). The latter hold a distinct classification as non-Muslim and status-less. Though many of them could now be found crammed in the shabbiest corners of Sitangkai’s slum, surviving on fishing and seaweed gathering, their palau status has not changed and they are considered the bottom of Sitangkai’s social strata. Beside them – or probably below them — there likewise exist the still boat-dwelling and sea-roving Sama Dilaut (the real palau), consisting of one family, based on the number of boathouse (lepa) that could still be found mooring in Sitangkai reef.

The Samas Beheng likewise dissociate themselves from the southern Samas Dilaut who, having lost their reefs to Tausug seaweed farmers, have chosen to settle in Sitangkai (or in Semporna, in Sabah, Malaysia) and subsist on fishing and seaweed gathering Having fallen under the Tausug socio-political domain, many of these people have also to convert to Islam while holding on to their traditional practice of ancestor worship (pag-‘mboh). Most of them would also now deny their kinship with the still lepa-dwelling palau.

At the fringe of these indigenous Sama groups are the northern Samas Dilaut who come seasonally to Sitangkai waters to engage in fishing  and other sea-based activities. Like the southern Palau, this tribe is regarded as ‘non-Muslims and practice the ag- ‘mboh. Outside the dominant Tausug group and the second-class Sama tribes, all the rest of the Christian non-indigenous population are referred to as “Bisaya”. This reference is also a status ascription: it denotes a subordinate class composed of workers, hired househelps and petty government employees.

The demands of agar-agar production necessitate the constant supervision of the seaweed farms so that agar-agar growers have to stay nearby. This has brought about the emergence of Tausug communities at seas, known as punduhan, made up of clusters of houses numbering between 20 and 200. Families in these punduhans are generally fragment members, usually the productive forces needed for the maintenance of seaweed farming They are usually able-bodied males and females from ages 16 and above, with many unmarried. Wives are tagged along to keep house for the farming husbands, along with little children who could not be left to relatives in the shores. Schooling children and the aged are usually left to the care of shore-dwelling relatives. This is a matter of necessity, as life at seas is difficult, with no surface water, no electricity, and no land to step on or plant vegetables in.

The migrant Tausugs call their seaweed farm pag-umahan, a “shore-bound” term they use to describe the farm they left on land. The term has been transposed over into their present scape, indicative of their displacement. The word punduhan itself denotes a phenomenon of displacement. A Tausug term, it means an outpost, a temporary living quarter away from home. Home to the Tausugs is the higad (shore), their traditional habitat. The word also alludes to the fate of the Samas Dilaut, who are being gradually and continually expelled from their fishing grounds and reef dwellings because of the influx of the Tausug sea farmers into the seas and the consequent setting up of seaweed farmers’ communities.

Like the copra farm they left behind, the pag-umahan is a feudal structure. To be able to engage in agar-agar farming the producer should have a start-up capital to enable one to build a but at sea and buy planting materials. Some agar-agar producers would borrow money for boat or engine to be paid in harvested crop. Most agar-agar producers have outstanding debts to the bos, the local capitalist, the agar-agar dealer and warehouse owner, usually a Tausug or Chinese merchant who provides them with start-up and maintenance capital for farm production.

In the punduhan there are many small-scale seaweed buyers who themselves maintain farms and loan out money (at most PhP 100) for gasoline and a day’s consumption for their lowly agar-agar gatherer, and  who in turn sell their hoard of agar-agar to bigger capitalists in Sitangkai, Bongao or in as far as Zamboanga. The average producer delivers the harvested crop to the warehouse of the capitalist in Sitangkai. A kilo of wet agar-agar is sold at PhP3, dried agar-agar is at PhP23. Work cycle is so much like copra production except that a producer has to replant every year. Growers usually have big pantans (platforms made of bamboo slats adjoined to their houses used for drying sea products) to dry agar-agar. The Sama Dilaut fishers and gatherers have always associated agar-agar with their subsistence economy, so that they normally sell their gathered seaweeds wet. Being better fishers and divers than (seaweed) farmers, they commerce in fish, manta ray, or sea cucumber for which their smaller pantans have better use.

The Samas Dilaut seaweed scavengers are in the lowest bottom of this production structure. Having no seaweed farm of their own they have to rely on strong winds to be able to engage in seaweed gathering. They are like the “rural scavengers” who engage in the gathering of washed away seaweeds after harvest (agpuwah). Traditionally the Samas Dilaut would gather seaweeds as they would seashells for their consumption needs. The present occupation of collecting float-away agal-agal is an adaptation to the agar-agar “plantation economy” introduced by the migrant Tausugs.

To secure their trade, the more clever capitalists would recruit farming relatives from hometowns in Sulu, to engage in agar-agar production in the seas. This ensures them steady supply of farm labor. In exchange for start-up capital (for engine, boat, initial capital for farm input and house materials), the farmer has to sell the crop to the bos, thus the bos is guaranteed constant supply of agar-agar the whole year round or until all the producer’s debts are paid up. Supplemented by other trading activities in the islands (backdoor smuggling, fish trading, etc.) not a few Chinese and Tausug merchants turn millionaires overnight.

At the losing end of this big agar-agar boom are the Samas Dilaut who, after losing fishing grounds, not to mention dwelling places, have to make do with chasing after float-away agar-agar from around the plantation area. What are now the Tausug punduhans were once the Sama Dilaut’s mooring places. Constantly harassed by the usually gun-wielding Tausug sea-rovers, they find themselves edged out of their traditional territory, and escape somewhere “where there would be no A’a-suk, (Tausug)”—unfortunately a growing impossibility as the Tausugs have virtually taken over the territory. Sama Dilaut families who choose to remain in the punduhan have to live by the regular extortions of Tausugs who like confiscating their fish catch.

Most of the municipal waters have been privatized by Tausug seaweed farmers, turning the destitute Sama Dilaut into virtual sea scavengers. While there are a few Sama families who have managed to catch up with the current agar-agar boom (while at the same time being increasingly threatened by Tausug and Chinese business interests), those with neither boat nor implement to engage in deep-sea fishing have to make a living from gathering reject seaweed and mangled fish (leftover from dynamite fishing).

Because of their physical location (girdled in between the houses of the superior Tausug and Sama Sitangkai tribes), the Samas Dilaut have to behave in a certain way, i.e., be watchful so as not to offend their neighbors in any way. While many of them have been converted into Islam, in reality, they would not readily claim religious or ethnic affinity with the Samas Sitangkai and the Tausugs. The Tausug and Sama Sitangkai groups, on the other hand, do not or would not readily recognize nor accept them as Muslims like them either. Thus, compared with the northern Samas Dilaut, the southern group is more “fettered.” Being on the outer fringe towards the seas and away from the direct gaze of their oppressors, (no footbridge connects the houses of the northern Samas Dilaut with those of the Tausug and Sama Dilaut community), they enjoy physical separation and greater freedom of movement. They also need not aspire to social acceptance among the sedentarized groups via Islam, education, and the like.

The City Beggars: Survival Strategies

Many northern Samas Dilaut, losing all hope to find sustenance in the Sulu islands, have resettled in the slum areas along the bays of cities like Zamboanga, Cebu, Davao, General Santos, Cagayan, and very recently, Iligan. A great number of them, however, have become “city nomads”: going from place to place collecting loose change.

Many of the older Sama Dilaut men are partially disabled, with fingers or arm missing, and deaf or exhibiting signs of mental retardation. The fingers and arm were lost to timbak-daying (literally, kill fish) or cyanide fishing, a common practice in the Sulu archipelago. Deafness and mental deficiency, on the other hand, are attributed to komplesol (the use of compressor in deep-sea diving). Komplesol also accounts for the high mortality rate among the men, followed by lampasan or piracy, and diseases. Women in their 50s and up are mostly widows or went through widowhood (rate of remarriage, along with divorce, is high among the Sarnas Dilaut). Stories of violent encounters and escape at sea are plenty, with boys as young as ten having first-hand account of how their father or relatives were killed by the munduh, how their boat and fish catch taken from them. The assailant would be identified as an A’a-suk (Tausug), a term used to refer to anyone in the Sulu shores who is hostile to the Sama Dilaut.

In the cities far away from the A’asuk, this role ascription (oppressor) seems to have been given over to the Bisaya or the Christian settlers with whom they have to coexist and extract loose change from. While most Sama Dilaut itinerants consider the Bisayas kinder and more generous as compared with the Tausugs, the Bisayas are also perceived as amonoh (“will kill or likely to cause them harm”). On the other hand, the Bisaya settlers perceive the “dirty Bajau” as doing nothing but begging around.

Indeed, among the Samas Dilaut now in the urban centers, almost everybody has at one time or another begged for a living. While some of them might have been permanently displaced from their homeplaces in the islands, there are those who only seasonally foray to the cities and get back home after earning enough to last them for a few months in their villages. The venture, ironically, is so much like the sea-drifting days of old when they had to move to another reef in search for richer ground, except that this time it is loose change they fish for.

As beggars, the Samas Dilaut can be ingenious. For those with physical defects they put their disabilities to use. The otherwise able fake a handicap. Infants are a useful prop which girls sling around their waists as they stalk the streets. Young boys use the tambol an improvised drum played in a kind of a lightning performance aimed at cars and jeepneys stopping at gasoline stations for refill or under the red traffic light. Sometimes they would go from house to house to perform the tambol, accompanied by girls who would dance to the boys’ singing. They call this part taygon, from a Bisaya word meaning Christmas carol.

Not a few agencies have come to the succor of the Samas Dilaut. Most of these projects involve provisioning of shelter and fishing boats and scholarships for the young. In Basilan the Office of Southern Cultural Communities (OSCC), a government agency tasked to look after the indigenous peoples of the South, is into livelihood, literacy and health assistance. OSCC however is much maligned for its inability to respond to the real needs of its target population. Much of the funds go to construction of learning centers, foot bridges, and cuthall fences. Moreover, most of its beneficiaries are not really Sama Dilaut but Tausugs and Samas Ba’ngingi who are closer to agency people.

In cases where the Samas Dilaut have to maintain beneficent relationship with help groups and are forbidden to beg, they would go to another city to keep on with their trade. In Iligan, for instance, Sama Dilaut beggars would ply the route to Marawi City, Valencia in Bukidnon or Pagadian and Cotabato to be able to engage in the occupation. Help from whatever quarters is always inadequate. The Samas Dilaut refer to ‘their begging trade as anarget, a term they once used to describe a crude fishing method (spear fishing) they employed in the islands.

There are however Sama Dilaut groups who have now found other means of sustenance. In Cebu the men work as tricycle drivers and porters in the harbor. The women vend panggi (cassava) and other food items. Those with motorboats engage in fishing and, occasionally, anged-jo (coin-diving). In Davao City many Sama Dilaut migrants have managed to adapt themselves into the slum economy of Matina Aplaya and Isla Verde, working as fishermen, pearl-divers, and vendors. Their children also attend school and religious service offered by their benefactors. In some cases, converting into the Christian faith is a precondition for receiving any benefit (usually shelter and fishing boat). While attending Church service might only be a strategy for economic survival rather than a matter of conviction, there is a growing number of sedentarized Sama Dilaut who now deny their identity and are quick to look down on those who are still practicing the ag-‘mboh, their traditional system of worship.

Entry into Christian- and Bisaya-dominated culture usually implies leaving behind Sama Dilaut culture and tradition. In many migrant communities there are changes happening to the tribe. The panglima, once the spiritual leader, healer and arbiter of conflict, is now dislodged, replaced by the clever young man who is not only adept at the Visayan language, but also in negotiating the tricky straits laid out by Church and development agencies, businessmen and politicians. Social organization is also beginning to approximate the Tausug and Sama communities in the islands, wherein a leader called nakura negotiates on behalf of the members of the tribe who in turn play tendog or followers. For the women who once enjoyed high position and independence in the unstratified primitive-communal Sama Dilaut society, resettling in lahat-Bisaya (Christian land) means falling behind their men and adapting to subordinate roles.

But not all is lost to sedentary life. Even as Churches, government agencies and NGOs do their all to tie the Samas Dilaut to the land and their development projects, the Sama Dilaut have remained mobile. Kin ties that once existed between islands have now been transferred between cities, and any written contract may be disregarded in favor of another opportunity elsewhere. Sama Dilaut population even in their urban dwellings is in constant flux, with families regularly moving around to visit relatives in another place or look for new spaces. The house, which used to be a makeshift hovel, to be abandoned overnight in case of trouble, may be made of sturdier materials now, but it has not been thoroughly privatized, and as such may accommodate any tenant any time. Even anarget could not be abandoned altogether, as anytime of the year, when business slows down or livelihood projects fail, there is always another city, another street to explore.

A Time for Reckoning for the Bangsamoro Struggle

Can we reverse the legitimacy deficit of an imported state by recognizing its renewed claim for legitimacy grounded on its role today as provider of security on its territory? Conventional diplomatic technique proves inept where nonstate actors carry out partly the security function or contest the right of the state to uphold and keep it. How did the Bangsamoro come to play, albeit partly, a security function within what is claimed to be Philippine territory?

To recognize diversity in the United States Institute for Peace (USIP) Philippine Facilitation Project is to draw a political matrix of diversities, wherein you rediscover that the Moros are still here to endure. The spirit of past and current generations is bound to the Moro homeland that was once a partner in covenant with the United States of America. In America’s dealings with the unincorporated territory of the Philippine Islands, the Moro Question constituted a major factor for Filipino full independence. This Question remains to be of interest today because it still puzzles political identity that attracts loyalties in domestic politics and in the articulations of spatiotemporal relations.

I take this liberty to articulate what we, the Bangsamoro people today, assert as a temporal depth embedded in territorial continuum between our present societies and our territorial ancestors. There is certainly nothing pre-modern in the recognition of kinships between current members of the nation and the members of those earlier societies that framed the context of homeland, ancestral domain, and territory as they relate the nation-a-forming to history. This introductory paper sketches certain nonlegal factors that engross our energies as stakeholders in mainland Mindanao and the Island Provinces of Basilan, Tawi-Tawi, and Sulu to focus on a twenty-first century solution to the Bangsamoro problem.

Yet it is a continuing educative process to stress the centrality of legal issues and empirical consideration. Quite a few commentators are likely to take our positions as classroom thoughts; yet many more will believe what is right in shaping public opinions and reactions. Serious grievances are still reckoned in the present reality on matters of governance (and issues dating as far back as when the Americans first encountered the Moros at turn of the last century). America imposed on the Moros a unitary state structure—exhibiting a condition of colonizibility—running in cycles of abolition of successive government agencies dealing with Muslim affairs. Originally conceived in rigidity of a policy of benevolent assimilation, it is in fact, a euphemistic language for democracy’s referent: Civilizing ends.

In the first place, fundamental institutions of political life (nation, state, government, citizenship) are justificatory concepts. A democratic conception of citizenship contributes to the sense of the nation as a political community. Related to this is the discovery of discourses (in writings, petitions, declaration of Moro leaders) contesting several assumptions where the foundation of earned sovereign authority resides. In doing so, the US discursive erasure of a unique Muslim polity signified in a historic Bangsamoro sovereign space was at odds with transforming nondemocratic states, but only for an interim period. Current USIP forum on Islam and democracy focuses on what is here and now But there is very little guidance about constitutional crisis where, for instance, the logic of representation breaks down and there arises a question of legitimacy. Most are lost perhaps on abstract idioms surrounding the conceptual ambiguity in clarifying international relations and the intertextual journey involved in analysis.

Understanding the causal sequence

There is much to recommend about the Philippines being a case of shuttered democracy — to use a catch phrase; and so it is. This trajectory of the republic complicates the understanding of the Filipino nation in history to stabilize the meaning of a republican state. There is nonetheless a historically unique appeal to USIP explanatory argument about the true amity and commerce between America and the Moros of the Sulu archipelago, Mindanao, and its adjacent islands including Palawan.

Dr. Jacob G. Schurman, Chairman of the First Philippine Commission, was the first American official to land in Sulu at the turn of the last century. Addressing the Yale Phi Beta Kappa Society once back in America, he proposed a scheme of governance adapted to “the southern tier of islands” resembling that one put in operation in the Malay peninsula. One can understand American intervention as a policy tool in organizing earned sovereignty. Schurman’s very own words is a good quote:

“Any one who has studied the wonderful history of the Malay archipelago will find his promise fulfilled. We can make agreements with the chieftains of the southern tier, by which we shall take charge of the custom houses, and they will accept advisors who will bring to bear upon them not the power of the sword, but the American sense of justice, the American sense of government, and capacity for ushering in prosperity.”

This entails looking back in search for democratic closure to the ambiguity that so much characterized later American reductive policy of regime change via domination/intervention dichotomy—without Moro plebiscitary consent—bearing upon their distinct domestic community. As to political correctness, the Bangsamoro people claim supremacy over the veto power of settlers in Mindanao that spawn a land grab politics of domination to spin further Moro peripheral status in their own homeland.

As USIP Executive Director Eugene Martin has often explained, our American-Moro relations started on two fronts: “One with the War Department and the other with the Peace Department.” To date, the USIP still faces an unfinished agenda that has become a conceptual point of reference. This is so because the causal sequence projected in official lines of Washington thinking reminds us at once that America is here again in Moro homeland in the aftermath of the war on terror. For who decides to associate jihad with terrorist bond? Of course, your mandate is at once clear: To help expedite the peace process in Mindanao. Arguing this, we know how peace matters:

1. Consider how recent media reports on USIP workshops on the Mindanao peace process that provide both educative and corrective learning curves for the media, military, and national police.

Almost all media story is about conflict. Thus contemporaneous temptations to report America’s involvement solely in terms of security interest that step up military actions against a radicalized Muslim group feeds on the lack of solid information and profiling, if not faulty intelligence. Prejudice and bias substitute for the absence of sufficient background materials to the Manila-centric media reporting of the Mindanao conflict. This brings about a cycle of political violence formulated in the military idiom of pacification complex that, in turn, is tied to defense spending devoid of institution building for a just peace. Meanwhile the technology of political control continues to erode humanitarian law and basic human rights.

2. Consider next continuing efforts to bring different USI 13 experts together that can yield a reasoned exercise of the virtue of civility in government peace talks plus lessons learned in conflict resolutions.

All deliberate negotiation has a framework. It is commendable that USIP’s initial facilitation program runs parallel to the ongoing formal peace negotiation between the Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF) and the Government of the Philippines (GRP). By other means, the USIP has provided access to both Peace Panels and their Technical Working Groups (TWG) in preparing for research—as we call for new formulas to solve the problem of Bangsamoro people via negotiated political settlement of the Mindanao conflict. Demonstrably, the positions we describe here are predicated on an expectation that flexibility of parties to the ongoing peace process can lead by itself to a just and lasting negotiated comprehensive political solution.

3. Consider then how the interventionist component of USIP program elsewhere intersects between the complexity and the compatibility of Islam and democracy, which diverts the conflict to the outside.

Archaic limits on sovereignty do not accord with recent events in the interstices of democracy. Mindanao is linked as a frontier combining foreign policy rhetoric with justification for global antiterrorism measures to apply state coercive diplomacy. State practice of security creates identity by otherness and enmity. Warmongering faculty of the Presidency and Cabinet opens up the old antagonisms that put into precarious condition the Christian Filipino capability to govern the Bangsamoro people. But they cannot admit to harboring Islamophobia. With the continuing significance of Islam as a factor in such circumstances, the task of making this world endure for democracy becomes complicated, unless complemented by traditional alternative dispute resolution.

4. Consider finally a new doctrine for USIP to help shape the practice of ad hoc intervention at certain diplomatic stage to determine the permanent status of the Bangsamoro territory not as a legal question but as a political solution.

Current political trusteeship is a pragmatic template traced to the mandate system. From being a United States unincorporated territory, the evolution of the Philippine Islands under American political tutelage into a postcolonial transition Commonwealth was designed to determine Filipino future status. Thus defined, the Wilsonian telos of political development is institutionalized democracy. If we follow the fundamental rules of statecraft, Moros were de facto characterized by treaty-based rights and not by status as minority sector or by any class affiliation. From this point on, whatever is uncertain about the Moro’s prior claims now remains a stimulus likely to create de hure prospects for current transitional mechanisms to approach sovereignty-based conflict resolutions.

5. Consider at last a need to achieve the “Peace Department” role for USIP to mobilize international support even from a skeptical start to a high degree of outside proactive peacemaking initiatives translated into legitimacy.

Balancing between self-determination and sovereignty is the optimal method of ending conflicts. It is a hallmark of both international and internal legitimacy. It may well be that a coherent system of ad hoc intervention lurks around internal legitimacy for associative arrangements representing the premise of political stewardship in the preparation for the referendum that must decide the Bangsmoro permanent status. The South Sudan formula illustrates this Unity-with-Option modality as a result of workable arrangement under the Machakos Protocol. Its dominant considerations match those modern prescriptions for successful political trusteeship.

The specificity with which to exercise that Option of the Bangsamoro people, at least in part, is a legal in part, is a legal concept. At the end point of the political process, the case for Mindanao exhibits overlapping criteria for international and internal legitimacy; not only in terms of prior Protocol between European nations, but also at the level of signification resulting from its claimed territoriality. This is, in international context, the Sulu dynastic state was status quo ante assured special status as a protectorate by treaty; whereas, the Magindanaw dynastic state was a proto-state model of bounded territorial community of custom (suzerainty) and law with an interpretative overlay from customary international norms. Given the actuality transformed into the political culture that was consolidating into polity-centered versions of rulership.

Quests for convergence of the nonlegal factors facilitate understanding of the MILF-GRP peace Talks and the negotiation frameworks for future configurations in Mindanao. Subjection/integration, assimilation/aspiration, autonomy, and association: Such are the old grids to govern colonies. By this, political arguments for the Philippine Commonwealth cast the Moro polity/society as the problematic actor. For all its truncated evolution, there was a period of deep agitation in that this Government found itself face to face with the separatist Moro leaders and movements. The status quo in Mindanao has remained unacceptable and the unabetted armed conflict could be described as a stalemate for a number of good reasons. It just might be that new directions suitably related to the natural political patterns and social forces in Mindanao could channel less than formalistic (e.g., American style) models of democracy.

Materials generated from workshops, focus group discussions, and for a, writeups and analyses, such as those of peace researchers of USIP, have contributed to the understanding of the peace process. Advocacies have become added features of transparency about the progress of MILF-GRP peace negotiation. Understanding being always partial, we have become another casual sequence in the Government of Japan’s decision to dispatch a development expert to the International Monitoring Team (IMT), along with the Japanese new initiatives in regard to the Mindanao Peace Process. The Malaysian-led IMT — including Brunei and Libya — have performed the ceasefire monitoring task since July 2003, whereas the Japanese development expert can now begin to play a lead role in socioecomic monitoring.

Confronting reality in Mindanao

The centrality of the Bangsamoro homeland is intertwined with Bangsamoro identity as well as communal relationship to the land, the sea or lake, and the rest of the surrounding ancestral domains. With political ideology, asabiya or group pride may signify formally entering the world’s political life no longer via the backdoor, so to speak. It is this core value of holding on to their homeland that territorial claim is seen as central to the MILF diplomatic move for a negotiated political settlement.

Entrenching political structures and institutions

In sum, all outstanding commitments emanating from proper agreements are entrenching commitments to the incremental common denominator of permanent status. A time for reckoning commitment is upon us at this phase, as we take stock and more forward in the task of politics and diplomatic initiatives focused on self-determination. From 1997 to 2006, the GRP and MILF signed sixty-three agreements on various issues and concerns. Through the Government of Malaysia’s facilitation, the MILF-GRP Peace Panels have reached twenty-five Consensus Points weaving together all four strands of Ancestral Domain: conceptual foundation, territory, governance, and resources. Negotiations to resolve sovereignty-based conflict are unlikely to succeed without third party mediations where the centrality of the state as an important player in international relations is challenged. Third party mediation that prods the parties towards peace confidence building has impelled minimal transparency. Joint advocacies at this diplomatic state that promote popular confidence and leadership capacity for aggregating interests have entered another level of awareness. Typically, transparency here is aimed to reduce the domestic level of public confusion that comes with change. In summation, I have presented the salient points:

1. Clearly define what the struggle is about.

The Bangsamoro struggle does not make the Filipino people at large the real enemy. Nevertheless, on a nationalist level, the historicity of ethnic assertions is irrelevant. What is our perception of the condition of colonizibility in Mindanao? With its colony of migrants/settlers, the Central Government acts as a de-nationalizing authority, stripping off and denying Moros their Bangsamoro identity. Fundamentally, it is their birthright to secure their identity and posterity. To entrench the Bangsamoro homeland as a territorial space, with freedom of choice for indigenous peoples, does shape identity. Without a governing base, the issue of indigenous claims is stillborn and simply belongs to the sphere of ancestral vernacularism.

The Bangsamoro people’s struggle emanates from their identity claims and collective interests. This results from the movement for recognition of core ethnies and the role that mass mobilization by the intelligentsia plays in our people’s struggle. The Bangsamoro vertical variant includes ethnies stranded between tradition and modernity who seek to resolve their own identity crises by reasserting the history and culture of their community. Divergent experience of the hispanized population does much to explain that Filipino nationality mingled with the creole elites who sought a separate collective destiny. The rest of the nation was transformed from vertical patterns of ethnies led by the intelligentsia who leapt over colonization to rediscover their ethnic heritage. Once we focus on the asymmetrical degree of interdependence, the question of vexed citizenship related to ancestral domain issues becomes relevant.

Coercion in the service of political objectives is a limited means because it does not truly relocate final authority to end in closure of grievances. Most importantly, any military adventurism is also political. Armed struggle is an extension of the means to redress serious and legitimate grievances; MILF military actions are not aimed at the country as a whole. Devolved function extending a type of internal security arrangement whereby the Bangsamoro juridical entity (BJE) is able to apply its own policies within the broad constraints of a basic law, and still be able to exercise its authority and prerogative within its jurisdiction, can take a range of forms.

2. Firmly proffer a new modality to end conflicts.

Modality to accord an organically functioning BJ E with entrenched rights to exercise sovereign authority shared with the central authority is a step agreed to establish a system of life and governance suitable and acceptable to the Bangsamoro people. There is consensus on this point. Convening of constitutional framers tasked to write the basic law of the BJE, the modalities of which is to be contained in the comprehensive compact, is a logical step; but the content will emerge only from final status negotiation. Until restored to the Bangsamoro people, conflict-affected areas (CAAs) are undeniable reminders of unjust displacement and dispossession. But where restoration is no long possible, Government must take measures for adequate reparation. There is consensus on this, too. As a conceptual referent, CAAs are factored into development work and human security in Mindanao related to the Bangsamoro Development Agency (BDA). Consensus is now arrived at to enter provisional arrangements to establish constructive structures and associative relationships that realign the core areas of autonomy, expanding it for this purpose, to resolve outstanding claims over the CA As. The purpose is to delimit and delineate the territorial boundary lines marking the new zone of separation. Reasonably sustaining wealth creation is a function of ownership/ control of all natural wealth and resources of whatever kind which, under the jurisdiction of the BJE, can be subjects of sharing through economic cooperation agreement or arrangement. This is correlative to transfer of power provisions on financial control and revenue collection and the authority to create its own tax base, rates, and customs duties.

3. Clearly define criteria for transfer power provisions.

Associative arrangements to be embodied in a comprehensive compact establish the structure of governance with defined executive, legislative, and judicial powers and functions. Entrenchment empowers BJE to legislate and administer revenue-generating measures through taxation, public borrowings (foreign and domestic), licensing, and income from government investment. The consensus is arrived at without details.

Besides taxing powers, authority granted to BJE includes financial control for governmental accounting and auditing systems and standards suitable to BJE. Transfer of powers also provides for budgeting and allocation of funds for governmental functions, development, and public services. Effectiveness in delivery of basic government services to create an economic environment of prosperity is a concrete means to attain legitimacy. There is a consensus on this point.

Typical areas maintained for institution building are civil service, electoral, financial and banking, education, legislation, legal, economic, police and internal security force, judicial system, and correctional institutions all necessary for developing a progressive Bangsamoro society. Judicial review mechanisms can exist in separations institutions to leave room for Shariah-based courts and banking system.

4. Closely navigate with a timeframe for transition process.

The transitory provision for establishing institution simultaneous with the transfer of governance to the BJE—prior to the determination of the final political status—is the mechanism for entrenchment. The transition period has the defined function to the framework agreements. The transition period officially ends with the proclamation of the referendum results from an electoral exercise internationally monitored by a third party. There is consensus on this procedural step.

By joint understanding, the term entrenchment means, for the purposes of giving effect to the transitory provision, the creation of a process of institution building to exercise shared sovereign authority over territory and defined functions of associative character prior to the determination of final status.

In order to reach the appropriate transitional mechanisms and other modalities for governance, the procedural steps include options, transitory process, sequence, and time periods ended by the referendum results. There has to be popular consultation leading to a referendum as the mode to determine the future political status of the Bangsamoro people. The mechanism is to be embodied in the comprehensive -compact, and it is conducted at the end of the transition process.

A multinational third party is envisioned to monitor the actual implementation of the comprehensive compact and to supervise the review of the transitory mechanism to introduce and support changes. This will provide continuity for the IMT now in place in Mindanao. There is consensus on this unarmed and consensual type of preventive peacekeeping model.

Defining structures and triggers for devolution

The optimal method for legitimacy bid under the republican state and the international community implicates each other as opposing domains of political reality that corresponds to the dual face of sovereignty. Thus, preparation of the domestic population for self-government was conveyed to all Mandates. That mandate earned sovereignty that, as such, will survive and vest legitimacy upon the new state. The mandatory control of Mindanao seemed relative only to status issues that have developed between a regional entity without autonomy and the nation-state in question. But manipulative corruptions in Manila have adverse distributional effects due to blurring of levels of analysis of the Bangsamoro problem. It is for this reason that the MNLF modality of power sharing combined with autonomy has lost credibility. Regionalism provides only autonomy: Without forms of power sharing, it is less integrative and somewhat federative. It may at best have a quasi-constitutional ground. In contrast, the MILF envisions the BJE to be entrenched in a comprehensive compact right from the start.

My advocacy to establish foundational criteria reconfigured in diplomatic practices is articulated to bring about an ingenuous solution. Foreign policy and domestic politics have become difficult to disentangle because of the transocial relations of the Muslim community. The Mindanao conflict needs a closure, but what it cannot foreclose is the democratic right of the Bangsamoro people to determine their future political status ending in referendum results. Conversely, the closure of the conflict should and must end eventually in popular consultation process provided for by international law.

1. Organic bonds within the community.

The involvement of the Organization of Islamic Conference (OIC) in the MILF-GRP Peace Process implies the OIC’s formal recognition of the MILF’s claim to representation of the Muslim South of the Philippines. It is tolerable to ask if there is a real stable identity to the Bangsamoro people; for this identity is not repressed or concealed. Because it can be decided as to who is included and who is excluded or given a choice, the MILF-GRP Peace Panels adopted identity as an animating principle behind consensus points on governance strand of the Ancestral Domain agenda. This acknowledgement corresponds to the criterion of organic bonds within the community claiming it, relating to common historical, cultural, religious, or ethnic ties.

MILF outlook and assertiveness advance ethos of sharing autochthonous claims or grievances to assert conceptual precendents. But as a party to the negotiation, its peace panel puts forward cogent arguments, it listens inasmuch as it accepts demonstrably reasonable outcome.

It is clear how well the coordination is working. The BDA has actively cooperated with the World Bank-Multidonor Joint Needs Assessments (WB-JNA). Giving prority to the economic sector is now boosted with the formal decision of a Japanese agency to join the IMT in a nonmilitary capacity with the military and armed forces via the Coordinating Committee on Cessation of Hostilities (CCCH) and Ad Hoc Joint Action Group (AHJAG), the MNLF leadership has answered to calls of removing threats to communities and building confidence to lend legitimacy to the peace process.

2. Develop understanding of legitimacy.

When it comes to the plea for republicanism, democracy, and minority rights, modernity marks the conception, of citizenship among diverse societies via concrete participation. Mandated benchmarks are both necessary and essential for preparatory work on final status negotiations. International law provides various criteria for exercising attributes of sovereignty over a territory even for only an interim period. If a community desires statehood, as some commentators point out, the idea of a pre existing unity may be avoided in nationalist ideology precisely via the social construction of the single most important critetrion of nationality, i.e., shared national grievance.

There lies the crux of the age-old Moro problem that is embarrassing the Philippine state, whose own identity is the historical product of a communal wish to enjoy a sovereign status on the basis of an assertion of constitutional independence. Just as this vision of Filipino nationalism problematizes social relations linked to its colonial legacy, it also produces form during armed conflict with the military. Security is tied to the nationalist identity, but not until people., rather than citizens, are the primary subjects of security can a comprehensive peace compact be achieved.

This key point is, in turn, linked to specific cultural pretensions of the interest of its demos, embedded in the protocols or exclusionary practices signifies as nation-a-forming (domestic citizenry) and popular sovereignty (plebiscitary consent). What reinforces distinction between people and citizenry is statist identity that constructs citizenship as synonymous with loyalty to eliminate all of that which is foreign. Underscoring protection against outside military threats delegitimizes all claims to authority of the sort made in behalf of territories and peoples with non-western cultural traditions.

Does it matter today that the incorporation of Moro territories into the Philippines has not been about modernizing efforts through benevolent assimilation? Nor has it come at the price of tutelage of truncated promise of institutional reforms? A compromised sovereignty emerged out of the balances of foreign interest in the writing of Treaties and Protocols relating to Sulu, Palawan, Mindanao, and its adjacent islands. There was no way for the Moro polities to embed the stategic values of their territory into the Western Great Power games. Practicalities of a new era demand asymmetrical modality for the Bangsamoro people to determine the nature of their own belonging with impulses for non-centralization.

3. Reconcile authority with self-determination principles.

There are principles of self-determination and human rights international instruments involved in the MILF-GRP framework documents. Human security concerns are written into the Implementing Guidelines of Security and Rehabilitation Aspects of the MILF GRP. Adherence to Protocols 2 and 3 for the protection of combatants and noncombatants and the role of the International Committee of Red Cross (ICRC) in the year of 2000 figured out. IMT overlaps the internal/external margins as it performs its function.

Yet it behooves now on the part of the Philippine Republic to do better — to boldly tackle the fault lines at the borders with its own just sense of duty and fairness — where the US failed in the American sense of justice, sense of government, and sense of capacity to usher in prosperity. But can America still rectify it? By voluntarily agreeing to a bilateral territorial consent to demarcate Bangsamoro territory, the Government of the Philippines could show its flexibility and, if the population desires to form a BJE in associative ties with the republic, should establish legitimate core requirements thereof.

Should the MILF-GRP successfully negotiate a political settlement of the Mindanao conflict, it can establish subjective legitimacy to the BJE via comprehensive compact with the central juridical authority. By the practices of earned sovereignty, MILF precisely proffers incremental gains of past agreements—treaty-based rights and criteria of subjective legitimacy presently entrenched for institution building. The right of the Bangsamoro people to determine their future political status, with option defined in transition mechanisms, sequences, and time periods ending in the referendum results, is based on popular process as source of claim to statehood.

Ideation of quest for homeland

Shared beliefs in freedom and aspirations for self-determination are powerful abstractions. Given the temporal depth of claims/ conflicts, we do not take for granted the western duality of freedom and the necessity of war. Rather, it is the promise of just peace, more than the exploitation of antagonism, that anticipates progress in the political world. Formidable hardships are faced when arguments arc made to support claims concerning the gradual emergence of the idea of sovereign will on what is required.

A good start is the word combination “homeland” that conveys a bounded yet extensive territory. The recourse to the idioms “motherland” or “founding fathers” embodies that ideation of who has sovereignty. Apart from the rightness or wrongness of this historical claim of what we have as a foundational status are configured mixtures of partly actualized historical order or similar undefined entities. Sovereign will signifies the start of political struggle, not the site of the foundational entity; thus, the transitory process has the defined function to stabilize earned sovereignty so provisional statehood or conditional sovereign authority can be signified on ground. Still it recurs—arguably in various forms at diverse spatial and temporal locales—as protocols become established for governing relationships. Because our modern conception of sovereignty has space as the most important dimension, so space and territory are always tied up together. We advocate, however, that it is plausible to conceive of a deterritorialized spatial solution as conditional. Portraying this deferment of domestic community’s essential project for rational national unity opens critical space for rearticulating the modern political organizing principle of sovereign statehood.

Writing in this manner, my purpose is merely to trace the changing functions of sovereign will and to defer its understanding in favor of genuine or serious questions of enmity and amity played out in diplomatic circles. As it is, for the Bangsamoro people’s struggle, when policy becomes foreign, what is alien to the nation state? Much has been made of the novelty of the Philippine setting in regard to negotiating the gradual transference to sovereign statehood with reversion of alien sovereignty implicating both military basing and parity rights. It still generates controversies—as in the case of the Balikatan exercises’ in Basilan, Cotabato, and Sulu—that puzzle the peasantry.

As our communities become identifiably distinct from the real government, what we end up with is a disjunctive sign of sovereign (political) authority relative to arrangement of associative ties and tiers for internal legitimacy. Unsettled are questions of what the range of authority of a domestic community might be in practice. So far, no standards derived from global autonomy arrangements are aggregated into a single international covenant. Nevertheless, a range of intermediate statuses associated with provisional statehood via earned or phased recognition is evolving. By this route, we confront earned sovereignty as a constitutive principle. It is viable in bringing closure to the Mindanao conflict that is currently so tangled with interactive dynamics of a territorial state and nonstate practices that contest the foundations of sovereign authority.

I hope to redirect analysis and scholarship to look at our new approach to sovereignty-based conflict settlement: To view its modality not as an erosion of a territorially bounded entity, but an indication that statecraft is not primarily about relations between the sovereign state, but also relative to the governance of its component units. To document how that entity is in the process of emerging or changing in its capabilities for full juridical autonomy on the international scene, we examine the plausible transformation of its constitutive elements.

Interrogating the Philippine State

It is erroneous to confuse legitimacy with justice. Interrogating the Philippine state makes possible inquiring into the justness of the original position pertaining to the stately foundation of authority. The struggles to establish and displace the sovereign foundations of the monarchical order follow the evolution of the shift of the locus of sovereign authority from the ruler to the people represented at the Malolos Congress. Who is or was represented? Too easily is it taken for granted that those represented equated the nation.

Competing perceptions of history and current reality would likely undermine the MILF-GRP Peace Talks without skillful facilitation that allows all options to be on the table. I take the position that prior to the American intervention, location of sovereign authority was the Spanish monarch from whom all powers originated governing the Philippine Islands as a colonial possession. It was just that the foundational authority figure for the most part of Mindanao (except the northern portion) and its adjacent islands and the Sulu archipelago, including Palawan, were the rulers of the dynastic realms of Magindanaw, Sulu, and Ranaw.

Success in pursuing self-determination requires peace researchers political sophistication in drawing from the unique features of local political experience. Thinking through the mixtures of colonial policy tools and goals, we must cut deeper into the abstract idiom that underlies current political ideas and structures. My principal concern is to offer something emancipatory beyond an explanatory account of the Philippine state.

Context of integration under subjection

First, justification for control of territory by Spanish conquest and American colonization defined the understanding about the workings of power to exploit resources. The notion of temporary rule for the benefit of the people projected the idea that to be sovereign is to be fully developed upon subjection. To what end? The integration model is only a limiting case of the general theory. The conclusion that the Moros were in some sense uncivilized and thus seem to have no locatable sovereign is itself contested. In practical reality, America disregarded the Moro political aspiration when it established itself as the occupying protectorate. A priori arguments prevailed that Moroism exists in Mindanao and its adjacent islands, constituting another power on land founded on interdiction and law. On its logic are tangled public confidence, practical indicia concerning the dual context of political violence, protracting armed struggle in the service of political objectives, authority figures, and the rise of extremist groups at the border areas.

Why are there separate states? Is it the case then that they represent the distribution of the world into nations? Or is it just that brutal and arbitrary means characterize how the state has been constituted? Shift in the basis for the locus of power and authority now makes it possible to deconstruct that foundation of the political system that organizes law enforcement.”) What the late MILF Chairman Salamat Hashim appealed, in a letter in 2003 to US President George W. Bush, is about rectifying a historical error in US policy of incorporating the Moro polity into the Philippine polity. This recourse to a friendly Great Power is, for the MILF, to signify the legal framework and peaceful means of good offices. The reply of Assistant Secretary of State James A. Kelley to Salamat is clear about the US recognizing that the Muslims of the Southern Philippines “have serious, legitimate grievances.” The US will not mediate nor will it participate in the negotiations directly; yet it stands ready to support, both politically and financially, a both-if We peace process between GRP and MILF. Kelley assured that the US “will not seek to supplant Kuala Lumpur.” Indeed, the US seeks to work with the Malaysians for a successful peace settlement. In fact, the State Department has tasked the USIP instead “to further” the peace process.

Our inquiry into the limit of the political world harks back to the theory and practice of proto-sovereignty when the problem of piracy was confronted systematically because it represented a test case of the extent of sovereign authority and autonomy. To us, in modernity, outlawry is a public declaration: Thus, to account for the reconceptualization of negative, reactive, and immanent power of civil interdiction operatively substituting for police power in hot pursuit by ad hoc joint action group against criminal syndicates is to reconsider the sovereignty/intervention boundary. On a positive note, the track of MILF-GRP Peace Talks promises to be the linchpin of the broader Mindanao peace process: The legitimate fight in defense against terrorism. Taking these pointers together may reflect public willingness to accept questionable features of political control for satisfying needs, albeit it often blurs the difference between domination and liberation.

Aspirational context of assimilation

Second, even as American benevolent assimilation offered the dependent peoples a prolongation of the parent state, it was aspirational for the metropolis and elite Filipinos. If a republican state warranted popular sovereignty characterized by the making of majority/minority, the appeal to equality and inalienable rights are ultimately traced to American tradition and Hispanic Catholic heritage. Via political aspirations, worldviews, value claims, transformations, and so on, the stepwise interventions take place to organize equivalent liberal capitalist democracy. This project of universalizing the liberal movement from below neglects its troubled relationship to time dimension.

Thus, invasion discourses on manifest destiny of the American people to establish the boundaries of the nation from the Atlantic to the Pacific pointed to who are the people in the Philippines. To obscure manifold differences, the international had to be assimilated and turned into a domestic entity in order to guarantee legitimacy, with the people as the referent. Controversy has raged on, as in episodic events, because self-evident truths are negated in recent sovereign remedies for complicity to questions of legitimacy.”

The compelling effect of this story opens up how Mindanao had a predominantly Muslim population whose serious grievances and frustrations with the status quo boiled up in 1968, culminating in the Muslim Independence Manifesto (MIM). Continued loss of Muslim superiority and dominance in Mindanao is a critical factor to the pursuits of occupation dependent upon the generative power of the earth, the control of land area, and the use of resources. Continuity of demands clustered around agenda for MILF-GRP negotiation resonates with modern criteria to garner consensus’ inclusive of the indigenous people.

Context of crisis in autonomy

The autonomy envisaged in the MNLF-GRP Final Peace Agreement of 1996 has come half a century after the inauguration of Philippine independence in 1946.13 Arguing for an emancipatory framework of political space, it poses helpful dichotomies for the Moros as distinct, separate politics.

And it has conditioned, too, the limit of ideological silence pertaining to the abstract entity of representation of the Philippine body politic in its foundational status. The natural logic of episodic events of EDSA 1 and EDSA 2 reinforces the power of the basic argument of the article: the full autonomy of the juridical entity is in crisis.

1. The formative union of state and nation.

Now we can presuppose that the return of the body politic—union of state and nation—as the metaphor of full juridical autonomy creates a mutually reifying effect on the more abstract and transcendent concept of territorial status. A nd so, I suggest that understanding the republican state to give impetus to the geographical orientation of political control inhibits reorganizing reality of demos actors’ plea for revolution at the capital region. This underlines all the more that the regularity of election is the essence of republicanism.

As borne out during the term of Fidel V. Ramos, progress in the NINLF-GRP negotiated settlement required a re-evaluation of parameter problems and international monitoring mechanisms. From its incipience, this process was eroded by internal political dynamics and troublesome unilateral interpretative constitutional process for obtaining plebiscitary consent. There is thus, on one spectrum, a challenge to the Macapagal-Arroyo presidency to configure by any conceivable good faith the application of the standards implementation phases through the remainder of her term. On the other spectrum, the MILT-GRP negotiation issues deserve a mixture of lessons learned as grid of peace process. Central authority can very easily eliminate the condition of colonizibility via earned sovereignty formulation, according to the set of hallmarks for permanent and final status negotiation.

2. The contested claims for authority and freedom.

Martial rule during the 1970s was an alibi governance structure acting to preserve the sovereign foundation of the republic , thereby saving it from dismemberment. The protection of interest is not a theory: Its analysis turns on a political acumen to deal with concrete problems. Justifications to use state coercive power have taken in the name of authority. For Marcos, a theory of revolution from the center was necessary to arrest the fragmentation of practical political authority. Authority is what official claims invoked when the Jabidda plot and massacres of Moros in genocidal proportions occurred and Muslim dominated provinces were gerrymandered. The worsening armed conflict in Mindanao from 1972 onward invited OIC member countries to intervene. And the subsequent 2000 wars of presidential ambitions demonstrated how bad governance and political violence result in an unstable status quo. Government effectiveness is a core tenet in international and internal legitimacy, which precisely deals with power and leadership.

Considerations of the 1976 Tripoli Agreement by now are intertwined with the 1973 Constitution, 1986 Freedom Constitution, and the 1987 Constitution. Parameter difficulties must be broadly settled to negotiate the crucial concepts: Autonomy, independence, and freedom. How can claims to the final status of the Bangasamoro people be determined by an open political culture that shifts with the assumption of a single logic to account for them? a popularly elected government is not enough to recast the distinction between two key concepts: Government and people. It is not sufficient because the Constitution is too narrow a framework to negotiate the Mindanao conflict and the problem of the Bangsamoro people. Neither is it genuine enough to invoke the limitedness of the constitutional process. In this context, the autonomous regions covered by autonomy-specific provisions of the 1987 Constitution do not encompass self-determination in regard to the associative claims of authority, self-rule, and freedom.

Emerging context of association

The concept of territorality is hardly investigated in international relations. Even changes in the European Union and global economy move beyond state sovereignty and territoriality towards overlapping authorities and non-territorial offshore markets. It the first place, international relations theory is not adept at problematizing the discontinuity in the state system to yield to instances of configuring political space. There is no search for entities substitutable for the state; what takes place is the unbundling of territoriality.

Yet, from another angle, the practice of ad hoc intervention does short shrift the doctrine of free state association. For political effect, association allows a degree of self-governance with delegation of power. Post-colonial transition type is practically replaced by intervention for political trusteeship or earned sovereignty approach following the official end of UN trusteeship system. Given this reality, however conditional or grudgingly ceded, a portion of the juridical autonomy of the parent state produces particular competencies. Meantime, trying to sort out why former colonial states vary points our analysis back to their different foundations of sovereign authority. Very few states have actually possessed full juridical autonomy — the Philippines among others — and thus might be characterized as quasi-sovereign states. And while no stable “domestic community within clear, fixed boundaries” can be located, it has become analogous in historical event to speak of failed states.

1. The argument for foundational status.

Treating seriously Philippines sovereignty as a question already settled poses a challenge to reconstruct of deconstruct its foundational status. Take the notion of sovereign voice of authority: Philippine quasi-sovereign state status permitted it to be a founding member of the United nations (UN) now enjoying a nonpermanent seat in the UN Security Council. Within the state system, its membership in the Association of South East Asian Nations (ASEAN) denoted sovereign statehood. In addition to this spatial dimension, the Philippine entity’s full juridical autonomy and political identity can be inferred from diplomatic practice in current global political life.

Having attained some measure of legitimacy, how does the OIC observer status of Bangsamoro represented by MNLF implicate the intersections of politicized discourses between GRP and the intervening states? By this means of state behavior, the OIC resolutions discursively convey to GRP the concerns over the situation in Mindanao and Sulu; even if changes in the conduct of the state occur, we can detect the transitory character of the nexus of relationships of entities. More importantly, the OIC member states act as the legitimate interpretative community regarding Muslims in the South Philippines. Arguably, legitimacy should not be confused with justice. Although it means no more than agreeing to seek working arrangements via the permissible aims and methods of foreign policy, it implies tacit acceptance of international modes and standards of procedural steps in peace negotiation.

As for the MILF-GRP Peace Talks, the Government of Malaysia as facilitator allows the parties to work out the terms of reference as a necessary part of the framework. The exploratory talks break the structure of discussions into components of negotiation for the acceptance part and serves more for the negotiation of obstacles while tackling the substantive issues. The content part is more concerned with results rather than methods. The primary requirements of the procedure are confidentiality and informality. Owing to the political sensitivity of the facilitation as a process, the parties and the facilitator are often reluctant to place on record, except in fairly general terms, all the details and nuances of the procedural steps they went through. It should be noted that this largely explains the fact that even post factum the Secretariat-Facilitator, the GRP, and the MNLF have limited the access of the press.

2. The argument for conceptual adjustment.

Why negotiate and who are represented? It is a mistake to say that the theory of nationality is a retrograde step in history. This nationalist myth represents a break with the past, even as it casts it. Filipino nationalism aims at unification, but lacks the criterion of sharing grievances with the Bangsamoro people. Constitutive unity, when self-determination becomes associated with popular sovereignty, is attached to supposed nationhood; and what we call majority has the tendencies for discriminatory bias. Pressure from this question creates an urge in separatist movements specifically tested on autonomy precedents attuned to the nuanced minority rights standards of equal protection of law, just like in mature nation-states where distinct national groups live under the same democracy. More to the point, homogenizing notions of democratic citizenship illustrate the need to revise some of the unitary statist sovereign entity assumptions in public and constitutional spheres of equality of all peoples.

Concerning the facts about the formation of a monist polity into single-nation Filipino state, this Catholic country’s unitary purpose invites abuse of authority and oppressive rule, despite certain claims of tolerance for diversity. The interest of the Bangsamoro people will only be part of it, but they will never be in it because they are not of it. Some of the secular ideological constructs basic to the aspiration toward Filipino nationalism itself would rather treat Moros as minorities, in the context of tribe or sector. In fact, as self-determined communities, they are not effectively governed, thereby rendering the nationalist ideals remote. Who does this republic satisfy when it tries to produce a general plenty and wealth-acquisition via rent-seeking capital center where the power of the regional institutions is largely marginal? How to make sense of the status of the political economy so dependent on division of labor forces generative of overall wealth overseas—a situation that further suggests the ambiguities surrounding the sovereignty dilemma? To say of this phenomenon that it is retrogression to quasi-state status is not to say that it is a social capital formation for institution-building purposes.

3. The substantial argument.

Not only do present generations assert Bangsamoro identity as a birthright, but increasingly assert also the demands of current self-understanding of territorial relation in Mindanao as a homeland. There are legal grounds and joint advocacies as to reverence for the land of their forefathers, as to their attachments to ancestral domain, as well as to ancestry of those who arc perceived to have put elements of self-governance into the hind, thereby making it a territory. When we talk about a nation becoming a state from the vantage point of the duality of sovereignty—as a principle organizing our political reality and the understandings of it—it implies that politics needs a domestic arena with order, freedom, and authority. When the Bangsamoro people assert nationhood, we are not necessarily led back to the sovereign state: for a quasi-state is a susceptible recipient of intervention in various forms.

Associative ties and tiers entrenched in spatial dimension perceived to be a geographically contained structure of de ficto asymmetries—cultural, historical, geographic area, and so on—have greater potential for including national pluralism in a compact with which this type of asymmetrical agreement is constituted. To avoid an identity-based fragmentation of the political space, our common grasp of what is consent of the governed must encourage social trust attributes in the totality of relationships that underpin the contractualist rationale for empirical entities. Translated into the context of municipal trust law, it promises a more secured future for the Bangsamoro people. Substantively, when state apparatus hierarchy is reversed by the transition process—leading from the status quo in sequences and time periods—with the defined function of entrenching Bangsamoro rights, the BJE is thus configured by the institutional status arrangement into the political actor attributes.

What types of alternative measure can the central government promote as social trust that, for reasons of equity and social justice, will enable the Bangsamoro people to calculate their capacity to realize their principal interests within and outside the Philippine republic? To be clear, it is a social quality or authority shared. This is not pure academic discourse about construction of new labels, but it is a process of agenda-setting.

One paradoxical measure is to provide in the fundamental charter a clause permitting secession under qualified conditions as to the frequency of consultative referendums and to the majorities required in order to exercise the option to secede.” Contrariwise, this constitutional clause may impel the motivations of the members and of the majority group who are aware of the right of the region to opt for autonomous existence on the international state system.

4. The institutionalist argument.

The neo-institutionalist argument disarms the distrusts for collective rights that could bring authoritarian risk out of institutional mechanisms of demos: It is aware of the historical process that is full of wars, conquests, annexations, exterminations, or marginalization of whole peoples. But the actors have a way of taking revenge on the system.

Historicity grants the actor a more central place.I8Revolution signifies pure negativity, hence extra-constitutional, until Americans reinvented a “negarchy” opposite the “monarchy” matrix type. For all that, what is the un-thought of foundation between the Westphalian orthodoxy (1648) and the Philadelphian negarchy (1776) models? What do we make of the Java-NIalaccan negri or state system within the constellation of the sultanates simultaneous with the genesis of an international system? At the dawn of the state system in 1644, the Spanish colonial state attributed by treaty-right to Sultan Kudarat sovereign authority of the Magindanaw dynastic state. My point here is that the paradigm of rulership limits an understanding of the conceptual antecedents of sovereign authority in modernity.

In sum, the time dimension is underlined, indicating variant forms of sovereignty in historical periods seen as imposed negation of self-understandings opposite each other. That, in fact, does unravel the justness of the original position between the Bangsamoro people and the rest of the Filipino people. Making actual events more mythical adds on making myths more historical in our memories to help both nations understand themselves and to constitute identity. This way forward in our quest for genealogy of sovereign authority is both organized and historicized: In body social via rearrangement of identity and differences. It establishes sovereign authority as a principle of difference. Its origination is organically linked to the state as verified hierarchy and the nation as imagined community.

Interrogating the Philippine hierarchy-state as a whole entity therefore requires thinking out of the box, the kind that is capable of assimilating and associating political and social differences into one form or another and weaving them together as an array of arrangements and ties that acquire a new dimension: What is outside of the imported state is ideology; what is inside is foundation held under the sway of public opinion.

So much for the un-thought foundation of the state system. What happens now to the stress on nationalism arising from secessionist tendencies?

Given that the state has near absolute discretion to confront self determination movements, it does not tell where to go from here. However, ambiguity does not imply cluelessness. When we work out sovereign statecraft in terms of shared sovereign authority relations, we can unpack what links the state and the contested nationhood. Sovereign will, when juxtaposed to the principle of maslaha or general interest, uncovers the bundle of political-constitutional solutions coupled with final status negotiation.

Manobo Folktales

The value of studying folk literature cannot be overemphasized. Folk literature provides us the opportunity of knowing the culture of a people. Created by indigenous minds, it defines their identity and projects the inner quality and strength of their culture. According to Landa Jocano (1969), every society produces its own literature which is given form and meaning by its heritage, ideals, and aspirations.

The Manobo, being an indigenous group, typify the life-ways that form part of the early Filipino culture. Their lifestyle projects their traditions and customs that mirror their values as a distinct culture. Their literature, an oral tradition handed down by word of mouth, speaks of their sentiments, aspirations, and traditions. These values serve as their guide and inspiration in their life’s struggles.

This article presents twelve Manobo folk narratives in the form of myths, legends, and folktales that were collected, recorded and translated.

The demographic area covers the Libungan and Midsayap municipalities of Cotabato Province where a representative Manobo group, the Livunganen-Arumanen Manobo is found: in Barangay Anonang in Midsayap; Barongis Grebona and Sinapangan in Libungan and Libungan town proper.

Six informants facilitated the collection, transcription, and translation of  materials. They were chosen on the basis of these qualifications: (1) knowledge about the tribe’s customs and traditions, (2) knowledge of folk literature, (3) acknowledged authority in the tribe, and (4) sufficient educational background to facilitate the language transcriptions and translations.

The same informants, who were not related to each other and who belonged to the different age levels, were also used by the researcher in conducting the “three-generation test” and the “five-individual test” were: Macol Bidangan (78 years) and Calerio Randing (78 years) as belonging to the set of older generation; Venancio Quirino (56 years), Carina Vicente (55 years), and Dominga Pasaol (41 years) as belonging to the set of middle-age generation; and Jeanelyn Tomaring (15 years) as belonging to the younger generation.

After the informants related their stories in Manobo, they were asked regarding the tribe’s customs, practices, and beliefs to confirm the values projected in their stories. One informant, who is knowledgeable in the transcription of the Manobo language and who can speak the Visayan language, Venancio Quirino, was asked to transcribe all the Manobo folk narratives. The researcher copied the transcribed stories for her second copy. While the two of them read together the transcribed narratives, Mr. Quirino translated them orally, mostly sentence by sentence and sometimes freely, to the Visayan language. The researcher translated these into English.

The Livunganen-Arumanen Manobo

The Manobo, of which the Livunganen-Arumanen is only one of several subtribes, are scatteres throughout Mindanao. When the Spaniards came, they saw the Manobo in the interior watershed of Agusan, Iligan, Caraga, Camiguin Island, Malalag, Sarangani, Cotabato, Davao areas, and Rio Grande de Mindanao. The Spaniards found out that the name Manobo was applied to several pagan Malay tribes in northern and eastern Mindanao: the Subanun, Bukidnon, Tiruray, Bagobo, Ata, B’laan, Tasaday, and others. They saw them as homogeneous (Blair and Robertson, 1903).

The origin of the Manobo is not definitely known. A Jesuit Francisco Combes (1620-1665), said they probably came from Burney based on the language structure that they used. Dr. Richard Elkin’s “Proto-Manobo Theory” (in Manuel 1973) defines a class relationship of Manobo languages of which there are 19 dialects today. The change in languages took place when the Proto-Northern Manobo separated from the mainstream body and located themselves in Bukidnon and Misamis Oriental, then to Camiguin Island and Cagayan Island.

Their epic, Ulahingan, which is religious and historical in nature, supports the theory that the first Manobo settled in Northern Mindanao in Cagayan de Oro. The Livunganen-Arumanen Manobo believe that the Ulahangin people were the original Manobo who were later scattered in Mindanao. They claim that from Cagayan de Oro they sailed to Banobo. When the Muslim faith reached their place, some were converted into Islam while the others refused to accept and sailed away in their vintas. The converted brothers called them stubborn Banobo, which later became the term “Manobo” (Peñares and Bidangan in Manuel 1962).

More discussions however, were presented as to where the term “Manobo” came from. Dr. David Barows (in Benedict 1907) reports that Manobo is a native word which means in the Bagobo language tao. Dr. Arsenio Manuel (1973) says that the word “Manuvu” means person; however, he says that munuvu is a term used by other tribes in referring to the Bagobo people. Blair and Robertson (1903) say that the term “man” is also applied to many savage tribes in all parts of the world.

Some Arumanen have also settled in Arakan Valley, but Dr. Sebelion Wale (a Manobo elder) says they are of different background; while Elkins (in Manuel 1973) says that they also came from Aruman, and the Livunganen-Arumanen belongs to the same subgroup. The Arakan Arumanens are reffered to as  the “Iliyanen Manobo.”

The home of the Livunganen-Arumanen is Aruman in Carmen, North Cotabato, Famine struck them so they transferred to the Libungan area and extended to Pigcawayan. Another famine struck the area so most of them  settled at Barongis, a barrio of Libungan municipality, while some settled at other barrios of Libungan such as Grebona and Sinapangan, Libungan town proper, and Anonang which is a barrio of Midsayap municipality. This is the research area.

Today, Barongis has a mixed population of Manobo, Muslims, and Visayans, with intermarriages taking place and with the Manobo as the dominant settlers. The clash of values takes place in clothing, housing, method of farming, and faith. Some cultivate the ricefields in irrigated areas, especially those living in the barrio of Anonang, Midsayap; but most of them generally engage in upland farming where they plant corn, cassava, camote, banana, mongo, peanuts, and coconuts using the traditional farming of carabao and plow system. The younger generations are exposed to more education with the accessibility of elementary and high schools. Moreover, many have become professionals who are gainfully employed and who can move towards the upliftment of their people. Living together with other linguistic groups, they have become conversant with other languages, such as the Visayan, and have harmonious social relations with the latter.

Acculturation is fast taking place, but their traditional beliefs and practices are deeply rooted as an integral part of their culture. Many have become Christians,  while some retain their tribal religion. Other aspects of their society’s personality may have changed, yet tradition would evidently stand out to mark their identity as an indigenous people.

Evidence shows they still cling to traditional beliefs and practices: (1) the practice of their tribal faith despite being Christianized, as shown in their Salilaya ceremony which is ministered by the walian or medicine man who invokes and communicates with supernaturals and other beneficent spirits on occasions like thanksgiving, petition, and festivity; (2) the preservation of their folk literature via oral transmission from generation to generation. This is done through gathering together young and old members for the story time with the aim of preserving their old traditions that inspire them to emulate and guide their ways in life’ daily struggles; (3) the recognition and respect accorded to their datu or chieftain whom they call Timuay, their walian or medicine man who foretells future events and ministers to the sick, and their Pekelukesen or Council of Elders that serves as consultative body for the community’s affairs; (4) the practice of parental arrangement and dowry systems in marriage; (5) the tolerance of polygamous marriages for men who can afford more than one family; (6) the close family ties through an extended family; (7) the close social  relation of sharing among the neighborhood and the community; and (8) the type of clothing they wear during festivals and other special occasions.

  1. Ka Uled

[Pg 3. Refer to the Original Copy]

Serpents

There was an old couple who had no children. They possessed the power of foretelling the future, so their followers believed them. That time there was a famine. All of them experienced starvation and many of them died. The famine became so severe with the burning of forests. All people and animals suffered from hunger. Many also suffered from different kinds of illness.

While the famine intensified, the spirit entered into the old woman.

The spirit through this woman said that something fearful was about to come. It would look frightening but this would help them in many ways. That time really came as told by the old woman, and the people were shaken when they heard a sound.

The old woman saw them, and so she warned them to stop and not to go away. Then that frightful thing approached them.

The old man also looked at it and he saw a big animal with horns and ears. It looked as though it was panting and wet.

The old man touched the old woman, and he pointed to that frightful thing. The old woman also looked at it, and she said that they would just wait for it.

Then she told the people that they should just watch it for God was with them.

When that big frightful thing finally arrived, it was seen as a big serpent.

That was what the old folks called before as “Tendayag.” It looked fearful but it could help the people.

When it got near them, they saw the different types of fish jumping alive around the scales of the serpent’s body.

The old woman said, “You get near it, and you pick up some fish.”

They picked up plenty because their baskets were filled. The serpent continued crawling until it reached the place of Kituved.

Some people followed the serpent. When it reached Kituved, it raised its head to find out if somebody would answer if it would shout.

The people projected that the answer might come somewhere from the Merepangi waterfall, and the serpent went there. It lowered its body, and it really showed how big it was because the earth eroded. That is why that mountain is called “Kimenembag” or eroded.

It left the area and moved towards Merepengi.

When it arrived, it crawled under the waterfall. The foaming bubbles made it obvious that the two had finally met. Blood and rotten leaves of trees floated in the water.

Not long after, one came out and then the other one followed. They came out and talked to each other as serpents.

 “We will take off our serpent’s cloak because we are both humans.” “Yes,” said the other one.

And they turned into human beings. Now, they faced each other and each held a weapon. As they faced each other, they stared at each.

One said, “Are you Menelism?”

“Why, are you Bete-ey?”

They both answered, “Yes!”

“Since you are Menelism?”

“Why, are you Bete-ey?”

They both answered, “Yes!”

“Since you are Menelism, you go back to heaven; while I will stay here on earth,” said Bete-ey who was his brother, “for I will help and teach righteousness to the people.”

2. Kine Pebpangkat Dut Dunya

[Pg 5. Refer to the Original Copy]

Order in the Universe

This is the story of how God divided the work in the universe. He divided it like the beehive which is watched by the caretaker named Peneyangan. This Peneyangan can make himself appear like a bee. God also assigns Kelayag to take care of the rice and corn. The one who takes care of the fish is Elimugkat, the god of the fish. The caretaker who is called by the hunters is Kelayag. He watches the wild pigs, the deer, and the other animals. Either Kelayag or Lelawag does this work. The one who takes care of all the needs of men is Derahangan ne karang. The one who takes care of men of bad character is Mengilala.

These are the seven gods assigned to the universe. The one who takes care of peace is the creator God because the whole world as in Him. Those who don’t obey Him belong either to Mengilala or Derahangan ne Karang. Most men seek Mengilala and Derahangan ne Karang.

3. Apo At Agkir-agkir Si Wara Bulvul

[Pg 5. Refer to the Original Copy]

The Hairless Apo of Mount Akir-akir

This Apo of Mount Akir-akir had no hair. The parents of Apo were both walian or healers. After he was born, they soon became weak and sick. They eventually died, leaving Apo an orphan.

In his young age, he lived with his uncle. The wife of his uncle was cruel. When his uncle was away, his aunt would scold him.

His aunt refused to take care of his health. He acquired many skin diseases. He became so dirty that flies would flock to him. He could no longer stay in the house, and he was treated by his aunt as a servant.

His uncle had a cornfield which was being destroyed by monkeys and pigs. There the boy would stay until the afternoon to drive away the
monkeys and pigs. Sometimes, his aunt refused to give him food.

As he grew to manhood, his diseases healed but his hair started to
fall. Surprisingly, those who pitied him got healed when they came to him. His healing powers grew stronger the more his aunt oppressed him.

By the time he became an adult, his family brought him to the
mountain of Akir-Akir. It turned out that the trials he had undergone were actually the test required of a healer. He surmounted all the trials.

That was the time that he acquired the familiar. At first he did not
stay permanently on Mt. Akir-Akir. He would go home occasionally. The people in his hometown got used to his periodic disappearances. Then he told them he would no longer come back.

“If you truly trust God, you will come to me because I will be on top of that mountain. When you come, make your offering of betel nut. My friend will tell me what you should do if you ask for help.

The people obeyed all his words. If they had problems, they would come up and make him an offering on the mountain. What looked like a mountain was actually a big palace.

Because he was really human, he did not disappear all at once. Time came when only his arm appeared to them. Then only his voice could be heard. Later, it happened that he could only be heard speaking through a faith healer.

He was called “Apo without Hair.” Because of his experience of cruelty, the gods took pity on him and turned him into a supernatural being.

4. Ke Pu-Un Te Barongis

[Pg 6. Refer to the Original Copy]

The Legend of Barongis

This story is about Barongis. There was a man who had a sweetheart
he wanted to marry. He looked for a job to prepare for their wedding. He found one.

But there was another suitor whom the woman did not love. This
rival killed him [Barongis].

On his way back to work, this rival assaulted him [Barongis] and
killed him.

The woman cried a lot during the burial. The murderer felt so happy
for he would be able to marry her. He was no longer worried for he already got what he wanted.

The woman mourned a lot and got sick and died. Before she died, she left instructions that she wanted to be buried beside her slain love.

After a few weeks, a grass grew on their graves. People were
wondering what it was and called it Barongis.

5. Ke Pu-Un Te Livungan

[Pg 7. Refer to the Original Copy]

The Legend of Libungan

A long time ago, the name of this place was “Tubak.” There was a
drought. All the people, including those from Bukidnon and Arakan Valleys, were affected. It was really a dry season because no water remained, except in Tubak where a little amount of water was flowing night and day. Then the people learned that there in Tubak was flowing water that did not dry up. Because of that, many people took refuge here.

When they arrived, many went to fetch the water, especially the
Manobo, some of whom were hunters.

They had already united and they agreed to farm in Sinewaran.
The seeds that they produced were used as feeds for chickens. They planted the field that they had cultivated with only one cob of corn. When the corn was already harvested, they divided the harvest among themselves and kept some for their seeds. They could already plant anytime and they would continually harvest.

The people improved their economic life, and they intermarried
with other groups, and that was the beginning of a mixture of people living in Tubak. Since they already understood each other, they agreed to change the name of Tubak.

“We will call it Libungan.” That was because many people could
hardly recognize each other’s differences due to intermarriages.

Thus, the name of the river became Libungan.  After settling in Libungan, some of them still longed to go back to their respective places that they had left before. So, some of them remained in Libungan, while some went back to their places of origin. Those in Libungan also looked for their relatives in the places they had left behind in Carmen, Arakan Valley, and Senipen. Then they offered thanksgiving for having found a place to live in Libungan.

6. Ke Pu-unanTe Lewa-an Wey Dengeleg

[Pg 8. Refer to the Original Copy]

The Origin of Lawaan and Dengeleg Trees

Once there were women who were all widows.
One day, they agreed to go fishing. When they reached the forest,
three got lost along the way. The other two just stayed together.

When they started fishing, they caught more fish in the water. After
they caught more, they started cleaning them.

This one widow was a bit rough.
She said, “I will blow into the mouth of this balanak
When she did, the balanak produced a loud sound because the fish’
mouth was big. This rough lady laughed loudly. She picked up the paitan.

“This time, I will try to blow harder because this will make a louder
sound!”
“Be careful,” said the other widow.
“Are you afraid to die?”
“We will not die, but we might be cursed.”
“We will only believe that after we have tried it.”
Then the first widow blew once more into the paitan which
produced a still louder sound. After this, the place fell silent. They heard thunder. They looked to the east and saw the dark clouds. The sky poured down a heavy rain, accompanied by lightning and thunder.

An old woman appeared and said, “You want to be cursed? You will become frogs,” said the old woman.

The rough lady said, “I don’t want to become a frog.”

“What do you want to be?” said the old woman.  The other widow answered, “I want to become a lawaan.”

The other one said, “I want to become a dengeleg so that the coming generations can use me.”

The other widow said, “We will not stay far from each other.” So they became the two lawaan and dengeleg trees.

7. Si Uval Wey Si Be-U

[Pg 9. Refer to the Original Copy]

The Monkey and the Turtle

The turtle said, “I’ll go to the forest.” When he arrived there he saw a rattan vine; he tied it around his body. A monkey was passing by and saw the turtle.

The monkey said, “Please lend it to me.”
But the turtle refused saying, “I’ll not lend this [to you] because this is owned by my grandparents.”

Then he said to the monkey, “Come here now and I will let you sit
on this pointed end.”
“I will die here,” said the monkey. The turtle said, “So that you’ll learn [a lesson].”

When the monkey sat down, the turtle right away inserted the rattan vine in the anus of the monkey until he died because the turtle inserted the thorns.

Then the other monkeys captured the turtle. They built a big fire to bum the turtle to death.

The turtle said, “I will not die by fire, but if you throw me in the
river I will die!”

The monkeys said, “Come here now and we will throw you into
the river.”

The monkeys then threw the turtle into the sea. The turtle rejoiced
and shouted, “I am now home!”

 8. Ka Keyumang Wey Menge Bata

[Pg 9. Refer to the Original Copy]

The Crab and the Children

There was a family who lived in the mountain. They had two
children who were both girls. Later, the father of these children died. Only their mother was left behind. She married again, but she married a witch. The man was cruel to the children. The mother also became a witch.

One day, they commanded the children to fetch water from the
well. The woman did not work anymore since she remarried. When the children disobeyed her, she would whip them.

Because of this, the children fled to a hole filled with crabs and
lived with them.

When their mother died, the big crab that was taking care of them
brought the children out of the hole. The crab was already growing old.
The children said, “We have nowhere to stay.”
The crab said, “Don’t worry because we will build a hut.”
Then the crab died. They buried him near their hut. Not long after
they buried him, they heard a voice saying, “Tomorrow before the sun rises, go where you buried me. When you see a ring, get it. Cut it into four and bury it in the four comers of my grave.”
They followed the orders of the voice. When they looked at what
they had buried, a big house appeared, and there they finally lived.

9. Kine Benawa Ki Gambar

[Pg 10. Refer to the Original Copy]

The Restoration of Gambar’s Life

Ulaleg was a medicine man who was admired by the people. One
day, he disappeared. Many became severely sick soon after. One of those  was a woman named Gambar. She did not survive the said sickness and she died.

That time, there were hunters. One hunter went home and he brought with him a pig; but when he arrived, Gambar was already dead. Their friends and relatives were crying. They were already cooking their meat but still they continued crying, “If only Ulaleg were here, Gambar would still be alive.”

Later, a witch arrived. The people panicked. They went upstairs
because of fear. The witch called to the mourning relatives who thought that the witch was coming for Gambar.
“Now, the witch will eat Gambar.” When they saw the witch, they found that it was Ulaleg! He asked when Gambar died. They told him about it. Ulaleg said that Gambar was only sleeping.
Ulaleg brought Gambar back to life.

10. Si Bater Wey Si Uval

[Pg 11. Refer to the Original Copy]

The Monkey and the Beetle

The beetle and the monkey agreed to go on a journey. The monkey
got angry because all the people they met noticed only the beetle. No one greeted the monkey when in fact he was the one paddling the boat.

“Why,” said the monkey, “do they only notice you?”
The beetle said, “I don’t know because I’m only lying here in the
middle of the boat.”

They continued their journey. When they passed by the house of
the datu, he asked the beetle where they were going.
“We are going to look for our livelihood,” answered the beetle,
“because we are miserable.”

They left and continued sailing downward.
“Come here, friend, because we are going ashore already,” said the
monkey.

The monkey went out ahead quickly, thinking that he would soon
be noticed, and the beetle was a bit slow.

The monkey sat down with crossed legs. Then someone came and saw the beetle.

She was a young lady who said, “The beetle will be eaten by the chicken if he is seen!”

The young lady approached the beetle.
“Why did she greet him when I’m already seated and crossing my
legs, and she did not greet me?” said the monkey.
The lady placed the beetle on top of her bed.
The datu said, “You ask Putili.”
“Why ask her? We will be cursed because this is an insect.”
Then the datu asked, “Are you going to marry the beetle, Putili?”
The lady said, “Yes, I’ll marry him. Father, because I don’t want
the monkey!”

The datu answered in agreement that he also preferred the beetle.
“You plan for your wedding,”

When the lady and the beetle became husband and wife, the monkey
became violent and he threw away all the things in the palace of the datu. The datu called for Sebandar to take the monkey out and let the dogs run after him.

11. Akal Ni Pilanduk

[Pg 12. Refer to the Original Copy]

The Clever Pilanduk

 Pilanduk was cleaning the rattan vine. A giant arrived and he wanted
to eat Pilanduk.

“Don’t eat me. I’m cleaning this rattan vine because I’m going to
tie my body to that tree because the sky is about to fall.”

[The giant was alarmed and said to Pilanduk] “You tie me first.
You’ll be the last.” So Pilanduk tied the giant then he ran away. But the
appearance of this giant changed.

Pilanduk saw a big snake that was coiling itself. [Just then, the giant caught him again.] “Now, you’ll really be
killed!”

Don’t get mad right away,” said Pilanduk.
The giant’s anger again subsided. “Look at the belt of that datu. I
want that belt,” he said to Pilanduk.

“I will be the first [to use it], you just keep quiet,” said the giant.
Pilanduk made a belt of snake; and when the giant noticed it, Pilanduk tightened it. Then he ran away.

Once more the giant caught up with Pilanduk.
“There you are, Pilanduk!”

“Don’t just say Pilanduk carelessly. Remember who you’re talking
to!”

Then the giant’s anger subsided.
Pilanduk ran away again. There he was again under the lawaan
tree with the baliti vine around it. The said giant caught him again.
“Now this is your last chance, Pilanduk; I will really kill you!”
“Don’t be in a hurry because the datu will get angry.” Pilanduk
peeped in the tree.
“Let me peep also,” said the giant.
“You can peep, but don’t touch the gold.”
While the giant was peeping in, Pilanduk burned the baliti vine
and the giant was burned to death.

12. Kine Esawa ni Uval Ki Bater

[Pg 12. Refer to the Original Copy]

The Marriage of the Monkey and the Beetle

There was a datu who had two young daughters who were married
to a monkey and a beetle. The datu didn’t refuse the marriages because he feared being cursed. The datu said, “Since you are already married, Puteli, you will have to work for a living.”

The first to go was the monkey. He went to the thick baliti and cut
the branches.

The beetle also went. He said to his wife, “You bring me to a faraway
place where there are no chickens for they might eat me and I would not be able to go home.”

When he was already there, the beetle changed into a human being.
He went to the mountain where there were many vines, then he cut them. In the afternoon, the beetle went home. He went to the place where his wife left him and then he assumed the form of a beetle.

After many days, he went to his kaingin again to bum it. Because
the grasses and trees were so dry, it resulted into a big fire which ate up even the forest.

The datu noticed it and so he said, “The whole world is already
burning because we are cursed by these animals.”

When the beetle got home, the datu said, “You make your own
home elsewhere so you can live your own life.”

The couple went to their own kaingin. The beetle said, “This is my
work here.” He invited his wife to take a bath in the river. He said, “You
stay down here. And I’ll stay there.”

The beetle removed his beetle cloak and threw it into the flowing
river and he was changed into a young man. His wife saw the clothes and she took them. He saw his wife crying. He asked why.
“My husband drowned,” said his wife.