A Legacy for Prosperity

(This essay was excerpted from an unpublished book tentatively entitled "Spectrum of Being Human")


Sense of History

History was a boring subject. So I thought, during my primary and high school days back in the 1960s. It involved memorizing a lot of names, places and dates that had nothing to do with my present or future. But, like all my classmates, I had to go through the grueling grind; I needed to pass the subject to pass the grade.

On hindsight, however, I realized that Philippine history was my “link” to my ancestry. I did not appreciate it then; but the subject was meant to make me feel proud of my heritage.

What does heritage mean? Each was born to a family and a locale. In the same manner that a fish could exist only in water and the earthworm could only thrive in soil, a person was expected to find meaning from his or her genealogy and socio-cultural tradition. Heritage gave the distinctive character of a people, its sense of identity and self-worth. Genealogy was biological and genetic. Culture was a pattern of behavior passed on from parents, peers, teachers and significant others. It could also be learned from books, media, the church, the movie houses and the comic books.

I was born in Baguio City in 1954, during the time of Ramon Magsaysay (1953-57), the third president of the Philippine Republic after the war. Baguio City was in the heart of the Cordillera Mountain Ranges, the home of indigenous peoples in Northern Philippines. My genealogy did not come from the Cordilleras, but I knew no other tradition. Baguio was my window to the world.

My lineage from mom came from Cebu province. Ferdinand Magellan, from the viewpoint of western inspired world history, first landed in Sugbu (Cebu), Central Philippines, when he “discovered” the Philippines in 1521. There, he led the systematic conversion of the friendly Sugbu-anons under Rajah Humabon to Christianity. Nonetheless, Lapu-Lapu, from a village in Mactan, Cebu, had the distinction of causing Magellan’s death; the blood of the foreigner dripped in Philippine soil. Lapu-Lapu was a Bangingi warrior who refused homage to a colonizer, a Filipino tradition before colonization.

Dad took pride in his “Waray” lineage and culture from Leyte. His eyes would glisten as he recounted his youth, when fights among kids would be fair and square, but with each protagonist already armed with a bolo (big knife). Dad claimed that it was a matter of pride to show off scars from such skirmishes. “A Waray does not retreat.”

Dad had interesting anecdotes about our ancestry. We belonged to a family of activists and non-conformists. My great-great grandfather was part of the rebellion against Spain (a Katipunero). My grandfather was a teacher, with revolutionary ideas. During the war, a great uncle literally ate pages of the Bible to survive in the mountains (I suppose this took care of both biological and spiritual needs). Also, the clan was fun loving. Relatives enjoyed get-togethers drinking “lambanog” (coconut wine) to their heart’s content.

Incidentally, it was in Leyte where General Douglas MacArthur first landed, when he returned with American reinforcements to lead the war against the Japanese until “liberation” in 1945.

Baguio City is located at the heart of the Cordillera Mountains of Luzon (northern Philippines), where the Igorots, the “people of the mountains” already had a “civilized culture” in a pristine forestland, at least 1,500 years before the Spanish colonizers. In Ifugao province stood the majestic Ifugao Rice Terraces, built at least 2,000 years ago (before Jesus) across 20,000 hectares of mountainside. Extending 14,000 miles, the terraces were declared by UNESCO as a World Heritage site and the first living cultural landscape. They were testaments of an advanced civilization’s unique engineering and creativity, as well as efficient socio-political system. Mummies had also been preserved in the caves of Kabayan in Benguet province. The process of mummification, dating as far back as 200 BC, signified advanced biochemistry comparable to that of ancient Egypt, without the pyramids.

My lineage and the indigenous tradition of the Cordilleras were the core of my Filipino heritage. However, I grew up in a socio-cultural tradition that was basically not Filipino. I was a Filipino in search of his identity. What happened to my heritage? Dr. Jose Rizal (in “The Indolence of the Filipinos”) said: “Deprive a man of his dignity…and you not only deprive him of his moral strength, but you also deprive him useless even for those who wish to make use of him. Every creature has its stimulus, its mainspring; man’s is his self-respect.” The Philippines national hero was executed in 1896.

Acculturation Process

In June 12, 1898, the Filipinos declared independence from the 350-year rule of Spain, after a long war. In January 1899, the first Philippine Republic hailed Emilio Aguinaldo as its first President. Ironically, in December 1898, Spain lost the war for Cuba to the United States and, in the Treaty of Paris, ceded the Philippines to the US for $20 million (with Guam and Puerto Rico). The country won against Spain, but unwittingly lost its hard earned sovereignty to the US. In 1901, Aguinaldo was captured.

I was born 56 years after the Philippine Independence (and 45 years after Baguio City was chartered). Since birth, I was exposed to what was foreign. In elementary, the principal was a foreign nun. I was taught to read and write using American books. The first stories I learned were about “David and Ann,” American kids. Almost every month all pupils were given free bagful of powdered milk, courtesy of “benevolent” foreigners. I studied Philippine History influenced by Spanish historians (aside from my Catholic faith). I also studied American History, with George Washington and Abraham Lincoln at equal footing with the local heroes – Jose Rizal and Andres Bonifacio. I finished Grade II singing the National Anthem in the language of the colonizer (“Land of the morning, child of the sun returning…ne’er shall invaders trample thy sacred shores”).

In high school, principals were foreign priests. Except for a subject in Filipino and in Spanish (in 3rd and 4th year High), all subjects were taught in English. We were reprimanded if caught talking in the local language. In college (1970s), I learned to be more analytical, despite 12 units of Spanish. Aside from the regular Philippine History and Rizal subjects, I was exposed to the “School for National Democracy” (SND) teach-ins, which restated Philippine history from a Marxist perspective. The Filipino language was used interchangeably with English.

Nonetheless, despite the growing sense of nationalism, the teach-ins were not enough to erase the vestiges of colonial mentality. I secretly envied rich classmates who would boast that they partied at the Main Club of John Hay, then under Americans. I also loved American movies, comic books and basketball. It took me some time after college to shake off the cultural fetters of the colonizers and anchor back to my heritage.

Cultural Integrity

In a globalize world, how do you heal a fractured Philippines and instill Filipino pride? The sturdiest countries of the world nurtured their ethnicity. Japan drew strength from Shinto and the samurai tradition. Behind China’s socialist ideology were the core philosophies of Confucianism and Taoism. In the west, Iceland and Finland had their Nordic heritage first and transformed Catholicism to the Lutheran Church. Anglicanism or the Church of England was a schism from Papal authority. The US and Canada nurtured the Indian ethnic tradition as base for its multi-racial culture.

Harvard Professor Samuel Huntington predicted that the conflicts in the 3rd Millennium would be fought on the fault-lines of civilization. Locally, the fault-lines were apparent in the struggle for autonomy of the Lumad-Muslims in Mindanao and the Igorots of the Cordilleras. Except for these two areas, and in contrast to developed countries, the Philippines absorbed the colonial brand of Christianity and government system, “hook, line and sinker” and relegated its ethnic traditions to the background. Forgetting one’s roots made the people forget their self-worth and sense of pride. Colonialism bred a “culture of salvation” through the graciousness of a God outside oneself or another race, rather than reliance on a God within and a people’s own capacity.

The strategy, perhaps, is to sustain the thrust for empowerment anchored on the rich Filipino heritage. Instituting the national pride implied a paradigm shift from the standards of colonizers, to touching base with the heart and soul of Philippine culture. This implied changing the educational system from one that sustains “colonial mentality” to one that highlights “cultural integrity.” According to Dr. Jorge Jacobo: “there is a need of taking a much deeper interest in the history of our country and of a stronger determination to correct the grave falsehood written concerning our people.” History must reflect the grandeur of the Filipino before, during and after colonialism.

What about Filipinos abroad? Nationalism is principled survival. According to S. Orendain, (quoted from a 1990 Filipino Calendar of Quotations published by the Fiscal Administration Foundation): “until there comes a change…there can never be a good government here, that is why I am leaving, not because I love my country less but because I love liberty more.”

Being Filipino is a consciousness beyond the passport, a paradigm of “inter-dependence” with countries of the world. Filipinos abroad contributed substantially to the county’s economy, which made President Gloria M. Arroyo declare: “the Overseas Filipino Workers are the modern heroes of the land.”

In “The Future of the Filipino in American Society,” Eduardo Romualdez, former Ambassador to Washington stated: “It is paradoxically characteristic of multi-racial and multi-national societies such as the United States, that the members of ethnic minorities earn the respect and acceptance of others…not by seeking to dissolve into the dominant majority, but by establishing their separate identity and distinctive culture. This paradox can mean that the Filipino immigrant…can be accepted only by remaining steadfastly Filipino.” He added: “But what is a Filipino? They will never know unless the culture and heritage of the Philippines are preserved…cultivated…and passed on to them.”

A Homecoming

In 1981, my brother, Kuya Rudy and his family migrated to California. After 15 years, in 1996, an ethnic conflict between Chicano and Filipino youth erupted in his place. To avoid “the heat,” my brother sent his youngest son to stay in Baguio. Then, we agreed to sustain the schooling of relatives as a tribute to mom. My nephew stayed at home with my children, together with my half-sister’s (Ate Shirley) daughter, my other half-sister’s (Ate Paring) son and cousin Boy’s daughter. (Kuya Rudy’s son called me “uncle” with an American twang; my sisters’ kids called me “angkol,” with a Cebuano accent; my cousin’s daughter called me “angkel,” typical of Bulacan’s Tagalog.)

After six months, my nephew went back to the US with a tattoo on his chest: “I am a Filipino.” (Ironically, he joined the US Navy and was among those who “liberated” Iraq in 2003. Iraq was ancient Mesopotamia, where the Sumerians, the oldest known civilization, took root 6,000 years ago.) My other nephew and nieces also went to their hometowns. Like my kids, they now have their families; Filipinos linked with the world.

In 2000, my brother made a sentimental journey to mom’s remote hometown in San Fernando, Cebu. His written recollection was nostalgia enshrouded with redolence.

In mom’s town, life seemed to be at a standstill – houses made of bamboo and cogon grass, and crude farming. Our relatives, including my half sisters and their families, struggled for their daily meals. My brother stayed in a tattered “barong-barong” (hut), which was some 10 by 10 square meters of kitchen, bedroom and living room enclosed by bamboo and grass. Mom lived in this hut since 1929, her birth, until she was 24 years old. After more than eighty years, the house still stood, although left un-kept.

Deep in the night, my brother laid in a bamboo bed, with only a rice sack as bed sheet. In the candlelight that flickered in the dark, he lingered on the shadows: “Mom left more than fifty years ago because there was no future here for one who craves for a better life.” Mom left the rut to seek her fortune. She never returned to her hometown or her village life. Paradoxically, she left the place where colonization first began in 1521.

Mom never learned to read and write. I recall that during election time, she would practice writing and copying the names of candidates she would vote. At the polls, she would take an hour to vote what normally would take fifteen minutes. Mom and dad (who did not finished college), like many during their time and the people who lived in squatter areas, had to struggle. They belonged to the nameless faces called “poor.” Unfortunately for them, their plight had been obscured by centuries of colonization.

Fortunately for kuya and me, mom and dad pursued a vision for a brighter future for us, all the way to Baguio City. Through education, they nurtured our growing consciousness of the social, political and economic realities of our times. This was why, I suppose, kuya and I, despite different paths, had our hearts crying out for the poor.

The Filipino is rich as a people; most simply forgot that birthright. Mom and dad were deprived, but enabled us to remember. They came out of the rut and left a legacy for prosperity. They linked us back to our colorful heritage.