| Description |
Even though I don’t belong to any of the native tribes in Bukidnon (my parents were migrants), I have always considered myself as a native. Until I started college, this is the only place I have ever lived in. My home is that of small towns and tight-knit neighborhoods. We are known for our agricultural produce and green mountains instead of high-rise buildings and a bustling nightlife. Seeing a cow, a goat or a horse on the side of the road is normal. Mornings are still filled with sounds of roosters and robins. It’s not that we have been left behind by the modern times, it’s that we are trying to grow without losing our roots.
Bukidnon is located on the southern part of the Philippines. In a country known for its hot weather, coveted beaches, and frankly terrible traffic in the capital city, we’re a landlocked province on the island group of Mindanao, thriving in the cool mountains instead. Bukidnon literally translates to “mountain dweller”. And I think we dwell here just fine.
Every February to March, our province celebrates the Kaamulan Festival, an ethnic festival celebrating the seven Lumad (indigenous people) tribes of Bukidnon. It is the only authentic ethnic festival in the country. The Bukidnon, Higaonon, Talaandig, Manobo, Matigsalug, Tigwahanon, and Umayamnon have inhabited the province long before the Spanish colonization. Even though the tribes have assimilated into modern society they have still retained their ancient practices. However, every year, it seems like the true essence of the festival is getting more and more lost. The advent of commercialization and tourism has placed the Lumad tribes in the background of the Kaamulan Festival. The month-long celebration has been recently defined by bringing in celebrities and politicians from the capital, a grandiose fireworks display, and appropriation of Lumad culture. In a festival that was supposed to celebrate the original dwellers of our home, they were put at the periphery.
Just a few days ago, I visited a Talaandig community in the municipality of Lantapan to witness and participate in a river ritual called Panalawahig. It wasn’t my first time participating in a Lumad ritual, but it was my first time seeing it conducted by and on the river. I decided to do this because I wanted to document an authentic Lumad practice without the meddlesome politicians and their sleazy speeches.
The Lumads conduct a ritual for many reasons and occasions. But all of them have the intention of asking for guidance and protection from nature spirits and Magbabaya (God). The river ritual called Panalawahig, which took place last Friday, was to start the annual Talaandig Day and Indigenous Peoples Month celebration. The ritual requires offerings to the spirits, the most notable offering being native chickens. Their blood is spilled on the ground and the altar for the spirits; and they are cooked for the Panampulot, a feast where spirits are invited to partake.
My major takeaway from my short time with the Talaandig community was their graceful persistence to go on with life despite their collective struggle. Indigenous peoples sustainably manage about 50% of the world’s lands but have legal ownership rights to only 10%. They are also among the most vulnerable groups in the Philippines, and indigenous groups in my country are often killed and driven away from their ancestral lands by big corporations, paramilitary, and military. When Lumads and their allies go to the streets to protest for human rights, they are often mocked. And yet, despite all of these, they still insist to live as they always have. And why shouldn’t they? Long before strongmen regimes and oppressive systems have emerged, they were already here. And they should continue to be here.
The Talaandig and the other Lumad tribes have a rich and diverse culture. You see it in their traditional clothes with vivid colors and intricate patterns. You marvel at their visual artwork; how even a house built out of bamboo could look like something out of a whimsical fantasy movie, and how soil becomes a masterpiece in a canvas. You hear it in their music, the deep beat of the ethnic drums and the liveliness of their Binukid chants awakening the dormant dancer inside you. You feel it the moment you step foot on their ancestral lands, their solemn reverence and respect to nature apparent in their way of life. They only take what they need, and they never fail to give back. And yet they are often stereotypically labeled as the “uncivilized” when it was them who have been doing it right all along.
We are so obsessed with the idea of progress and development but is it really progress and development when it is at the expense of others? I want the kind of progress and development that does not shed the blood of the Lumads and take away their homes. I want the kind of progress and development that does not treat them as second-class citizens.
When we were preparing to go to the river for the ritual, I heard one of the women say she’s bringing her young grandson. “Ato siyang i-uban. Dapat makabalo siya na nitibo ta.” We are bringing him with us. He should know that we are natives. I want Lumad kids to have a bright future to look forward to. I want them to freely practice their way of life, their art, music, and dances without fear of any of these being taken away from them.
Whenever people from other places come to Bukidnon, I want them to know the mountains they came here to climb and the species that dwell in it are still thriving because of the Lumads, the ancient guardians of the forest. |
