K’mohung and Seselong: Cultural Adaptation of the T’boli S’bu to the Fish Kill Phenomenon in Lake Sebu, South Cotabato

It is worthwhile to note, even in a partial ethnography, that in the highland lake complex of Lake Sebu, South Cotabato,  Southern Philippines, the T’boli people integrated into their culture a special system of adaptation to the fish kill phenomenon that naturally occurs in the lake. “Naturally”, of course, is taken in the etic point of view, denoting information culled out from external and varying reports of “rising temperature”[1] and “oxygen depletion”[2] in the lake that kills fish and other freshwater organisms like shrimps.  “Naturally” also emphasizes on the fact that the fish kills in Lake Sebu are not recent phenomena and, until recently, human-induced, brought externally by the proliferation of tilapia aquaculture, but a culturally-embedded, and so antiquated, phenomenon evidenced by the presence of the word for this “annual”[3] occurrence in their vocabulary: K’mohung.

This paper is an attempt to explore the cultural adaptations of the T’boli people surrounding Lake Sebu to k’mohung using the anthropological lens of Cultural Ecology.  It seeks to describe the k’mohung as explained to me in a focus group discussion (FGD) conducted on March 30, 2013 in Brgy. Klubi, Lake Sebu, South Cotabato, and focusing on local understanding of the phenomenon and activities connected to k’mohung. This brief paper on Cultural Ecology uses the approaches of Julian Steward in studying the interaction between culture and environment. These approaches are: “(1) an explanation of culture in terms of the environment where it existed, rather than just a geographic association with economy; (2) the relationship between culture and environment as a process (not just a correlation); (3) a consideration of small-scale environment, rather than culture-area-sized regions; and (4) the connection of ecology and multi-linear cultural evolution.” [4] (Sutton and Anderson, 2010)

I first chanced upon the word k’mohung (other literature spells it as ‘kamahong’) from a conversation with Dr. Leah Vidal, chairperson of the Anthropology Department of the Ateneo de Davao University. She was discussing about the climate change studies of the Ateneo Institute of Anthropology in collaboration with the other institutes of the university when she mentioned about the presence of the word k’mohung among the T’boli surrounding Lake Sebu. This indicated, among other things, that the occurrence of the fish kills has been deeply embedded in the lives of the T’boli that they have to conceive a signifier, a word for the signified, that is, the fish kills.  This greatly interested me because before that conversation I thought the fish kills were a recent “disaster” to the fishermen and fish pen owners of Lake Sebu. My recent FGD in Lake Sebu verified my assumptions that even before tilapia aquaculture in the lake, fish kills are regular occurrences and that they can even predict when it would happen.

Hydrogeology of Lake Sebu

Before going to a discussion on the k’mohung, a short introduction to the geography of the area. Lake Sebu (6° 10.45’ N and 124° 43.95’ E) lies about 700 m above sea level and is located in the mountainous Municipality of Lake Sebu, South Cotabato (Socio-economic profile 1995). The Lake Sebu Watershed Forest Reserve is a protected landscape under Proclamation no. 65 signed on August 4 1966, covering a total of 9,900 hectares. Lake Sebu (S’bu is the T’boli word for lake) is a natural lake in the municipality of Lake Sebu, South Cotabato and within the Allah Valley Watershed Landscape region.[5] The lake itself and the rivers that drain from it is part of the Allah Valley Watershed which covers South Cotabato and Sultan Kudarat. The Allah Valley Watershed is the southernmost tributary of the Pulangi River that drains in Illana Bay in Cotabato City.[6]

The total delineated area of the Allah Valley Watershed is 252,034 has. that extends to the Province of Maguindanao. Surface waters that are drained along the Allah and Banga rivers subsequently find their way into the Liguasan marsh, the second largest in the country. The Allah Valley Watershed is a major sub-watershed unit of the Cotabato-Agusan river basin in Mindanao. It covers the jurisdictions of the Province of South Cotabato (Municipalities of Lake Sebu, T’boli, Surallah, and Sto. Nino, Banga, Norala) and the Province of Sultan Kudarat (City of Tacurong and Municipalities of Isulan, Esperanza, Lambayong and Bagumbayan).[7]

More than 700,000 people depend on the land and water resources of the Allah Valley Watershed. The river valley and mid-stream section of the watershed support agricultural production for rice, corn, banana, pineapple and oil palm. The National Irrigation Administration (NIA) is tapping about 1.5 billion cubic meters surface water to supply the water requirements of 27,000 hectares of irrigated rice fields. Although the forest land cover of the Allah Valley Watershed is decreasing, the peak of the Daguma mountain range on the western side of the watershed still contains fragments of primary forest that is a vital component of any watershed. This constitutes part of the remaining closed canopy tropical forest in Southern Mindanao. As per DENR-12 reports, about 97 floral species and 59 faunal species including the famous Philippine Eagle and tarsier are found in the mountain ranges. The Allah Valley Watershed has also rich mineral deposits such as gold, copper, and silver. It includes the three lakes and seven falls of Lake Sebu and Lake Holon (Maughan) of T’boli.[8]

The 3 lakes of Sebu, Seloton and Lahit are fed by underground springs in the mountain ranges of Daguma and surrounding mountains that made up mostly of porous sedimentary rocks that store and catch rainwater. Water from the lakes then cascades down the 7 waterfalls namely: Hikong Alu (passage), Hikong Bente (immeasurable), Hikong B’lebel (zigzag), Hikong Lowig (booth), Hikong K’fo-i (wild flower), Hikong Ukok (short), and Hikong Tonok (soil). The water then travels down the Allah River that combines with the Banga River finally joining the bigger Pulangi river and Liguasan Marsh to drain in Illana Bay.

The current use of the lake is fishing and recreation (such as boating). It is also identified as a prime habitat and spawning ground areas for various species of fish. There are no manufacturing plants around the lake but it is the receiver of all fertilizers and pesticide run-offs from the different plantations around Lake Sebu. The presence of uncontrolled installation of fish pens, application of feeds and communities dwelling along the lake, generally affect the physical and chemical condition of the lake.

The first tilapia introduced in the lake was Mozambique tilapia Oreochromis mossambicus brought by Mr. Cesar Freyra in 1956[9]. A few years after its introduction, the tilapia grew in number. In 1972, a fish pen project was initiated by Dr. Jose Velasquez from Manila. Many Ilonggo immigrants followed him. Almost in the same year, farming of tilapia in fish cages was introduced by Mr. Freyra. Nile tilapia O. niloticus, a better species, was introduced in the mid 70′s. (Beniga 2001)

The Nile tilapia was cultured for 4 months without supplemental feeding and harvested when they reached 300-500 g each. The tilapia industry grew fast and is considered today as the backbone of the economy and the major propeller of Lake Sebu’s development. The industry contributes more than 50% of the annual municipal income and employs 10% of its total labor force (Beniga quoting Loco 1994).

The local government of the municipality of Lake Sebu has adopted several measures to protect and conserve its water resources. Reforestation is implemented as part of watershed management. Municipal ordinance No. 01, S. 1994 sets guidelines for the establishment of fish cages in the lake. This ordinance requires a 20-m wide passageway along the lake shore for any type of water vehicle. Construction of cages in this area is prohibited. Beyond the 20-m passageway, a 100-m wide belt offshore is allowed for fish cages. Lastly, 10 m is apportioned for the construction of secondary fence. A 2-m wide passageway is required between farms. The remaining central part of the lake is a free fishing zone. (Beniga 2001)

The Seven Waterfalls have been developed as an eco-tourism attraction by the Province of South Cotabato. Resorts, ziplines and other tourist attractions are now a common sight in the so-called “Baguio of the Southern Philippines”.

 

K’mohung and Seselong

The latest massive fish kill on the first week of August, 2012, downed 8,000 kilograms[10] of tilapia in a single week. This was considered a “disaster” to the local fish pen owners, the Local Government Units, Bureau of Fisheries and Aquatic Resources, even media reports paint a grim event in the fishery industry of the municipality, a view solely founded on its economic value. But local T’boli I interviewed see it otherwise. One narrative suggests that it is a curse. In this story, a T’boli cursed the Ilonggo fishermen, saying that the T’boli are the guardians of the Lake and that their fishes will die, unless they give the fish to the T’boli. Indeed, according to an informant, whenever there is a fish kill, the fish pond owners will give the dead fish to the T’boli or sell them at a much lower price.

Another perspective views it as a gift from Fun S’bu, owner/spirit of the lake. My informant described a time before the Ilonggo settlers put up their fish pens and when the lake was still covered by water lilies and lotus plants. She shared that whenever there is a k’mohung ,people would see fish and shrimps floating in the surface, but not quite dead, “as if they were dizzy”. They can easily “pick these fish and shrimps with their bare hands,” she said. Indeed, outside Western, Modern Science, one will view this as a gift from the lake, almost congruent to the biblical “manna from heaven”. Imagine, after a hard day’s work of fishing, farming and hunting, one sees fish almost beckoning to be picked up. This idea of a gift clearly opposes that notion of a “disaster” and in fact, it only became widely-known as a “disaster” when the Ilonggos came and put up their fishery industry in the lake. The disaster-gift dichotomy clearly delineates not only economic valuations of the lake, but also belief or supernatural categorizations of the natural world.

The story of the T’boli cursing the owners of the fishponds may not be on the level of mythology but surely forms part of the compendium on narratives regarding Lake Sebu. It is the absolute pronouncement that the T’boli are the guardians and protectors of the lake. It shows that to them, the lake is not merely a source of economy but also a part of their political and cultural identity. It is inherited from their ancestors and it is their responsibility to take care of and to maintain; should they not take care of the lake their ancestors may get angry and bad luck may come. It is more than a pronouncement of collective ownership; it is also a declaration of stewardship.

The FGD in Brgy. Klubi described the k’mohung in this way: after a leme-et, a type of weather defined by occasional strong rains and wind coming from the north, and then suddenly clearing (my informant likened the leme-et to an impending typhoon), T’boli in the uplands would then gather their rootcrops and other produce from their gardens to prepare for a seselong, a system of barter trading between the upland-living T’boli and the lake-side dwelling T’boli. During the leme-et, people surrounding the lake would also prepare for the seselong  by observing the lake for the telltale signs of the k’mohung. My informants shared that there are no celebrations or rituals conducted during the seselong, something that I didn’t foresee especially in the case of an event that may be deemed supernatural or an event that gathers people from the upland and lakeside. The seselong becomes an opportunity for the lakeside dwellers to trade their gathered fish in exchange for the rootcrops of the upland T’boli.

This pattern in the activities and interaction of the upland and lakeside T’boli, provided by the seselong, may be viewed as a distribution of resources and exchanges of protein and carbohydrates-rich food between the two groups of T’boli. This intertwining of the natural world and the cultural aspect of the T’boli seselong may be viewed as one of the solutions to what I assume is an imbalance in the protein and carbohydrate diet of the two groups. In the old days when the T’boli were still exclusively hunters and gatherers, this system of exchange provides an easy source of protein for the upland T’boli whose main protein source are the animals that they hunt in the forest, in exchange for their carbohydrates-rich rootcrops. In turn, the lakeside T’boli whose diet consists mainly of protein from the fish caught in the lake, exchange their fish for the upland T’boli’s rootcrops.

Traditional rootcrops[11] of the T’boli include: biking (wild root plant which is much like sweet potato), bok (wild yam), kleb (taro), klut (wild root plant that is extremely poisonous but can be eaten if prepared right), legasing (peanuts), lembong (wild tuber plant), likón (wild, edible tuber plant), tlahid (a kind of taro), ubi (sweet potato), ubi koyu (cassava, manioc). Freshwater fish and other organisms found in Lake Sebu include[12]: alù (mudfish), betulù (a kind of small round fish), blanak (a kind of large, reddish, scaly fish that appears at the time of harvesting the early rich), blinow (tiny fish), bonol (a kind of fish , brown, white-bellied, scaly, very tasty but spoils easily), ilaw (a kind of white-speckled fish with pointed nose and mouth), kéténg (any of various edible, bivalve mollusks as clams and oysters and their shells), kili (eel), kléngé (crab), kulóng (large shrimp), óngô (kind of fresh water fish that is small and somewhat round, resembling the mudfish but is about the size of one’s index finger) and tikung (small shrimp). 

These rootcrops and fish listed in the dictionary of Awed et. al., may well be the products exchanged during a seselong. In the absence of any ethnographic data dating to when seselong was still practiced before agriculture and aquaculture were introduced in Lake Sebu, one can only deduced to what products were actually exchanged based on available linguistic information as compiled by Awed et. al. The dictionary (the only extensive dictionary of the T’boli language) itself proves to be problematic in studying the language of Lake Sebu T’boli, for it does not include the k’mohung and seselong. This may be explained by the fact that the dictionary was compiled by missionaries residing in the municipality of T’boli, and hence miles from the T’boli groups experiencing the k’mohung. In this light then, we can cautiously surmise that the seselong is exclusive to the T’boli surrounding the lake.

I have described seselong functioning as a cultural device for the exchange of food all within the event of a k’mohung, and this corresponds to Steward’s recognition that the ecology of humans have both distinct biological and cultural aspects. Societies could adapt, as demonstrated by how the T’boli S’bu adapted to the k’mohung and the protein-carbohydrate disparity between upland and lakeside groups,  in any number of possible directions, rather than being subject to environmental determinism. In fact, the seselong may also viewed under the lenses of the rational choice theory in which people decide how to achieve their goals on the basis of their “deliberate, individual consideration of all available information”[13] such that this cultural practice of exchange was adopted because it seemed, at one time, the most rational thing to do under the existing circumstance of the k’mohung.

Steward suggested that “all adaptations are short lived and are constantly adjusting to changing environments.”[14] This is indeed the case of the seselong in Lake Sebu and although the k’mohung persists in the natural environment of the T’boli S’bu, the practice now belongs only to the dark corners of memory. With the changes in the uses of Lake Sebu, the cultural practice of seselong may have been transmuted to other forms and expressions.

Here the story of the man cursing the fish pen owners becomes a lucid expression of the indigenous people’s call for the reclamation of old ways and still older gods.

---

[1] Williamor Magbanua and Jeoffrey Maitem, “Massive fishkill in Lake Sebu leads to decline in fish sales”, Philippine Daily Inquirer, July 31, 2011.

[2] Allen V. Estabillo, “Fish kill hits Lake Sebu anew; officials push for regulations”, Mindanews, August 9, 2012.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Mark Q. Sutton and E. N. Anderson, “Introduction to Cultural Ecology”, (Altamira Press: UK), p. 22.

[5] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lake_Sebu

[6] Allah Valley Landscape Development Alliance, “Watershed Resources Management in the Allah Valley Landscape”, Koronadal City, Issue Poster no. 2 series of 2007.

[7] Ibid.

[8] Ibid.

[9] Zosipat M. Beniga, “The Status of Tilapia Aquaculture in Lake Sebu, South Cotabato” in CB Santiago, ML Cuvin-Aralar and ZU Basiao (Eds.), Conservation and Ecological Management of Philippine Lakes in Relation to Fisheries and Aquaculture, pp. 95-98.

[10] Estabillo, Ibid.

[11] Silin A. Awed, Lillian B. Underwood and Vivian M. Van Wynen, “T’boli-English Dictionary”, (Summer Institute of Linguistics: Manila, 2004) p. 618.

[12] Ibid., p. 627.

[13] Sutton, p. 25.

[14] Ibid., p. 22.

STATEMENT ON ISSUES AND CONCERNS OF ARTISANAL AND SCALE-MINING (ASM) AT THE CONFERENCE ON ARTISANAL AND SMALL-SCALE MINING IN MINDANAO

The Conference on Artisanal and Small-Scale Mining in Mindanao held at the Ateneo de Davao University (ADDU) on 15^th-16^th November 2012 gathered together various stakeholders of the small-scale mining sector coming from different parts of Mindanao and Luzon, nongovernment organizations (NGOs), government functionaries and instrumentalities, local government units (LGUs), people’s organizations (POs), faith-based organizations (FBOs), mass media, international and local technical experts, environmental advocates and the academe. The two-day confab was ADDU’s continuing bold engagement, after hosting the International Conference on Mining in Mindanao (“Mina para sa Nasudnong Interes sa Katawhang Pilipino?”) in January of this year, to generate a minefield of ideas that extends a far wider discursive arena in understanding both the practical and theoretical truths about mining as an industry, and its impact on the environment and on the lives of various stakeholders.  This appropriate form of academic exercise is a concretization of ADDU’s mission as a Filipino, Catholic and Jesuit university that is committed to “engage(s) vigorously in environmental protection, the preservation of biodiversity, and the promotion of renewable energy” (cf. ADDU Vision-Mission Statement). To the extent that this conference is convened by the ADDU itself (as a university that seriously wants to engage “…in robust research, excellent instruction and formation, and vibrant community service” (cf. ADDU VM), it therefore proceeds with a core understanding of the specific role that it plays in society―that of a corporate change agent that promotes education as a leverage for effecting social transformation.

Among the more prominent issues that surfaced and were highlighted during the conference were the following: The question of mining in the greater context of environmental justice and the pursuit of the common good; the contribution of mining to the complex problem of environmental degradation;  the relationship between large-scale mining (LSM) and the artisanal and small-scale mining (ASM); the economic, social and human costs of mining; the mining of extractable mineral resources vis-à-vis the question of national patrimony; the impact on national laws and local ordinances relative to mining as an industry; and mining as an indigenous practice in areas covered within ancestral domain.

The conference became a venue where critical issues about ASM, as a specific sector of the mining industry, were brought to the fore, discussed by a phalanx of experts and advocates who presented not only pertinent issues on ASM but also cutting-edge technology on how to better improved safety measures on industry practice.  Highlighted in these discussions were concerns pertaining to the use of more modern and safe technology, as well as the ill-effects of using mercury and other toxic substances.  It also provided opportunities for the presentation of case studies on current best operational practices of ASM not just in Mindanao, but as far as Benguet and Camarines Sur in Luzon, notwithstanding the showing of some flagrant practices that wantonly disregard concerns for human rights and the environment, as documented in other mining areas in Mindanao.  But inasmuch as these presentations opened more avenues for thorough discourses on the floor, especially during a series panel discussions after each presentation by a group of discussants, there were pressing and recurrent issues which critically defined the collective sentiments among those who attended the conference. These issues, as agreed and concurrent to by the participants themselves, thus form part of the statement which ADDU, as convenor, declares as a concrete by-product of the two-day conference.

The following twenty-point statements and/or declarations articulate the conference’s corporate position in its bold stance to bring the important concerns pertaining to ASM to greater public consciousness.

1. The conference declares the need to formally organize the federation of small-scale miners. This move for a more organized confederation hopes to address the greater clamor towards the formal recognition of small-scale miners as a sector.
2. The conference clamors for the legalization of the ASM industry.  This call is born out of the concern that small-scale miners are often perceived as illegal, as compared to large-scale mining corporations (whether local, multinational and transnational) which―because it operates, by and large, through export-driven economy―is generally perceived as a legitimate sector.
3. The conference expresses desire to create a nationalized mining industry that will look at the best interests not just of miners but of all stakeholders, including stringent measures to protect the environment from hazards, risks and natural and man-made calamities.
4. The conference calls for a thorough review of the Central Bank policy on the sale of gold, especially as it applies to transactions made by small-scale miners.
5. The conference calls for a review of the taxation system of the Bureau of Internal Revenue (BIR) and its bearing on ASM.
6. The conference expresses the repeal of the Mining Act of 1995 (Republic Act 7942), to be replaced with an Alternative Mining Bill or a People’s Mining Act. This controversial law is said to have favored large-scale mining, notwithstanding its weak mechanisms in protecting the environment from wanton destruction caused by irresponsible mining.
7. The conference calls for a thorough review of the questionable provisions of Republic Act 7076 or the law on Minahan ng Bayan, and the recently signed and promulgated Executive Order (EO) 79 as this is perceived to be anchored on RA 7942, and therefore, unsupportive of ASM.
8. The conference calls for assistance extended to Zamboanga and other similar militarized mining areas, and to call for an investigation on human rights violations experienced by members of the local community in these militarized areas.
9. The conference similarly demands for an end to blatant forms of militarization within mining sites and tenements, and calls for the disbandment of private armies of both LSM and other “big lords” of ASM.
10. The conference declares its support for small-scale mining operation that is mercury-free.  Corollary to this, the conference also expresses the need to find alternative technologies relative to ASM that are safe and environmentally friendly.
11. The conference calls for continued lobbying for assistance from line agencies in the government such as the Department of the Environment and Natural Resources (DENR), the National Commission for Indigenous Peoples (NCIP) and the Mines and Geosciences Bureau (MGB), as these are appropriate agencies that are better able to assist small-scale miners both in practice and in law.
12. The conference calls for the recognition of the rights of the indigenous peoples (IPs) in the new and proposed legislation(s) on mining.
13. The conference demands for the recognition of an authentic free, prior and informed consent (FPIC) instrument issued by members of the IP communities in matters pertaining to their acquiescence in the use of their ancestral land for mining and similar purposes.
14. The conference demands the strengthening of community livelihood programs in mining areas so that more jobs and employment opportunities could be generated, thus helping the local economy.
15. The conference demands for the protection of environmentalists and advocates who express and manifest strong opposition to open-pit mining. Towards this end, the conference further demands the passage of a law that protects the rights and welfare of people advocating for the environment.
16. The conference calls for more support coming from the LGUs to small-scale miners.
17. The conference calls on the national government to respect the power and jurisdiction of LGUs, particularly in appropriating legislations relative to ASM.
18. The conference highlights the role of the academe community in providing technical assistance to small-scale miners, as well as in raising public awareness on the mining as an industry.
19. The conference specifically calls for more international support for ASM as an industry, in the form of continued collaboration through knowledge-sharing and technical assistance through expert know-how in the use of better and safer technology.
20. The conference supports the establishment of best practice system(s) in ASM for proper and appropriate benchmarking.

Along with these twenty-point statements, the university, through the success and the inspiration generated by the recently concluded ASM conference, continues to promote a comprehensive, holistic and empowering understanding of mining and other environmental issues in pursuit of its university vision and mission.

 

[Proceedings of the Conference on Artisanal and Small-Scale Mining in Mindanao will be made available starting March 25, 2013 at the Ateneo de Davao University]

 

 

dungeon classroom

the prison guard is time
with his chrono-whip.
lethargy is my class-, dungeon-mate.

bubbling out from prof’s
vile mouth:
philosophical ennuis,
killing me with jagged
essences,
mysteries,
presences,
problems,
matter,
truths,
unfolding being
and three sticky hours
of slow, painful death.
of philosophical damnations
i halfly care about,
i turn a dumb ear
to the devil with his phi-trident.
marcel my arse!
eleven unlucky souls
cling to sanity with their
pens, jabbing and cutting
reality with incessant beatings
at the sorry, un-virgin paper.
marcel!
nth expletive.
i pray to the demons of education.
infest with holy gnats this
poorly-dressed prof.
have mercy on our souls!
no, our sanity!
jail guard, free us, i pray!

 

 

[We all have our bad moments inside the classroom: the time seems to be trapped in a tar pit and the teacher becomes an incarnate nightmare. I wrote this in remembrance of one subject in college - always a class between Marcel and a bad hangover. It was a Saturday class during the ungodly hours of 1:30 to 4:30 in the afternoon.]

Five of Cups

lie to me
card of gods,
and deny the spilt wine
from your cups.
you look to the horizon
refusing to heed the omen of ill-luck
that soaks your feet.
then closing your tired eyes
to see the promised ace of cups
in the mountains beyond seeing.
garbed in the black of anticipation
and shadowed by a distant cloud:
a murmuring
a deep-voiced prayer to the sea,
a solitary tear silently grazing
the cheek of Fate

Tarsila, Maratabat and Sabah: Chain, Honor and Common Humanity

[Article written by Datu Mussolini Sinsuat Lidasan of the Ateneo de Davao University - Al Qalam Institute for Islamic Identities and Dialogue]

On February 11, 2013, a group calling themselves the “Royal Security Forces of the Sultanate of Sulu and North Borneo” arrived in Lahad Datu in Sabah, Malaysia. They were led by Agbimuddin Kiram, brother of Jamalul Kiram III one of the claimants to the Sulu Sultanate, and laid claim to Sabah in an act to subvert Malaysia’s sovereignty over Sabah. The group asserted that their objective was to claim eastern Sabah (formerly North Borneo) by virtue of their historical control over the territory which they claim is a gift from the Sultan Muhyiddin of Brunei for helping the latter in the Bruneian Civil War of 1660-1673.

As of the writing of this article, the standoff has not yet been resolved. With 74 reported casualties on both sides including non-combatants and reports of human rights violations, the situation has worsened to proportions that can only be regarded as “determined irrationality”. A day after the initial attacks in Lahad Datu, Sabah, Ateneo de Davao University – Al Qalam Institute for Islamic Identities and Dialogue issued a statement calling for an end to the violence in Sabah “in the name of sobriety, dialogue and peaceful resolution” which it deems is the only way out of this standoff and the bloodbath that would only result from this conflict.

This paper aims to explain the Sabah Standoff and territorial claims in the eyes of  Al Qalam Insititute of the Ateneo de Davao University. This paper has two central points of discussion, the tarsila (genealogical records) and maratabat (honor).

Before proceeding, it is important to first understand the sultanate.

A sultanate is a socio-cultural and political institution influenced by the Arabs to the pre-colonial Southeast Asian communities. This is a federation of clans and communities or balangays that recognized the power of the sultan. Thomas McKenna writes: “They were loose confederations of local overlords, or dates. Datus formed a tribute-taking aristocracy with hereditary claims to allegiance from followers.” The first sultan of Sulu was a Johore-born Arab and religious scholar Sayyid Abu Bakr Abirin who settle in Banua Buansa Ummah in Sulu. After his marriage to a local dayang-dayang (princess) Paramisuli he founded the sultanate and assumed the title Paduka Mahasari Maulana al Sultan Sharif ul-Hashim – the title showing clear Hindu roots.

Can a federation of clans, communities/balangay exercise sovereignty? As a general rule, no, a federation of clans, communities/balangay cannot exercise sovereignty. However, in the case of the Sultanate of Sulu, it has a historical basis of exercising its right to determination as a people separate and distinct from the Filipino people. We can add here that Sulu has sovereignty over parts of Sabah even before the cessation by Spain of the Philippines to the USA precisely because Sulu, Tawi-Tawi and parts of Mindanao have never been colonized by Spain. The 1742 Treaty of Alliance between Spain and Sulu Sultan Azim Ud-Din further proves that the sultanate was independent of Spain and had, in fact, sovereign control over the Sulu archipelago.

How did the concept of sultanate begin? What is the basis for this claim? The answer to this question may be summarized and greatly understood by studying the “tarsila”, its history and function. Many of us do not realize the importance of claiming right lineage in the datu system or the sultanate. The key point in knowing the the status of a person and the legitimacy of his authority and rule is through the tarsila, essential to the datu or sultanate system.

The Datu System and the Tarsila Connection

The Datu system is one of the oldest, and most powerful institutions in Southern Philippines. Families and clans in Maguindanao, Lanao, Basilan, Sulu, and Tawi Tawi, and in traditional domains of non-Islamized indigenous groups are centered in recognizing the power and influence of the datus. With the introduction of Islam, these datus have confederated themselves in establishing the Sultanate.

Muslims in Mindanao and Sulu have this distinct strong attachment to the datu and sultanate systems because of the existence of the tarsila. Tarsila is defined as the genealogical lineage with particular reference to the succession of hierarchy and exercise of power.[1] The transmission of the tarsila has always been through oral means like songs and chants or dhikir. Only few ruling families were able to record their tarsilas; in these cases, they were written down on goat’s skin and engraved on brass gongs.

Tarsila is not only a cultural practice but also a religious recognition that a person and his/her family and clan, has a direct lineage to the Prophet Muhammad (SAW). The founding fathers of Islam in Sulu and Maguindanao were Shariff Makdum and Shariff Kabungsuan, respectively. They were from Sumatra and Borneo of Arab descent related to the prophet of Islam as recorded in the tarsilas. Therefore, a datu or a sultan is believed to be a descendant of the Prophet and because of this, he is a political and a religious leader, thus the official title of sultan is both Batara (lord) and Maulana (religious scholar).

The term tarsila comes from the Arabic silsilah, which means a chain or a link. It is used in the Muslim south as in other parts of the Indonesian and Malay world to refer to written genealogical accounts.[2]

Muslims in Mindanao believe that the primary function of the tarsila is to trace the ancestry of an individual or family. The ancestry may be an important political figure or religious leader or a shariff.

Taking this into consideration, the tarsilas were not meant to remain purely historical documents or remembrances of the past, but also as a warrant for the “legitimate the claim of individuals or families to hold political power or to enjoy certain traditional prerogatives or at least some prestige in their respective communities”. [3]

Most present-day traditional and political leaders in the Muslim areas have their respective tarsilas supporting the legitimacy of the power and rule over the people.

To this date, most of the tarsilas are kept by the different clans and political and traditional ruling clans have their own keepers of the tarsila.[4] However, according to Hadji Nasser Ayunan, “proper institutionalizing of the legitimacy of the tarsila is needed to avoid any conflict of claims by the present generation is needed.” Thus, the language or the lingua franca of the tarsila contributes to the legitimacy of the claimants.

According to Cesar Abdul Majul, “it is commonly accepted that the use of this criteria is quite reasonable.” In the case of Sulu, trade relations spanned the Malay peninsula and Indonesian archipelago as far back in the 13th century, or even earlier.

Early documentation of the tarsila was done by Dr. Najeeb Saleeby especially of the Sulu and Maguindanao tarsila or “selesilah”. Professor Majul further reiterates that, “we are all greatly indebted to Dr. Najeeb Saleeby for the collection, translation and publication of many tarsilas from Sulu and Mindanao… considering that many of these documents had been burnt or lost during the last days of the Japanese Occupation in 1945.”

Importantly, we must add that the datu system and sultanate existed exclusively of one another as two separate political structures before they finally converged with the advent of Islam in the Southern Philippines. The old datu system of local overlords merged with the Islamic and Arabic sultanate system in which the sultan “commanded the allegiance of other datus”. Since alliances were formed by marriages (the sultans’ daughter being married to a local datu or his marriage to a daughter of another datu) the tarsila made sure that the precious bloodline of the Prophet remained intact and the sultan’s legitimacy (owing to his direct lineage with the Prophet) was unquestioned by his Muslim constituents or followers.

Mindanao Context

Mindanao is the ancestral homeland of the more than 30 ethno-linguistic groups. Thirteen of these indigenous groups were Islamized and count themselves as Muslim Filipinos. The others are popularly known as the Lumad, Visayan word for ‘native’ or the ‘un-Islamized/un-Christianized’ tribes of Mindanao.[5]

The thirteen major  Islamized ethno-linguistic groups are:

1.     Badjao

2.     Iranun (also known as Ilanun)

3.     Jama-mapun

4.     Kalagan

5.     Kalibugan

6.     Maguindanao

7.     Maranao

8.     Molbog (Melebugnon)

9.     Palawani

10.  Samal

11.  Sangil

12.  Tausug

13.  Yakan

These indigenous peoples of Mindanao who embraced Islam established their own sultanates and set of datus. Thus, we have the Sultanates of Sulu, Maguindanao, and pockets of sultanates of Iranuns, and Maranaws. All claiming their legitimacy and moral ascendancy from their direct lineage  to the Prophet Muhammad (Peace be Upon Him).

Maratabat

The kinship system of the Maguindanaons, Tausugs, and Iranuns is bilateral. This is not unique in their culture. It is common throughout the country. Bilateral descent is a system of family lineage in which the relatives on the mother’s side and father’s side are equally important for emotive, filial ties or for transfer of property or wealth. It is a family arrangement where descent and inheritance are passed equally through both parents.[6] Under bilateral descent, every tribe member belongs to two clans, one through the father (a patri-clan) and the other through the mother (a matri-clan).

Among the Muslim ethno-linguistic groups in Mindanao it is unusual. It is modified by a system of social rank, certain rules of descent, and distinctive marriage patterns related to bilateral kinship.[7] Social rank is determined by one’s maratabat, or social status. For those belonging in higher rank, “maratabat” is based on real or imputed descent from the Sharifs (first Arab missionaries that brought Islam in the region). Families belonging to the royalties maintain elaborate genealogies/tarsilas to validate their claims to his/her line of descent.

In simple definition, maratabat means the dignity and honor of the person. It has a distinct characteristic of social significance because the individual who possesses the greatest maratabat are those persons who are most directly descended from Sharif Kabunsuan (among the Maguindanaons) and Sharif Makdum (among the Tausugs).[8]

Maratabat is central to the social and political organization because it gives the datus/sultans special claim to power and privilege. Therefore, the maratabat’s legitimacy and moral ascendancy has a direct connection to Prophet Muhammad (Peace be Upon Him). 

Connecting the Dots to Sabah

The recent Sabah standoff brought local and international attention as it also happened in the same of month of the Bud Daho (1906) and Jabidah (1963) massacres opening up old wounds for the Bangsa Moro, most especially the Tausugs of Sulu. The objective of the Sulu “Royal Security Forces” to re-claim eastern Sabah also sparked different opinions from the Philippines and Malaysia, causing some to point dirty fingers at conspiracies that aim to topple governments, derail peace talks or destabilize elections in both countries. Dr. Farish A. Noor writes of the standoff: “[W]hat has happened is that a group of non-state actors, namely those who claim to be the descendants of the Sultan of Sulu, have unilaterally and without the consent of the government of the Philippines, entered into the territory of another state – Malaysia – bearing arms and demanding their right to settle there.”

Yet this article digs deeper at possibly the fundamental reason for the ongoing acts of the Tausugs – their wounded maratabat.  Also on closer inspection, the shared history and bloodlines of the Sulu sultanate with the  sultanates of Brunei, Melaka and Makassar-Gowa are closely interlinked that fundamentally, these sultanates are no less than cousins, but more importantly, brothers and sisters in the faith that calls for compassion.

The wounded maratabat of the Tausugs urged them to re-claim the portions of Sabah but it only resulted to great loss of lives on both sides, almost a losing battle the moment it begun. Here, the 18^th century writer on the Napoleonic art of war may give important points for reflection for us and the Tausugs in Sabah:

When a state has claims upon another, it may not always be best to enforce them by arms. The public interest must be consulted before action.

 The most just war is one which is founded upon undoubted rights, and which, in addition, promises to the state advantages commensurate with the sacrifices required and the hazards incurred. Unfortunately, in our times there are so many doubtful and contested rights that most wars, though apparently based upon bequests, or wills, or marriages, are in reality but wars of expediency. (Article I: Offensive Wars to Reclaim Rights, Art of War, Baron Antoine-Henri de Jomini)

Since the influence of Islam is embedded deeply in the social, cultural, and political systems of the Muslims in Mindanao, like the sultanate system of Sulu and Maguindanao, where does this lead the Tausugs, Iranuns, Maranaws, and Maguindanaos? How does the concept of maratabat remain significant? Is this still important in the lives of the Tausugs and the followers of the Sultanate of Sulu?

The tarsila, evidencing as a “chain” of families descended from the Prophet, must be a chain that frees, rather not restrains our relations to the larger family of humankind. The tarsila “chain” must not shackle or tether us in recognizing the complex diversity of the human family in shared dignity and honor and need to work with sober realism for lasting human improvement and peace.

The Holy Quran speaks about identities and recognizes the diversity of people. This is explicitly discussed in Surah Al-Hujurat (The Inner Apartments):

O mankind! We created you from a single (pair) of a male and a female and made you into nations and tribes that ye may know each other (not that ye may despise each other). Verily the most honored of you in the sight of Allah is (he who is) the most righteous of you. And Allah has full knowledge and is well acquainted (with all things). Qur’an 49:13  

This verse talks about mankind in general. The most honored person in the sight of Allah is the one who is righteous.

Islam also talks about ummatan wassatan (middle nation or people of moderation). This is described in the verse:

And thus have We willed you to be a community of the middle way, so that

[with your lives] you might bear witness to the truth before all mankind. Qur’an 2: 143

Intimaz Yusuf  describes this further by saying that, “the expression ummatan wasatan can be translated into English as a “community of the middle way,”[9] as a “justly balanced”[10] community or “middle nation.”[11] Basically it means that the Muslims should not be a community of extreme right or extreme left but follow the middle path or the straight way, i.e. the way of God’s guidance which is characterized by moderation.[12]

If we claim that we belong to the sultanate or to the lineage of a datu, then one of our roles is to protect our people and embrace the principles of Islam.

Moreover, a descendant of the royalties traces back his/her lineage back to the Prophet of Islam (peace be upon him). For Muslims, the Prophet Muhammad (peace be on him) is the example par excellence of a moderate person who is worthy of emulation through imitatio Muhammadi.[13]

The future of Islam in Mindanao and even in Southeast Asia depends on how the Muslims in this part of the world really see Islam. Muslims have to know and value the real essence of the principles and teaching of Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him).

All the current challenges pertaining to political, economic, cultural and social imbalance and inequality are not because of Islam itself, but rather the way Muslims interpret the context of the sacred texts in the Holy Quran.

An institution like the sultanate, is a valid manifestation of the cultural identities of the people. But the pursuit of claiming tarsila or maratabat by an individual for his or her self-interest cannot prosper in the recent context. Opposition, and violence, even among the Muslim communities may occur. We must aspire that the future of the tarsila be one that seeks to ground us in our common heritage, one that includes everyone, rather than perpetuate the misguided concept of exclusivity – of a select group of families, clans and individuals – that will ultimately, as it is already happening now, lead to more irrational violence. We must therefore apply maratabat with moderation and with a concern for others. Maratabat itself must help us look towards the common good not only of our Muslims but also peoples coming from different faiths within a common humanity.

Sources Cited:

[1] Mckenna, Thomas, Muslim Rebels and Rulers, 2006.

[2] Majul, Cesar Abdul, Muslim History and Culture, October 20, 1977.

[3] Ibid;

[4] Ayunan, Hadji Nasser, Amerol of Maguindanao. Interviewed by the research last December 30, 2012.

[5] Rex T. Linao, The Peace Paradigm of Development, An Agenda for Mindanaons, Cortess Printing Press, 2001

[6] Shepard, John; Robert W. Greene (2003).Sociology and You. Ohio: Glencoe McGraw-Hill. pp. A–22

[7] Encyclopedia of Southeast Asian Ethnography, Edited by N.S. Bisht; T.S. Bankoti, 2004.

[8] Encyclopedia of Southeast Asian Ethnography, Edited by N.S. Bisht; T.S. Bankoti, 2004.

[9] Muhammad Asad, The Message of the Qur’┐n (Gibraltar: Dar al-Andalus, 1984), 30.

[10] Abdull┐h Y┴suf ‘Al┘, The Holy Qur’┐n: Text, Translation and Commentary, New Revised Edition (Brendwood, MD: Amana Corp., 1409/1989), 58.

[11] Marmaduke Pickthall, The Meaning of the Glorious Qur’an (Lahore: Taj Co. n.d.), 23.

[12] Yusuf, Intimaz, Dialogue Between Islam and Buddhism through the Concepts Ummatan Wasa═an (The Middle Nation) and Majjhima-Patipada (The Middle Way).

[13] Yusuf, Intimaz, Dialogue Between Islam and Buddhism through the Concepts Ummatan Wasa═an (The Middle Nation) and Majjhima-Patipada (The Middle Way).

An Alternative Mining Law, NOW!

Eight years ago, on March 3, 1995, Republic Act 7942 or the Philippine Mining Act of 1995 was signed into law by Pres. Fidel V. Ramos, aiming for the revitalization and liberalization of the mining industry to foreign investment. Mining in the country was further strengthened by the Arroyo administration with EO 270 and 270-A which pushed for the revitalization of the mining industry as a pillar of growth and declares that the vast mineral resources of our country should be utilized for economic development and poverty alleviation especially in the rural areas.

There is a very pressing need to address the devastating effects of mining on the environment and the communities, as even the mining sector acknowledges the fact that mining is an “intrinsically dirty” and we add “wasteful and destructive” industry. In the Philippines, the Marcopper disaster in Marinduque is one of the most notorious examples dramatizing the Philippines’ own struggle with the hazards of mining. In 1993, the collapse of the Maguila-guila dam at the Marcopper mine of Placer Dome, a Canadian owned mining firm, released a flood of metal-enriched silt into Mogpog river. “The flood killed two children, destroyed homes, downed livestock and contaminated farmlands. In 1996, a drainage tunnel to the Boac river burst, filling the river with four million tons of toxic sludge which rendered the river biologically dead.” [1] In less than 20 years, more than 200 million tons of mine tailing were directly spilled into the waters of Calancan Bay.

Not far from my very own home in Bikol, In Rapu-Rapu island, Albay, poor environmental safeguards contributed to at least two cyanide-laden spillages and fish kills within six months of mine commencing operations in 2005. “This had a significant effect on local fisherfolk’s livelihoods, as well as causing fear among communities about eating locally-caught fish.”[2] In addition, neighboring communities consistently raised their concerns about the Rapu-Rapu mine both before and during the period in which it operated.

Philex Mining Corp. (PMC) in Padcal Benguet, which was always hailed as the standard bearer for mining companies, presumed ‘responsible’, recently showed its vulnerability as 20.6M metric tons of tailing spillage drained down the Balog and Agno rivers last August 2012. According to a fact-finding mission report led by CBCP-NASSA (Catholic Bishops Conference of the Philippines-National Secretariat for Social Action, Justice and Peace), “the spillage is massive. It is 1,300% higher than the Marcopper accident in Boac, Marinduque in 1996.”

The history of Marinduque, Rapu- Rapu and Padcal mines record the failure of mining corporations to hear and address the grievances of local communities who vehemently protest the impacts of the mine on their environment, their livelihood and their lives.

Yet, despite these statistics and experiences, our policy-makers have championed mining as “the virtual savior of our economy” and made it a “pet project” of different administrations and even local governments, working in light of illusory  high revenues for the government. But the so-called “resource curse,” means that many of the world’s most resource-rich are its poorest economically. Adeline Angeles, Chair of the Committee on Environment in the Marinduque Provincial Legislative body, graphically describes the myth of sustainable mining when she mentioned in an interview that, “lots of people can’t think of any possibility for such thing as “sustainable mining” in our island, first because of the geography, we not only believe, we know that it is beyond the carrying capacity of the island. We became the third most denuded province in the entire Philippines because of mining. Out internal water, rivers and lakes have become polluted because of large scale mining for 30 years.”[3]

In developing countries, like the Philippines, mineral-rich provinces continue to have higher poverty incidences despite the operations of mining companies. Instead, mining has exacerbated conflicts, resulted in the displacement of indigenous peoples and other rural communities, heightened the numbers of extra-judicial killings and of human rights violations, and caused and intensified pollution and depletion of natural resources which for generations have sustained livelihoods and defined our people’s ways of life (Macdonald and Southal 2005). We have to mention here the recent violence against the B’laan communities in South Cotabato, Sarangani and Davao del Sur (in the vicinity of the SMI-Xstrata mining proposed site) perpetuated “supposedly” by the military, OUR own military. The cold and brutal murders of Juvy, John Mark and Jordan Capion of Tampakan, South Cotabato, along with Rudy Yalon-Dejos, 50, and his son Rody Rick, 26 of Sta. Cruz, Davao del Sur all linked to the conflicts brought by heavy militarization in the other – militarization in support, in protection, of the mining investors’ interest.

The promotion of mining, therefore, in this time of crises and conflicts, exacerbated with the reality of anthropogenic climate change, will translate not only to bad investment but also to the waste of what little resources we have remaining. There is an obvious and urgent need to shift our present framework on mining.

Since the passage of the Philippine Mining Act on March 1995, revitalization of the mining industry was enforced shifting government policies from tolerance to aggressive promotion of large-scale mining. Many from the Academe, Indigenous communities, NGOs, POs and environmentalists see the Act as inherently flawed[4]:

-       It promotes the exportation of raw materials without maximizing the benefits of such resources for the Filipino people;

-       It prioritizes exploration, development and utilization of resources over and above human rights, food security and environmental conservation;

-       It grants too much power for decision-making to the President, when resources are the only heritage of the Filipino people, meanwhile disempowering local communities through participatory mechanisms;

-       The law is not consistent with sustainable development;

-       It grants too many incentives for investments, including confidentiality of information, return of investments, tax-breaks, etc.;

-       It lacks systems that would ensure payment and compensation of affected communities and local government units;

-       It lacks systems that would ensure payment and compensation of affected communities and local government units;

-       It fails to provide for punishment and accountability on social impacts, including human rights violations;

-       It fails  to provide a rational and comprehensive benefit-sharing among the stakeholders;

-       It fails to consider the physical characteristics of the Philippines that is not conducive to industries like these, despite the claims that the Philippines has a rich mineral resources, when the country, in fact, is also a rich agricultural country; and

-       It allows 100% ownership and control of natural resources to foreigners.

The policies, principles and provisions contained in the Mining Act of 1995 sorely lack what is needed to effectively respond to the needs of the Filipino people and to survive the current economic and environmental crisis that we together face. House Bil 3763 is proposed to take the place of the current mining law and among others:

-       Guarantees that the exploration, development and utilization of mineral resources are primarily for the benefit of the Filipino people;

-       Prioritizes more viable and more sustainable livelihood choices for communities, giving utmost importance to food security and livable conditions for the peoples;

-       Ensures that the gains from the mining industry would be maximized while preventing or mitigating its adverse effects of the same;

-       Recognizes that the issue on the environment is local and prioritize local participation in decisions surrounding mining; and

-       Protects human rights of communities and individuals and impose harsh penalties for the violations thereof.

House Bill 3763 or the Alternative Minerals Management Bill takes into consideration the decades-long issues, experiences and analyses of different individuals, organizations and communities affected by mining in the Philippines. “It is a tool to elevate the marginalized and impoverished communities through the legal system to force government, transnational corporations, international finance corporations and other countries to face communities, to address the loopholes of the Mining Act of 1995 and stop unjust mining regime and practices in the Philippines”.

We  call for a Pro-Filipino, Pro-Environment Law on Mining!

---

[1] Ingrid Macdonal and Katy Southal, “Mining Ombudsman Case Report: Marinduque Island,” published 2005: Victoria Australia, p. 3.

[2] Shanta Martin and Kelly Newell, “The Mining Ombudsman Case Report: Rapu-Rapu Polymetallic Mine,” published 2008 , Victoria Australia, p. 2.

[3] Macdonald and Southal, p.12.

[4] Culled from the Alternative Mining Bill: In Brief leaflet of the Alyansa Tigil Mina.

In T’boli Land, at World’s End

I never completely imagined myself doing some field work in the hinterlands where the nearest restroom is the most un-glamorous bush, or the only use of the cellphone is anything other than communicating, where comfort means a patched-up mosquito net or an extra pillow made from who-knows-what. The city has always been my jungle, and its sights, smells, sounds and textures have been the limits of my comfort and discomfort. My only inkling of what life was there in the wild mountains lay in the impressions of media that glossed over some lost treasure of Zinj a la Crichton’s Congo, stories from fieldworkers too who spoke of their Indiana Jones adventures, or maybe from books  with their colored descriptions of magical rituals that called the rain from its sleep and people wearing dead animals over their shoulders. I was young then (or maybe still young now) and childhood’s egoism backed up my notion that I define the world as I sensed it.

All’s well that ends well. I suppose that maxim holds truth, but in my case my beginning may also be appropriate, at least as I see it now. What better way to begin than with apprehensions and doubts, right? Those queasy moments between the red light and the green. In truth, I found the same spirit of adventure out of the insipid comings and goings in the city and the ‘comforts’ accorded/afforded to its citizens. Yes, the hinterlands await, but a little boy inside me was still caught between the red and the green light, shuddering, wait!

Now that I’m in the second semester of my Anthropology class, more or less having heard and having finally been exposed to a different version of anthropologists’ experiences from the field (worlds away from my initial notion of it), I found a new courage to face the uncomfortable: to maybe learn how to take a leak (or more) in the nearest bush or find the right angle of the rigid pillow, to ignore that whining little boy in my head. I thought, if those geriatric westerners, with their delicate sensibilities in much hostile tribes did it, I can certainly do it also. I imagined them in their winter-ready melanin traversing the Sahara in search of the Tuareg and the Nuer, or imagined Geertz, with his obviously foreign head sticking out of a Balinese crowd, and all of a sudden living for months with a Filipino indigenous group did not sound hard after at all. That became my motivation.

While thinking of a research proposal for my thesis, Bikol was always on my mind – to continue with my interest in the Bikolano people’s way of life, to unravel their hidden connections with other cultures, and to demystify their weltanschauung which I perceived was firmly grounded on faith and belief. But working fulltime in Davao and doing my research in Bikol didn’t seem to be the brightest idea in the solar system. So I was caught between personal interest and rationality. I had to find another group of people that  I can certainly relate to, and make the whole process easier for reasons that I am indeed, fully interested in studying them.

The answer came as a surprise, when during my first month in Mindanao, I was introduced to Jenita Eko, a partner of Ateneo de Davao’s Campus Ministry at that time. Jenita Eko is the President of the Lake Sebu Indigenous Women Weavers Association, Inc. (LASIWWAI) herself a T’boli from Brgy. Klubi in Lake Sebu. On several occasions during my first few months here in Davao, I had a chance to talk to her about her organization, until she invited me to visit Lake Sebu on purely recreational purposes and on that first visit, I instantly felt that the T’boli of Lake Sebu could be a good research subject.

I remember the first time I saw the documentary film “Dreamweavers” back in our Sociology class in college. It featured the T’boli tribe of Lake Sebu in Southern Mindanao and how they weave their cloths inspired by spirits in their dreams. I was amazed watching that film, fascinated at how these people give value to their traditions and at how pre-Catholic animism surfaces in all their arts and crafts even if they have been baptized Christians by early Mindanao missionaries. The T’nalak cloth of the T’boli already captivated me when I first saw that film. It was for me a romantic remembering of our past before the cross gave us a new persona. I thought to myself that maybe this people, with their own arts, worldview, rituals and traditions, hold the answer to that elusive mystery of the Filipino identity. And I longed for that answer.

The T’boli it is then.

I have been fortunate in my work to be able to travel to areas in Mindanao. It wasn’t just a dream-come-true for me but a real chance to see these “original” inhabitants. I would consider it then that fate brought me to Mindanao and to Lake Sebu in South Cotabato. At last, I will be in that lake surrounded by clouds and forests, where people tell the stories of creation in songs and in their weavings.

But then my first visit to Lake Sebu almost brought me to tears. Lake Sebu is no longer the mysterious and charmed place I’ve imagined from that “Dreamweavers” documentary. Fish pens of tilapia crowd the lake and surrounding mountains are almost denuded. A number of resorts have also dotted the lakeside. And yet, there’s still a barely perceptible charm, almost like the humming of a mother’s lullaby.  It is certainly there in the sweeping breeze that tickles the lake’s surface. The sun still bathes the lake with a golden warmth each morning. The mist still covers the mountains and for a moment, houses and resorts are obscured, the lake exhales ancient songs. It was certainly not my imagined Lake Sebu but already a place where the modern world and its many wonders and appeals have slowly crept to the homes of the T’boli people. I have come to a Lake Sebu where people have already embraced the modern tides – with its television shows, capitalist attitudes and current flairs.  I have to ask: did they have a choice or were they pushed in a corner with nowhere to run but to modernity and its lifestyle?

My second visit to Lake Sebu, sometime on the last quarter of 2011, was the more formal moment that I had a chance to talk to Jenita Eko on my plans for research. Initially, I wanted to write about the t’nalak enterprise among their association, in line with discourses on women empowerment. I wanted to be more formal, and so I gave her a copy of my proposal. She shared that she was genuinely interested about this partnership as she was also working on a ‘source book’ on t’nalak weaving. She gave me a copy of the source book and asked me if I can help her edit the book, and of course I said yes, it would be my honor to help her. But to cut the long story short, I had to change my intended research topic to one that fits the ‘environmental agenda’ of the department (yes, there are so many ways on how to kill a plan) and I opted to do a study on climate change and the T’boli.

On that visit, Jenita Eko introduced me to some members of the women weavers association. They told me all about the beginnings and the nature/goals of LASIWWAI, and the more I knew about them, the more my interest in partnering with them grew.

A brief background on LASIWWAI: The Lake Sebu Indigenous Women Weavers Association. Inc. ( LASIWWAI ) is a non-profit community-based organization that envisions T’nalak enterprise to grow, be appreciated and be endorsed in the market through social entreprenuership. They promote t’nalak weaving not only as a source of livelihood for indigenous women but also as an integral part of the T’boli’s rich culture and tradition. The organization, aside from being entrepreneurial, seeks to address the unequal opportunities given to T’boli women by empowering them economically, in planning for their organization and in decision-making. They shared that this was a breakthrough as T’boli society is still patriarchal and ‘feudal’, a term often used in my conversations with Jenita. This may pertain to how T’boli give high regard to the class system of Datu (ruling class), Tau Sool (middles class) and Tau Dok (slaves).

Of course, I still believe that the t’nalak research would have been a perfect study with LASIWWAI but I had to find an alternative that considers the thrusts of AdDU’s Department of Anthropology. And there I was looking piteously at the once-majestic lake of Sebu, and I thought  ”why not write about the Waters of Sebu?”, investigate the effects of climate change not only on perceived changes in the weather patterns but also on the cognitive aspect, on how the T’boli re/cognizes, and eventually translate climate change in their behaviour. The lake-dwelling people, mostly living on agricultural means, can share their experiences of climate change, and I can dig deeper, interpret their modes of cognition through myths.

So finally I had a ‘problem’ I can work on. I had another chance to visit Lake Sebu, this time with a group of German visitors from Bavaria. During that visit, I laid out my plan to Jenita. I told her I wanted to do a research on climate change and the T’boli, specifically of Brgy. Klubi in Lake Sebu, and I was mildly surprised to find her genuinely interested in my proposition. She said that I can do the climate change research in her barangay and also get a glimpse on how t’nalak is made by their women weavers – two birds with one stone.

This visit also offered me a chance to talk to their elders in the gono bong (long house, literally big house). It was my first time to be in a circle of elders, barefoot, surrounded by men and women in their traditional attire (most probably because I was with German guests at that time), with the whole gono bong pulsating rhythmically in the beat of the agung. The elders shared that there were only 3 ‘master artists’ living and teaching in the School of Living Tradition and that this school is right below us in the gono bong, hardened clay floor with little educational materials. One of the master artists was a skilled dancer and chanter and he  showed us the kadal tahaw or dance of the bird. The whole house shook with the graceful movements of his feet, mimicking the fast leg and wing gestures of the tahaw bird, with others joining him in the dance. The other elders explained that he was one of the few dancers who teach the traditional dances in the fashion that was passed down to them. They also shared that the only living mewa nga (healer) in their area was already on her deathbed and was not able to pass down her knowledge of herbs and healing to others. I thought that this was sad, frustrating and disappointing to not be able to document her knowledge and to think that all of it, generations of traditional wisdom, will be down the drain. This became a motivation for me – to be able to help, even in my littlest capacity – a dying, or actually, an evolving culture, by documenting as much as possible, this changing way of life.

On April 17, 2012 I was invited to document an international conference on Ikat Weaving.  Ikat is a method of weaving where strands are tied before they are dyed giving them their distinct patterns. One of the most highly regarded ikat fabrics in the southeast Asian region is the t’nalak of the T’bolis – hence the conference was held in Lake Sebu and I was again at its shore longing for imagined worlds and occasionally craving for its delicious tilapia.

In this conference I met Kevin, a graduate of the Ateneo de Davao University and a T’boli of Lake Sebu. He was very patient with my questions about his being a T’boli, their struggles and his dreams not only for himself but also for his people. He also shared with me the same story of this bygone Lake Sebu, when there were no fences yet in the lake and anyone can fish or swim in its water.

Thinking about the stories of old-world beauty and magic, it was very timely when he taught me a traditional song (we were all told to give a short presentation during the cultural night of the conference and Kevin chose this song). He said that it was usually sung during weddings and celebrations, and is about an edenic paradise that may be a fitting reference to Lake Sebu but also an allusion to all paradises lost to the inanity of mankind. The T’bolis call this paradise Lemlunay, and the song goes:

Lemlunay gono setifun ne Lemlunay gono sesotu.

Lemlunay gono kemulo ne Lemlunay gono setambul

e se waten uni sembakung e Lemlunay tey lemobun.

Kevin helped me do a rough translation and we came up with this: Lemlunay is a place where the people are gathered and united and we are all beckoned by the sounds of festivities, the beating of gongs and drums welcome us to this paradise hidden in mists.

This archetypal paradise calls to mind our dreams of a perfect place where differences are set aside and we celebrate our oneness with creation. I asked if this is the T’boli heaven and Kevin answered no, it was a place comparable to the Biblical Eden yet there is no mention of a parting from this Eden, from Lemlunay, because of a sin or transgression. We can only assume that Lemlunay faded to dreams, to the world of mists. I thought that the modern world was surely no place for this Lemlunay.

I would like to believe that Lake Sebu was once Lemlunay and human folly has pushed it to the plane of the mythical, a world that can now only be accessed through songs but is still physically present in the slowly congesting lake of Sebu. In looking for my imagined Lake Sebu brought by that documentary I’ve watched in college, I was also searching for our identity as a people. If I have to be honest, I was looking for my self. Take away all the western, borrowed cultures from my system, what is left of me? Who am I in this sea of foreign cultures? Of modern gadgets and western language? Who are we as a people, tortured and brought to our knees by colonizers? We have become ‘modern,’ parting from our indigenous selves, embracing western, foreign cultures, but who is this indigenous self?

I don’t have the answers right now. Perhaps the journey is still unfolding before me, in my thesis and all the forks in the road that I may walk on. Maybe the answers are in Lemlunay, maybe in Lake Sebu – in their songs, music, in their t’nalak, or their stories.  But I have to constantly remind my self that in this search, I maybe searching for a lost past, a mere fuzzy dreamland of the imagination. What I would like to do is to better understand where we failed in our past in order to build a better future.  The hidden Lemlunay is but a metaphor of what we’ve lost but also of what lies before us.

If only we can part the mists shrouding our vision. Maybe we can find Lemlunay – the sound of gongs and drums welcoming us to our land, to our self, to our identity, to our future even.

In Kutawato, Unveiling the Iranun Tarsila

I had the unexpected good fortune to join a team doing a Focus Group Discussion on “Understanding the Iranun Tarsila as a Tool in Conflict Resolution in Mindanao”. This was organized by the Al Qalam Institute for Islamic Identities and Dialogue in Southeast Asia (Ateneo de Davao University) in Cotabato City last Sunday, 20 January 2013. Unexpected because I never thought that it would be both a provocative meeting and a once-in-a-lifetime chance to be around the descendants of the proud Sultanates in Mindanao, who shared their life stories, their ancestors’ struggles and the technicalities of genealogical recording. It was also my first time to visit Cotabato City and there were a lot of prejudices that I brought with me like an invisible extra satchel over my shoulders. But already upon entering the Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao (ARMM) I contentedly ticked away my biases and found communities thriving, proud of their heritage and trying to pick themselves up after bloody years of conflict.

For the first timer, one still feels a palpable air of unease and an apprehension on what the new Framework Agreement on the Bangsamoro might bring to their communities and their lives, yet there is also a pervading hope that life will be normal, time to go back to their farms and time to fight the age-old battle of taming the unpredictable moods of the Pulangi River. I felt that Cotabato is a city with deep wounds that go as deep as the history of our country and even deeper – going back to pre-Hispanic Mindanao, the Sri Vijayan and Majapahit empires in Indonesia. Its scars can be seen running deep in worried eyes, in forehead furrows, the scurry and hurry of getting home after dark, the military (or otherwise) checkpoints that dot the city, or in a stranger’s friendly advice to the tourist to go home after 3 in the afternoon.

Our group stayed at the Hotel Rio in Magallanes Street, where the FGD also took place. My first shock was that the name of the street was a Spanish conquistador right in the city center of Moroland, in the center of colonial resistance in Mindanao. Or maybe I read it differently. It may perhaps stand as an unwitting trophy in the sense that Magellan was fallen, supposedly, by a Moro-Tausug in the name of Lapu-Lapu/Maas Iliji/Maas Pulun as the Tausugs in Basilan and Sulu would proudly tell you. But more scholarly works are needed to prove this, even if it exists only in oral narratives, intellectual propriety insists that it must not be assumed fictitious. Indeed the street’s name was a fitting welcome to my first Cotabato experience!

The FGD team was composed of Prof. Yusuf Morales (as moderator), Michelle David (documenter), Nikki Ayubo (photographer), myself as documenter and headed by Al Qalam’s director, Datu Mussolini Lidasan. It was attended by Mohammad Lidasan, Amerul Umbra Nasser Lidasan, Bajunaid Saban, Abbas Addulkair and Datu Alamada.

The FGD aimed at probing the links, bloodlines and interconnectedness of the people through the use of the tarsila and further focused on the tarsila as a tool in conflict resolution. The following were the general questions that the FGD tried to answer:

1. Who are the people knowledgeable in the Iranun Tarsila? What are their characteristics, traits and other qualifications?
2. Aside from the mentioned uses of tarsila, what are its purposes and significance in the people today?
3. How does tarsila help in resolving conflict?
4. What are the indigenous modes of conflict resolution? How are they applied in the community?
5. How significant is the tarsila in the lives of the Iranun people?

The study focused on the Iranun people whose traditional domain are the coastal towns of Datu Blah Sinsuat, Sultan Mastura, Sultan Kudarat, Parang, Matanog (municipalities under the province of Maguindanao), and the towns of Malabang, Balabagan, Sultan Gumander (municipalities under Lanao del Sur). These coastal-living people are generally called Iragaten. The Idalemen, on the other hand, or the upland people traditionally reside in the present towns of Buldon and Barira (parts of Maguindanao), Pigcawayan, Alamada, Banisilan (parts of Cotabato), and Wao, Bumbaran, and Butig (parts of Lanao del Sur).

The Iranun gained infamy because of their maritime raiding and assaults on villages and coastal dwellers as explicated by James Warren in his book “Iranun and Balangingi: Globalization, Maritime Raiding and the Birth of Ethnicity”. Warren described the Iranun as having “a fearsome reputation in an era of extensive world commerce and economic growth between the West and China” and that the name Lanun “struck fear into the hearts and minds of riverine and coastal populations across Southeast Asia two centuries ago.”

One of the participants asserted that the Iranun were the ancestors of the Maguindanao and other Islamized groups in Mindanao and that their tarsila proves that the royal houses of the Maguindanao is a direct line of the Iranun sultans and chieftains. He claimed that the primogenitors of both the Islamized ethnolinguistic groups and the non-Islamized Manobo, Tiruray, etc. named Mamalu and Tabunaway were in fact Iranun. There are still contentions on the Mamalu and Tabunaway story as there are discrepancies in the oral narratives of different groups. Some claim that Shariff Kabunsuan married Tabunaway, while others claim that Mamalu and Tabunaway were Manobo brothers before Tabunaway was Islamized, and other variants. What is important is the assertion of the pre-Islamic roots of these groups and their interconnected histories. In fact, the tarsila of the Iranun points to the house of Maharaja Tabunaway as the earliest line of the sultans of Maguindanao, while the Dulangan Manobo, in particular, traces their descent to Mamalu.

The tarsila is a genealogical record/narration of the Iranun. Other Islamized groups have their own tarsilas but the FGD focused on the Iranun tarsila. Amerul Nasser Lidasan shared that it has two kinds: the Tisa and the Sitta. The Tisa is the genealogical record of the nine shariffs, descendants of the Prophet Muhammad through his daughter Fatima, who came out of Meccah in Saudi Arabia to spread Islam and its tenets. The Tisa tarsila points all the way up to the Prophet Muhammed and his ascendants all the way to Adam. The Sitta tarsila on the other hand recounts the ancestors and descendants of Shariff Kabunsuan who himself is a direct descendant of the Prophet Muhammed. The Sitta Tarsila is the basis of all genealogical lines of the Sultanates of Maguindanao and Sulu. An alternative name to the tarsila is silsilah which is Arabic for ‘chain’ or ‘link’.

The Iranun uses the tarsila not only as a simple record of ascendants, descendants and kinship, but also as a tool to identify the line of the sultans and to take records of his bloodline. In Iranun society there is a council of elders called the ‘Pat – a Polaos’ or the ‘Four Pillars’ who uses the tarsila to trace candidates for the Sultan of Maguindanao and enthrone in a special ceremony, the rightful Sultan that they deem fits into the 4 attributes of a Sultan, namely: antawan (wealth), nunawan (lineage), bangsawan (bloodline), rupawan (charisma), and in the case of a tie, ilmawan (intelligence).

Aside from identifying the Sultan’s bloodline, the tarsila is also the story of the Iranun people – of how the Datuship of Manila and Tondo were once connected to their own political and genealogical system. The Sultanates of Brunei, Makassar and Sulawesi can also find common ancestors in the Maguindanao houses most probably from intermarriages resulting from strategic alliances.

The FGD also proved that the tarsila is a tool used by the Iranun in conflict resolution. In cases of rido or clan wars, for example, they resort to the tarsila in finding a common kin who will serve as the mediator for the feuding families. They will then recite the tarsila in a religious ritual that involves the chanting (dhikr/dikil) of Quranic verses. The following may be a rough guide to how conflicts are resolved: A conflict arises; Elders investigate the conflict; Identification of the reason for the conflict; Families get a mediator, usually an elder datu who is a common kin; the Mediator then resolves the conflict.

The tarsila is also used in funerals and weddings to establish lineage. Often in funerals, an elder will recite the tarsila of the deceased to reconnect him/her to the ancient lines of heroes, sultans, and the Prophet Muhammed himself. The participants shared that the tarsila can be considered as a sacred document that contains the names of the deceased and that prayers are said before opening a tarsila, also as respect to the lineage of the Prophet. In weddings, the tarsila of the bride and the groom are recited from the bride all the way to the common ancestors and down to the groom’s ancestors to form a link, symbolic of a singular family that binds the ties of the wedded couple.

More than a genealogical record, the tarsila, as shared by the participants, is also a map of the extent of Islamic influence in the world from Saudi Arabia, to Indonesia, Malaysia, Brunei and the Philippines, proving the linkages of different peoples and the unity of the human race through a religion that teaches surrender to one God, and compassion to mankind, among others.

In the middle of the FGD, we were showed a tarsila and some documents signed by the Pat-a Polaos validating the enthronement of a Sultan. The tarsila was written in a long parchment paper with the different houses signified by different colors. The tarsila included the royal lines of the Kingdoms of Manila, Tondo, and Brunei, and the early Sultanates of the Maharaja Tabunaway, Silungan, Buayan and Maguindanao – all following a direct line from the Prophet Muhammed. I was surprised to find out that succeeding sultans were not necessarily the sons of the previous sultan. They told us that the Pat-a Polaos consults the tarsila and looks for possible candidates in all the branches of the other houses. They then look for the 5 attributes of a sultan from each candidate. This was, they said, to ensure that despotism does not happen and that power is not contained in a single family. Technically they are still one big family with a common ancestor, but the distance from this common ancestor makes each family a single house. There are several technical notes in choosing the sultan and I deem that it must be elucidated on a separate paper to give it its due detail.

It is both sad and disappointing, as the participants shared, that the tarsilas of the Iranuns are now a rarity because of the past “revolutions” in Mindanao. The elders were either killed or too pre-occupied with surviving the Moro wars that the tarsila were either forgotten, lost, or failed to be transmitted to the next generation. The original tarsilas were committed to writing in barks of wood or animal skin and later on to scrolls of paper that were easily damaged. The participants also shared that the tarsila keepers of ancient time were given certain privileges, one of them is residence in the torogan or the Sultan’s house, implying the importance of the records keeper. They jealously kept the tarsila in secrecy, fearing forgery from people who desired to claim the sultanate or to con their way to the royal houses.

At the end of the FGD, someone told me that the Luzon and Visayan people lost something when they gained their Spanish surnames. While listening to those people who could recount their ancestors up to Adam himself, I felt like something was indeed missing, and that the oldest ancestor I could name was only my great-great grandmother on my mother’s side.

How wonderful it would be if we could only pick up the pieces of our lost histories, draw the lines of my mother and my father, connected to your great grandfather, discover a common ancestor, and see them grow in a giant World Tree rooted in a consciousness of brotherly and sisterly love for one and all.

Our trip to the ancient city of Kutawato, bastion of pirates, slave raiders, missionaries and warriors, was an invitation to a deeper understanding of Muslims in Mindanao, the pervading conflict in the area and a reflexive journey towards a people’s identity and my own.

Unveiling the tarsila, we discover that we are all cousins dancing under the watchful eye of God.

[This article is not the official document of the Focus Group Discussion conducted by the Al Qalam Institute. Result of the FGD will be made public after completion of the research.]

Ye Kumu [T'boli T'nalak ]

This Ye Kumu, or ceremonial T’nalak cloth often used for weddings, was painstakingly crafted by weavers of the Lake Sebu Women Weavers Association, Inc. (LASIWWAI) in Brgy. Ned, Lake Sebu, South Cotabato. [With permissions from Ms Jenita Eko, President of LASIWWAI].

To purchase t’nalak from LASIWWAI, please email me at radabueza@gmail.com for details.

Pagbibigay Boses sa Homo Narrans Gamit ang Pagtatalambuhay

 

Palagi itong nagsisimula sa ganitong pormula: ang pag-ahon ng usisa at mangha, ang marahang halik ng hangin na pumipitas sa mga lumang memorya, at ang unang mga bituin, nanginginig, inilalaraw sa itim ng ating mga mata. Ganito nagkaka-anyo ang mga kuwento at sanaysay simula’t sapul noong unang panahon na nagtipon ang mga tao malapit sa init ng apoy. Maaaring literal o talinghaga ang ganitong simula, ngunit ang pagbuo ng mga kuwento ay bumubukal mula sa udyok na lumikha o paglikhang muli sa mundo sa pamamagitan ng mga salita, at upang maipasa’t mailipat ang kanyang kwento sa mga sabik na tagakinig.

 

Masasabi nga nating bukod sa pagiging mga Homo sapiens (mga taong nag-iisp), ang mga tao ay Homo narrans din – mga tagapagsalaysay, mga tagapag-kuwento, na nararanasan ang buhay bilang mga serye ng naratibo na binubuo ng mga karakter sa isang kuwento na may simula, gitna at katapusan. Ang Homo narrans ay hindi lamang isang hayop na nangahas na makipagtunggalian sa mga mas mababangis na hayop sa kagubatan, o hayop na matagumpay na nakapaghanap ng mainam na sistema ng paggawa at paghahanap ng pagkain at tirahan, ngunit isa rin siyang hominid na natutong manirahan sa mga likhang-diwa o ‘di kaya’y mga panahon o lugar na gawa lamang sa mga guni-guni. Samakatuwid, ang Homo narrans ay tayo, na hindi lamang nabubuhay sa ngayon at dito, bagkus ay nabubuhay din sa mga salusalungat na bersyon ng ating nakalipas, pag-aasam at alinlangan sa kinabukasan, at pati na rin sa mga purong guni-guni na gawa ng malikhain at malikot na imahinasyon.

 

Hindi maikakaila na isa sa mga gawaing pampalipas-oras ng mga tao, noon hanggang ngayon, ay ang pagkukuwento tungkol sa sarili, sa iba, sa kapaligiran, totoo man o gawang-isip lamang. Maaaring nagsimula ang ganitong kaugalian mula pa noong mga mangangaso’t tagatipon (hunter-gatherer) pa ang mga sinaunang pamayanan o ‘di kaya’y mula pa noong natutong mangusap at tuluyang mabuo ang pagkakaintindihan ng mga tao gamit ang lengwahe. Sa kabila naman nito, ay maaari din na umusbong ang Homo narrans sa panahon nang natuto ang mga tao ng pagtatanim (agrikultura at hortikultura) kung saan kailangan humintay sa panahon ng anihan at nabibigyan ng mga malayang panahon ang mga tao para sa mga katuwaan o paglikha ng mga kagamitan.

 

Kahit ano pa mang teorya ang sundin natin, umusbong mula sa hilig ng mga tao na magkuwento at magsalaysay ang iba’t ibang uri ng nasusulat at hindi nasusulat na mga panitikan. Nariyan ang mga drama, komedya, nobela, epiko, kwentong bayan, at iba pa. May iba’t ibang layunin ang bawat uring ito ng panitikan – magbigay-aliw, magbigay kasagutan sa mga tanong, magpasa ng karunungan o magsiwalat ng magagandang asal. Napakalawak na ang teritoryong naabot ng pagkukuwento mula sa simpleng pagtitipon sa init ng apoy hanggang sa umabot sa dulo ng ating mga daliri gamit ang mga makabagong kindle o iPad. Nagbago na nga ang mga pamamaraan ng pagsasalaysay ng Homo narrans, ngunit ang manghang humahalina sa kuwentista ay siya pa ring mangha na namukaw-sigla sa mga sinaunang manunula/t.

 

May isang uri o genre sa panitikan na layuning ilarawan ang buhay ng isang tao. Sa paraang ito, ang Homo narrans ay direktang nagkukuwento o ikinukuwento ang kanyang buhay mula sa memorya. Base sa tunay na mga kaganapan ang pagsalaysay dito. Tinatawag na talambuhay o biography ang uring ito. Dito inilalarawan ng tagapagsalaysay ang buhay ng isang tao sa pamamagitan ng pag-interbyu sa taong kanyang sinusulat o sa mga malalapit sa kanya, at pangangalap ng iba’t ibang materyal (halimbawa mga liham, diary o journal). Mainam itong paraan ng paglalarawan hindi lamang ng taong sinusulat, kundi pati na rin ng panahon, lipunan at mga kaganapang kinapapalooban niya.

 

Sa larangan ng Agham Tao ay ginagamit ang pagtatalambuhay bilang isang paraan ng paglalarawan o pagguhit ng kapirasong realidad. Kung ang lahat ng mga akademikong sulatin ay kuwento ng mundo at realidad ng lipunan o ng isang tao, ang pagtatalambuhay ay mainam na paraan ng pagpinta sa ginagalawan natin/niyang panahon, lipunan at konteksto. Nilalagyan ng  pagtatalambuhay ng mukha, pangalan, boses, lasa at lokal na kahulugan ang malimit na tuyo’t tabang ng mga akademikong sulatin.

 

Wala namang paraan ng pananaliksik na buong buong maipipinta ang realidad o kaya’y maisisiwalat ang Katotohanan, ngunit layunin ng pagtatalambuhay na mabigyang puwang ang malimit na nakakalimutang mga boses sa pag-aaral ng Agham Tao.

 

Sa paraan ng pagtatalambuhay, hindi lamang taga-kuwento ang Homo narrans – siya mismo ang paksa ng kuwento. Lokal, partikular at indibidwal ang pagtatalambuhay. Kung layunin ng agham tao na maintindihan ang iba, sa pamamagitan ng pagtatala ng kanyang buhay, ay nabibigyang kahulugan nito hindi lamang ang kanyang sariling buhay kundi pati na ang konteksto ng kanyang mga gawain at desisyon. Sa gitna ng nakabibinging mga boses ng minsana’y salusalungat na naratibo, nabibigyang importansya ng pagtatalambuhay ang kuwento ng ilan upang mailarawan ang kahit kapiraso ng kabuuang kwento ng Homo narrans. Ang taong nasusulat sa talambuhay, kumbaga, ay isang saksi sa kanyang ginagalawang mundo.

 

Mahilig tayong makinig, magbasa at mangusisa ng kwento – mga chismosong Homo narrans nga tayo na sabik malaman kung ano ang pinaggagawa ng isang tao, personal na kakila man o hindi. Sa mga talambuhay ng mga sikat na personalid ay nakikita natin ang gara ng kanilang pamumuhay, ang mga damit na hindi natin kayang bilhin, ang mga lugar na hindi pa natin napupuntahan. O kaya’y sa talambuhay, nararamdaman natin ang poot ng mawalan ng anak sa boses mismo ng ina. Nagbubukas ng mga bintana ang talambuhay. Hindi ka naman talaga pinapapasok sa bahay, pinapasilip ka lang sa mga kwarto, minsa’y nasusulyapan din ang laman ng mga aparador, ngunit hanggang doon ka lang bilang researcher o mambabasa. May hangganan ang kabutihang loob ng maybahay. Hanggang tampisaw lang tayo sa batis ng Katotohanan.