By MICHAEL JOSEPH AGBAYANI

A gargantuan structure of cement and steel looms above the river, its dark shadow leaving an almost palpable heaviness on the terrain. It was built decades ago by a tyrant whose monolithic countenance still frowns from a mountainside in the northern portion of the country. And, every day, faraway cities, with their multitude of light bulbs, television sets and microwave ovens, receive much-needed power from its ceaseless activity.

The dam, with its grayish concrete surfaces, lies embedded in the landscape like a leviathan’s tooth, a grim reminder of the evils of modernity. The rush of water from its large reservoir and the incessant drone of its turbines makes the surrounding air throb with the weight of its presence—a strange, monotonous dirge for the tribes who once lived in the land on which it stands.

This disheartening vision could have become reality if the proposed Chico River Basin Development Project had seen completion. During the 1970s, Macli-ing Dulag, a pangat or chieftain of the Kalinga tribe known as the Butbut, led a campaign against the Marcos regime’s plan to erect four hydroelectric dams in the Chico Valley. If construction of the dams had pushed through, 15 Bontoc and Kalinga villages, populated by over a hundred thousand people, could have been submerged under water. Among those endangered were the five Butbut ili or villages of Bugnay, Buscalan, Lokkong, Butbut Proper, and Ngibat. The Butbut would have been forced out of their homes, driven out of the land they held sacred.

Despite continuous harassment by the military, the Kalinga refused to be separated from their ancestral domain. Unwilling to conform to the government’s demands, the tribespeople resisted with acts of sabotage, destroying equipment, and dismantling the developers’ various campsites. Dulag served as his tribe’s mouthpiece, speaking out against the lowlanders who were trying to rob them of their land. In April 1980, the government decided to silence the voice of opposition. Armed men stormed into Bugnay and opened fire on Dulag’s house, instantly killing the champion of the Kalinga struggle. Despite the tragedy, the Kalinga did not give up the fight. To this day, the Butbut sing of the battle against the dams, dedicating verses to the martyrdom of Dulag.

Indigenous cultural communities all around the archipelago continue to suffer because of government neglect and capitalist exploitation. The mountain tribes of Northern Luzon and the Lumad, non-Muslim tribal groups of Mindanao, are currently going up against the forces of so-called development to reclaim ancestral lands taken away by the state and multinational corporations. Many have chosen radical forms of resistance, such as participating in guerilla warfare and committing acts of eco-terrorism. As shown in the example of the Kalinga, the ideology of dissent among most ethnic minorities evolved independently and not because of the intervention of supposedly subversive elements.

Antonio P. Contreras, in his article “The Discourse and Politics of Resistance in the Philippine Uplands,” argues that the development of counter-hegemonic discourse among upland ethnic minorities need not have been caused by leftist ideology. According to Contreras, certain aspects of indigenous culture can provide the uplanders with the symbols and structures needed to justify or inspire their acts of resistance.

The radicalization of upland minority groups is largely due to religious conceptions that go against the stream of capitalist thought. In indigenous culture, the delineations between religious and political spheres are not as distinct as those in the western context; thus, it is mainly through religious idioms that opposition to the discourse of development is articulated.

The uplanders’ belief in the sacredness of the land and their practice of communal land ownership distinguishes them from lowland groups whose belief systems are already heavily influenced by dominant capitalist ideals. To the uplanders, taking care of their ancestral lands is not merely a means of survival but a moral obligation, an observance of a covenant between them and their gods. The Kalinga of Northern Luzon, for instance, believe that they were given stewardship of the land by their god Kabunyan. Down south, similar attitudes are expressed by the tribes of Mount Apo, who view the land as a sacred gift from the creator god known as Magbabaya. Indigenous cultural communities also revere the land as the source of life. The Tiruray of Mindanao, for example, hold that the land is not a thing to be possessed, referring to it as both mother and father.

The conflict between dominant and subjugated discourses is due to their difference in internal logic. Within the framework of indigenous religion, the actions of the agents of development, though deemed legal and practical by the state, are considered as immoral and unjust. Ethnic minorities respond to this violation of holy law by utilizing traditional cultural formulations as inspirational or organizational tools to instigate counter-hegemonic action.

In Luzon, contemporary struggles are being incorporated into indigenous narratives such as the Kalinga ullalim and the hudhud. In Mindanao, the Lumad make use of folktales and epics to rouse the emotions of their people. The Manobo of Mindanao, for example, retell the tale of the hero Tulalang, a warrior who was given supernatural abilities by the god Manama to lead the people against the Spaniards. These traditional cultural forms provide the tribe with its motivational symbols and serve as a medium through which attitudes towards the oppressors are expressed.

The inspirational and organizational importance of tribal rituals becomes more prominent in the context of subversive activity. For instance, in the 1960s, when the Manobo engaged in a guerilla war against land grabber Augusto Gana, the tribe’s warriors, led by Datu Mambiling, enacted the ritual of putting chicken blood on their hands to bring them good fortune in battle—an act that gave them added confidence in their encounters with Gana’s private army.

The need for inter-tribal unity against the agents of development have also altered the function of indigenous political structures. Ethnic minorities have modified their use of the tribal peace pact or—as the Kalinga call it—the bodong. Previously employed merely to call truces between warring tribes, the bodong is now exercised to unify them against a common enemy. Through the pagta ti bodong or provisions of the peace pact, the tribes can also regulate interaction between the tribespeople and the outsiders, severely punishing those who assist developers to prevent further collaboration with the enemy.

Rather than abandoning traditional cultural forms—discarding them as irrational and impractical—the ethnic minorities make full use of their symbols and structures to challenge the forces that threaten their existence. Through a reinterpretation of their beliefs and practices, they can organize themselves against the capitalist state’s exploitative devices and, in so doing, are able to socialize a new generation to the emerging ideology of resistance.

Bleak visions of concrete and steel shall continue to haunt the upland peoples for as long as their lands are threatened by development. But these are apparitions they can exorcise through the strength of their defiant faith. The stewards of the land do not falter. They struggle, feeling through their skin the pulse of the earth and the fury of renewal. ●

References: 

• Pimentel, Benjamin. “Fighting Back,” National Midweek, August 27, 1986. 
• Bennagen, Ponciano. “Indigenous Attitudes of Tribal Filipinos Toward Land and Natural Resources,” Tugon, 1992.
• “Of Macli-ing, the Dams, and the Kalingas,” NASSA News, June 1980. 
• Isberto, Ramon. “The Lumad Fight for Ancestral Land,” National Midweek, January 22, 1992. 

Published in print in the Collegian’s July 31, 1996 issue, with the headline “Tribal Pursuit.”