IPALAMBO! Looking Past Preservation: Liyang Network on Solidarity & the Romanticization of Indigenous Culture
Lumad students put their “Land prep” lesson plans into practice. Photography Volunteer teachers of Alternative Learning Center for Agriculture and Livelihood Development (ALCADEV).
This story originally appeared in Hella Pinay Issue 03: The Culture Issue - Spring/Summer 2022. Order a digital copy here.
Liyang Network is a local to global advocacy network that amplifies the calls to action of frontline environmental and human rights defenders in Mindanao, Philippines. Liyang Network members had a conversation with some of our co-founders, both of whom have relocated to be full-time advocates and volunteers for marginalized communities in the Philippines.
As someone who grew up in the states, what was the transition to living in the Philippines like?
T: I’m still transitioning! I wasn’t really raised in ‘a Filipino culture’. I learned to speak Bisaya (and Lumad dialects) by being dropped right in the middle of communities, but I’m only just now taking baby steps to learn Filipino/Tagalog so it’s a process. Sometimes I’m still not sure how much of this transition is culture shock and how much is just “First World” to “Third World” shock!
Sel: I can definitely relate to the third world vs first world shock, or the transition from living in what we call the "belly of the beast" to one of its colonies. Moving from an urban center in the US to a rural community in an agrarian country. Being here, I'm constantly reminded of this divide –– how all the wealth and resources are extracted from here and other colonies and expressed in higher standard of living in the US and other first world countries. The majority of the population here doesn't own the land that they till; their crops are exported to other countries. The population is heavily reliant on imports from other industrialized countries from toiletries, cell phones, equipment, cars etc. This is something that was really difficult for me to internalize until I moved here as someone who grew up in the US where we're surrounded by so much excess, endless distractions, and illusions of choice.
Can you tell us what drew you to teaching at the Lumad schools like Alternative Learning Center for Agriculture and Livelihood Development (ALCADEV) and why you felt called to stay in the Philippines?
T: I first learned about ALCADEV in 2015 from other Fil-Ams who’d just come back from an immersion in Mindanao, who were in Anakbayan :) At that time, I was trying to figure out what it meant to be an effective youth educator outside of mainstream education, for marginalized youth.. and so that was the initial draw tbh! That same year, I was able to visit the evacuation site where ALCADEV teachers, students, and thousands of Lumad were displaced from their lands by militarization, and ended up staying three months. After that, it wasn’t so much an individual sense of ‘feeling called’ to return, but moreso in response to a concrete ask that myself and others become volunteer teachers and use our platforms to raise awareness (and $)! I went back in 2018 (with the loving encouragement of another teacher, Chad Booc, Rest in Power <3) to immerse and volunteer in the schools; and it became very clear, very real, how the Lumad struggle is part of a larger movement to free all of the Philippines. That alone made me want to stay and be taught how I can contribute, whether in Lumad schools or elsewhere. Short answer: Once you see a movement so effective and really doing the thing, it’s hard to turn your back on it!
Lumad students gather firewood in the forest and take the school’s carabao for a walk. Photography Volunteer teachers of Alternative Learning Center for Agriculture and Livelihood Development (ALCADEV).
Can you speak on collective life at the Lumad schools you taught in? How did you experience it?
Sel: The first thing that comes to mind is when we experienced a 6.6 earthquake in a Lumad school in 2019. I remember we were in the dorm playing a game in between classes, then all of a sudden we heard a low, rattling sound. The whole building starts shaking more intensely, like we were ketchup inside of a glass bottle that someone was trying to pour out. I don't why, but that motion has stuck with me. Mind you, the building was made of coconut lumber, which is not the most sturdy at all. We ran down the stairs and outside, where we could still feel the ground shaking. Then we ran into the yard outside one of the student dorms; it had been 5 minutes since the initial earthquake hit, but aftershocks were still ongoing. There were at least 6 students across the yard who had fainted or were shaking in a fit, with a few students and teachers huddled around trying to help. I heard shrieks, some students thought that their fellow classmates were possessed; while others confidently said that people were acting that way out of stress from the earthquake, compounded with the stress from being away from home. Another circle of students, about 8 of them, were crouching down with one leading a prayer. Around the perimeter, there were boys gathered in smaller groups watching to make sure no one ran into the building out of panic. There were small teams running to the clinic to take the vitals of their classmates who fainted. It seemed as if everyone had a role.
I share this memory because despite the normal school fights or disagreements that happen between different tribes, there was no hesitation of support from the students and teachers in that time of crisis. There's a shared understanding in that Lumad school community that we're all we got. The students and teachers cook together, farm together, eat together. We clean, assess our daily tasks in teams, and assess the external security threats together. They had no expectation that government officials would come and save them, because they know better than to rely on the people responsible for the land grabbing and military occupation that displaced them [in the first place].
“Hearing from Indigenous people firsthand –– people who are alive, whose lives are not static in a book or remain in the past –– being alongside them is important to really internalize their struggles, their unique histories, and the rich history of resistance that they share with other oppressed sectors…Maybe we can see how their struggle isn’t separate from ours but deeply intertwined, if we are to survive on this earth.”
T: In Lumad school, we did cleaning, cooking, and farming collectively. Every night, each dorm held a consultation giving updates related to school, community, and national news. Then, they shared constructive feedback with one another. “I noticed you haven’t been doing your part in daily chores and it affects the rest of your team. Is there something wrong?” “When you used this word, it hurt my feelings because…”. Every single night, issues are discussed and hopefully resolved to avoid build-up of tension or resentment and to encourage all to express their thoughts.
As teachers, we also met nightly for consultation. We would also discuss updates coming in from the communities/villages about the security situation. Because their lands are rich in natural resources, the area was often militarized as an attempt to disempower and displace the people. So our daily life in the school depended on how near or distant soldiers were, whether drones were circulating overhead, and whether or not there was an illegal checkpoint put up to harass students and teachers and possibly block our food supply. When I think of community and collective life, I think not only of how we all participated in farming and food production (each at our own capacity), but also of the constant communication between villages to ensure unity and safety for everyone.
MISFI students in LGBT dorm engage in general cleaning every Sunday. Photography Volunteer teachers of Alternative Learning Center for Agriculture and Livelihood Development (ALCADEV).
Can you talk a little bit more about your experience with the LGBTQ dorm at the school you taught at?
Sel: To share some context, Lumad schools are primarily boarding schools situated within the community where staff and students all live together. As teachers, we not only teach but we take on the role of parent, first responder, mediator, friend, advisor, janitor, crisis counselor, etc. When I was first assigned to teach at this particular Lumad school, they placed me in the LGBT dorm as the 'dorm parent' because they knew that I identified as queer.
The history of how this LGBT dorm was founded is in itself a form of resistance. A student named B, who was 12 at the time, told me that they were tired of being called 'bayot' in a derogatory way by their classmates in the “boys dorm.” By the way, P is confident, verrry expressive and absolutely loves singing Celine Dion power ballads. She is the daughter and sister of two community organizers who are known leaders in their tribe's struggle to defend ancestral lands from land grabbing. It's no surprise that someone like P along with her friends, collectively asserted their wish to have a separate space for LGBT students, but they knew that raising the consciousness of their peers would not happen overnight. The staff worked to resolve this issue by letting them stay in the former administrative office. Two allies among their friends later joined and they told me I was their first LGBT dorm parent. I hope they're all doing okay since their school was forcibly shut down during the pandemic.
How did the Lumad people you lived with view their own culture?
T: During Lumad events, ceremonies, and protests, you’ll hear the Lumad chant, “Ang kultura sa Lumad, ipalambo!” meaning “Develop Lumad culture!” I learned that by “development” they mean improving the situation for all members of their communities, whether through combatting patriarchal practices and beliefs, increasing food security through advanced scientific and organic methods, expanding understanding on gender and sexuality, combining western medicine practices with holistic ones, and so on.
One morning we were going out to the school farm to prep the soil. A few students were sitting in their beds and I noticed an uncertainty on their faces. I asked if they weren’t joining because they felt sick, and was told that “They’re not allowed to farm because they’re on their periods.” When I asked why it’s ‘not allowed’, another student chimed in, “It will ruin the harvest. It’s bad luck.” After that, I started asking other students what they thought and what they’d been taught about this (sometimes unspoken) rule.
“It makes sense to me that, after having been colonized, why new generations are finding empowerment in embracing Indigenous Philippine ‘culture.’ But it helps me to remember how the ‘culture’ is tied directly to the land –– so if we love culture, we should also fight to defend land and natural resources!
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Because of the critical thinking that’s inherent in Lumad school curriculum and culture, some students would question, “Is it really scientific that us farming on our periods will result in a bad thing happening to the harvest? Or is it just a superstition?” This would lead to questions of what conditions the superstition might have been born out of, and whether or not keeping it in place as part of the culture is actually beneficial or not. When there were students who wanted to challenge the school dress code, they were encouraged to apply critical thinking, come up with the basis for their argument, and how their proposal around clothing and hairstyle relates to the positive development of culture for their communities.
Has militarization of the Lumad communities impacted their culture?
T: Very. In the schools, Lumad youth now combine traditional dances and chants with motifs of militarization, rights violations, and sometimes even act out their own experiences of trauma, including massacre, evacuation, and protest. I remember countless ceremonies where Lumad Datus (chieftains) or babaylans (spiritual leaders) –– even when they were said to be channeling/possessed by deities –– included in their traditional prayers and chants mentions of soldiers being on their lands and how it’s affecting the health of the people, both physical and mental. Living under military occupation also limits their ability to visit their farms, hunt, hold ceremonies, etc. In evacuation centers, the natural resources commonly used in ceremonies, such as pigs, chickens, and certain plants were not always accessible.
Lumad students illustrate their experiences of militarization in the form of dance, at a protest in the city, against a line of heavily armored police. Photography Volunteer teachers of Alternative Learning Center for Agriculture and Livelihood Development (ALCADEV).
Why is it important for members of the Filipino-American diaspora to stop romanticizing Indigenous cultures in the Philippines?
T: In 2018, I was staying in one of the bakwit (evacuation) schools for a bit. My friend Steph (of Hella Pinay!) was in town so I invited them to come to a Solidarity Night there. As Lumad students hung out with us, performed, sold their earrings, I turned to Steph and was like, “It’s cool you just seem so chill here. You aren’t freaking out over their Indigenous-ness, and Steph said “...they’re just regular people.” I loved that.
Regular people just trying to keep their homes! It makes sense to me that, after having been colonized, why new generations are finding empowerment in embracing Indigenous Philippine “culture.” But it helps me to remember how the ‘culture’ is tied directly to the land –– so if we love culture, we should also fight to defend land and natural resources!
“I’ve noticed it’s common…for the diaspora to romanticize the impoverished conditions of Indigenous peoples and farmers, like the motif of the carabao –– I definitely used to! We can appreciate carabao sure, but what if we also struggle for Filipinos to have access to more advanced technology that would make their lives easier, and increase food production?”
I’ve noticed it’s common too for the diaspora to romanticize the impoverished conditions of Indigenous peoples and farmers, like the motif of the carabao –– I definitely used to! We can appreciate carabao sure, but what if we also struggle for Filipinos to have access to more advanced technology that would make their lives easier, and increase food production? Beautiful! At first, I thought it was cool to see Lumad students riding carabao while they farm, but I heard over and over again that it’s sooo tiring. “Imagine how much easier it would be to achieve food security if we had access to machinery? Why is it only the big agri-business corporations that have technology?” I used to assume the Lumad wanted to just live off-grid, in nipa huts but…the Lumad would love to have access to plumbing, cement roads, and other developments, as long as it’s sustainable and on their terms. These are things we have to fight for, because the government is definitely not doing that shit for free or just to serve the Lumads’ interests! There would be days I’d be staying in remote Lumad villages with my sensitive foreigner stomach and the moment would strike! But I couldn't just rush to a toilet –– I’d have to walk deep into the bushes and trees somewhere, find an area of soil soft enough to dig with a stick, and carve out my toilet. If I asked people in the community, they’d say “Of course we wish we had plumbing! It would be so much easier!”
Sel: I think it's important to understand where this romanticization might come from to begin with. Many families leave the Philippines as Overseas Filipino Workers due to forced migration, to seek a better life –– around 6,000+ Filipinos leave the homeland every day. Many families like mine then become more assimilated into 'American culture' and so it makes sense that many Filipino-Americans feel more removed spatially, historically, and maybe spiritually from the land that some of our ancestors have tilled, especially those of us based in urban centers. It makes sense that many more in our generation feel a deep longing to ‘reconnect with their roots,’ maybe at some point to reject the lies of the American Dream that we've been swimming in since before birth. I know I definitely felt that at some point hehe.
Lumad students do their daily communal farming. Photography Volunteer teachers of Alternative Learning Center for Agriculture and Livelihood Development (ALCADEV).
Some may react with a stronger pull to the pre-colonial period before the Spanish; on the surface, it seems ideal since the colonizers had not arrived yet. Many Filipino-Americans who have college education may have studied Indigenous peoples in school or online which is positive, but it's a whole other thing to learn among them in the Philippines (or in the US if we're able to revive the tour of Lumad leaders and environmental defenders) ;) Hearing from Indigenous people firsthand –– people who are alive, whose lives are not static in a book or remain in the past –– being alongside them is important to really internalize their struggles, their unique histories, and the rich history of resistance that they share with other oppressed sectors. Then we can see how they are oppressed by the same forces that also plunder resources and occupy the lands of Indigenous peoples in other countries. Maybe we can see how their struggle isn't separate from ours but deeply intertwined, if we are to survive on this earth. We can see that resistance to colonialism and imperialism has also become part of their culture. I would recommend if anyone can join an immersion with Liyang or an exposure trip with other organizations like Kabataan Alliance or ICHRP in the US that work in solidarity with different marginalized sectors from Indigenous peoples, peasants, workers, fisherfolks, and more.
Text Liyang Network Photography Volunteer teachers of Alternative Learning Center for Agriculture and Livelihood Development (ALCADEV)
