My trip to Bukidnon

This weekend I was fortunate enough to participate in a gathering of Indigenous Peoples (IP) in the area of Bukidnon in Mindanao. It is about a four hours drive north of Davao City. The gathering was an occasion for the IPs to organize themselves around political, social, and economic issues pertinent to their way of life. They also will spend this time (in the coming few days) formulating their annual State of the Indigenous People’s Address. This is a shadow address to the President’s state of the nation that the IPs produce each year to voice their concerns to the government and peoples of the Philippines. While most of the event was in Tagalog and Bisaya, what I did understand was that the IPs feel quite strongly the need to preserve their way of life and stand up to the government of the Philippines to voice their concerns and have them heard and respected, especially in terms of protecting the land in the growing climate change crisis.

And let me tell you, their way of life is beautiful. The village we stayed at Saturday and Sunday was nestled into the mountains. A breathtaking view of clouds rolling over the mountains was our background. We were in the “Hall of Peace” for the conference. The first floor was full of paintings made from mud in deep red, browns, and oranges. Upstairs the windows opened to see the village, small houses dotted with clotheslines and chickens. On another side of the hall of peace was a large tract of land farmed with carabao (water buffalo).

To start the events for both Saturday and Sunday a ritual took place. Saturday’s ritual was the welcoming ritual. All visitors to the land must partake of this ritual as a type of “immigration process.” Long prayers were recited by the tribe elder, Datu Vik. Part of the prayer involved motioning with a chicken. (Again, sorry I can’t give more details, I had no translator!). Then three chickens were killed. Since David and I tended to chickens this summer, ones he eventually plans to eat, I watched closely, wanting to experience a bit of what he will this Fall. What I loved about the slaughtering was that, at least so it appeared to me, the chickens were treated with the utmost respect. They were killed as painlessly as possible and their necks were tucked into their feathers, in a position that held them unexposed, as they were taken away. After some introductory remarks the chickens were brought back, cooked. Each person present proceeded to the front of the hall and ate a piece of chicken and took a sip of water. It was communion. And all of us were brought together in community through this act of this shared meal. (I no longer regretted missing church on Sunday for this!).

The atmosphere of the place was majestic but I stopped myself from romanticizing. The IPs are marginalized and oppressed here in the Philippines. Although one presenter described IPs as rich (why, they sit on top of a wealth of natural resources and have a vibrant culture!) their access to the land has often been denied them and many are materially poor. I asked a teenage girl who befriended me if she would go to college and she said she didn’t know, because of money – it was hard enough to spend the 20 pesos each day to get to school, and that is on top of school fees (seriously, in the U.S. we need to be grateful for our free education, problems and all. When I asked her if she had to pay for school, she looked at me like that was such a dumb question – of course you have to pay for school)!

This experience brought me back to a conversation David and I had a few weeks ago. We were discussing how the indigenous people of our own country are by far the most marginalized and oppressed people in the United States. It seems to me that indigenous all over the world all share a somewhat similar view of creation and way of life (in terms of broad strokes, obviously particulars are different) as well as a history of oppression. What a great and sad irony that the people, all over the world, who have the greatest right to the land are the most marginalized on that same land.

Later I was flipping through my notebook and I came across a quote from a workshop I attended a couple of years back about community, identity, and privilege. The presenter said this statement that I had written down, “We have traded in our ethnic identities for the privilege of being white.” In a place rightly acknowledged as rich with culture I wondered, where is mine? Have I been able to reclaim my cultural heritage in exchange for working against my unearned privilege?

An IP presenter stated at the conference, “Indigenous people are the only people who can take care of the land.” While I don’t disagree and I would never want to take away anything from the IPs, I felt my inner self cry out, but “I want to help! My ancestors were once indigenous somewhere in the world, this cultural tradition once ran in my veins, and I desperately want to recapture it – can you help me!?” Indigenous people have the immense responsibility of holding onto an endangered cultural tradition. Of holding sacred and secure their way of taking care of the earth and one another, in the face of strong oppression. But perhaps they also have another burden to carry – making us, the “privileged ones,” realize that not only should we pay attention to what IPs have to say and respect it, but we also need to get back in touch with our own cultural traditions that may be fading away. We all need to cultivate that respect for the earth, one another, and community that we all once held so dear some centuries ago.

~

On a side note, the whole trip made me appreciate living in the Twin Cities all the more as well. I love living in a city, and couldn’t have it any other way. But when we arrived back in Davao I was startled awake by the noise, lights, and busy-ness, I had thoroughly enjoyed the green spaces and the quiet night of the mountains. I reminded myself that was why I love the Twin Cities – I can have both beautiful green landscapes and still live in a metropolitan city!

Sorry no pictures, I took a ton but haven’t gotten them up on my computer yet, I will post them later this week!

Just Dance!

Since I've arrived in the Philippines I've been playing a sort of game. I call it, "Let's find the Universals!" That is, I keep noticing certain behaviors or customs that, no matter where you are, these things are present. The first one I noticed was in the Manila airport -- no matter where you are there is a line for the women's bathroom! (I also first noticed in the Manila airport, and continued noticing in Davao, boxes of Krispy Kreme donuts -- I'm hoping beyond hope that Krispy Kreme donuts are universal, but I'm not so sure yet...)

This past weekend was full of a particular universal -- dancing! Now music is readily acknowledged as universal, but I think dancing too is its own, special universal. There is just something about expressing yourself through body movement to a rhythm, that can create a connection with someone across culture and language. And the beauty of dancing is that it can be a place of connection in many different circumstances. Which brings me to my weekend -- a story of dancing in three parts!

First, on Friday night I was invited along with some co-workers to an appreciation dinner at a hotel. It was a fancy event and we kind of felt like crashers coming in right after work in our casual clothes, but we were legitimately invited! My roommate came as well. We were a group of Filipinos, an Indonesian, a Sierra Leonean and me, the American. The appreciation dinner was 80s themed, and so a Filipino band belted out "Time after Time," "Gold," and other fabulous 80s hits that I was really too young to remember. Interspersed with the band was more entertainment -- drag queens lip syncing Whitney, Tina, and Patti. Near the end of the night our little international group ended up dancing with the drag queens and hotel staff to the Filipino band covering American 80s music.

After that bout of dancing we hadn't had enough so we headed to Matina Town Square, a nightlife hot spot (which kind of reminds me of a Filipino Birkdale, for those of you from Hville). There was a local Filipino band playing reggae. The mood was very chill, everyone sitting at tables drinking beer. But the music was amazing. Even though I couldn't understand it (until later, when they covered Santeria and Hotel California) I found myself singing along to the sounds and unable to sit still. A couple of people from our party started dancing, right in the middle of the huge crowd. A few songs in, we couldn't stand it anymore, we were all up on our feet. By the end of the second set a group had formed in front of the stage, with dreadlocks flailing they were dancing around like at a punk rock concert. Our group ran up there to dance with them. In between one song the band noticed me (I was about a foot taller than everyone else!) and asked me where I was from. The guitar player announced to the crowd, "we have a visitor from the U.S., welcome, thanks for joining us!"

The third part of this story jumps to Saturday night when my roommate, a co-worker and I all went to a new night club in town. We got there at nine and the DJ spun U.S. hip hop and pop while girls and guys dressed to the nines stood around, staking out the place and each other. Two hours later, by 11 the place was packed and if you wanted to move anywhere, you had to dance your way through. It felt quite like a CUA Wednesday night out at Sake or a Rita House Halloween at The Onion!

This may seem like its just a weekend of partying, but for me, it was something more. I was able to bond with my roommate and co-workers, meet new people, be welcomed by strangers, and feel at home all through dance. Even though universals manifest in different ways across cultures, I'm still always amazed by how much you can connect to strangers through something fun you have in common.

As a side note, I discovered something else that is universal -- girls get drunk at clubs and fall over you no matter where you are ;)

So you may have been wondering why my blog is entitled “Why are You so Tall?” I am tall, but not ridiculously so or anything, well not by U.S. standards anyway! In the Philippines, though, I am on the taller end of the spectrum. (Although there are tall Filipinos too – I don’t want to generalize!). Anyways, I titled my blog as such because of something Neemai said to me. We were at Eden Nature Park and Resort and had finished lunch, over which she had really opened up to Chernor and I. We had just played with her on the zipline and the playground and had had a deep discussion about American pop singers and Disney characters. As we were heading over to the swimming pool Neemai looks (far) up at me and asks, “Why are Americans so tall?” It was so adorable, but sadly I had no real answer for her. Any geneticists out there want to help me out? So this question has become representative of the many questions I will ponder and ask (or be asked) during my time here in the Philippines!

Being “so tall” in this country, however, does bring me to another point. If you weren’t already aware I am a bit of a self-conscious person. I try to not get into others way or disrespect anyone. I worry what people think of me and I’m not a big fan of group discussions. Although I can put on a good face, I’m not necessarily the most confident person in how to be an extrovert. I also try not to be self-conscious, but then I’m self-conscious about being self-conscious! Ugh! There is no way to win! But in a foreign country where you blatantly don’t belong, you just have to get over being self-conscious because everyone looks at you. Sometimes I go to the mall right near our house and I just walk around like I’m at any other mall and all of the sudden I see someone looking at me and I realize – oh that’s right you’re the one who is out of place here and all eyes are on you. And in terms of size, I feel a bit like a giant sometimes. When I ride the jeepneys I am usually the only one whose head hits the roof when we go over bumps, and I feel like all arms and legs when I crawl out the short opening in the back. And I am always worried I will offend someone if I do something that unknowingly actually trespasses on an important social or cultural norm. Now that I have met some people here and have started work I have felt as though I understand the norms and “belong” a bit more – “yes I have a reason for being here!” In any case, I have to just toughen up, act like I am here for a reason, and accept the stares. Hopefully if I can work on being less self-conscious in a completely foreign place, I will be all the more confident back in a place where I was raised and understand the cultural customs thoroughly!

On a completely unrelated note, this post may have raised a question for you -- what is a jeepney?

Jeepneys are the main form of public transportation around here. Jeepneys are extended jeeps that have two long bench seats in the back -- it may look like a lot of people can't fit in them, but trust me when you squish together -- you'd be surprised! Like public buses in the U.S. jeepney's follow certain routes and pick up people and drop them off along the way. There are signs in the windows of them saying which route they are going at any given time. Unlike public buses in the U.S., however, to get on a jeepney you just wait anywhere on the side of the road until a jeepney passes you that has the route you need posted, you flag it down and hop on (although, now that I type this out, that is actually quite similar to how the buses work in South Bend ;) When you get to your destination you alert the driver and he stops wherever you need. Here are some pictures that I found online of jeepneys.

Taken from http://marcelopaniago.wordpress.com/2009/12/13/meios-de-transporte/

Taken from: http://vzone.vn/Resources/StyleOld/2009_04_05/2277/jeepney.jpg

Every morning to get to work I take a jeepney down the highway, then a tricycle (a bike or motorcyle with a seat attached) through the neighborhood streets, then walk up the hill to my office. If I don't know where I'm going though -- I take a taxi!

Two weeks after arriving in Davao City, Mindanao and I have finally posted on my new blog! I’ve always thought about putting together a blog for this or that but have really never committed to one. But so many people asked me to start one and asked for updates of my trip to the Philippines, so here I am -- my first entry of my first blog. As it is my first blog, I hope you don’t mind if it ends up being a little dull or less than exciting. I’m sure I’ll learn along the way as to how to make my blog “cool.” I will probably use this blog mostly for periodic updates about what is going on in my life in Davao, pictures, and probably a more serious reflection here and there as to what I am learning and discovering about the people here, my self, and my work.

Just to give everyone a little background, I am in Davao for a “field experience,” which is a part of my Master’s degree in International Peace Studies. I will be in Davao until December 18. As a part of this field experience I will be working at the peacebuilding NGO, Initiatives for International Dialogue (IID) (See iidnet.org). I will also be doing my own research, which as of right now I am hoping will focus on the place of ritual in grassroots interreligious dialogue efforts as a part of the overall peacebuilding process here in Mindanao.

If you aren’t aware, which I wasn’t until about a year ago, there has been conflict in Mindanao in the early 1970s (some say it dates even earlier, way back to the 16^th century when the Spanish arrived, but here people date the beginning of the current active conflict to when then-dictator Marcos imposed martial law in the Philippines). Throughout the 1900s indigenous people (composing 13 tribes here), both Moros (of Muslim religion) and Lumads were terribly marginalized, impoverished, and pushed off of their ancestral lands by, mostly, American policies. In the 1970s, when Marcos imposed martial law in the Philippines, justifying himself in part by citing unrest in Mindanao, IPs had had enough and fought back for autonomy and self-determination. Since then active fighting has settled and peace processes have been signed, but not by all actors. There are still violent clashes and much needs to be done in building a post-conflict sort of peace where justice is had and the marginalization of peoples is reversed as much as possible. That is a quite short and insufficient summary – go read some more about it!

Here is the part of the Philippines I live in:

Picture from: http://lumber.ph/map.php

Since I have been here my Ate Myla (a fellow ND classmate who lives here in Davao) has led myself and my other classmate and roommate, Chernor (he is working at another peacebuilding organization, CRS) through an Orientation. We talked about our fears and expectations of our experience here, we were given a tour of the highlights of Davao City, taken to a park and resort in the mountains to play, and learned a bit of the language, as well as, social and cultural expectations.

Here are a few pictures of our trip to Eden Nature Park and resort:

Chernor, Neemai (Ate Myla's daughter) and myself at Eden

Last weekend was my first weekend “free.” Chernor and I spent Friday night trying to find some place to go dancing, a task we failed at. But we did sit around at a comedy club for a while listening to amazing singers belt out at videoke. Eventually we were corralled to join. We sang “No Air” and it was pretty awful. But I think everyone enjoyed watching two foreigners make fools of themselves. Later that weekend we went to Ate Myla’s daughter’s birthday party. Neemai turned ten. She is such a sweetheart and Chernor and I both adore her. We struggled to get her a gift though – what do you get a ten year old girl! I think in the end we succeeded by buying her a lot of fun Disney paraphernalia, like a Hannah Montana bag and a High School Musical stationary set.

Here is Chernor and I with our party hats on!

On Sunday, we woke up super early to head to the beach. We left at 6:30am because low tide is around midday right now. Ate Cora said there is “no water” at low tide at the beach. I thought she was exaggerating, but she was not! I am glad we got there so early! The beach close to our house is apparently unsafe to swim in and not so friendly to foreigners so we headed over to Samal Island. A twenty minute (and $3) cab ride to the ferry and then a five minute (and $.30) ferry ride later we were at Paradise Island Park and Resort. At first we were pretty disappointed – the entire beach is covered by a roof! And no one lays in the sand, but sits at picnic tables! After some breakfast we headed over to stake a place out in the sand. Eight hours later, when we left, I was pretty happy with the place. With the roof, I didn’t have to worry about getting burnt or too hot. I was able to just lay in a reclining chair for hours and read. It was lovely! Here are a couple of pictures from the day:

So I think that catches everyone up! More posts soon!