Tabi Tabi Po
Hello all,
I am so thrilled to share that, thanks to you, I’ve raised enough funding to officially join the KULARTS field study in the Philippines! Thank you so much to everyone who donated or shared my GoFundMe and made all of this possible. As of today I have paid all of my program fees and booked all of my flights and accommodations to move forward on this journey!
I had been going back and forth about what to share for this blog post because a lot has happened in the last few weeks that I’m still processing, but I’ve decided to save those thoughts for when they’ve fully stewed. Until then, I’d like to share bits of a powerful performance I got to see on my most recent trip to the Bay.
The AntingAnting Project is a dance performance presented by KULARTS Director Alleluia Panis that takes a critical look at how museums hold cultural objects decontextualized from their traditional practices, especially those used in rituals. It also embodies reflections on the impacts of colonization, and one that struck a chord with me was its commentary on the effects of colonization on physical land.
The performance took place at the Asian Art Museum, where performers danced on dirt laid on the museum floor, literally grounding the audience in the story that they were telling. In the earlier part of the performance (at around 0:15 in the video below), a dancer uses a walis ting ting (a handcrafted broom typically made of coconut tree leaves) to tend to the earth before it is trampled by the colonizing powers as they fight for control of the land. The indigenous Pilipinos* remain resilient and even after the devastation of warfare, they continue to take care of the terrain.
Pilipinos have always had a deep reverence for the earth, so much so that our mythology has engrained it into our culture. Those in the diaspora might be familiar with the phrase “Tabi tabi po,” or “Excuse me, elder.” We were taught to say this whenever interacting with nature, and I would mutter it as a child before picking flowers, and even as an adult taking redwood cones back with me from hikes. This comes from the myth of needing to show respect for mga Nuno sa Punso—our tiny, bearded, ant-hill-dwelling guardians of nature. According to legend, disturbing or disrespecting the Nuno sa Punso or their dwellings could result in deep misfortune or illness. The Nuno sa Punso serve as a reminder of the intricate relationship between humanity and the earth, and in hindsight I’m realizing that growing up with this value definitely had something to do with my decision to study geography in college.
Nuno sa Punso illustrated by Jana Lynn Umipig as part of the Kapwa Tarot deck.
To this day our indigenous people continue to fight for the protection of their ancestral land, despite the threat of the Philippine government and the global monetary powers that influence it. Bai Bibyaon Ligkayan Bigkay, also known as Bai Bibyaon or Ina Bai, was born in the Pantaron mountains in Mindanao. She was the first and only woman chieftain of the Talaingod Manobo tribe, and was part of the assembly that established Lumad as a collective of 18 indigenous tribes in Mindanao in the face of attempted ethnocide by the Marcos dictatorship. In 1994 she united tribes across the Pantaron mountain range to drive out the illegal operations of the logging firm Alcantara and Sons from the Lumad ancestral lands. Bai also founded the Salugpungan Ta Tanu Ikanugon council, helping establish 50 Lumad schools to provide the next generation with formal education, and Sabokahan To Mo Kamalitan, an organization for Lumad women to develop capacities to combat the displacement of their communities and fight for self-determination.
Bai remained outspoken against threats to Lumad survival throughout her life, even though it made her a target of the military and government. She and her community were forced to evacuate from their ancestral lands over ten times in three decades, and in her last years Bai was not able to return home to Mindanao due to militarization. Even as the government tried to forcibly remove her from her sanctuary in Luzon, she continued to push forward the Lumad resistance from a distance until she passed last November.
While Ina Bai may no longer be with us on this plane, her spirit is still here inspiring the next generation of Lumad people who continue to fight to protect their land. I like to think that she was an embodiment of Nuno sa Punso, teaching us the value of respecting the land we live on.
“The protection of the mountain, the protection of our ancestral domain means the protection all of humanity, so this is not only my struggle, but the struggle for my people and our struggle in defense of humanity.”
The video above is a trailer for Drawing Her Final Arrow, a film telling Bai Bibyaon’s story. The fight of the Lumad people continues, and you can follow Sabokahan and the Liyang Network to keep up with their work. I’m incredibly grateful to get to share space with the T’boli, who are part of the Lumad collective, while on this field study.
I still can’t believe how fast it’s approaching (I leave for Manila on February 28th!), and I’m not sure if I’ll be sharing updates again before that as I mentally and physically prepare for the trip. Until then, I extend my deepest gratitude to each and everyone of you who have helped me get here, and I look forward to sharing more when I can.
Salamat at ingat,
Reese
*Lesser Known Fact: The Term “Pilipino” (or now “Filipino” ) was actually used by the Spanish to identify Spaniards who were born in the Philippines. The indigenous were referred to as “Indios.” I still struggle with the term “Pilipino”, or “Pilipinx,” but that’s a conversation for another day.
