| July
10, 2003
Native children
'Gustong Mag-aral ni Sula' a book from the Batang
Katutubo series of Aklat Adarna |
LAST Tuesday, I wrote
about our prejudices against the "natives," the local popular
term used to refer to cultural minorities or indigenous groups. At best,
our attitudes are patronizing, seeing them as resistant to change. At
worst, we view them as lazy and uncivilized.
Such attitudes are deeply-rooted, the Spanish and American colonizers
and eventually, our own government, setting up barriers between
"us" and "them." We, the ones who surrendered to the
foreign masters, were rewarded and called "civilized" as
opposed to these mountain peoples who resisted. "They" were
different: pagan, primitive.
We "non-natives" all grow up with rare glimpses into the lives
of indigenous Filipinos, except for occasional documentary travelogues,
the natives becoming just another part of the scenery and the flora and
fauna. Or the occasional newspaper article, referring to the latest
epidemic, or famine.
In our childhood, too, our elders would scare us with stories about the
fierce native, exemplified by headhunters, these images invoked to
threaten us if we misbehaved as I remember from summers in Baguio:
"Sige, we'll give you to the Igorot."
I'm realizing, too, we rarely heard of, much less saw, native children.
During those summers in Baguio, I do not remember seeing the children
and I am realizing, now, that they were kept apart from us. I suspect
that in part, their parents too were apprehensive and fearful of us,
lowlanders, maybe the differences all the more emphasized by our being
English-speaking Intsik, many more steps removed from their own culture.
Perhaps they, too, threatened their children: "Sige, we'll sell you
to the Intsik!"
Fortunately,
there's hope for bridging the divide between lowlanders and natives,
with a new series of children's books called "Batang Katutubo"
(Indigenous Children). The series comes from Aklat Adarna, that great
producer of children's books headed by Virgilio and Emelina Almario. (Virgilio
Almario is also known by his pen name Rio Alma and was recently
designated a National Artist.)
The books are in Filipino, with an English summary at the end. Let's
browse through the five stories that have been released so far:
"Ang Paaralan ni Fuwan" is about a little Bontoc boy torn
between farming responsibilities and his desire to go to school. "Gustong
Mag-aral ni Sula" has a similar plot, revolving around a little
Tiboli girl, with a surprise twist to the story of how little Sula gets
to learn her alphabet.
"May Kapatid na si Mungan" is about a Manobo family as they go
about with their "infanticipating" (a quaint Filipino English
word that captures the feelings around a pregnancy). "Bahay ng
Maraming Masasayang Tinig" is the story of a Badjaw girl dealing
with the discrimination people have against her people, based on the
stereotype of the Badjaw as professional beggars.
Finally, "Ang Ibay ni Miana" is the story of the friendship
between two girls, one Agta and the other a lowlander, ibay being the
term used by the Agta to refer to the non-Agta.
The emphasis of two stories on the striving for education is not
coincidental. The series is supported in part by Unicef, its way of
promoting The Rights of the Child. (Inquirer had an article the other
week about Unicef's ambassador of goodwill, Gary Valenciano, visiting a
remote town in the Cordillera to promote discussions about these
rights.)
But there's more to the series than advocacy for children. The books
should remind us of the daunting tasks associated with creating
nationhood amid cultural diversity. Remember, we have more than 100
different ethnolinguistic groups in the Philippines, each with its own
distinct culture.
The stories are a great way of introducing the multicultural diversity
we have in the Philippines. There are references to indigenous musical
instruments, traditions and folklore, with explanatory footnotes. We
learn, for example, of the Manobo kudlung, a two-stringed guitar, and
their dalinday, a love song. And we read about the Bontoc ugfu, a system
of mutual help in farming similar to bayanihan.
While the books help children (and adults) to appreciate the diversity
of cultures in our country, they also convey an important message: that
whether one is Cebuano or Manobo, Ilokano or Tiboli, we all share the
same excitement waiting for a new member of the family to arrive, the
same zest for singing and dancing, and for children, the desire to go to
school. The theme of poverty in two of the stories, and how they
jeopardize the chances of children acquiring an education, also
resonate: certainly, it is not just children of cultural minorities who
often have to drop out of school.
One last comment. From the descriptions of the authors and the artists,
I realized only one artist, Boy Dominguez, is from an indigenous group.
Boy, who I'm proud to say is a personal friend, is Mandaya/Manobo/Tagalog.
I am not saying these children's books should be written only by people
from indigenous groups, but it would be wonderful if, eventually, we do
see more of these "native" books written by and illustrated by
the Hanunoo, the Bugkalot, the Ibaloi. When that happens, then we'll
know that our cultural minorities have made it and have taken their
rightful place in Philippine society. |
