The best rice is cultivated by the poorest farmers on the highest, most inaccessible
terraces.
Manila
Filipinos are intent on preserving their rice terraces, which were declared “national
treasures” in 1973.
© McCurry/Magnum, Paris
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Alfred
A. Yuson
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| Author of poetry
collections, novels, essays and children’s stories, Alfred A. Yuson is vice chairman
of the Writers’ Union of the Philippines. A documentary filmmaker and scriptwriter,
he teaches literature at Ateneo de Manila University. He has received several literary
distinctions, including the Centennial Literary Prize (marking the independence of
the Philippines) for his novel Voyeurs & Savages (Anvil Publishing Inc., 1998).
His most recent work is an essay entitled The Word on Paradise (Office of
Research & Publications, Ateneo de Manila University, 2000). |
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To
this day, the terraces endure, but more importantly, they continue to function.
Fidel
Ramos, former Philippine president (1928-)
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Safeguarding
the spectacular rice terraces of the Philippines begins with preserving the culture
of those who created them. In August, after nearly 50 years of silence, the drums
of Ifugao priests once again resounded across the mountains of Luzon Island, marking
a revival of ancestral customs
Filipinos often refer
to the Banaue rice terraces as the eighth wonder of the world, and understandably
so. Of all the exquisitely sculpted rice terraces which climb the slopes of the Cordillera
in Luzon, the largest island in the Philippine archipelago, those of Banaue are the
finest expression of the genius of local tribes. With the terraces of Mayoyao, Kiangan
and Hungduan, they represent a “trademark” of Ifugao culture. As the Filipino architect
and conservationist Augusto Villalon has written, “the terraces are the only Philippine
monument constructed without any foreign influence or intervention, and without enforced
labour of any kind.” They endow the province of Ifugao with a unique landscape, born
of a harmonious complicity between human beings and their environment.
For the past two millennia, rice has been planted under the harshest conditions,
at an altitude of over 1,000 metres. To construct their terraces, farmers first have
to identify concave areas, place stone markers there and fill the cracks in the slope
with gravel to avoid slippage. As each layer of walling is added, the level of soil
is raised, with some walls reaching six metres in height. Without animals and only
rudimentary tools, these farmers have patiently recarved the steep mountain slopes,
respecting their natural curves. Sometimes no larger than three metres, the terraces
are irrigated by an ingenious system. Bamboo conduits of different diameters deliver
just the right amount of water to the young rice shoots. A complex system allows
the water run-off to flow downhill and flood the terrace next in line.
Here, men and women repeat the gestures and practices of their ancestors. Like 2000
years ago, they use only organic fertilizers and pesticides of plant origin, harvested
in the neighbouring forests. Those who own the lower, larger terraces are the wealthy
elite, while the peasants till the upper, narrower spaces. The Ifugao people prize
their tinawon, a fragrant homegrown upland rice, preferring it to the commercial
lowland variety. Other staples such as sweet potatoes are also grown in forest clearings,
but only rice is prepared during celebratory feasts—along with chicken and pork.
After Ferdinand Magellan reached the Philippines in 1521, the Spanish easily occupied
the lowlands. But they encountered stiff opposition in the mountains from what they
called “restless and warlike tribes.” Headhunting by certain tribes particularly
appalled and infuriated the Spanish, who mounted punitive expeditions with such regularity
that today the episodes read like a game of tag carried on between two cultures over
three centuries.
But the Spanish never pacified the mountain peoples. It was not until the American
occupation that began in 1898 and the opening of the highlands by army engineers
that the tribes were finally subdued. American Episcopalian missions then met with
more success than the Spanish attempts at Christianization.
Selling
the gods for large sums of money
Despite
a strong missionary presence that lasted a full century, the Ifugao continued to
cling to their animistic beliefs. The bul-ol or rice god is a particularly revered
figure in their pantheon. A pair of bul-ol figures carved from hardwood stands watch
over each family’s granary. During ceremonial rituals, Ifugao elders slaughter chickens,
recite divine incantations and pour the sacrificial blood over the head of the bul-ols
for a good harvest. Even though the tradition of honouring the bul-ol remains strong,
it has become difficult to find a finely carved, antique rice god strapped to the
wall of an Ifugao house. Families have long since learned to part with their heirlooms
in return for large sums from itinerant collectors.
There have been other changes: fewer of these families can now claim to live solely
off the terraces. They require extensive repairs, and the irrigation system must
be dredged periodically. With a growing population, each child inherits a smaller
plot of land. And sadly, most of the younger generation—attracted to the lures of
city life—are reluctant to undertake the laborious chore of rice farming. The highlands
account for seven percent of the total land area of the Philippines, but are home
to less than two percent of the country’s population.
Aware that the rice terraces are at risk, the Filipinos have made them a national
affair. The government declared them “national treasures” in 1973, and a little over
a decade ago, established the autonomous Cordillera Administrative Region (CAR) to
encompass all the land-locked provinces of the Cordillera mountains.
But while several programmes have focused on the physical preservation of the terraces,
using a scientific and technological approach, few efforts have been taken to preserve
the indigenous cultures that created them. And it is widely believed that if this
culture dies, the farming practices will go as well.
In mid-August 2000, the National Commission for Culture and the Arts (NCCA) spearheaded
the revival of a farming ritual called Patipat which mumbaki (Ifugao holy men) had
celebrated for the last time in 1944. So after many years of silence, the tagtags
once again resounded in the village of Amduntog. Beating rhythmically on these wooden
shields, menfolk dance through the rice fields to drive away evil spirits and rats,
which eat crops and dig burrows, causing seepage and erosion.
“After chanting invocations and offering animal sacrifice, the mumbaki joined several
males from the village in the beating of the tagtag,” observed the Filipino writer
Dexter Osorio. “All were dressed in the traditional red loincloths of the Ifugao
and adorned with the crimson leaves of the Ti plant or dongla, which are used for
special rituals. The percussive sounds resulted in a complex rhythm of interlocking
beats, to which the line of performers half-arched, half-danced as they made their
way around the village. Leading the line was a spear-wielding munggihigi, who punctuated
the beat with spear thrusts and an occasional whoop echoed by the other participants.
At the edge of the rice terraces, the group was met by another parade of dancers
from the neighbouring village of Nalnay, half of whom were children who beat their
shields with an enthusiasm that rivalled those of their elder counterparts. The two
lines of paraders merged in a controlled orgy of sound, colour and motion, and proceeded
to make their way down through the terraces toward the river, where the rats and
bad spirits were meant to drown. A member of the Nalnay contingent confessed that
their older men did not want to join the ritual, so it was the children who did.”
Like Dexter Osorio, we might well wonder whether Ifugao culture itself isn’t suffering
from erosion. “Ever since standardized Western education and Christianity was introduced
to the Cordilleras,” he writes, “age-old rituals have been set aside and traditional
beliefs forgotten, resulting in apathy and an eroded sense of identity.”
Still the enthusiastic participation of children in the ritual is a promising sign.
Cultural erosion may not be irreversible. Hopefully, it isn’t too late to keep alive
the genius of our ancestors, who shaped these magnificent stairways to bring us closer
to heaven.
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The
enduring role of ritual
Located in
the northern Philippines, Luzon is the largest of 7,000 islands dotting the Philippine
archipelago. Rice terraces blanket steep mountain slopes, spreading across an area
of 20,000 km2. Inscribed on the World Heritage List in 1995, the four clusters of
terraces found in the municipalities of Banaue, Mayoyao, Kiangan and Hungduan are
all located in Ifugao province. The terraces evoke a harmony that has been preserved
between the inhabitants and their environment. Each cluster is surrounded by a buffer
ring of private forests (muyong), managed according to tribal practices. Covered
by steeply pitched thatched pyramidal roofs, the villages’ one-room dwellings are
raised above the ground on four posts and reached by a ladder which is pulled up
at night. A centrally located ritual rice field is the first parcel to be planted
or harvested. Near the dwellings is the ritual hill, usually marked by a grove of
sacred betel trees where the holy men (mumbaki) carry out traditional rites.
For the past 2,000 years, knowledge of these rituals and farming practices has been
passed orally. These methods are the expression of the Ifugao’s mastery of watershed
ecology and terrace engineering. In the past decades, many terraces have been abandoned
and deforestation has caused serious damage. As farming of the terraces is intricately
connected with religious, cultural and social traditions, a whole system of values
has to be preserved. The absence of a broad vision having led to sporadic attempts
at preservation, the Ifugao Terraces Commission, created in February 1994, developed
a six-year master that takes a holistic approach.
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