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Imagining igorots : performing ethnic and gender identities on the Philippine Cordillera Central McKay, Deirdre Christian 1999

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IMAGINING IGOROTS: PERFORMING ETHNIC AND GENDER IDENTITIES ON THE PHILIPPINE CORDILLERA CENTRAL by DEIRDRE CHRISTIAN MCKAY B.A. (Hons.), Dalhousie University, 1989 M.E.S., Dalhousie University, 1993 A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY in THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE STUDIES (Department of Geography) We accept this thesis as conforming to the required standard THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA April 1999 © Deirdre McKay, 1999 In presenting this thesis in partial fulfilment of the requirements for an advanced degree at the University of British Columbia, I agree that the Library shall make it freely available for reference and study. I further agree that permission for extensive copying of this thesis for scholarly purposes may be granted by the head of my department or by his or her representatives. It is understood that copying or publication of this thesis for financial gain shall not be allowed without my written permission. Department of /^z The University of British Columbia Vancouver, Canada Date 4Za*Us4#. DE-6 (2/88) Abstract Gender, ethnicity, landscape, nation — none exist as real places or categories but as the effect of various practices that bring bodies and spaces into being. This dissertation attempts to rethink concepts of gender and ethnicity away from traditional ideas of places and cultures. To do so, it embeds them within social practice as performatives emerging from the colonial encounter. The text reports on ethnographic field research among Igorot communities originating on the Philippine Cordillera Central. By applying Burawoy's extended case method to local narratives of identity, history and migration, the argument extends theorizations of locality and gendered subaltern agency. The analysis locates the imaginative work that produces local places, subject positions and subjectivities within a palimpsest of transnational discourses, outmigration and local innovations. Locality and subjectivity are shown to be embedded in and produced by both local experiences and global identifications of difference originating within colonial histories. In narrating and dis-placing colonial stories of places and people, the power of these discourses on gender and ethnicity to constitute subjects with coherent names is challenged. By tracing the-persistence of the colonial past in the apparently de-colonized present, this text suggests that the concepts of performance and naming can help to make greater theoretical and empirical sense of the (post)colonial world. ii Table of Contents Abstract : ii Table of Contents Hi List of Figures vi List of Maps vii List of Plates : viii List of Tables ix Acknowledgments x C H A P T E R 1 - I N T R O D U C T I O N 1 1.1 Fiesta at Hungduan 1 1.2 A primitive uncanny 10 1.3 A (post)colonial critique 12 1.4 A geography of a colonial present 16 1.4.1 Structure of the dissertation 18 Rosa 21 C H A P T E R 2 - O N R E S E A R C H A N D WRITING 22 2.1 Intersubjective space and research practice 23 2.2 Framing a research question 26 2.2.1 Field techniques 29 2.2.2 Language and translation 31 2.2.3 Techniques and spatial control 33 2.3 Identifying a problematic 34 2.4 Incorporating theory 40 2.4.1 Power/knowledge 41 2.4.2 Subjects and subjectivities 42 2.4.3 Culture and place 48 2.5 Methodology - working between data and theory 52 2.5.1 Analytical techniques 53 2.6 Ethics and representations 54 2.6.1 Positionality 55 2.6.2 Ethics 58 2.6.3 On writing 61 Sally 64 C H A P T E R 3 - R E P R E S E N T A T I O N S . P L A C E S AND C O L O N I A L HISTORIES 66 3.1 Problematizing the local - Ihaliap 68 3.2 Definitions of "Igorot" 70 3.3 Retrieving the primitive 74 3.3.1 Primitivism at work 80 3.4 Retrieving local histories 85 3.4.1 The story of the deer 89 3.4.2 Embedding local narratives in 'history' 97 3.5 Postcard images 100 3.5.1 Tourism and the postcard 117 iii 3.6 The local, the primitive and the cartographic impulse 124 3.6.1 From postcard and tourism to cinema 126 3.7 Narratives, histories and gendering 129 Luz 131 C H A P T E R 4 - G E N D E R E D SUBJECTIVITIES. IDENTITIES A N D R E S I S T A N C E 134 4.1 Problematic: violence on the part of subaltern women 135 4.1.1 The subaltern and the politics of silencing 136 4.1.2 The Filipina identity 138 4.2 Representations of the Contemplacion case 146 4.2.1 Flor Contemplacion, Filipina martyr 147 4.2.2 Dead women do not tell tales '. 148 4.2.3 Popular cultures - two movies 151 4.2.4 State responses - reports from the Gancayo Commission 152 4.3 Narrativizing the Filipina: discourse on feminine subjectivity 153 4.4 Histories of power/knowledge in the local 155 4.4.1 Retrieving resistance 155 4.4.2 The murderess of Kiangan 156 4.4.3 Contemporary interpretations 157 4.4.4 Domonyag of Tuplac 161 4.5 Subaltern revisited 162 4.6 Resisting closure 164 Gloria 167 C H A P T E R 5 - L O C A L FEMININITIES AND L A N D S C A P E S 181 5.1 Survey research and ambivalence 183 5.2 Mothering nature 185 5.3 Knowing what to do in an agricultural landscape 189 5.3.1 Making land-use decisions 198 5.4 Gender equality 200 5.5 Rice 203 5.5.1 Rice and resistance to research 207 5.6 Swidden 210 5.7 Bean gardening 216 5.7.1 men's gardens /women's swiddens 219 5.7.2 gardening and gender relations 220 5.7.3 Reworking "modern" femininity 222 5.8 outmigration 226 5.9 Knowing what to do and how to perform 232 Ruth and Marilyn 234 C H A P T E R 6 - C E L E B R I T Y O U T M I G R A N T S - F E M A L E O V E R S E A S C O N T R A C T W O R K E R S 239 6.1 O C W identities - ambivalence and performance 241 6.2 Educating "dutiful daughters" 243 6.3 The overseas phenomenon 248 iv 6.3.1 Local impacts of overseas work 252 6.3.2 Discourses of OCW deployment 254 6.4 Becoming balikbayan 257 6.5 Migration experiences and gendered identities 260 6.5.1 Balikbayan and autobiographical exchange 261 6.5.2 Performing femininities as cultural capital 263 6.5.3 Accommodating 'beauty' 265 6.5.4 Negotiating relationships and transformations 268 6.6 Narratives of transformation 271 6.6.1 Femininity as commodity 271 6.6.2 Contract work in Canada 275 6.7 Metaphors of movement 277 6.7.1 Balikbayan tourists 279 C H A P T E R 7 - N A M I N G AND T H E I L L I M I T A B I L I T Y O F C O N T E X T 281 7.1 On the parade 281 7.1.1 Mapping a colonial present 282 7.2 On naming, ethnicity and gender 284 B I B L I O G R A P H Y 288 List of Figures Figure 1-1 Program from the Tungoh at Hungduan 3 Figure 3-1 Four Spaces of the Primitive 76 Figure 3-2 Text of monument at Banaue 94 Figure 4-1 Official remittances of OCWs, 1985 - 1996 in $US 143 Figure 4-2 Deployment of OCWs, 1975 - 1995 143 Figure 5-1 The representational landscape of Haliap/Panubtuban 193 Figure 5-2 Estimates of Landuse in Haliap 194 Figure 5-3 Estimates of Landuse in Panubtuban. 195 Figure 5-4 Land use classification for municipality, 1990 198 Figure 5-6 Labor and employment, Asipulo (1996) 199 Figure 5-7 Ifugao agricultural cycle, mixing commercial and subsistence crops 203 Figure 5-8 Gendered labor patterns in rice cultivation for varieties grown in paddy fields - native and hybrid 207 Figure 5-9 Gendered labor patterns in swidden cultivation 210 Figure 5-10 First year habal near sitio Likod, Barangay Haliap 212 Figure 5-11 Second year habal near sitio Nuntigging, Barangay Panubtuban 213 Figure 5-12 Labor patterns in garden activities over the agricultural year 218 Figure 5-13 Labor distribution in garden activities by gender, for married couples farming as a household unit 218 Figure 5-14 Households reporting income from out-of-province, by source of income, Haliap/Panubtuban (1996) (n=167) 227 Figure 6-1 Percentage of female and male OCWs 1987 versus 1994 240 Figure 6-2 Distribution of OCWs in vulnerable occupations (new hires, 1994) 240 Figure 6-3 Population by age and sex, Cordillera Administrative Region (1996) 244 Figure 6-4 Population by age and sex, rural areas, Cordillera Administrative Region (1996) 245 Figure 6-5 Deployed OCWs by selected year 249 Figure 6-6 Women overseas as proportion of local workforce, Haliap/Panubtuban (1996) 252 Figure 6-7 POEA poster on fake recruiting 275 vi List of Maps Map 3-1 Major ethnolinguistic groups within Ifugao Province 69 Map 5-1 Landforms, Haliap and Panubtuban 196 Map 5-2 Political map, Haliap and Panubtuban, showing elevation 197 Map 5-3 Inter-regional migration from Haliap/Panubtuban and Adyang 228 Map 5-4 Flows of OCWs from the Cordillera Administrative Region 232 vii List of Plates Plate 1-1 Balikbayan OCW videographer at Hungduan 7 Plate 3-1 Postcard of a Visayan tipe, taken from National Geographic 103 Plate 3-2 Postcard, titled a Manilena and her uncivilized sister 104 Plate 3-3 Bontoc woman, postcard 108 Plate 3-4 Pagan Gaddangs 109 Plate 3-5 Kalinga woman, studio portrait, Eduardo Masferre I l l Plate 3-6 Kalinga girl on rock, Eduardo Masferre 112 Plate 3-7 Maid with headbasket, postcard 114 Plate 3-8 (A) and (B) Two Kankaney girls 116 Plate 3-9 Contemporary postcard, three Ifugao men on the Banaue terraces 122 Plate 5-1 Rice fields, swidden and forest 191 Plate 5-2 Rice fields, "garden," and river 192 Plate 6-1 Filipina contract workers in front of Dior, Hong Kong 267 viii List of Tables Table 3-1 Four ethnolinguistic groups of Ifugao Province, listed by 'tribe' 69 Table 5-1 Estimates of Landuse in Haliap 194 Table 5-2 Estimates of Landuse in Panubtuban 195 Table 5-3 Population and households by barangay, Asipulo(1996) 199 Table 5-4 Distribution of families by household income, Asipulo (1996) 200 Table 5-5 Deployment of female OCWs from Haliap/Panubtuban (1996) 231 ix Acknowledgments "Knowing what to do" in doctoral research is a complicated knowledge, embedded as it is in networks of academic production and personal affection. Many people have contributed in various ways to the production of this dissertation in important ways and I cannot acknowledge all of them by name. My greatest debt is, of course, to the people of my fieldsite(s) in the Philippines who welcomed me in to their lives and homes. Special thanks go to my research assistants in Haliap, and the Cangbay, Malecdan, Masferre and Killip families in Sagada. Their hospitality, patient and gentle personal guidance and generosity with their insights into local experiences made my stay in the Philippines both a learning experience and a pleasure. Through my Filipino hosts, I came into contact with the Igorot Global Organization. The IGO's membership welcomed me to their consultation in Washington in 1997 and granted me the privilege of sitting in on their Internet discussions. The faculty members of the University of the Philippines, College, Baguio, were superb academic hosts. Dr. June Prill-Brett, my academic advisor at UP, provided me with a family of 'fictive kin' and a home-away-from home for my research project. Kitchen table conversations with her husband, the late James Brett, sent me back, again, to my fieldsite with new ideas to explore. Other academics were similarly generous with their time and ideas, if not their books, computers, kitchens and guestrooms. Father Wilfred Vermuelen in Manila and the late W. Ft. Scott in Sagada both provided provocative insights on local history and directions to useful resources from the Spanish archival records. My doctoral course work and preparatory studies in Canada were supported by an Eco-Research Doctoral Fellowship. A Canada-ASEAN Foundation Travel Grant funded my initial visit to the Philippines in the summer of 1995. An International Development Research Centre Young Canadian Researcher's Award allowed me to spend March 1996 - 1997 doing fieldwork in the Philippines. To support my writing and pay my tuition, I was awarded a SSHRC Doctoral Fellowship, 1996 - 1997 and a Dissertation Writing Grant from the Northwest Regional Consortium for Southeast Asian Studies for 1997 - 1998. In Canada, my advisory committee has given me terrific intellectual support and many suggestions to clarify my thinking. My colleagues in the graduate program in Geography have also been a source of provocative critique and inspiration. I would particularly like to thank Lynn Blake for her editorial insights, Nadine Schurmann for her suggestions on theory, and Claudia Dubuis for her advice on working with ethnographic methodologies. In the production of the document itself, Lisa Kwan helped out with the graphics and Catherine Griffiths who drew the maps and assisted with the formatting. Students in my Asian Studies and Environmental Geography classes have given me the opportunity to sort through many of the underlying concepts in lectures and presentations, asking thought-provoking questions. Lastly, my friends and collaborators at the Philippine Women Center have persistently reminded me that my ideas are not just academic concepts, but intersect with lives as they are lived in my home city of Vancouver. Despite all this good advice, careful suggestion and personal support, the usual caveat applies: the shortcomings herein remain the sole responsibility of the author. x Chapter 1- Introduction This dissertation explores ethnic and gendered identities of peoples known as Igorots who inhabit the Philippine Cordillera Central. In this text, I argue that genders and ethnicities are ongoing performances, addressed as much to the contexts of local and individual experiences on the periphery as to globalized discourses of difference and progress. I stage this argument through ethnographic approaches to the lives and experiences of indigenous peoples and their production of communities, both local and translocal. To introduce the argument and methodology I employ here, I provide an example of these local identities in performance at a municipal fair one of the provinces of the Philippine Cordillera Central. 1.1 Fiesta at Hungduan In April of 1996,1 attended a municipal fiesta in Hungduan, Ifugao Province, a remote village on the island of Luzon, in the northern Philippines (see Map 3-1. 69 ).' This fiesta had been advertised extensively in the regional press and I had seen posters in stores, along the highway on my bus trips to and from Ifugao. The published program (see Figure 1-1) included some very interesting events that were, according to the press releases, geared to promote the municipality as a destination for tourism.2 Tourists, according to the assumptions underlying the advertising, wanted to see authentic Ifugao people performing their traditional dances, games and crafts. What fascinated me, in particular, was the ethnic parade, apparently staged for the twenty or so tourists on hand. In this event, a long line of performers marched two by two from the main road, up the hill to the Municipal Hall. Each segment of the line told its own version of historical development, creating a narrative of "progress" or "improvements," in the terms explained to me by my hosts. First came topless ' The map of the region is only presented to the reader after the contemporary (post)colonial context in which indigenous communities are described and visited has been established. It is only within this context that one can 'get' to them, either as a visitor on the ground, or through a representation such as a map. 2 This program is reproduced from the original in the original English. 1 older women, wearing bark-cloth skirts and carrying baskets of camote (sweet potatoes) on their heads/ They were carrying placards reading "The Stone Age." Following them came a group of men in loincloths, carrying spears and shields, bodies covered with oil. Dressed as for war, they were labeled "The Spanish Era." Then came "Modern Times," represented by a variety of community groups and professions — teachers, health workers, mothers' group, church groups, youth, seniors - all with placards and uniforms. Last, but not least, came a group of four men carrying briefcases naming them as "OCWs" - Overseas Contract Workers. The parade was composed of people from five of the barangays (component villages) of the municipality. This short narrative of progress was thus repeated five times in the body of the line, with minor variations in dress. Each section moved from the primitivism of 'Stone Age' dress and farming tools to contemporary transnational migrants, dressed for 'professional' labor. This narrative of development demonstrated the transformation of this locality from the home of the 'primitive' and isolated tribal people, embodied by the old women, to the 'global Filipinos' portrayed by the men with briefcases. 3 Locally-used Filipino-language terms are italicized and defined, either in brackets in the text, or in longer notes, as appropriate. These terms may be drawn from the national language, Tagalog, or one of several dialects spoken locally, as explained in Chapter 2. 2 Figure 1-1 Program from the Tungoh at Hungduan April 17,1996 ENTHINC PARADE 8:00 a.m. Start at Ti-iwan INVOCATION Pastor Edgar Navales (SDA) PAMBANSANG AWIT Juanita Pugong-SB Secretary WELCOME TALK Mayor Andres B. Dunuan, Sr. ENTHNIC ENSEMBLE Bryg. Maggok group TALK Director Carmelita Mondiguing (DOT-CAR) NUMBER NATIVE SONG: c/o Poblacion's Women INTRODUCTION OF THE GUEST SPEAKER Councilor Manuel Bitog MESSAGE Cong. Benjamin Cappleman NATIVE DANCE Bryg. Hapao HULIN (Driving away bad spirits) ZONE II Barangays OPENING OF EXHIBITS/BOOTH/DEMONSTRATIONS IN: • WINE MAKING •> BASKET WEAVING * WEAVING • •> BLACKSMITH • BINAKLE • AN EC • CONTESTED ACTIVITIES: * ETHNIC GAMES * NATIVE DANCE •> • NATIVE SONG • WOODCARVING • ETHNIC GAMES TO BE CONTESTED: • DOPAP •> GUYYAD • HANGGOL • AKKAD * • BANGUNAN • HUKTING •> ABBA-AN •> The source of my fascination was not merely the story, but the competitive aspect of the parade. Each barangay was judged and the winners received P5000 in prize money, donated to their barangay council.4 This exercise, disciplined bodies marching in ranks and performing the narrative of modernization from Stone Age to present-day outmigration, was judged by the district's Congressman. The criteria for prizes included the order of the ranks, the extent to which the bodies moved in unison, the seriousness of purpose expressed by the performers, the 'completeness' of the narrative and the 'authenticity' of their 4 During the period of my field research one Canadian dollar was equivalent to approximately twenty Philippine pesos. ($C 1.00 = P 20) 3 dress and deportment.5 The audience was much smaller than the parade, perhaps two hundred or so outsiders, composed of tourists, local press people and dignitaries travelling with the Congressman. Thus, most of the spectators were themselves the spectacle. It seemed to me that these people were parading largely for themselves, or, perhaps, for some invisible or absent observer. After all the marchers filed in to the parade ground, the speeches began. The municipal Mayor petitioned the Congressman to build a road, on a route first proposed by American colonial administrators in the early 1900s. This road would ostensibly entice tourists to visit and promote tourism development in the Province. To his electorate, the Mayor promised to re-enact ritual feasts for the tourists. In this feast, the tourists would pay for the animals which local people will slaughter and eat in ritual style. He promised tourism would bring kalabaw meat (water buffalo or carabao) to the assembled masses. The Mayor also announced the prohibition of galvanized iron roofing on local houses, mandating instead the use of 'authentic' material, the local cogon grass. This edict was issued in order to attract tourists and benefit from Department of Tourism funds to support "authenticity" in the region.6 The Congressman brought greetings from Manila, the national capital, and Malacanang Palace, the residence of the President. He reiterated his commitment to local "development" as shown in the progress from the Stone Age to OCWs, and congratulated the people on their industry in pursuing tourism as a new development strategy. The community-as-parade arrayed before him as he stood at the podium appeared to demonstrate that local understandings of 'authenticity' and 'modernity' fit into the familiar historical narrative laid out on the ground. This narrative was the story of local transformations he called "development." 5 This list of criteria was supplied to me by the workers from the Municipal Hall. It was largely the same as the standards for 'ethnic parade' judging at a subsequent Fiesta I attended elsewhere in Ifugao Province. 6 See also Dulnuan, M., "DOT awards for houses" Philippine Daily Inquirer, 8 August 1996, C5. 4 Meanwhile, the actual tourists themselves were largely ignored; they appeared to be quite literally shunted to the sidelines.7 The Mayor acknowledged their points of origin or ethnicities briefly over the loudspeaker: "Israel, Germany, Australia, the United States, Ireland." These names were listed as potential sources of visitors, part litany of the forms of wealth that authenticity and a road could attract. "Irish" - this last was I; as he puzzled over my first name on my business card, I had explained it was an Irish name for a Canadian woman. Most of the tourists appeared to be backpacker-travelers attracted by the opportunity to hike Mt. Napulawan, site of the last stand of the Japanese forces under General Yamashita in 1945. Housed in an unfinished building with no running water or bath, nobody was surveying or interviewing these visitors. As tourists, they were clearly part of the spectacle, rather than the focus of interest. I had arrived early and, having identified myself as a 'visiting researcher' to the Mayor, was introduced to his staff. Though he acknowledged me as a tourist over the microphone, he had left me ensconced with the female staff of the Municipal Office. I watched the parade from within a group of Municipal Office workers, mostly professional women in their thirties. They kept up a running commentary on the parade, the speeches, the community and the tourists arrayed around them and I strained to catch the meanings in their mixture of English, Tuwali Ifugao and Ilocano. Apparently, many of the tourists who had hiked the mountain desperately needed a bath before they would make presentable houseguests. Adopted by the municipal workers, I only exchanged smiles with the other tourists from a distance. Through luck and by design, I was not so undesirable a companion: one of the Municipal Office staff invited me to stay at her house. She was curious as to how I had learned some Ilocano and thought I would be uncomfortable in the tourist hostel. As I stood in this group, negotiating a home-stay, I was caught on video camera by another woman walking the parade grounds. I immediately lifted my camera 7 Statistics collected for the Department of Tourism for the Philippines as a whole reported 934,020 tourist arrivals in 1996, up from 842, 272 in 1995. Of tourists with a recorded country of origin, approximately one half (471,544) came from "neighboring Asian countries," one quarter (213,411) from North America and one tenth (59,126) from Western Europe. The majority of 'foreign' tourists arrive between December and April each year. These statistics were reported in "Tourist arrivals rise" Today, 13 November, 1996. 5 and snapped a shot of her (see Plate 1-1). My companions told me she was a balikbayan (returned) OCW (overseas contract worker) from Canada. She was, it appeared, the only actual OCW present. She was not, as represented in the parade, a briefcase carrying male, but female and was identified by my companions as a domestic worker. As I followed her progress, she recorded both the tourists and the community's self-consciously exotic, "pagan" celebration. Her attention was drawn to the topless grandmothers who had led the parade, rather than the 'office workers' and 'OCWs' who brought up the rear. I was curious about the woman who had filmed me and watched her move through the crowd and back to her car. My hostesses told me she was a 'permanent' now in Canada. She's "balikabayan," she said. The gossip was that she had come back for a visit "only." According to their information, the woman with the camera had arrived in Canada as a domestic worker and had then married a Canadian, achieving permanent residency. I never did manage to catch up with her but remembered my amusement at being videotaped. In turning her camera on me, she was literally 'returning the gaze' of the ethnographer. Having been videotaped at a town fiesta, I can only assume I now appear on someone's VCR 'abroad', somewhere in Canada, enacting the role of tourist who makes 'home' famous. 6 Plate 1-lBalikbayan O C W videographer at Hungduan 7 Here, at the Fiesta in Hungduan, local people appropriate and rework metropolitan discourses in an autoethnographic performance that creates self-affirming representations of the local intended for reception in the metropolis.'* Thus, the parade produced the accepted narrative of development, the long lines of people marching out of history, for the metropolitan congressional representative. The material goal of this narrative performance was the reward of a road. To gain this reward, people self-consciously staged their cultural transformation, not just as progress, but in terms of retaining a certain authenticity appropriate for tourist development. The parade performed an authentic version of the primitive and development for both local and metropolitan consumption. This primitive is gendered in particular ways, residing in the partially unclothed, bark-cloth bedecked bodies of older women. It is contrasted against a modern world embodied in the parade by men representing the absent OCWs, but actually performed by a woman so named as a returned migrant worker, a balikbayan-OCW, on the ground. It was this slippage that fascinated me: why did women embody the backward and primitive in local representational practice, when, as I will demonstrate in the following chapters, they were clearly among the modern migrants in lived experience? What did this inversion of gendering say about local understandings and performances of gender and progress? I will argue in this text that this slippage between representations and realities matters in important ways for performances of genders and ethnicities. I approach the performances of the parade and the fiesta as a occurring within a liminal space. They are a condensed and aetheticized production of people's interpretations of the ideals of ethnicity and gender, performed on a stage created by the local interpretations of narratives of development and transformation. While my story begins within this liminal social space of the fiesta, I will extend the analysis of the performances of gender and ethnicity s Autoethnography, as defined by Mary-Louise Pratt, is one of the characteristic indigenous responses of the contact zone: texts in which people attempt to describe themselves in ways that engage with their representations by others. These representations are performed in response to and in dialogue with metropolitan images of the local, selectively appropriating and deferring the discourses of the metropolis or imperial power. See M. -L . Pratt, "Transculturation and autoethnography: Peru 1615/1980" in Barker, F., Hulme, P. and M . Iverson, eds. Colonial discourse/postcolonial theory (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1994, pp. 24-46.) 8 seen here into people's daily experiences. These representations intersect with the lives of the performers in complex ways and, as I will show, such parades are not the only sites where discourses familiar to metropolitan audiences have slipped their moorings and are deployed by local actors to surprising ends. Locals also theorize the global, placing themselves, their experiences and their metropolitan stereotypes in dialogue with the representations of the metropolis, tourist desires and colonial archives. Discourses on 'the primitive' and progress are never limited to the archives or touristic practice but permeate much farther into social life. The local, too, desires to perform and represent difference. Local people, like metropolitan inhabitants, desire to control difference itself as both a source of self-identity and a commodity. As sources for these representations, local imaginaries rely on, reinscribe and subvert the familiar forms of gender and ethnicity that were produced in the process of colonization. As cultural critique, this dissertation exposes the tension between the strategic use of these familiar representations and their long-term limitations within local struggles. Like the parade, this text thus describes a geography of a colonial present. Rather than recapitulating the narrative of progress, my intent is to work against it in order to contest contemporary forms of colonialism that are not recognized as such. The parade at Hungduan and the migrant videographer are actively returning the metropolitan or colonizing gaze, responding to a desire to represent difference that relies on familiar reworkings of colonial categories for gender and ethnicity. Clearly, the ideas of gender and ethnicity that circulate within this locality have hidden within them particular and contradictory assumptions about place-based identities and notions of progress. The context in which these performances take place is difficult to define. What politics determine the cultural reception of such performances of genders and ethnicities? This question requires mapping of the dynamics of power in which familiar images, bodies, objects, social categories and discourses operate as they travel back and forth between metropolis and periphery, local and global, primitive and modern. 9 1.2 A primitive uncanny Before the specific local representations and experiences I present here will make sense to the reader as the local touchpoints and generators of globalized discourses, a brief exploration of the contemporary theoretical work of 'the primitive' is needed. In the metropolitan centers, ethnographically fuzzy but positive valuations of people living in purely subsistence economies, outside the State, permeate critical theory.9 Indigenes,' 'nomads,' 'tribes' of all sorts inhabit contemporary theory and mediascapes where they represent desirable ways of being and knowing that 'moderns' have forgotten. These generalizations about 'primitives' appear to express a desire to get back to a 'somewhere' an imagined 'we' have never been, in an escape from the alienation and confusion of contemporary metropolitan lives — a primitive uncanny. Marianna Torgovnick describes this constitutively modern desire to escape modernity for the primitive: "for a hundred years, the West has used the non-Western world to contemplate the prehistories of its future, and the contradictory results have shaped a multitude of social discourses world-wide. There seems to be no end to that dynamic, and no reason to suppose that the present has been freed from working out its complicity in it."/0 In contemporary social theories, many of the distinctions drawn between modernity and post-modernity rest on uninterrogated and stereotypical images of such non-modern realms. These distinctions require recourse to a 'primitive' and 'traditional' space that supposedly persists, somewhere beyond the margins of telecommunication, the market and consumer cultures, on the geographical periphery of globalizing capitalism. In this peripheral 'somewhere,' the local is still recognizably local, pure and unsullied by modern, global influences. The primitive is thus a socially constructed category that constitutes metropolitan conceptions of self. While not all the 'others' that the project of 'the West' encounters or appropriates are 'primitives,' ideas of the primitive follow a familiar script: 9 For a critique of the primitive in contemporary critical theory see Torgovnick, M . Gone primitive: savage intellects, modern lives (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1990.) See also Kaplan C , Questions of travel: postmodern discourses of displacement (Durham: Duke University Press, 1996.) 1 0 Torgovnick, M . op. cit., 19. 10 (S)omething...occurs whenever marginal peoples come into a historical or ethnographic space that has been defined by the Western imagination. Entering into the modern world, their distinct histories quickly vanish. Swept up in a destiny dominated by the capitalist West and by various technically advanced socialisms, these suddenly "backward" peoples no longer invent local futures.. .[they are seen to] either resist or yield to the new but cannot produce it." Of course, in accepting a global/local or metropolitan/peripheral binary in the terms of 'modern' and 'primitive' creates an elision of histories and geographies. Within this space is lost "precisely the fact that the parameters of the local and the global are often indefinable.... , they are permeable constructs..., each thoroughly infiltrates the other."'2 The perpetuation of these somewhat spurious distinctions is possible because of the desirability of imagining someone, somewhere else, as the locus of 'the primitive.' As more of the terrain is brought within the space of modernity, the difference marked by 'the primitive' is deferred farther from the metropolitan centre and/or the locally based outposts of its influence. This dissertation highlights how this fractal pattern of centre/periphery repeats itself across shifting maps of meaning and power. This reading is a complicated process because, reading these discourses on the ground, one confronts constant shifts in the scales and frames of definition. Nevertheless, this binary distinction reflects dominant and socially necessary metropolitan fantasies about indigenes. These imaginings become the fantasies of indigenous communities about their neighbors, rather than their interpretations of their life experiences in the contemporary colonial world. The latter, the context of contemporary colonialisms that go unmarked as such, is what I will attempt to describe and contextualize in the succeeding chapters. " Clifford, J. The predicament of culture: twentieth century ethnography, literature and art. (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1988,5.) 7 2 Grewal, I. and C. Kaplan, "Introduction." in Grewal, I. and C. Kaplan, eds., Scattered hegemonies: postmodernity and transnational feminist practices (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1994, pp. 1-33), p. 11. 11 1.3 A (post)colonial critique Contemporary demarcations of spaces into metropolis and periphery reinscribe the spatial formations of Western colonialisms. This produces not a complete rupture with colonial pasts, but the persistence of historical patterns of nodes and networks of economic and cultural power in the present. The idea of returning to a primitive uncanny - getting back to somewhere 'we' have never been - is shared across former colonial and now decolonized metropolitan centers as a constitutive feature of their modernity with its roots in colonial geographical imaginations and colonial relations. This desire creates a periphery that meets the need for primitive others, whether distant or internal. These colonial relations of power are not just forms of political and economic subordination justified by ideologies of race or progress but also cultural projects, constituted through the imaginaries of symbols, signs, stories and nation or community. Colonial culture thus includes "not only official reports and texts related directly to the process of governing colonies and extracting wealth, but also a variety of traveler's accounts, representations produced by ...missionaries and collectors of ethnographic specimens, and fictional, artistic, photographic, cinematic and decorative appropriations."" I argue here that contemporary cultures remain colonial. As a critique of (post)colonial culture, this text deals with a wider range of events and representations than the colonial archives, including many in which author and reader are implicated. Thus, the dissertation is structured as a mixture of historical and contemporary analysis, treating the production of ethnicity and gender identities on the periphery through the "contact zone" of colonial encounters.'4 To call these present cultural formations and discourses neo-colonial would be a misnomer - there is nothing inherently new about them. Likewise, the name post-colonial suggests some rupture with the power formations of the colonial era, the hyphen implying a forgetting of the past, and thus its 1 3 Thomas, N . , Colonialism's culture: anthropology, travel and government (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1994) p. 16. 1 4 The term "contact zone" is borrowed from Mary-Louise Pratt, Imperial eyes: travel writing and transculturation (London: Routledge, 1992), p. 6-7. 12 repetition.75 The unbroken name of "postcolonial" perhaps acknowledges the long histories of colonialisms with more sensitivity to the complex resonations of colonial projects within the contemporary experiences of both the former colonized and former colonizers/6 However, my argument requires that I subvert even this slight suggestion that there is a distinct periodization marked by formal decolonization. I reject the possible implication created by the 'post'- as-"former," modifying "colonial occupation," that would preclude or conceal "ongoing" colonial relations. Thus, I prefer to place the 'post' in dispute where it refers to theorizations, regimes of power/knowledge and cultural formations. In this dissertation, I opt to place the 'post' in brackets when referring to cultural projects while I use the terms pre-colonial, colonial and post-colonial to refer to the specific historical periods of Spanish and then American colonial occupation in the Philippines. The pre-colonial era ended with Spanish occupation in 1452, the Spanish regime extended from 1452 to 1898, Americans ruled the archipelago from 1898 - 1946, and the (post)colonial Philippines achieved independence inl946. By choosing the term (post)colonial to name the relation between contemporary spatial distributions of power/knowledge in proximity to those of 'true' colonialisms, I mark their similarities and mutual constitution. Just as colonial relations do not come to closure with the end of formal colonial rule, anti-colonial resistances do not begin with nationalist struggle, but with the onset of colonization. Similarly, anti-colonial resistance continues against the cultural forms of colonialism long after formal decolonization. I choose this neologism because my goal is to make sense of the colonial past not just in the colonial archives, but in its present interpretations in anti-colonial resistances - through analysis of autoethnographic gestures such as the parade at Hungduan, above. The impacts of colonialisms were never such that the colonized have lost the ability to represent themselves. Local peoples have their own stories of their positionings that I trace and contextualize in this text. 15 Gandi, L. , Postcolonial theory: a critical introduction (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1998), p. 7. ' As James Clifford theorizes this point: "There are no postcolonial cultures or places: only moments, tactics, discourses." in his Routes: travel and translation in the late twentieth century (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1997), p. 277. 13 Truly, the periphery has long been conversant with the centre. For the peoples of the colonial peripheries labor migration, ethnic diaspora and integration into global systems of production and networks of exchange and meaning are hardly recent phenomena.'7 Their contemporary experiences can be figured as more of the same, rather than radical discontinuities that marks the entry of the periphery into anything that could be named as 'postmodernity.'''' The challenge, then, is to figure local experiences in ways that show how the periphery is produced and then itself is caught up in the incitement to produce, delimit and commodify its own differences. Though both historically removed actors (the colonizers) and geographically removed peoples (my respondents and hosts) are apt to be stereotyped for the purposes of metropolitan self-definition and self-affirmation, I want to problematize my own positioning here. My goal in retrieving their stories here is not to construct my respondents and hosts as recipients of my intellectual charity who I save from misrepresentation, nor to rewrite colonialism and 'other' the colonizers on their behalf. That would recreate my hosts, yet again, as yet another set of imaginary characters peripheral to the contemporary world. Instead, I wish to highlight the problematic ways in which contemporary metropolitan cultures construct indigenous peripheries and suggest the ways that these discourses on primitive peoples, peripheral places and progress create the context in which local ethnic and gender identities are performed.'9 7 7 See Donald Nonini, "On the outs on the Rim: an ethnographic grounding of the Asia-Pacific imaginary" in Dirlik, A. , ed. What's in a rim?: critical perspectives on the Pacific Region idea (Boulder: Westview, 1993; pp. 161-182.) I H Doreen Massey, "A place called home" in her Space, place and gender (Cambridge: Polity, 1994; pp. 157-173.) 1 9 Specific examples of the construction of Igorots within Philippine, Manila-based metropolitan modernities will be discussed in Chapter 3. The 'boundaries' of cultures, so impossible to draw, make it difficult to delimit discourses of one from others, thus images of Igorots also circulate in the U.S., Britain, and, globally, through their cinematic representation in Apocalypse Now. 14 I begin here with representations of 'the primitive' and the material situations of peoples who are inappropriate/d as Other within these representations.20 I present a localized and historicized analysis of discourses on ethnicity and gender, exploring both localities and subjects, in their glorious complexities, and engaging with the narratives they produce. My text explores the past through present understandings in the performances of gendered and ethnic identities, exploring the origins of the names of Tgorots' and 'woman' within contemporary colonial histories. Thinking about the politics underlying the naming of places, people or ideas as local and global, primitive and modern, centre and periphery, development and progress, gendered and ethnic, I suggest that these concepts refract on to each other, forming a large web or constellation of intersecting and mutually constitutive meanings. One of the best ways to illustrate this problematic constellation is to tell a story which exceeds the limits of these terms - where the gaze is returned and identities are performed in engagement with an imagined global context, thus creating the global and the metropolitan for local self-representation. This story-as-dissertation is one that I (as ethnographic observer) have both retrieved and participated in producing and one that puts me, as metropolitan ethnographer, firmly into the frame as part of the production. By reporting on a performance of indigenous identity for tourist consumption and State patronage at the Hungduan Fiesta, I introduce the production of indigenous femininities as part of a 'living museum.' Trying to explore individual histories and specific relations of power, I began with this experience where native culture is made into a spectacle for public consumption. An atypical experience in daily lives, perhaps, but one that reveals the foundational narrative of development and progress in which local performances of gender and ethnicity are embedded. The inappropriate/d other is described by Donna Haraway as "that personal and collective being to whom history has forbidden the strategic illusion of self-identity" in Haraway, D., "The promises of monsters: a regenerative politics for inappropriate/d Others" in Grossberg, L., Nelson, C. and P. Treichler, eds., Cultural studies. (New York: Routledge, 1992; pp. 295 - 337), p. 329. This is Harway's gloss on the concept as developed by Trinh Minh-ha — see her Woman, native, other: writing postcoloniality and feminism (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1989.) 15 1.4 A geography of a colonial present The ethnic parade that opens this dissertation is an allegory of development that anxiously rehearses its own unrealizability. The suggestion is that if the community performs the linear narrative of development correctly, the Congress(man) will give the money needed to build a road. This will enable the tourists to come and see the primitive people and complain about how they have been ruined by the road. In this narrative, the major impact of development is not seen at the level of the material presence of projects, roads, communication networks and institutions but at the level of discourse. The road does not pre-exist the performance. Instead, it is by performing the story of development properly that the road will be brought into being and the community will secure the assistance of the Department of Tourism. The discourse of development thus provides an imaginary of progress and a series of tropes and representational techniques for people who wish to change their local lives. Local discourses on development are located firmly in the Euro-American history of primitivism, positing a linear version of progress from 'un(der)-developed' to an asymptotic state of 'modernity' where all potentials are fully actualized. Hence, the ethnic parade passes from the houses of the farmers in the valley, up the hill and to the Municipal Hall and the Congressman, the locations of a state power installed by colonialism. The people comprising the parade become progressively less 'ethnic' and more 'modern,' with women representing the backward, 'primitive' times and men, the progressive, 'modern' and global era. Local ideas of progress are thus determined by colonial discourses on the primitive and the colonial vision of progress is the imaginary by which the local reality is tested. In this context, the notion of development works, fundamentally, as a technology of ordering and organization. The suggestion is that these things are lacking in 'underdeveloped' communities. Hence, the bodies on parade march in ranks and it is anticipated by the performers that they are being evaluated, I would suggest, for the ways in which their display corresponds with colonial expectations for gender. My analysis situates gender identities in the contexts in which they are constituted and deployed - set 16 against each other and manipulated by individual actors, local groups, and global discourses. The gendering of progress in the Fiesta suggests that the bounded experiences of daily lives typically root women, more so than men, in gendered identities linked to particular local places. Whether through the routines of work, shop and home or of field, farm and market, women belong in the local while it is men who fight the colonial power and travel the globe. Based on this kind of representation, indigenous femininities in the Philippines, my central concern in this text, are usually approached as place-based and highly differentiated identities. Yet, I met many female migrant workers who moved from these local spaces through the non-places of transnational capital and labor markets to work as domestics 'abroad.' This dissertation explores the constructions of a tradition of gender at 'home' and challenges the local/global norms constructed around the experiences of indigenous women. As travelling women, female migrants are displacing themselves and disordering colonial discourses on gender and the local. Their actions, perhaps unthinkable within colonial stereotypes, reveal the discourses of gendered containment for the partial and colonial fictions they are. In the interstices of these globally operating discourses on 'primitives' and 'moderns,' gendered identities are being renegotiated. Deploying discourses on ethnicity and accumulating cultural capital - language, skills, education - through performances of femininity, women's life histories show how individuals are reworking opportunities in these interstitial discursive spaces. The central problematic here is the manner in which the politics and histories of ethnic origins articulate with the performances of gendered identity as femininity. My intention is to use narratives of the past, such as the ethnic parade, to subvert the present, to question notions of femininity that accompany concepts of progress contingent on the production of the primitive and the periphery. I show that these contemporary conceptions have their antecedents in colonial relations. In retelling local stories and histories, and thus reinscribing these people into ethnographic space through this dissertation, my goal is to demonstrate how global discourses on gender are, and always have been, firmly embedded in and produced by local experiences. 17 1.4.1 Structure of the dissertation This text itself is structured as a geography of this colonial present. Each chapter corresponds to a stage of the story of the ethnic parade, applying this narrative strategy to the text as a whole. This introduction brings this narrative of local representations together with theorizing on the primitive as a global theme. While I continue this style of argumentation by vignette elsewhere, I support my claims, where possible, by bringing together the qualitative within quantitative descriptors of local conditions. The tone of text varies, moving from liminal spaces of exchange, representation and performance where I stage emerging problematics to more factual, 'objective' reporting on the distilled observations of two years of research and several hundred surveys. These variations in tone mark my own multiple subject positions, suggesting the movements between them that constitute my particular identity as participant observer and author. The parade presented an active, present and under-revision narrative of the past for observers positioned in particular places. So does this text. The structure of the text at once recapitulates a narrative of progress, as presented in the ethnic parade - a progression from a local history to a global modernity -but works against that very idea of linear progress by destabilizing the categories of woman, local and ethnic deployed in that narrative. Each chapter takes apart these categories in a different way, revealing gender, place and ethnicity as the constitutive fictions that conceal ongoing colonial relations and local resistances. Chapter 2 sets forward my methodological approach and outlines my theoretical frame. This chapter positions the reader and author within the research and writing of the text, corresponding to my self-positioning as researcher and participant at the Fiesta in Hungduan. Chapters 3 and 4 explore the past as it is understood in the present. In Chapter 3, the parade begins in earnest with local understandings of history, as portrayed in the Fiesta by the men with spears who resisted the Spanish. This third chapter examines local histories and the gendering of representations of Igorots as primitives in the photographic archive and contemporary postcards. By setting local histories 18 in this colonial frame, I suggest the contexts in which people in rural Ifugao come to understand themselves as ethnic communities and historical actors. By retrieving local history from both the colonial archive and oral narratives, I refine and extend Edward Said's idea of the local as a site of post-colonial and nationalist resistance. The analysis explores how local history is produced and understood in present experiences and why it is gendered in such a particular fashion. I establish the absence of women in history and the gendering of anti-colonial resistance as a persistent problematic. Thus, in Chapter 4,1 turn to the absence of women and attempt to locate the women who were missing from the anti-colonial resistance and the overseas migration in the parade. This chapter places these missing women in the present understandings of history and transnational migration, contrasting different understandings of feminine subjectivity across (post)colonial contexts. I explore two representations of murderesses in order to reveal the possibilities of female agency constructed by speculations on femininity in historical and contemporary (post)colonial contexts. This works as an extended and sympathetic critique of Gayatri Spivak's gendered subaltern, exploring the politics of representation in the case of absent or silenced women. In Chapter 5, the dissertation-as-parade finally arrives in the contemporary present, describing some of the community groups who embodied local knowledge and progress, above. Having established the history of ethnicity and how women may be understood locally, this fifth chapter then outlines the agricultural practices, household relations and local knowledges in which conceptions of gender are articulated. This chapter examines the gendered division of labor in contemporary agricultural economies and deconstructs the category of "woman" itself at the local level. Read together, Chapter 3 has already problematized the ground on which respondents in this fifth chapter make their claims for a tradition of gender - the idea that there is a single, definitive and shared "local" history or "tradition." Chapter 6 describes the migration of women from indigenous communities in the northern Philippines, retrieving from individual narratives the function of femininities as historically constituted performatives 19 at work in a transnational problematic. This chapter moves from the local femininities associated with agriculture to those performed by the female OCW who was not represented in the parade at Hungduan, but roamed the parade grounds as a visitor. Experiences of migrant women similarly "roam" in this text, where I have presented them interleaved between the chapters as free-floating narratives. These women's stories are intended to form more colloquial counterpoint to my academic description and provide the reader with tangential insights and lines of analysis that exceed the purview of my argument. Chapter 7 draws conclusions from this journey through the geographies of gender and ethnicity as performatives. Having established the ethnic and gendered (post)colonial contexts for the performances reported in the personal narratives of female OCWs, I suggest how the experiences of circular migrants restructure local understandings of ethnicity and gender, moving 'the local' into a transnational present. From this discussion, I draw conclusion on the ways in which gender and ethnicity remain so potent, yet illimitable, as performative categories in transnational space. 20 Rosa Dear Deirdre: I am sorry for it took me so long to write you because I was not certain whether to stay or leave the country.... 1 am enjoying my last months here because I am meeting more and more Filipinos. I met three Ifugao girls married with Dutch. Two of them were from Nueva Viscaya and the third from Ifugao, proper. One of the three Ifugao girls just had her divorce recently, but she got another husband. I have noticed that most of the Dutch men who are married to Filipinas have something wrong with them. They are either divorced guys or physically disabled. There are very normal men married with Filipinas but very few. Most of the Dutch men occupy the manual jobs like gardener, carpenter or cook but when their wives go home to the Philippines, they say to the people that their husband's an engineer or manager. They boast It's funny. I am doing more travel in the country with my Ifugao friends. We plan to go to Belgium in March. I want to see France too, but my friend has no time to accompany me. I might ask my Dutch suitor to drive me to France but the problem is I have no feeling for him.... The place I stay is... to the southwest of Amsterdam. It's a very well known community of rich people in Holland because only the moneyed people could afford to buy a space in this village within the forest. At first, I was hard up with this domestic work. I was bored and irritated with the children. It said on the papers for "au pair" that I could take college courses but my employer does not like me to do that. It seemed it's not for Filipinas to study, only the other girls. They are coming here for economic reasons. They never dare to ask their privilege for study. I met about twenty au pairs and only two are doing courses. I heard stories about au pairs sent for study by their host families but who never finished the courses so it's just a waste of money. They have no interest. Since then, these host families never dare to send their succeeding au pairs. I know a lot of au pairs who work long hours but it's their fault for they do not talk, just keep on working. I tried to convince my neighbors' au pairs to come together and ask help from the Filipino organizations about au pairs' rights and privileges but they are just very passive. I can manage my situation now and I am finally on the last bit. My leave of absence from the school in .... ends May. I will have the same salary teaching again as here, 'til next letter, when you're back home in Canada! You can write me care of my mother.... Rosa 21 Chapter 2 - On research and writing This chapter explores the applicability of theories of gender and ethnicity as performatives as a practical grounding for ethnographic fieldwork.71 attempt to apply these ideas to this case study because I believe that such theorizations are not only applicable to the urban, mass media, consumption and technological problematics of cultural studies. To deny that the same themes are found in indigenous and rural communities too reinscribes the old dichotomies of center/periphery, modern/primitive, global/local in a new form. People outside metropolitan centers lead lives that are equally rich and complex, ambivalent and alienating as those of 'post-modern' metropolitan inhabitants and, as I will demonstrate, these locals certainly theorize the global. My methodological goal is to make explicit spaces that are usually hidden, unavailable to the reader, in ethnographic accounts of field research. What I develop here is a spatial perspective on ethnographic field practices, focusing on the politics of origins and the performance of identities as gendered. I foreground the experience of the field as a space both real and imagined, that precedes and inflects the production of text. This space is where the ongoing negotiation of consent and authorization to speak about her experience is played out between the ethnographer and her hosts. This space is where the politics of ethnic origins and the performances of gendered identities first move through the production of knowledge that becomes known as "the research." Elements of self-reflexivity and sensitivity to context are essential features of this intersubjective space. They cannot simply be tacked on at a later point in the trajectory from experience to text, nor can they be produced in an exclusive and one-sided reflection on the part of the ethnographer. I demonstrate here that this intersubjective space is real and complex, not assumed as the transparent underpinning of my arguments. Having located my ethnographer-self on the blurred boundaries between research and tourism, ethnicity and nationality in the preceding chapter, here I position myself as author of this project. I mark the extent to which my own subjectivity, fluid and mobile as it moves through roles of researcher, student, ' See Butler, J., Excitable speech: a politics of the performative (New York: Routledge, 1998) for explanation. 22 Canadian, woman, and on and on.. .1, is embedded in the process of writing. Mapping the trajectory of my research process, moving from interviews to theories and back again, and, finally, to writing the text, this chapter describes the ways in which the intersubjective nature of the research intersected with field techniques and theory. In ethnography, the facts we deal with are fictive - in the sense of something made - and made for an unequal social exchange.2 Productions of facts/fictions are never closed; facts are not already made, but in process. The making and unmaking of social worlds relies on concepts of history which are themselves contingent on particular interpretations of events and the frames which support them. These ideas, in turn, can be destabilized. Thus archival material, readings of popular culture and local voices sit uneasily together here, in an indication of the embeddedness of ethnographic work as both practice and product of global relations of power. As the parade at Hungduan shows, narratives are, and always have been, political tactics and become even more so in a transnational era. 2.1 Intersubjective space and research practice My hostess at Hungduan, Tess, made the story of the Fiesta possible. As part of my experience, our interactions shaped my understanding of the parade. We spent two days together, and our exchange of biographical information over that time created the frame of reference for my understanding of my experiences there, and beyond. Here is the entry from my journal, giving some of the details of our interactions. Tess, the municipal finance officer is my hostess - she has a university degree in economics and a brand new, galvanized iron roof on her house. Trusting in a renewed "tradition" of community-sanctioned marriage, Tess later lost her husband to America. He moved to the States with another woman, a former Peace Corps volunteer, leaving Tess a single parent. "An American woman like you, " she observes. I protest, telling her that I am Canadian, have a boyfriend in Canada, and am doing research, not development work. "But you are also kana to us here " she replies, referring to the local ethnic taxonomy. 2 Geertz, C , The interpretation of culture (New York: Basic Books, 1973), p. 15. 23 She tells me this story as we root through bales of used American clothing, looking for something she can wear to perform as emcee at the fiesta. The Mayor, in passing, vetoes this plan, instructing her to wear her "native uniform. " She informs me that, if she wears hers, I'll wear one too! She describes it for me, knowing that I already know what it looks like: a white blouse, a 'native skirt' or tapis, and a belt with cotton pom-poms to show off my slim waist and full hips. How to express my mounting horror at the idea—appearing as part of the display, rather than as foreign guest and observer - without being rude ? But perhaps this is the message she intends to convey: it's all performance. In the end, we are rained out. Tess does not have to be the emcee and I am left my 'civilian' jeans and T-shirt. Back at her house, Tess shows me her photo album, asking in unintentionally ironic consternation what "piscor" means as we look at a snap of her ex, standing in an Ohio snow-bank. She asks me a series of questions about my absent boyfriend. I give calculated answers. Without electricity, I spend the evening silent and feverish in the candlelit pool around her kitchen table, shelling peas. Her second husband arrives but she does not introduce us. The trip back to town leaves at 3:30 a.m. and I sleep early, at 8 p.m. She sees me off, extending a firm invitation to return and go hiking - with my husband, of course, when I'm married. In this interaction at the Fiesta, my outsider status give me access to privileged, confessional information on Tess's life but simultaneously constitutes me as a threat. I embody a privileged, attractive and possibly uncontrollable form of a locally recognized discourse on global femininity. I am at once constructed as a friend, another educated and well-traveled woman and as a potential thief of husbands, who I may entice into realms where local women cannot follow - into 'abroad.' As such, I do not have a neutral vantage point, but occupy a personal and exacting location within the broader historical connections and political struggles between 'here' and 'there' or local and global as understood by my respondents. Tess glosses my position as "kana," meaning an American woman. As a concise summary of local knowledge describing the global economic system and (post)colonial conditions that mark the Philippine place in this system, this is terribly accurate. Yet, it is simultaneously not my nationality. The distinction between Canadian and American figures in a whole different series of relations far removed from Tess's purview. When I objected that I was Canadian, Tess outlined an Ifugao taxonomy of ethnicities for me. One can be pinoy (Filipino, covering a variety of ethnic groups), intsik (Chinese), bumbay (East Indian), hapon (Japanese), kastila (Spanish), or kana (American.) Since a fair-skinned, pointy-nosed foreigner who is not kastila is kana, Canadians are a sub-group of Americans. Tess, the other women at the Hungduan fiesta, and many others in my host community were clearly 24 engaged in 'doing research,' as it were, on me. There is a continuum between the researcher and the researched within the field experience: We do not conduct fieldwork on the unmediated world of the researched , but on the world between ourselves and the researched. At the same time this "betweenness" is shaped by the researcher's biography, which filters the "data" and our perceptions and interpretations of the fieldwork experience.' For me, this betweenness is a distinctly colonial space. As a foreigner, my presence is part of an iterative set of local experiences of European and American outsiders which follows on and extends the colonial encounter. As a category, outsiders have co-created local histories and dispositions towards the global in which my presence is inserted. These local knowledges of the global include both things intrusive and annoying that I cannot escape, like an ongoing interest in my marital status, but also preferential treatment and access to information. My marking by colonialism changes the places I pass through and the people I encounter in ways I do not intend and can only partially control. Though my goal was to be an observer, I acknowledge that I may have performed the role of missionary or mercenary beyond even my best intentions. After this exchange with Tess, I began to collect the stories of the local experience of foreign-ness offered me: American soldiers hiding from the Japanese, Canadian Pentecostal missionaries, a Dutch development worker who started a basket-making workshop, a British irrigation engineer, a pretty anthropologist who fell on the terraces and died, a Peace Corps volunteer who jogged down the main road and made a mess of the rice paddies, another Peace Corps who married a man from a neighboring settlement and took him to America. When people came to find me, I was asked after as "kana ti Kanada" - the American woman from Canada. This classification appeared to be widely shared although those who had relatives in Canada understood national boundaries more clearly: a Canadian visa could not get you to 'the States.' One of the local jeepneys (public transport trucks) was proudly emblazoned 3 England, K., "Getting personal: reflexivity, positionality, and feminist research." Professional Geographer 46(1), 1994: 80-89, 87. 25 with "Vancouver-Canada," the source of the remitted capital that had been used to purchase it. So some people did know where Canada was, but I was still American. Spivak reminds us "the politics of identity in the name of being the Other" is not the only possible stance within struggles to dismantle the traditional categories of primitive/modern or centre/periphery.4 Clearly being 'American'- identified as national from the former colonial power - in the field underpinned much of my research experience. While, sometimes I accepted this as a provisional identity just as I accepted the many other opportunities offered and expectations imposed on a guest, in other situations, I struggled against it. This naming forced me to ask myself: "How do I stand differently to you? Do I not also represent colonial power? Is my presence here not merely another link in a long chain of imperial encounters and my note-taking, another form of representation for the colonial archive?" Acknowledging the ascriptive positioning of kana as my feminine and ethnic identity here marks my privilege and points to the historical relations of a colonialism that structure both that privilege and my confusion. This experience of being named as kana, and answering to that name, changed my understanding of my self and my own performance of identity. Clearly, gender is never the exclusive property of an individual's performance but becomes symbolic, reinterpreted and transformed, in these contests to define a common politics of origins - a shared system of naming localities, ethnicities and nationalities. I will argue that this kind of redefinition of femininity occurs to Filipina women as well, as they experience other forms of displacement, specifically through overseas employment. 2.2 Framing a research question This project began as an exploration of women's participation in community development where the rural economy was undergoing a rapid transition from subsistence to cash cropping. My interest was in women's specifically gendered forms of local agricultural knowledge and their apparent marginalization 4 Spivak, G., "Acting bits/identity talk." Critical Inquiry Summer, 1992: 770-803, 782. 26 from community development initiatives. This interest emerged from observations I had made during my master's research in Ifugao in 1991 - 1992. In the apparently more gender egalitarian societies of upland Southeast Asia women control land in their own names and farm with some independence.5 Working in this region, I was curious as to why women's gendered interests seemed to be marginal to local development efforts. My fieldsite, the community of Haliap/Panubtuban, Asipulo Municipality, in the province of Ifugao (see map 2-1) had hosted me while I worked as a research fellow on a Canadian International Development Agency initiative during my masters.6 That visit provided me with contacts in Ifugao Province with whom I could negotiate another research stay. The inherent limitation in this situation was that I would return to the same community but in a different role. No longer a 'development worker' with an international project, I was working on my own. My entry into the 'field' was negotiated with my hosts. For the first seven months of my research, I was based in the Barangay Health Clinic in Haliap. This clinic served both barangays, Haliap and Panubtuban.7 Instead of rent, I arranged with the community's elected leaders, the Barangay Council, to repair the bathroom, fix the roof and bring in electricity. This spread the benefits from my stay to the broader community because the renovations improved the conditions under which the local Barangay Health Workers and visiting nurses or doctors cared for patients. The second part of my agreement with the Barangay Council stipulated that I would hire my research assistants from the local community. On gender egalitarian societies see Sherry Ortner, "So, is female to male as nature is to culture," in her Making gender: the politics and erotics of culture (Boston: Beacon Press, 1996; pp. 173-80). For descriptions of gender egalitarianism in the social formations of upland island Southeast Asia see Atkinson, J. and Errington, S. eds. Power and difference: gender in island Southeast Asia (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1990). 6 This is the "real" name of the actual community, used here because of the arguments around naming, colonialism and place that I make in the following chapter. Having chosen to name my fieldsite, I am restricted in the amount of detail I can provide on my research assistants and respondents, lest I supply identifying information. 7 A barangay (derived from a Malay term for boat) is the Philippine political unit corresponding to a village. Several barangays make up a municipality: several municipalities, a province. In Ifugao, the settlement pattern is non-nucleated. This means that, in an area designated as a barangay, houses are not centralized in a single cluster but spread across a series of hamlets called sitios. The public health clinic was located in the sitio of Haliap Proper. 27 There were many English-speaking college graduates, male and female, unable to find work in locally or nationally with their degrees that were 'stanby - working as casual laborers or farming, part-time. At various times, up to two assistants kept me company at the clinic and six more worked from their own houses." During my research, I exchanged "improvements" and employment for dissertation data. The two barangays I name as my fieldsite here are produced as a contact space by local, national and transnational forces of which my research travel is part. The reciprocity between myself and my hosts not conceal that I am travelling on 'white privilege.' The terms of our exchanges often reinscribed colonial power relations through both parties. I wanted to answer my research questions. Local people wanted to work the contact zone for their own purposes. Some of these attempts were unsuccessful, like the suggestion that I marry locally - "get married here" - and bring a husband back to Canada with me. They asked me about the possibility of sponsoring them for jobs in Canada. Did I need a nanny? Could I find them contract work? Attempts that were successful were requests to ferry messages and gifts to Canada and the States and to return with balikbayan boxes.9 Though I spent seven months in a particular village, my fieldsite was multi-locale, a contradiction in terms that suggests a scattered research practice. This primary setting was very close to the notions of a traditional ethnographic "field" as a bounded locality. These boundaries were blurred, however, by a series of visits exchanged with outmigrants from that village residing in nearby provinces and interviews with people either on their way to or returning from work abroad. During my stay, I traveled regularly from Haliap/Panubtuban through Banaue, Ifugao to Sagada, Mountain Province. On these trips, I met many more international circular migrants than I found in Asipulo. In Sagada and Banaue, I also came in contact with tourists. These included both Philippine nationals, resident and migrant, from mainstream 8 The Barangay Council put out the word that I was looking for research assistants - English speaking and with at least a High School diploma - and applicants approached me personally. Because many of these people had family responsibilities or were looking for permanent employment in their professions, research tasks were allocated by daily and monthly contracts. I was able to find some work, varying from a few months of "full time" to longer periods of "contract" tor almost all of the applicants. 28 (non-indigenous) groups, and international tourists, ranging from backpackers to people on package tours. The entire year was punctuated by regular trips to the primate city of the Cordillera, Baguio, where I spent time with local academics and activists. In North America, I met with members of all these communities in Vancouver and attended a conference of overseas Cordillerans in Washington D.C. I continue to monitor the activities of a regional computer newsgroup over the Internet/0 I also and correspond with members of this group and friends in Baguio City, Sagada, Asipulo and the U.S. These sites are all linked by the notion of a single, albeit mobile and contested, ethnic identity - that of Igorot -and the shared histories of anti-colonial resistance, economic marginality, and exoticism in which this ethnic identity is embedded. 2.2.1 Field techniques I collected information for this dissertation using a variety of field techniques selected from a 'shopping list' of sketch maps, surveys, semi-structured interviews, and group discussions. I began my field research by walking through the community and sketching the locations of the various landforms and fields. This walk-through introduced me, my research assistants and project, mapped households to particular sitios and tried out possible questions for a household survey. Community leaders, development workers and key respondents supplied comments on the draft survey. The maps and observations made were compared with community census data obtained from the Asipulo Municipal Office and Haliap and Panubtuban Barangay Councils in order to estimate the sample size required for adequate survey coverage." 9 Balikbayan is the Tagalog name given to a Filipino who has resided or is residing abroad on their return to the Philippines. A balikbayan box is a huge cardboard box of gifts brought back for family and friends. 1 0 " The target for coverage was at least thirty-five percent of the households in the community, selected at random. 29 Based on this initial assessment, respondent availability and the contingencies of rural living, the field research was structured around a household survey administered to households selected at random.'2 This survey ranked the relative importance of income sources for each household and collected information on the allocation of labor by age and gender. I followed up on these data with another, more specific, survey on women's household management that identified crops grown, sold, eaten and traded with neighbors as well as ranked household food preferences.13 These surveys were administered in translation by research assistants, initially in my company, and then independently. Research assistants also completed semi-structured interviews in the local dialect with female farmers to explore their farming practices, household labor allocation and attitudes to farming. These interviews were supplemented with spot maps of the women's fields.'4 I initiated an additional set of interviews with eighteen outmigrant households because the initial household surveys did not reveal migration relations or remittance payments adequately. I visited households farming in neighboring provinces, contacting these families through a "snowball" approach using kinship ties. Semi-structured interviews and field visits in these areas allowed me to assess differences between women's swidden practices at 'home' and household agricultural economies in outmigrant sites. During these visits, I was accompanied by a research assistant who provided translation when needed. In both Haliap/Panubtuban and outmigrant areas, community history interviews were conducted with older community members. These elders were identified through research assistant inquiries as being either particularly knowledgeable custodians of oral history or actors in important historical events.'5 Often respondents and their audiences made these performances of histories into group discussions. In 1 2 One hundred sixty-seven household surveys were completed, giving sixty-two percent coverage in the study site of two hundred sixty-seven households. 1 3 One hundred thirty-five swidden surveys were completed, giving fifty percent coverage by household. 1 4 Ninety-eight interviews were completed, giving thirty-six percent coverage by household. 30 these interviews, some taped, others in note form, people told stories of historical displacement and occupation of the Antipolo valley/6 These respondents also provided narratives that treated gender relations and colonial encounters. Lastly, I interviewed twenty-five returned female OCWs. My sample was drawn from Asipulo Municipality and other areas across Ifugao, Mountain Province and Baguio City. These interviews were conducted in English, and, where feasible, in a one-on-one situation. Many of these women were eager to talk with me about their experiences of life abroad and being a balikbayan (returned from abroad) at home. They preferred to keep our exchanges private and restricted to my research notes because they feared gossip about their humiliating experiences abroad or criticism of their "stinginess" with their savings from community members. In interviews, respondents were not paid for their time or information. 1 7 Instead, they were offered snacks and refreshments, often of their choice, as a gesture of reciprocity that was familiar in the local vernacular. Most respondents welcomed the idea that their personal experiences of everyday events were profound and important sites within conflicts between 'here' and 'there' and warmed to a chance to "share." Others were understandably suspicious of just why I wanted the information, and chose not to participate or to defer their interviews until they had more information about me and my intentions. 2.2.2 Language and translation Language and translation presented an ongoing series of challenges. Seven different languages are spoken in the Asipulo Valley where Haliap and Panubtuban are located: Ayangan Ifugao, Tuwali Ifugao, Kele-e, Kallahan, Ilocano, Tagalog (Pilipino) and English. According to linguists, the first six are all putatively versions of proto-Malay dialect that entered the Philippines with the earliest settlers. 1 5 Thirty-one interviews were completed. 1 6 The valley was named Antipolo by the Spanish. Until 1993, it was part of the Municipality of Kiangan. At that point, became a separate unit of governance and was renamed Asipulo to commemorate a successful Kallahan headtaking raid. Asip = sheath and ulog= head, so the name signifies "heads on our sheathes." 31 Local people frequently glossed all these languages except Tagalog/Pilipino as "dialect" to indicate their close relationship to the national language. I speak only English fluently and have an intermediate ability in Ilocano - sufficient to conduct a household survey interview, but not much more. My understanding of both Ifugao dialects improved greatly over my stay, but my oral expression remains poor. I relied on research assistants to translate conversations in languages other than Ilocano and English or spoke my own version of -lish, as an intermediate step. Because of the American colonial presence and the compulsory study of English in the school system, the vast majority of respondents spoke some English. By mixing Ilocano, the market language of Northern Luzon, with bits of English I almost always found communication was possible, if limited in its nuances of meaning. Sometimes, facial expressions and interpretive gestures had to suffice. The vast majority of the inhabitants of Haliap and Panubtuban are members of the Ayangan ethnolinguistic group. Where possible, I have used Ayangan Ifugao terms and orthography to name places, objects and practices in this text. However, people often chose to express 'external' experiences and concepts in languages other than their first. Choice of language expresses a local politic of distanciation, displacement, cultural capital and prestige. Because my ethnicity marks me as an English speaker, people often wanted to speak to me in English, using the everyday terms of their Filipino English, or to practice their skills. Since the American colonial era, English has been the medium of scholastic instruction, joined only in 1972 by Pilipino in the national curriculum. The Philippines, as my respondents were quick to point out, is the third largest English-speaking nation. In certain parts of this text, local categories are expressed in English. While it might seem more convincing to the reader had I retrieved these expressions in Ifugao or Ilocano and then translated them, such requests seemed absurdly primitivizing in the field. Among other things, many contemporary Ifugao people think of certain places, concepts and relations -usually those having to do with metropolitan culture, development, government and travel - in English. 1 7 For the notable exception, see Gloria's story in Chapter 6. 32 People are proud of the struggles and adaptations, travels and trials that this mastery of an imperial language reflects. Should my respondents choose to decolonize their vocabularies, I would support that, but it was not a goal of my research process to insist on this, regardless of their preferences. Because Ifugao is not learned as a written language, research assistants requested survey forms in English and translated back and forth while asking the questions when respondents preferred to answer in "dialect." In semi-structured interviews, they took along English question lists. They made brief notes during the interview and then wrote out longer responses from memory based on these notes. Operating in English set my research assistants apart from respondents as "literate" and "educated" when it came to interacting with farming community members whose formal education was limited. This dynamic situated my research within local understandings of knowledge and progress. I found it interesting that my assistants, for instance, edited my survey cover sheet to include a category of "occupation," one which I had intentionally omitted. I did not want to draw attention to the classification of respondents as 'farmers,' 'professionals,' 'government employees' that structured the local hierarchy. During one of my first absences from the field, two of my assistants noticed this omission and retyped this cover sheet on the Barangay typewriter in order to include what appeared to them to be this salient category of occupation. Due to these dynamics, the field situation decidedly limited the feasibility of the various methods available to collect and record data, and occasionally brought the veracity of the information retrieved into question. 2.2.3 Techniques and spatial control Field techniques brought the forms of spatial control that underlie particular research methods into clear focus, there being clear differences in the cultural norms for the demarcation and use of space between rural Ifugao and the North American academy. For instance, my plan to tape most of the interviews I performed was foiled repeatedly by uncontrollable local hazards - namely chickens, children, traffic and 33 drunks with guitars. Private space, in the sense I know it from North America, rarely obtained in my field experience. Throughout most of the rural Philippine Cordillera, houses are used for sleeping only. All other activities take place outside or in 'public' settings. Adapting to the norms of local life required giving up the struggle to tape at all times. Chickens and traffic are facts of life; drunks are dangerous to approach. While children could be shooed away, it would be at my initiative, rather than my respondents' choice. I imagined that I would appear ungrateful, old for my single status, and with attitudes that explained why I had yet to marry if I asked that children leave my interviews. Different cultural norms for the control of space produced other spatial problematics. My presence as a foreigner attracted other visitors, turning interviews into public performances of histories, opinions and life stories. This was, in some cases, a desirable consequence, creating curiosity about previously obscure stories and events. In other cases, the atmosphere of public performance limited the possibilities of truthful exchange between respondent and researcher. This was usually frustrating for both myself and my hostesses, who often felt obliged to feed the gathering. In such situations, which occurred most frequently with returned OCWs, I discarded particular lines of questioning that I felt would be uncomfortably personal and tried to bring things to a close politely. 2.3 Identifying a problematic Life in the field has a way of reformulating research questions simply in the process of daily living. After attending the Fiesta at Hungduan, it was clear that my experiences were causing me to rethink my initial interest in gendered indigenous knowledge and the ideas of indigenous communities and gendered identities that underpinned these questions. Before I could learn about women's indigenous knowledges, I needed to understand what 'indigenous' and 'woman' meant in the local (and obviously not so local) context. Something about the Ethnic Parade unsettled me. Women appeared at the primitive beginning of the story, but were not represented in the modern ranks of the overseas workers that came at the end. This 34 representation contradicted the evidence of local women's involvement in overseas work. Moreover, women who were present in the community continued to farm those same crops identified with the primitive. Camote (sweet potato), though a crop with low social status as the starch staple of the poor and landless, was an important swidden crop. Moreover, it was introduced to the region by the Spanish, who brought it to the Philippines from Central America and, hence, a colonial rather than a 'Stone Age' crop. It seemed its relegation to the 'primitive' and feminine realm was the result of its low status as a food of the poor and landless. This low status concealed its history while feminizing it within the development narrative. Our interviews indicated that women's farming of camote had clearly sustained the community during the famine following the Second World War. However, when I did my first household surveys, both male and female respondents both informed me that women's farming was neither "progressive" nor "important." They did not want to answer my queries on women's swiddens because such farming practices were not appropriate places, in their opinion, for foreigners to give development money. Yet, families continued to eat the crops produced by women and rely on their sales for petty cash. Women's agricultural work was thus clearly constructed as being part of the 'backward' local economy. That was why, for instance, my female assistants were happy to draw attention to the fact that, nowadays, not i every woman (including, most specifically, their college graduate selves) was a farmer. The disparities between my observations and local representations of local gendered realities continued to accumulate as I assessed my questionnaires, notes and collection of secondary materials. The discrepancies intrigued me. I did not want my research on women's knowledge to construct 'women' as an object that needed to be better managed to meet the goals of development. Instead, I saw women as a disparate group of individuals, similarly located by discourses on gender, ethnicity and modernization that underlie local conceptions of modernity, trajectories of development, and systems of prestige. To explicate what I saw, I needed to contextualize the gendering of the local narrative of development 35 within both a broader historical geography and a global economic frame. My strategy was to use the ethnographic technique of triangulating between several sources of information. These sources included information drawn from interviews with local people, my research assistants' comments on these interviews, the historical record and secondary interpretations, representations of the area and its people in the media, and my own observations. Information I had collected, and other observations that I had not recognized as important at the time, began to fit into these categories once I identified my research question as the performance gender and ethnicity. In what follows, I outline how this question emerged. Beginning with local narratives and locally produced texts, I read my interview guides. One of the initial local history interviews was completed by a senior male community leader who wrote his answers to the question list, added some commentary, and dropped the completed form off at the clinic. In response to the question: "what are the improvements (in local conditions) since before (before the Spanish colonization)?" he had written a single entry: "bras and panties for women." I read this bemused. Was he serious, or just teasing me, resisting the very idea of "research"? How did dressing the female body in clothes intended to be invisible contribute to local development? To progress? Who was watching to see that local women were appropriately underclothed and thus progress was occurring? Whom would my respondent identify as the subject thinking this? Obviously, something about covering the female body as a performance of femininity was an essential part of his local understanding of the definition of progress - whether or not he subscribed to this definition himself. Curiosity about this singular observation led me in three directions to try to place it in a wider discursive context. I considered my own personal and embodied experiences of performing gender in 'the field.' I turned to the historical record of colonization in the area. Lastly, I began an exploration of representations of gender and indigenous identities in the visual economy. This visual economy is a comprehensive and ordered catalogue of people, objects and landscapes that circulates, as a set of visual images, often commodified, within relations of unequal 36 power across national and cultural boundaries. Not only did I find the visual economy for the Cordillera in academic journals and historical books, I found the very same images and subject matter in films and contemporary postcards available locally. The emphasis on female modesty and clothing echoed that of a story I found reported in a secondary source chronicling American colonial history in Ifugao/9 It summarized a note from a missionary expressing despair over the actions of a young woman, newly converted to Christianity. As a Christian, she was provided with a blouse to cover her properly and to mark her as a convert, as against the topless heathens. Though grateful for the gift and proud of her new status, she nonetheless caused the missionary dismay by cutting holes into the blouse to expose her breasts. This she did to allow her to breastfeed and perform her newly converted status simultaneously. Here you see the performance of femininity and the body caught up in a whole colonizer/colonized divide that is reinscribed into discourses on gender. Ifugao indigenous femininity did not meet with the requirements of a Euro-American femininity constructed around very different assumptions about bodies, gazes, sexuality, decency and a dichotomy between public versus private space. Female toplessness thus became, and remains, one of the most scandalous and exotic features of the Philippine Cordilleran peoples. In the American colonial era, postcards of topless indigenous women were popular souvenirs in Manila. In 1996, a Manila-based film company shot a quasi-historical drama in Sagada, Mountain Province, a setting reported in the media as an excuse to display the leading lady's chest. At the same time, I found a picture postcard of a topless woman prominently displayed in several stores in Baguio, Banaue and Sagada. This image, though produced in an historical looking black and white format, is clearly sold to the consumer as a photo taken by Baguio-based photographer Tommy Hafalla in 1988. This definition of visual economy is adapted from Deborah Poole's Vision, race and modernity: a visual economy of the Andean image world (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997), p 8. 1 9 Fry, R. History of the Mountain Province (Manila: Anvil Press, 1982.) 37 While representations of women without shirts help to define the region and its people in a nostalgic and touristic imaginary, the reality does not match the image. Local women do not go topless. In fact, they are usually hugely careful about modesty in response to these stereotypical representations. It was I, the American, bathing pre-dawn at the public tap who needed a warning to wash underneath my shirt, rather than remove it. Knowing, now, how they are seen by the 'rest of the world,' local people project that vision back on to outsiders and speak against it in acts of autoethnography. I found it ironic that "foreign" stereotypes of local women which arose through early ethnographic writing on the region were now being re-deployed to control the behavior of foreign ethnographers. Actual toplessness, was something I saw once in two and a half years spent on the Cordillera: a woman, face obscured by a large farmer's hat, walking along a hot asphalt road who removed her shirt as our truck passed.20 Yet, clearly, the stereotypes of toplessness circulated in seemingly persistent ways which had a deep impact on local subjects. This brought me back to evaluate the possible impacts of the visual images of the area and its peoples that could be found in the media and along the tourist routes. My participant observations led me to map my own symbolic role into local responses in this conflict between discourses on gender. For instance, in an earlier stint of fieldwork, I had written the following passage in my journal: Balancing my bucket of water precariously on my head, I picked my way across the muddy path from the community tap to the house. One of the male teachers emerged from the school compound and greeted me: "you should let your girl do that." My response was a smile and a puzzled expression. I had been taught this skill by a female friend in another upland community and received much encouragement and approval for my first feeble attempts. Elsewhere in the mountains, people interpreted my fetching water as a sign that I was not afraid to work as they did, while here they seemed to disapprove. 2 0 This was, of course, barring my own participation in groups of women bathing in screened areas along irrigation systems and rivers. 38 Putting the water in the kitchen, I joined my research assistants and a group of our friends in front of the house and began inquiring about appropriate work for women. Because of my short hair and large size compared to my assistants, I was already known as "the American with the two wives" and on several occasions mistaken for a man or perhaps a "tomboy. "21 Thus, I wanted to learn what would be expected from me as a young woman. The ensuing discussion dealt with appropriately feminine activities and behaviors for women. I was advised that women should stay fresh and clean, not overexert themselves, be compassionate, and perhaps a little shy or aloof. During the conversation, a group of women walked up the path. They were talking noisily and carrying baskets of sweet potatoes, sacks of rice, and containers of water on their heads and digging knives in their hands. They were barefoot and muddy from a day in their swiddens. As they passed out of sight, I asked how these ideals applied to them and heard "oh, they are just farmer's wives." I was clearly caught up in local figurings of the metropolitan in this exchange. Ideas expressed about "what women do" rested, in part, on how the speaker defined "woman." This depended on the context of the conversation. Using my white, Western, educated self as the instrument of research, I was creating a context that produced responses considered appropriate for a metropolitan outsider, responses that put a "modernizing" face on the activities and attitudes of community members. I was told about an ideal, a role appropriate to women of certain status, age or class, but the realities of daily life for most of the women I met did not seem to approach this description. Even though there was a local tradition of equity and complementarity in gender roles, it was not available to me as an outsider lacking the skills and experience of these female farmers. So who was I and what did I symbolize, I wondered? More practically, my assistants made it clear that they definitely did not relish their roles in this salacious interpretation of our working relationship. To maintain an ambiguously gendered performance seemed to demand too much, both from myself and those around me. So when it was suggested by the wealthier, English speaking members of the community - the school teachers and several regular visitors to my house - that I behave in ways which corresponded to the expectations for the "housewives" of the elite, I began to try to do so. With their generous but conflicting advice, I attempted to behave in a way that was a bit more lady-like. I bought cotton blouses, wore lipstick, stayed clean, and tried to remember what my Tomboy is the term in local use for lesbian. I met several women who were described as such, but none who self-identified as tomboy. Once, I was harassed by a group of high-school age girls in the market who pinched my buttocks. When my research assistant responded with, "can't you see she's a woman, look at her breast?" one girl responded, "she's tomboy, lang, and beautiful, too." 39 mother told me about crossing my legs while straining to pick up on the real and imagined cues around me. Would I ever get it right? One night, in the middle of this gender disorientation, my house was surrounded by what seemed to be a large group of men. They were singing a tuneful, if accented, version of Roy Orbison's "Pretty Woman" and trying their drunken best to climb in through the windows. The construction of what local people supposed was a more acceptable "American" femininity on my part was a new thing. These men had seen me only in my 'tomboy' days of men's shirts and loose jeans. It certainly made me question my acceptance of the idea I had spent several weeks performing gender ambiguously. My assistants and I closed and bolted everything in sight and sat down to wait out the crowd. After things died down a bit, someone came to the back door and offered us an apology, explaining that it was just intended as a joke. I concluded from this experience that I could not perform my femininity as I wanted to in this context. My performance of gender was overdetermined by the people and histories surrounding me. How did the intersections of representations, colonial encounter, and this same process of social policing produce local femininities and shape the experiences and identities of local women and their communities? 2.4 Incorporating theory My analysis is grounded in a particular set of theoretical principles that delineate the approach to the subject, to culture and to place. Using this theory, I attempt to access and contextualize the experiences of local women across the divide of language, ethnicity, and social positioning. This dissertation thus retraces some of the same ground covered by previous ethnographers - colonial administrators, lay missionaries, Peace Corps volunteers, and development workers. There are, as I have outlined in the introduction and explore in the following chapter, certain familiar tropes of representation that inhere in this terrain. My contribution here is not to "get the facts right" and "correct" other ethnographers on that basis, rather it is to produce ethnographic evidence and analysis that denaturalizes the categories that 40 have been used to represent such places and their inhabitants. These are the same categories on which metropolitan audiences have come to rely when they attempt to navigate representations of primitive places and peoples in advertising, tourism, or hiring migrant workers. These familiar categories are compelling for metropolitan subjects because of the very familiarity of notions of the subject, subjectivity, gender and place that are embedded within them.22 Their work can only be resisted and undone by paying careful attention to different strategies of thinking and representing the world. Thus I can only tell the reader something new if the reader is prepared to think about these things in a new frame and, to a certain extent, learn a new vocabulary to hold on to those thoughts. The vocabulary I have chosen here relies on the capillary model of power described by Michael Foucault. The theorizations of subject, subjectivity and place in this text build on Foucauldian concepts of power and individuals developed by a disparate group of academics that might (loosely) be named post-structuralists, feminists, and critical geographers or anthropologists. What follows, below, are my adaptations of their theorizing to the task at hand. 2.4.1 Power/knowledge Since I wanted to learn the limits and constructions of local forms of knowledge and gender and ethnic identities, it seemed only fair that my first lessons would be about my own. Conflict in knowledges between my hosts and myself introduces an essential set of methodological issues. These issues are the dangers of claiming knowledge, the problematics of the position from which one claims it, and the difficulties of translation. These problems occur from both sides of the ethnographic encounter and I wish to introduce a story that illustrates them. To talk of the periphery in a different way provokes this response from my imagined interlocutor: "Yes, tell me something new, but make it accessible to me. Tell me something different about the world, yet use the information I already know to be true. Tell me about remote places, underdeveloped peoples, their oppression and their pain. Do not speak to me as if my thinking were the problem, do not problematize my resistance to your language, just keep it familiar." 41 My immediate neighbor in my fieldsite was a schoolteacher and she passed by our washing-up area as she walked to and from the school. One morning she passed me as I washed a particularly muddy and wretched pair of jeans. I was squatting by the basin, scrubbing mightily with a plastic brush and Tide powder, while perspiration beaded on my brow. She stopped, smiled, and said, in English: "What I know is, Americans do not wash." This was not a particularly welcome comment, because I was struggling with these jeans precisely to avoid living up to the stereotype of the rich but slovenly tourist who insults her local hosts with 'ragged' clothing. And here she was, implying I was lazy and dirty by virtue of my ethnicity. I responded with a sharp retort in Ilocano: "Awan ti adalmo." I thought it conveyed a sense of 'you do not know very much' but, literally translated, it means 'your knowledge is nothing.' It also, as I learned, has a strong moral overtone and is one of the worst possible insults you can offer. We stared at each other in silence, and she walked off. It took several weeks and many apologies to build good relations. I learned that the Ilocano expression papanunotak, which means, roughly, 'my thinking is' or 'my impression is,' was translated into English as "I know." So, I constantly heard people make claims of knowledge about the world in English, expressing in much stronger terms in my language what would have been a mild suggestion or half-formulated opinion in their own. I always found that, much as they undoubtedly experienced with my half-baked attempts at Ilocano, it was very hard not to put such strong claims into immediate dispute or withdraw, scornfully. I introduce this vignette because I want to emphasize how much this dissertation is about the productive and mutual constitution of knowledge and power. This story is about more than translation; it is about the power to name people as ethnic and national subjects and about the power to name observation, opinion and hearsay as knowledge. Both my field research and the process of writing took place in contexts located within the fluxes of power relations. As Michel Foucault theorizes: "power produces; it produces reality; it produces domains of objects and rituals of truth." 2 3 The exercise I undertake here, writing ethnographically about my experience, is about the power to narrate, to represent, exercised unevenly but responsively by both colonizers and colonized and by ethnographer and respondents. The power I experienced was never the 'power-over' of fantasies of colonialism, but negotiated relations overdetermined by particular contexts, yet, at least partially, under the control of the individuals with whom I interacted. 2.4.2 Subjects and subjectivities The ideas of the subject and self-understanding I mobilize in this text must be applicable to both 'the researched' and myself, as metropolitan researcher. This is necessary because my goal is to mark the ways in which these people are constituted by experiences vastly different from my own, but are not Foucault, M . Discipline and punish: the birth of the prison (New York: Viking, 1979), p. 194. 42 Other to me nor to the reader. I am working here from within a non-essentialist model of subjectivity that is responsible to difference between subject positions but does preclude the motion of self-awareness between one position and the next. Here, gender is not a given set of categories, but an ongoing production, as identities are explored and performed by or ascribed to acting subjects. Part of the appeal of this approach is fits with the theorizations of gendered subjects - as 'becoming' or in process -offered by my hosts. From my experiences of performing my own gender in the field, I would argue that, from the point of view of this indigenous Philippine community within their experience of a 'globalizing' world, there are no longer discrete communities of difference. In responding to and correcting my performances of femininity, my hosts and respondents maintained that there are now some things which are supposed to be more broadly understood, like the ways in which I, as kana ought to behave as "woman." Their responses to me anticipate a kind of globalized discourse on gender similar to that applied, as I discuss in Chapter 6, to female overseas migrants. 2 4 This discourse is accessible to them because they have been abroad, seen the pictures and films in the media and heard stories about or met other foreign women. B y mapping me into this imaginary terrain, people imagined how it would be to be "woman," were they subjects named as me. It is not a discourse that always applies to other women, locally, but a strategic naming that does not preclude local pluralities and individual differences. L ike other identities - the terms in which people characterize themselves and are characterized by others - femininity must be geographically and historically contextualized. What it means to say "woman" varies across time and space, even within a shared language. People often live in more than once space and speak several languages over a lifetime, amidst a series of dynamic relationships and political alliances. As individuals, people come to understand themselves and to act through a series of multiple Donna Haraway puts it, in rather poetic terms: "Gender is a field of structured and structuring difference where the forces of extreme localization, of the intimately personal and individualized body, vibrate in the same field with global high tension emissions." in her Simians, cyborgs and women: the reinvention of nature (New York: Routledge, 1991) p. 195. 43 (and often conflicting) relationships that change and shift over time and space. Their self-understandings are similarly mobile. As feminist critical geographers Gerry Pratt and Susan Hanson describe it, "identities.. .are fluid and constituted in place - and therefore in different ways in different places."25 Feminine identities grounded in the name "woman" are no exception to this process, but contingent, context based and unstable in meaning. So are ethnicities constructed around the place-based category of "Igorot" and, thus, this dissertation locates gendered subjectivities in particular local places and their histories. This theorization of gendered subjects also reflects the reformulation of the essential questions of feminist research. Moving from the early 1970s to the late 1990s, there has been a post-structuralist turn in feminist thought. This paradigm shift has replaced an essentialist conception of 'woman' as a singular subject position and object of patriarchal oppression with investigations of the categories of gender as regulatory fictions, produced and deployed through specific and ongoing historical processes. As a reformulation, this change has produced a clear tension between the strategic need for feminists to make arguments for and about those identified as 'woman' and attempts to recognize and trace the processes through which such gendered self-understandings are constructed. Theorist Judith Butler observes "Contemporary feminist debates over the meanings of gender lead time and time again to a sense of trouble, as if the indeterminacy of gender might lead to the failure of feminism."26 Butler's work takes apart the categories of identity as the required common ground for feminist politics, suggesting instead a radical critique of the histories and politics of gendering. Following Butler's arguments, accepting 'woman' as an appropriate category for research is problematic; it locks individuals into a particular, singular subject position. This particular, single position is fictional. As my field vignettes show, above, my naming as 'woman' in no way precluded other people from performing disparate and contradictory Pratt, G. and S. Hanson, "Geography and the construction of difference" Gender, Place and Culture 1(1) 1994: 5-29, 6. 2 6 Butler, J., Gender trouble: feminism and the subversion of identity (New York: Routledge, 1990), p. vii. 44 femininities nor me from trying to perform in ways that destabilized its limits. The contingent, unstable and decentered ideas of gendering I w i l l explore here rely on this idea of identity as performative. body /subject/mobile subjectivity Gender begins with the material and social body, male or female, as the primary site of gendering. Gendering happens as a form of performance through the body: "the body is not outside of textuality,...the body itself is a field of signification, a site for the production of cultural meanings.. .you play the game this way or that, you choose to pass or not within this scene or the next, but you can't choose to stop playing with signs, with your own material production as a cultural (i.e., visibly signifying) body." 2 7 A s a material object, a female or male body does not carry or define any form of identity. Femininity is fictional and performative, not determined by biology. What must be accounted for, then, is the formation of masculine and feminine subject positions, not the existence of men and women as social actors. Individuals, however, are more than just the labels of their currently occupied subject positions. They are, at least partially, self-conscious actors who occupy a variety of social roles. So I have chosen to work with the idea of a mobile subjectivity here, developing through an understanding of the subject's multiple locations. 2" The subject itself is not a unitary whole, but a fragmented trajectory. 2 9 Thus, whether positioned as researcher, respondent or reader, one is never completely placed in relation to structuring categories of subject positions, nor ever completely certain of one's own identity and own story in one's own mind. Where one is "one," it is an awareness of a subjectivity in constant motion in Griggers, C , Becoming-woman (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1997), p. 54. 2 l i "There is no way to 'be' simultaneously in all, or wholly in any, of the privileged positions structured by gender, race, nation and class." Donna Haraway, op. cit, 193. 2 9 "I is not unitary, culture has never been monolithic, and is always more or less in relation to a judging subject. Differences do not exist between outsider and insider - two entities. They are also at work within the outsider, herself, or the insider herself, a single entity.... Such subjectivity can hardly be submitted to the old subjectivity/objectivity paradigm." Trinh T. Minh-ha, "Not you/like you: postcolonial women and the interlocking questions of identity and difference" Inscriptions 3/4, 1988: 71-78, 72-77. 45 relation to the context and relationships through which one is named as a subject. This mobile subjectivity attends to local histories without forsaking their embeddedness in global processes, and insists on their constitution through individual experiences. This mobile subjectivity can negotiate with the contentious claims of structuring subject positions — like gender as masculine or feminine, and ethnic identity as indigenous or metropolitan subject - that attempt to fix the subject into essential categories of difference, without becoming completely overdetermined by these labels. In this theoretical frame of mobile subjectivities, theorizing "woman" and "man" can only be approached as a question of becoming: " A m I that name? How and where did I become such?" Judith Butler theorizes gender as a performative - that is, constituting the identity it is purported to be.31 In this sense, gender is always a doing, though not a doing by a subject who might be said to pre-exist the deed. There is no gender identity behind the performance of gender; that identity is performatively constituted by the very 'expressions' which are said to be its results. Gender here is thus simultaneously a verb - gendering, approached as a process to be understood - and an object - gender, approached as a text to be read out of the performances of these self-gendering actors. Through intentional performance, an actor can subvert those naturalized and reified ideas of gender that support particular relations of power. ' 2 B y varying the stylized acts of repetition which comprise gender - gestures, movements and styles - one can disrupt the normalizing fiction of gender as "natural" and reveal it for the social Subjectivities are "temporal, moving across and along axes of power (which are themselves in motion) without ever fully residing in them..., relational, produced through shifting yet enduring encounters and connections, never fully captured by them..." Kathy Ferguson, in her The man question: visions of subjectivity in feminist theory (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), p. 154. 3 1 Butler, 1990:145. 3 2 Ibid.,33. 46 performance it is. 3 3 Fol lowing Butler, it can be argued that heterosexual femininity and masculinity are hyperbolic, melancholic drag performances. 3 4 A s an actor I, too, can make gender trouble by acting as a political agent to destabilize gender and ethnic identities. Nonetheless, as I outlined above, such destabilizing performances are enacted in the micro-dynamics of capillary power and meet with resistance. Using Butler's idea of performative gender -possibly plural, mobile and individual - it seems that such a description of wil lful staging is limited by the context of performance. I w i l l argue that location and subjectivity should not be conceived as one-dimensional or static, but as multiple and limited by varying degrees of boundedness and mobility. Butler attempts to increase the space within which a knowing subject can select the kind of identity performed by stressing that agency lies within the possibility of variation in repeated performances of gender. 3 5 Yet, the meanings of performances can escape the control of their performers to be overdetermined by the politics of reception. Thus historical context, in terms of ethnic origins and cultural histories, can overdetermine performances of femininities. This is how my concerns with gendering and local femininity intersect, at a theoretical level, with the histories of local ethnicities. Making women's experiences visible and reporting their voices as 'authentic' is clearly not a sufficient strategy for this task. Feminist historical geographer M o n a Domosh cautions that the identities and experiences of individuals cannot be accepted as self-evident in describing broader social phenomena. 5 6 To accept the gendering of things at face value simply naturalizes the existing gender differences on the Cordillera and ignores their complex colonial histories. Instead, this dissertation focuses on the historical circumstances under which these identities are produced and the particular discourses through which local ideas of femininity and masculinity are constructed. Accepting that "woman" is a provisional 3 3 Ibid., 115. 3 4 Butler, J. "Critically queer." GLQ 1, 1993: 17 - 32, 27. 3 5 Butler, 1990, 145. 47 identity is quite different from rejecting the idea that it functions as a category of oppression. Through particular local histories, the identity of woman has oppressed individuals in various aspects of economic and social life. This dissertation wi l l link a specific history of femininity with contemporary local conditions for women. A long with the identities they constitute, these conditions are at once both social and spatial in nature. 2.4.3 Culture and place The story I introduced first, that of the Fiesta at Hungduan, highlights a politics of location, naming me as kana and my hostess as pinay.37 Mapping these two terms on to our national identities of Canadian and Fi l ipina would suggest that the two are in opposition and can never be reconciled — that hybridity is impossible. Filipinos do become Filipino-Canadians and, decidedly less often, vice-versa. Other people may exist in points between the two. In the naming of such positions, one is forced to speak in terms of boundaries and origins as i f they were always and fundamentally material realities, never to be transcended, as opposed to enabling fictions that may be deconstructed. I want to deny closure on nationalisms and ethnicities, in order to show their fictive nature. I wi l l demonstrate that the actual places invested with the symbolism of origins are always both representations and material localities. I also argue that geographies of containment and separation between here and there or centre and periphery are largely fictional, constructed by the same forces and by the same means as these mistakes of origin. I approach ethnicity and homeplaces here as exercises in what Gayatri Spivak has called "the politics of origins:" (T)o feel one is from an origin is not a pathology. It belongs to that group of grounding mistakes that enable us to make sense of our lives. But the only way to argue for origins is to look for institutions, inscriptions and then to surmise the mechanics by which such institutions and inscriptions can stage such a particular style of performance.38 3 6 Domosh, M . "With stout boots and a stout heart" in J.P. Jones, H . Nast and S. Roberts, eds. Thresholds in feminist geography (New York: Rowan and Littlefied, 1997; 225 - 237), p. 226. 3 7 Filipina, or pinay, in Tagalog is the feminine version of pinoy, or Filipino. 3 l i Spivak, G. "Acting bits/identity talk." Critical Inquiry Summer, 1992: 770-803, 781. 48 This comment foregrounds the mutually constitutive role of the concepts of self and Other in the face of the familiar tropes of nation, ethnicity and religion mobilized within an "identity politics." Identity emerges through a series of individual performances in the creation of seemingly static and internally undifferentiated self/Other distinctions. These distinctions themselves are embedded in genealogies lying offstage, beyond the performing individual, genealogies deeply rooted in imperial histories. Ethnic identities, then, following Spivak, are linked through a series of grounding mistakes tied to the politics of origins. Approaching cultures differently, yet in articulation with one's own enculturation, is a tricky task. The oppressive hierarchy of central selves/peripheral Others has a long and complex history which has relied on particular representations of spaces, both imagined and real. Pierre Bourdieu has suggested that culture is best understood as a map, and that this mapping of culture creates a regular territoriality with powerful authentic centers and marginal peripheries."'9Accepting this idea of a cultural map has created the Other's culture as a terrain across which one can navigate, as outsider/observer, to authenticity and "truth." This is only possible, of course, for an observer positioned outside and above cultures and histories. For the outsider/navigator, this travel creates an authentic local culture, central and historic with an identifiable set of legitimated traditions. Although he is sensitive to the misunderstandings which outsider views undoubtedly create, Bourdieu's outsiders do not stand in particular political relation to the Others they study. 4 01 cannot position myself in this role. Instead, I situate my interventions here within a particular conceptual and methodological position adopted by feminist "outsider" ethnographies of gender. This position seeks to disturb both the boundedness of the academy and the distinctions of self and Other on which institutions of oppression depend. L i l a Abu-Lughod calls this position "writing against culture," citing culture as the concept Bourdieu, P., Outline of a theory of practice. Trans. R. Nice. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977), p. 2. 4 0 Ibid., 1-2. 49 through which the ethnographic hierarchy of self and Other is naturalized. For Abu-Lughod, culture is the conceptual foundation of the ethnographic subject/object distinction that makes the process of Othering possible. Culture is also a property of the investigator because outside is never a neutral vantagepoint, but always an exacting location within broader historical connections and political struggles. The ethnographic images of cultural holism and authenticity built from such ostensibly neutral outsider perspectives are dissolving through a shift of focus to the networks of meaning and practice which connect individuals and places. James Ferguson and A n i l Gupta observe that: " i f one begins with the premise that spaces have always been hierarchically interconnected, instead of naturally disconnected, then cultural and social change become not a matter of cultural contact and articulation but one of rethinking difference through connection." 4 2 Thus, the idea of mapping culture that sets boundaries of internal-external, centre-periphery and traditional-modern obscures the connections between differences and denies agency to the Others it creates. Thinking about maps and culture under colonialisms, the ethnographic production of culture functioned as a mapping in which colonial regimes obscured and reworked such connective networks even as it pushed them into its service. Thus, for those within the project that is the West, Spivak asserts that "what we call culture... may be shorthand for an unacknowledged system of representation that allows you a self-representation that you believe is true." 4 3 I would not deny that there are social boundaries mapped to the spatio-temporal layout of the world. Instead of attempting to delineate them through theorizing maps as Bourdieu does, I use experiential and narrative means to demonstrate the violence of such boundary projects. The networks in which people identify themselves, relate with others, and participate in institutions construct the limits of the possible. These networks have a fluid and dynamic nature and a complex layering of possibilities not captured by Abu-Lughod, L. , "Writing against culture" in Fox, R., ed., Recapturing anthropology: working in the present. (Santa Fe: School for American Research, 1992; pp. 137-162), p.137. 4 2 Ferguson, J. and A. Gupta "Beyond 'culture': space, identity and the politics of difference" Cultural Anthropology 7(1), 1992: 6-23, 8. 4 3 Spivak, G. 1992, 785. 50 the static metaphor of a cultural map. A n effective and responsible politics of location cannot leave undisturbed either these fictions of cultural holism or the boundary projects of colonialism. This is because the local places ethnographies describe are part of a local that is "contingent, historicized and never separable from larger, macro, social forces." 4 4 'Writ ing against culture,' then, requires the acknowledgement that any localizing strategy, be it the naming of community, culture, region, nation, centre or periphery, obscures particular facets of experience as it reveals others. This is a caveat that applies both to strategies of localization I employ, and those used by my hosts. Hence, I pay attention to the ways in which local communities are constituting themselves through their global connections -becoming translocalities. 4 5 I not only track the reinscription of images from the historical archive into the internet, I chart the movements of individuals and communities back and forth from local places across the globe. Thinking about place in such a space of flows is complicated. Place is not a category or a territorial concept but defined in relational terms - places are made through alliances and resistances deployed across terrains of power. Alan Pred and Michael Watts describe the contemporary community "a domain in which local experience no longer coincides with the place in which it takes place." 4 6 Thus "community" does not necessarily signify "territorially enclosed, face-to-face in interaction, pure in origin or even necessarily monolingual," as Paula Ebron and Anna Tsing argue. 4 7 Instead, community retains distinctive identity by organizing around allegorical materials. In such a context, place is not simply the contextual setting of the definition of social power and identity, but rather crucial to the terms of reference of such negotiations of identity. This spatiality is a complex nexus of the local and the Kaplan, C. Questions of travel: postmodern discourses of displacement (Durham: Duke University Press, 1996), p. 18. 4 5 For definitions of locality and translocality see Appadurai, A. "The production of locality" in R. Fardon, ed. Counterworks: managing the diversity of knowledge (New York: Routledge, 1994, pp. 204 - 225), p. 216. 4 6 Pred, A . and M . Watts, Reworking modernity: captialisms and symbolic discontent (New Brunswick, New Jersey: Rutgers University Press, 1992), p. 6-7. 4 7 Ebron, P. and A . Tsing, "From allegories of identity to sites of dialogue," Diasporas 4(2), 1995: 125-151,127. 51 global. What Jane Jacobs describes for the imperial heart of London holds equally true for the indigenous upland Philippines: In contemporary settings, the global does not simply reach into the local. The local does not always resist the global. In the contemporary moment that which may be identified as the local constitutes itself through an inward-outward 'gathering of difference.'4* 2.5 Methodology - working between data and theory Writing, turning data into ethnography, is a process of creating a fiction representative of data and experience. It creates 'the field' anew for an audience. Methodology draws data through the theoretical frame in order to produce this representation but "data" themselves are unwieldy, illimitable. Research is far more than retrieving answers to questions. Often, I learned what it was people thought I needed to know, rather having pre-formulated queries answered. Different techniques of data collection and narrative styles crosscut the experiences and encounters I call data. M u c h lies outside this text, some of it in notes and questionnaires, other bits eroding in memory. In constructing this dissertation, I have followed an ethnographic methodology outlined by Michael Burawoy, the extended case method. 4 9 The goal of this methodology is to improve on, refine and extend theorizations of the world. Theories are introduced as flashpoints to further thinking on particular concepts and a singular case or event is not examined as a representative of all similar cases but as revealing discursive norms of the worlding in which it is embedded. David Slater has advocated this methodology in geography as a strategy of subverting the dominance of apparently hegemonic Eurocentric norms: "the 'marginal' or 'peripheral' case.. .reveals that which does not appear in what seem to be more 'normal' cases." 5 0 Derek Gregory adds an important Foucauldian gloss to this: "it is the very production of the categories of the normal and the marginal - centre and periphery - that needs to 4 8 Jacobs, J. "Negotiating the heart: heritage, development and identity in postimperial London" Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 12, 1994: 751-772,770. 4 9 Burawoy, M . , "The extended case method" in M . Burawoy, ed. Ethnography unbound: power and resistance in the modern metropolis (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991, pp. 271 - 300.) 5 0 Slater, D., "On the borders of social theory: learning from other regions. Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 10 (1992), 307 - 327, 308. 52 be called to account." 5 ' M y analytical goal here is to acknowledge dominant interpretations of history and discourses on gender and ethnicity but point out how the performances of individuals and groups fracture these norms. M y intention is to subvert the process through which dominance is endowed with hegemonic qualities, pointing out, instead, its fictive and unstable nature. 5 2 The particular cases I have selected to analyze and report here were the exceptional and surprising ones -- stories, practices and events that were exceptions to the expected norms I recorded for local culture and experience. These are not the 'exceptions that prove the rule' - for they do not exist - but the lives and actions of exceptional individuals who deny the efficacy of limits and point out the negotiated and fluid nature of both identity performances and original affiliations. In analyzing and presenting my data here, I am focusing on disruptive practice, disparities and contradictions and people who do not "fit in." 2.5.1 Analytical techniques To identify exceptions, one first must establish some shared idea of what the typical might be. For this, survey data were tabulated and analyzed with simple statistics. Interviews were transcribed from tapes or re-read from notes. Transcripts were approached as texts and analyzed for common structures of argument and terminology. This approach to data, treating it as text, is a discursive analysis. A useful definition of discourse is a "framework that embraces a particular combination of narrative, concepts, ideologies and signifying practices, each relevant to a particular realm of social action." 5 5 Discourses are embedded in the material world while naturalizing (implicitly making universal) a specified enframing of the world and an equally particular position occupied by the subject. Discourses are, despite their universal claims, situated. Discourses represent only partial knowledges of the world. Thus, particular J y Gregory, D., "Power, knowledge, and geography" in his Explorations in critical human geography, Hettner-Lecture 1997, (Heidelberg: Department of Geography: University of Heidelberg, 1998; 9 - 44), p. 34. 5 2 This strategy follows the methodology of thinking against ideas that constitute the realities they purport to describe advocated by J.K. Gibson -Graham in The end of capitalism (as we knew it) (Oxford: Blackwell, 1996), pp. 76 - 79. 5 3 Gregory, D. "Discourse." In Johnston, R., Gregory, D. and D. Smith, eds., The dictionary of human geography, 3rd ed., (Oxford: Blackwell, 1994), p. 136-137. 53 discursive practices are contested or contestable by strands of other discourses. Discourses always travel - slip into areas that their originators did not anticipate - and split into strands. Their component metaphors, figures and practices always have the potential to be used for unintended ends. A discourse is thus an explanatory and descriptive framework embedded in material relations. This framework is created by combining familiar narratives, techniques of representation, concepts and ideologies to map the world and specify the positions of subjects. While social actors claim their discourse reveals the 'true' world, all discourses arise from situated and partial knowledges. Thus, they can be contested by other discourses. A s they proliferate through social action, discourses contradict, overlap, and borrow from each other but are not of one piece. This technique of discursive analysis was applied to selections from the colonial archives and the comments of other ethnographers, colonial travelers and officials. M y own efforts here must be acknowledged to work in some ways as an extension, albeit a critical one, of this kind of colonial enterprise of creating a set of narratives, hence the self-reflexivity. Secondary and tertiary or media sources were also important to my analysis. They provided critiques of primary authors and their stereotypical constructions of indigenous Others or examples where the same tropes were repeated in a process of intertextuality that reinscribed the colonial archive across the symbolism of the contemporary national-popular imaginary in the Philippines. 2.6 Ethics and representations The way we present ourselves makes us responsible for what we come to know, even before we write. Writ ing ethnography is not a neutral reporting of culture, and always a process of constructing the writer's own identity as well as that of her subjects.5 4 Thus, I argue that ethnographic autobiographical notes belong, not as an addendum to a monograph, or a chapter of a separate collection of "field stories," 5 4 See Clifford, J. The predicament of culture: twentieth century ethnography, literature and art (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1988), Clifford, J. and Marcus, G., eds., Writing culture: the poetics and politics of ethnography (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1986) and Visweswaran, K. Fictions of feminist ethnography (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1994.) 54 but as an exercise explored in dialogue in "the field." Autobiographical notes should then appear in the resulting text to mark processes that might be called 'establishing rapport' and 'narrating one's autobiography to explain one's intention' as ethical concerns in field research and its representation.5 5 2.6.1 Positionality Personal anecdotes are thus grounded within and made available to the reader to ground the partial knowledges produced by reflections on "field experience." A s Bourdieu argues, the truth of an interaction between people can never be fully contained within that interaction: "It is because subjects do not, strictly speaking, know what they are doing that what they are doing has more meaning than they know." 5 6 However, when this observation is leveled against the practice of the ethnographer, the relationship becomes a circular one and she loses her privileged position for delimiting "truth." This brings to mind a picture taken in the clinic kitchen. Using me as a model, my friend, a long-distance truck driver in his mid-twenties, created a pastiche he named: "What we are sold: Coca-Cola, Christianity and napudaw ti babae (pale-skinned women)." In it, I appear in his Coca-Cola baseball cap, with a Christian bumper sticker in the distinctive Coke script on my chest. It reads: Jesus Christ is the real thing. I am standing, somewhat self-consciously, in front of our cache of empty bottles-cw/n-lamps. He retains the original, I have a slide to use for presentations and I am never sure whether I should show it or not. M y objectification was part of his commentary on experiences of integrating, as indigenous and "pagan," into a Fi l ipino and global culture of consumption. It was also a comment on my transient role in his community, a resistance to my prying, yet constantly vanishing to elsewhere, researcher's presence. A n d , by participating in making this image and writing about it here, it became obvious to me that my own .strategy had recapitulated that of commodifying femininity: I objectified myself and then manipulated it 5 5 This is an adaptation of Donna Haraway's idea of responsible situation as developed in Haraway, D., 1992, 190. 5 6 Bourdieu, P., 1977,72. 55 This dynamic intersection of my white identity and gendered performance is one theorized in the work of A n n Laura Stoler. She observes that colonial authority in A s i a was constructed on two premises, both false: first, that a singular European identity could easily be defined and second, that the boundaries of colonizer and colonized were self-evident. 5 7 Thus, within Southeast Asian history, racial difference was constituted and culturally encoded in gendered terms. The subtext of virtue and sexuality that emerges from colonial plays on morality is never absent from or completely contained by any contemporary interaction.5* This subtext of virtue and sexuality is neither absent from nor completely contained by the interactions in which I participated. M y disruptive practices were limited by the advertisement that is written through me by a globalizing conception of the feminine, and I reassured myself with the delusion that I could function within it as i f on familiar terrain. What constrained me is not some bounded form of gender oppression, localized within a holistic culture, but supposedly common ideas on femininity that resonated within a (post)colonial field. As kana - a Westerner and a woman - I was simultaneously constructed and constructing myself as central, yet peripheral to a central masculine power, and as sharing a common femininity with my hosts, yet radically out of place and different. Tell ing stories like this about oneself - the 'see, it happened to me' tale - does not seem like a particularly useful argumentative strategy. B y freezing the narrator into the voice of authentic interpretation and the reader into that deferential listener, such stories can short-circuit the possibilities of constructive interaction. Yet, in work based on partial and personal experiences, the autobiographical is unavoidable. I see this as a problematic, not something to be celebrated without examination. Lest my reliance on it makes the reader think otherwise, I affirm that personal anecdote is not experience, but a means of creating self-contained narratives out of events that occur. In telling anecdotes about myself doing fieldwork, I am choosing important components of complex memories to construct a linear 5 7 Stoler, A. , "Carnal knowledge and imperial power: gender, race and morality in colonial Asia" in di Leonardo, M . , ed., Gender at the crossroads of knowledge: feminist anthropology in the postmodern era (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991; pp. 51-101), p. 152. 5 l i Tadiar, N . "Sexual economics in the Asia-Pacific community" in Dirlik, A., ed. What's in a rim?: critical perspectives on the Pacific Region idea (Boulder: Westview, 1993; pp. 183-210.) 56 narrative, told from a single viewpoint. These events were no doubt experienced from a plurality of perspectives other than my own but here only one interpretation is available. Things that happen to you are not the same as books you read or stories you are told. Relating them comes dangerously close to forgoing the authority of academic discourse and creating the authorial self as the object of inquiry. This is an unavoidable dynamic for, named as a woman, I share, depending on the performance and context, in the identities of local women. This line between authority and the subversion of academic norms is one I walk with some trepidation. The same charge can leveled at other people's anecdotes - particularly my respondents' stories of their lives, minus the concern for academic authority. Nevertheless, these anecdotes, recorded from conversations in which I shared, are treated here as texts for analysis from a somewhat more distant remove than I achieve in approaching my own journal entries. These interviews, as sources of data, also contain a large autobiographical element, a dynamic I attempt to reveal in my text. A s a methodology, autobiographical exchange has always been used by ethnographers, but has been marked as "establishing rapport." Here, I argue that it does far more than that. Autobiographical exchange creates an articulation between lives that allows experiences from both to be shared and, combining strategies of friendship with those of research, allows one party to conceal the other's location and identity, releasing the information in ways which are intended to ameliorate problematic relations. The documentation and reception of this information, however, can only be partially controlled. This illimitability of the context of one's performance creates an element of risk in the practice. So, too, does the potential for gossip to others in a un-researched social exchange. Yet, the desire to share experiences, to create a common ground, was a motivating factor for many women who spoke with me about their time 'abroad.' Doing an interview was a chance to speak plainly, to some extent, in a context where the information might have an impact on someone else's decisions. Finally, and most tellingly, listening to my tapes and rereading my notes, I am aware of how much I left 57 out, demurred on, glossed over and otherwise misrepresented in these exchanges. I am sure the other women did the same. 5 9 What marked out these interview spaces here as real connections for me was my discussions with these balikbayan women about our ambivalent feelings towards marriage and partnership and the restrictions placed on women who, by necessity and choice, traveled. That I have not felt comfortable retrieving these discussions in a truly equitable fashion speaks to my interest in preserving an academic persona in this space of writing. Thus this text does not, in many ways, do full justice to the interviews we created and the courage and self-awareness of my respondents. I can only hope to return to the material again in a different venue, having thought through some of these issues at greater length. However, all this does not preclude taking responsibility here for reporting the better part of what was told to 'me-as-researcher' in good faith. 2.6.2 Ethics L i v i n g a research project twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week provides endless ethical challenges. M y obligation to make my own actions transparent to my hosts was often difficult to meet. Oral consent was obtained in the respondent's preference of English or Ifugao after explanations of: the purpose and methods of the research; access to information on the research after the interview; respondent's right to withdraw or refuse particular questions; and procedures for assuring confidentiality of individual responses. 6 0 Loca l responses to this, the prescribed form for university-approved research, were often amusing, simply because of the presumption of power that this statement expressed on my part. In one of my first interviews, my research assistant translated the form to our respondent, a middle-aged female farmer. In mid-stream, she cut my assistant off in a brusque tone. Turning back to me, my A common Ph.D. research cliche applies: long after my relationship in Canada had collapsed under the pressure of my long absence, I was still telling most people that I planned to marry my fiance when I completed my degree. 6 0 A l l respondents were given a guarantee that their identity would be kept confidential and identifying information concealed in any data released to others, including this text. Moreover, they were assured that the results of the research would have no direct impact on household economy or opportunities. This confidentiality was maintained by recording and storing identifying information separately from questionnaire forms, interview guides, transcripts, notebooks and fieldnotes. Alphanumeric codes were used for cross-referencing between the two data clusters. People were advised to contact either the mayor's office or my academic hosts in Baguio if they had questions about my research project and intentions. 58 assistant reported: "Yes. She is bored with this. She knows this is her house and you are a guest. Do you want to hear her story or tell her yours?" Apparently, for people l iving largely outside the purview of state surveillance, the idea that this might not be a consensual interaction seemed rather bizarre. Broader ethical considerations underpinned the methods I used to collect data, the analytical techniques I selected to treat it, and my selection of results to present here. What might seem 'neutral' or apolitical research reporting can have devastating impacts at the local level . 6 ' For instance, while extensive statistics on household income might buttress my arguments in particular places, generating this information with accuracy was nearly impossible. Faced with direct questions on cash income, respondents refused to answer questions, did not know or simply lied. Statistics on household income obtained from the Municipal Office in Asipulo did not coincide with any figures that could be generated from my surveys and observations. Household income had been clearly under-reported as a strategy to access government development funds. Drawing attention to this discrepancy and providing corrected figures of any use to administrators would violate the terms of my agreement with my hosts. Beyond this lies another gray area - the difficult issue of income generated by activities constructed as ' i l legal ' by the state, but perfectly acceptable under local customary law. M y aim here is not to assist the local police in enforcing laws or to dispossess people of their livelihoods. I have used pseudonyms for everyone, including my research assistants. This is not because I do not wish to acknowledge their incredible contribution to my project, my learning, my health and my sanity while they hosted my stay. I am truly grateful for their work, but do not want to implicate them in my mistakes. A t best, this strategy enables me to report some personal detail while effectively obscuring the actual identity of the individual in question. Since I fully anticipate that local readers w i l l have access to the 59 text and try to guess who I am describing, the use of pseudonyms and obscuring of some detail is critical. A t worst, it w i l l allow particular individuals to dismiss as coincidence or simply deny any similarity between their situation and the case I report. Reporting on local geography also produces a difficult problematic. Detailed locations are not specified for people so singular that they are easily identifiable. This is of particular concern for the returned O C W s interviewed in Chapter 6. Whi le an analysis of their distribution across the communities in question would reveal gradations of class to the reader, it would also, read within my host communities, locate specific individuals. The autobiographical component in my O C W raised interviews some interesting ethical questions for me. If someone sits down beside you on an overnight bus trip, you introduce yourselves, you are a researcher, she is an O C W and she tells you her life story for 5 hours, and you tell her yours, is it informed consent or friendship or what? Can I use that information? How? Can I retell it in a paper? Repeat it, off the tape, to another O C W who has signed a consent form as a way of situating a question? Put it into the interview as a way of performing myself as 'understanding' and 'approachable' and 'knowledgeable' in the research process? Can I use the story verbally at a conference? If the audience may think that these stories in their retelling somehow apply to all "Filipinas," should I have them reviewed by other women who share one of many subject positions occupied by the respondent? The answers to these questions appear to depend on the context in which a representation w i l l be received; some tales seem appropriate for exchange with other such women, but not for publication. This forces me to ask: what are the limits of the context for my academic performance? One such concern is religious difference. While I share the Episcopalian/Anglican upbringing of some of my hosts, I am at some remove from the local animism - glossed as "pagan" - fundamentalist Protestant, Pentecostal, Catholic, Charismatic Catholic, and Iglesia ni Kristo practices of others. In communities that are split by religious factionalism and heavily missionized, the issues are complex and sensitive. I am not writing a historical geography of missionization here, nor am I an expert on religious beliefs. I shared worship, at various points, with all of these groups at weddings, wakes and other rites. I am not willing to pass judgement on individual choices in these matters, constructing local people as dupes or opportunists. Thus I have chosen, by and large, to bracket matters of faith in all but its most secular uses in colonial relations. 60 2.6.3 On writing M y control over inter-subjective space in the field was never assured. Control over this text, as the space of writing, has likewise been negotiated. Because decisions on what to cut and what to include remain my responsibility, I use a single voice and authorial perspective. Methodologies employing multiple accounts and poly vocality may well decolonize the text but they do not address the institutional relations that make the relationship of researcher/researched possible in the first place. This dissertation is written from experiences firmly grounded in this dichotomy of researcher/researched. Because of this grounding, I try to mark the personal nature of the research process in my text. I am not trying to write an "anti-conquest" narrative where I am innocent; I can do as I have done because of Western, metropolitan dominance. 6 2 Moreover, my interactions and experience are overdetermined by this history and managed by local people, based on their own understandings of the world and of who Americans/ anthropologists/ metropolitan women are and what they ought to be doing. Thus, I have made what I see as an ethical choice to write more personally, and make myself more vulnerable to my audience, to reflect this dynamic. This text allows the reader to distinguish between different forms of information, each with its own limitations. M y own anecdotal observations recorded in journal entries appear in italics as do data from interviews, recorded in field notebooks. Information either transcribed or recorded as verbatim quotes are reported in quotation marks. I have marked the partial nature of ethnographic knowledge by presenting accounts of my fieldwork as stories. 6 5 These stories are intended to subvert my authorial position, even as they advance my argument. A dangerous strategy perhaps, because textual choices as discursive practice are often not so much products of individual preference as socially constructed by the demands of professionalism and disciplinary authority. 6 4 See Pratt, M - L . Imperial eyes: travel writing and transculturation (London: Routledge, 1992), p. 7. Clifford, J. 1997, 68. Alcoff, L. "The problem of speaking for others." Cultural Critique Winter 1991-92: 5-32,11. 61 Here, I have chosen only to work from notes and transcripts on exchanges with balikbayan women who signed consent forms, rather than strangers on the bus. None of these women is in any way the prototypical Fi l ipina. Their experiences stand alone and have no necessary predictive value for the lives of other women from their nation. They have consented to participate and their comments to me in a specific place and time have thus become, in a certain way, the object of my representation. They may object to what I have made of our interactions, of course, when this dissertation circulates in the Philippines. Whi le of interest in the politics of representation and textual performance, objections raised by others on their behalf must remain a 'speaking for' the subaltern textual ground. I also want to highlight the cuts I have made to the reportage on my own experience. Firstly, my own experiences are not particularly relevant to my arguments here, except that they established a common ground with my respondents. 6 5 Secondly, my identity cannot be concealed within this project. Thus, my respondents know far more about me than I am wil l ing to share with a reader that I do not know. That they have likely repeated some of it, their own version, to other people I know and wi l l meet again is a risk I accept. It is quid pro quo for research. From my balikbayan O C W friends, and from Foucault, I have learned the necessity of deflecting the judgements of others on my personal history, lest I become paralyzed. M y performance of gender while travelling or at home, no more than that of my respondents, does not come to speak the truth of my being. Other narratives of the world, of the self, are both possible and important The partial nature of stories makes any act of representation a rupture within an imagined whole - an act of violence. Wri t ing is itself a boundary project where the author draws a line separating the story from the rest. Each image, vignette, and character could lead to another series of not-unimportant but tangential stories, some of which the reader wi l l no doubt want to know. A s this text has evolved, I have noticed there are some tales I just do not wish to tell, for fear of reinscribing the same stereotypes that oppress indigenes, migrants and Filipinas. In confronting this fear, I struggle to anticipate my audience. 62 What I am comfortable with on the page is at another remove from my research than the kind of interactive presentation I might give to an academic audience. That is, again, quite different from the stories I could choose to tell a small group of friends. M y writing here thus anticipates an audience and a politics of reception that remain imaginary, beyond my c o n t r o l 6 6 6 5 Stories of my misadventures while working illegally in the service sector while in South Africa 6 6 There is a danger of epistemic violence — that the claims to knowledge here will continue to produce the colonial present through the colonizing features of this academic ethnography. 63 Sally Sally was a 21-year-old domestic helper newly returned from Singapore who I met, again, on a jeepney. She heard me answering another passenger's question about my origins. At the word "Canada, " she turned and asked: "can you help me?" She pulled an envelope of papers out of her bag and asked me to look at them: "Are they fake? I got them in Singapore. Because it is your place, maybe you will know the agency." Yes, I did. The papers were familiar—FDI - the same ones I had been investigating for Gloria. Sally said she was given them by a friend in Singapore, but didn 't want to send money in the mail until she knew if it was real. It is not, I told her, and asked her for her story. Sally had grown up in an outmigration area and was returning to Ifugao to visit relatives after her three years in Singapore. Her real intention, she said, was to visit her parents' community of origin to recruit more DHfor Singapore. An 'auntie' there had an agency and Sally was going to send her new, "first-time" DH. She was looking for "bored girls who married in High School" to send to her 'auntie' and had found six clients so far. Sally herself was setting her sights on Canada, if possible, where she'd heard salaries were better and immigration was possible. I explained to her that second year college was a requirement for the Canadian program. She had dropped out of high school to work abroad, making, she estimated, P6500 per month. Most of this was remitted to her parents to pay off mortgages and invest in fruit trees. Sally, young and unmarried, had invested her personal savings in a calculated display of balikbayan femininity. She joined my research assistants and me for an evening at the clinic, en route to a wedding. Her overnight bag contained items of wonder: three different sorts of lipstick and a variety of formal clothes. Even as she displayed these things for my Ifugao research assistants, she acknowledged that what would impress people in Ifugao wouldn't impress me, turning to me and saying directly: "you know, my clothes aren't very nice; they aren't so expensive." Since I was wearing a T-shirt from a local market and tattered locally made Levi's jeans, I hardly felt that I was the "you" she should have been addressing. But I was somehow constructed both as arbiter of this performance and counterpoint to it. She showed me her lipstick and offered me some: "it's a nice color for you. " When I responded that I had my own, she asked to see it. So, feeling somewhat sheepish, I showed her the somewhat melted contents of my black tube. "Oh, not like me, mine's only simple," she said, eyes lighting on the lettering, "yours is Lancome. That's an expensive brand. You should wear it." On the way to the wedding celebration, we walked together for two hours up a steep cowpath, me in muddy sneakers and spattered jeans beside Sally, wearing dress pants and a pair of red leather heels. "There are always lots of barbaros [unmarried men] and baballsangs [unmarried women] at weddings, so, if I use my good clothes, maybe someone will notice me, " she told me. From this and other comments on the possibilities of meeting people during the dancing and banquet, I understood that she hoped to impress both potential clients and suitors, and, potentially, impress the former by attracting the latter. I felt like the backdrop for this display, since I clearly wasn't in formal clothes. This sentiment was only deepened by my research assistant's continual suggestions that I put on some lipstick. There seemed to be some sort of competition going on, as though this whole femininity business was clearly being staged. I felt I was being upstaged by Sally. 64 Sally was reluctant to answer questions about her recruiting efforts, giving me vague information on both the agency in Singapore and the names of her six recruits from Panubtuban and Haliap. We parted at the wedding, Sally heading back to her parent's house in the outmigration area. I was able to tell Sally that the papers were fake and that the Canadian program would require college. She left already talking about Taiwan or Hong Kong as her next destination. She wanted to save money for her marriage and, eventually, maybe her own agency. 65 Chapter 3 - Representations, places and colonial histories (I)f there is anything that radically distinguished the imagination of anti-imperialism, it is the primacy of the geographical in it. Imperialism after all is an act of geographical violence through which virtually every space in the world is explored, charted and finally brought under control. For the native, the history of his or her colonial servitude is inaugurated by the loss to an outsider of the local place, whose concrete geographical identity must thereafter be searched for and somehow restored.' This chapter re-presents the historical geography of the Philippine Cordillera Central as composed of tales of ongoing displacements and the production of identities de novo as forms of resistance against colonial intrusions. The chapter searches for the institutions and inscriptions that create local identities both in local histories and experience and in the representations of the local to metropolitan audiences. It is the dynamic that renders local histories intelligible in a specific frame of metropolitan narration. This frame of narration determines the intelligibility of performances of particular ethnic identities. M y argument in this chapter reverses that describing the loss of geography to imperialism outlined in the quote from Edward Said above. Instead, I demonstrate how the processes of colonial administration and the discourses of colonialism, rather than just effacing concrete geographies and identities, simultaneously produced both local identities and particular localities de novo. This chapter does not present a close, archival study of the Spanish or American presence on the Philippine Cordillera, but develops a contextual history necessary to understand contemporary localities. 2 N o global theory of colonial culture may be applied across the board to local histories and I am decidedly unable to do justice to the place-based and personal nature of the colonial encounters that resonate through the stories here. Instead, I problematize the results of the colonial encounter as they influence contemporary local politics and representations of the region that circulate more broadly. B y re-telling stories from local history within this perspective, I attempt to write 'a history of the colonial present,' 7 Said, E. "Yeats and decolonization" in Eagleton, T., Jameson, F. and E. Said Nationalism, colonialism and literature (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1990, pp. 69-95), p. 77. 2 Much is unwritten thus far, but the closest thing to a definitive history can be found in the publications of W.H. Scott. 66 demonstrating the problematic nature of contemporary ideas of community, culture and history in the region. M y argument locates these concepts in the power relations of colonial discourses and representations, not conquest, per se, since the colonization of the Cordillera Central was never accomplished through large-scale warfare. The Spanish tried, but failed, to subdue scattered local populations by force of arms, while the Americans took over the administration of the region in a largely peaceful manner. In the extension of imperial power, the absence of pitched battles was not the absence of violence. The process of colonial administration for both the Spanish and American regimes relied not only on physical force but more subtle forms of epistemic violence associated with modes of representation, thought and interaction. These processes were all spatial and the historical record clearly shows how the trade relations, missionization, and administrative aspects of both the Spanish and American regimes worked their tendrils across the Cordillera landscape. 3 Simon During comments that colonial regimes: administered their subject peoples by hierarchizing them....encouraged indigenous educated elites who could act as buffers between the whites and the subaltern locals;., constructed hard divisions between 'half-breeds' and 'full-blood' natives...; displaced gender differences so as to turn the local men into a disciplined labor force; ...played migrants against local workers ... and... tribalized relatively fluid and interactive communities.4 A l l these processes occurred to a varying degree across the geographical space that became known as the Philippine Cordillera and affected the 'primitive' peoples who came to be named as Igorots. The local histories outlined below w i l l suggest that differences of gender, social structure, religious affiliation and historical experience pluralize this region as much as any other. This chapter then goes on'to explore representations of this primitive ethnicity in its globalization through the spectacle of the World 's Fair, the commodity of the postcard, and the story of the f i lm. These explorations help to explain the persistence of the stereotype of Igorot-as-primitive. 3 See W.H. Scott's The discovery of the Igorots: Spanish contacts with the pagans of Northern Luzon. (Manila: New Day, 1974.) 4 During, S., "Postcolonialism and globalization" Meanjin 51(1), 1992, 339-353, 340. 67 3.1 Problematizing the local • Ihaliap The search for and restoration of local identities is a growth industry in the upland Philippines. Where once a single ethnolinguistic identity, Ifugao, denoted the residents of the entire province, the 1990 Socio-economic Survey lists over forty "tribes" belonging to four linguistic groups (see Table 3-1). For Haliap/Panubtuban, there is a single entry: the Ihaliap "tribe." The prefix i- means 'people o f or 'resident of.' Haliap is the central Ifugao or Tuwa l i 5 gloss and the map name of a community that terms itself, in its own Ayangan dialect, Holyap. Holyap, is, in turn, an Ayangan rendering of a familiar English expression: "hurry up." How does an indigenous Philippine community comes to be constituted as the 'tribe' of the 'people - from - hurry - up?' What does this sort of naming - the transmutation of the foreign into the local and its reinscription as tradition - tell us about the ways in which places and identities are framed? Where people do not define themselves as time-less, place-based pre-contact tribes, how and why are such categories retrieved? Said asserts that the recapture of a pre-colonial geography is a key task of anti-imperial struggles 6 Where peripheral areas and tribal peoples are concerned, this process of geographical reassertion is often narrated by indigenes themselves as the story of a time-less, place-based, pre-contact tribe whose lands were lost to colonial power, now struggling to achieve some recognition of the community's status -formerly sovereign and currently dispossessed. Yet, this does not explain 'the-people-from-hurry-up.' Tuwali comes from the word for 'certain' or 'real' in the dialect shared by a group of central Ifugao communities. For an explanation of names, see Patricia Afable, "Language, culture and society in a Kallahan community, Northern Luzon, Philippines," unpublished doctoral dissertation, Yale University, 1989; pp. 87 - 114. 6 Said, E. op. cit.,11. 68 Table 3-1 Four ethnolinguistic groups of Ifugao Province, listed by 'tribe' Group Ayangan Tuwali Kalanguya Kalinga Tribe (Alfonso Lista I Ol i l ican Ilag-aw-Munkanape Iddaya Municipality) IIhananga Ibunne Itenec I A l i m i t Munkigo-a Itabuy I Guinihon Munalyon I Adyang Munganu/Mungkalyoj Kele-e Yattuka Ipakawol Imuntabiong Ihaliap Iboliwong Iambabag Dikkaloy Ikamandag Ibannawol Icambulo Igohang Ihapo Map 3-1 Major ethnolinguistic groups within Ifugao Province 0 5 ™ ™ ^ 0 20' km 69 The Spanish presence in southeastern Ifugao was fleeting and never strongly consolidated, as the continual failure of missions in Kiangan and Lagawe during the eighteenth century attests.7 American colonization of Ifugao after the departure of Spain in 1898 likewise did not relocate peoples from their lands into missions or special settlements. It is not simply a matter of arguing that colonialisms and their institutions did or did not penetrate as far as the central mountains of northern Luzon in the Philippines but of recognizing colonialisms as fundamentally geographic processes. Colonial influences were concentrated in particular spatial nodes and traveled specific geographic and cultural pathways, reworking pre-existing centre and periphery relations across the mountains. Ethnic names clearly function at a particular geographic scale. Ihaliap is a term intelligible only to a local audience in Ifugao Province, usually subsumed under the umbrella of an Ifugao provincial identity. This, in turn, is covered by the pan-regional name for inhabitants of the Cordillera - Igorot - that defines an "ethnic group" composed of "tribes." Before exploring the specific histories of Ihaliap, it is necessary to set out the larger ethnic frame and representational history of the Igorot identity that was defined by metropolitan discourses of primitivism. 3.2 Definitions of "Igorot" The inhabitants of the Philippine Cordillera Central are called Igorots by the Manila-based national, lowland, Spanish, and American historians. "The inhabitants of the Philippine Cordillera Central are collectively known as Igorots," asserts W . H . Scott in his history of resistance to Spanish colonization on the Cordil lera* The term entered the Spanish language during the colonization of the northwestern coast of Luzon as a reference to the peoples of the uncolonized uplands immediately beyond the Ilocos region. 9 The word itself already signals a displacement - a standing away from a place of origin, specified in most general terms. / - the prefix denoting "people o f - is combined with golot, a word for 7 See Scott, W. The discovery of the Igorots: Spanish contacts with the pagans of Northern Luzon (Manila: New Day, 1973) for details. 8 Scott, W, op. cit. 70 mountain or upland. Golot occurs throughout the Philippine islands and is variously rendered as gulut, gurut, and golod, depending on local linguistics. A s one Igorot explains it: it doesn't mean much to say you are an igorot when you are still in the golod. It means something when your are somewhere else and the people name you based on where you came from. (The same is true in a situation like this: You are from Banaue. So while you are in Banaue, you are just another person. But when you go somewhere else, then the name i -Banaue gains meaning.) In short, the answer is 'igorot' when the question is, 'ay into nan nagapuamT (where did you come from?) Usually, the person who asks such a question is a non-kailian10. The gurut term for mountain people entered the American vocabulary during the Philippine-American War (1898 - 1.901) as the English-language "gook." It was later applied in the Vietnam campaign, much as it had been in the Philippine-American War on the island of Mindanao, to name the enemy in the hills. It was as the enemy in the hills, the heathens that refused both the cross and the forced labor of the hacienda, that imperial power constituted Igorot identity. The Spaniards declared war on the recalcitrant Ygorotes in 1620 in an attempt to take their gold mines." The ecclesiastical deliberations on the morality of such a war centered on the "high improbability of God's having hidden all that gold in the mountains for the exclusive use of a horde of naked savages." 7 2 Whether or not all the communities denoted as Ygorotes on the maps of the day were, in fact, possessed of gold, was a moot point. This decision that the conflict with the upland peoples had divine support initiated two and a half centuries of Igorots successfully repelling, displacing and otherwise avoiding Spanish attempts to exert colonial control over their persons and the terrain they occupied. 9 Afable, P. "The peoples of Eduardo e photographs" Discovery 25(2), 1995: 11-19, 12. 7 0 Posted to by TF. Kailian is an Ilocano term for village-mate, meaning someone who comes from shared home-place. 7 7 Scott, W., 1974, 26. 72 Ibid., 26 - 30. Since the early seventeenth century, the name Igorot has continued to denote similar geographies and histories of anti-colonial resistance rather than defining peoples based on commonalities between their languages or cultures. One Fi l ip ina describes Igorot as: (A) catchall name, a twentieth century term that emerged out of an array of names used for the many groups of people who live in the northern Philippine highlands. It is a colonial epithet; in the early Spanish (time), Ygolotes, and later spelled Igorrotes. Today, there are ten commonly identified cultural groups living on the rugged mountain ranges of the Gran Cordillera Central, referred to many times as the geologic backbone of the largest and most populous island of Luzon." In the contemporary Philippines, Igorot has acquired a strong political charge. It has been adopted as a common name by highland Luzon groups, especially when dealing with common regional and ethnic issues like control over ancestral lands or the devolution of State jurisdiction. The name has also been used as part of a widespread reinvigoration of ethnic and cultural pride, especially in the contest of upland-lowland inter-ethnic relations. Asserting Igorot identity works to counter the lowland majority's interest in fostering a unified "national cultural identity" based on the Tagalog language and culture which predominate in Southern Luzon, centered around Mani l a and its environs. 7 4 The more recent dynamics of the word Igorot highlight the tensions of upland/lowland and tribal/non-tribal antagonisms that emerge from colonial histories: The term Igorots has often been used as a generic for all Luzon mountain cultures. Its use became so widespread among the general public outside the area that the individual identities of the various peoples living there were obscured. Igorot can easily be translated as "mountaineer." Once, and sometimes still, used in a pejorative sense by the lowlanders, it has in recent years come to be used with pride by younger members of the mountain community as a positive expression of their ethnic identity. 1 5 Self-defined Igorots now have their own Internet web sites and mailing list where they circulated a definition from Groll ier 's Mult imedia Encyclopaedia: u Quizon, C , "Ethnographic knowledge and the display of Philippines Igorots in the Louisiana Purchase Exposition, 1904" unpublished M A thesis, S U N Y Stony Brook, 1991, 10. 14 Ibid., 10-11. 1 5 Ellis, G., "Arts and peoples of the northern Philippines" in The people and art of the Philippines (Los Angeles: Museum of Cultural History, University of California at Los Angeles, 1981), p.184. 72 IGOROT (ee-guh-roht) Igorot (Tagalog for "mountaineer") is a general name applied to various groups of Filipinos living mainly in the mountainous interior of northern Luzon, the Philippines. Groups referred to by this term include the Bontok, Kalinga, Ibaloi (Nabaloi), Ifugao, Tingguian, and Isneg (Apayao). Ethnically they are Filipinos and speak languages affiliated with the Austronesian language family. The Igorot live in villages of raised thatched houses and grow rice, sweet potatoes, vegetables, and fruits. The marvelous terraced rice fields of the Ifugao are world famous for their immense size and skilful engineering. Among Igorot groups, genealogical descent is traced through both parents. Although no longer practiced, warfare, including the occasional headhunting expedition, was frequent in earlier times among many of these groups. Most Igorot retain their traditional animistic religious beliefs, but today an increasing number are Christian. Many attend local public schools, work in mining and other industries in their region, and have adopted Christian Filipino values and customs/" The reception of this definition was highly critical. Those who posted in response suggested that their Igorot Global Organization ought to take on a project of challenging encyclopaedia definitions: "being a 'good' Igorot is not good enough - we need to challenge definitions that are misleading" 7 7 This disgust stems from the fact that the sources used describe Igorot history in the Spanish era. The author has taken this information to represent the present, staging Igorots as a form of l iving museum, rather than as engaged participants in a contemporary world. This kind of representation of Igorots as l iving history has a long and familiar history in the Filipino national imaginary that, in turn, can be located in a more globalized form of Western primitivism. Since the groups named Igorot had became 'national minorities' through four hundred years of more or less effective resistance to the Spanish colonial influences that transformed the rest of the archipelago, their relationship to hispanicized lowland populations is contradictory. Igorots are presented with ambivalence in the Manila-based Philippine media. Sometimes they embody a pure pre-colonial Fi l ipino spirit and, at other points, locate the flawed, barbarian souls that colonization redeemed and transformed/ 5 There is a market for representations of mountain people as the internal others where hyperbolic, unsubstantiated, and largely fantastic charges from colonial histories - cannibalism, uncontrolled violence, promiscuous The author of this entry is given as Don V . Hart and the bibliography contains two items: Felix Keesing's The ethnohlstory of Northern Luzon (1962) and William Henry Scott's The discovery of the Igorots: Spanish contacts with the pagans of Northern Luzon (1974). 1 7 Posted to i gorots @ by A. 73 sexual practices - continue to be repeated as contemporary descriptions.' 9 The Igorots, for many metropolitan Filipinos and for the West, represent the primitive. 3.3 Retrieving the primitive Primitivism celebrates the authentic, traditional native and denigrates or marginalizes the urban, acculturated members of indigenous populations - those who do not wear ethnic dress, speak the colonizers language, do not create folk art or conduct rituals or support themselves through traditional subsistence. To talk of authenticity relies on ideas of rigid tradition, closure, fixity and conservation. This requires a devaluation of present-day indigenous cultures under the guise of celebrating their past - what Renato Rosaldo terms an "imperialist nostalgia." 2 0 Indigenous peoples must be "either completely separate from the imagined 'us' of modernity or else... 'we' have nothing to learn from people who are only shabbier, less educated and privileged versions of ourselves." 2 ' Discrepancies between metropolitan stereotypical expectations and experiences of individual natives or contact situations lead to the conclusion, not that the idea of a primitive, essential nature is false, but that the specimen at hand is inauthentic. Such binary categories for Others emerged from modern philosophies and aesthetics through their formalization within academic disciplines such as anthropology and geography. Though no longer the creed of professionals in those fields, these concepts have taken on a life of their own in the vernacular imagination. Thus, metropolitan desires for the knowledge that "someone, somewhere lives like that" produce primitive ethnicity by judging and then consuming its authenticity. Primit ivism creates and then '" See, for example, F. Sionil Jose's novel, Poon (Manila: Solidaridad, 1984), where mountain people appear as the spiritual heirs of the revolutionary hero, Diego Silang, but horribly marked by pox. 1 9 Anima, N . , The headhunting tribes of the Philippines (Quezon City: Cultural Foundation for Asia, 1985) is an example of this that reworks colonial and anthropological sources on historical practices to describes Igorots as fierce, warlike and "cannibals." 2 0 Rosaldo, R., Culture and truth: the remaking of social analysis (Boston: Beacon Press, 1989.) 2 1 Tsing, A., In the realm of the Diamond Queen: marginality in an out-of-the-way place (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993.) 74 inverts the binaries of civilized/barbarian and modern/traditional. Where there is no primitive and no civil ized, there would be no pleasure, no entertainment in representing the violation of the boundary between them. Primit ivism polices this boundary and purifies hybridity into its component parts. Thus primitivism is primarily a politics of representation: "To study the primitive is thus to enter an exotic world which is also a familiar world, one that is structured by sets of images and ideas - tropes - that have slipped from their original metaphoric status to control our perceptions of primitives." 2 2 These tropes have much more to do with metropolitan notions of human nature and projects of identity than with the periphery itself. In this respect, the creation of the primitive as a discursive category is described as "some inevitable form of the West's self-reflexive psychotherapy." 2 3 Mary-Louise Pratt sees a blindness to this representational circle: "the imperial metropolis tends to understand itself as determining the periphery (in the emanating glow of the civi l iz ing mission or the cash flow of development, for example), it habitually blinds itself to the ways in which the periphery determines the metropolis - beginning, perhaps, with the latter's obsessive need to present and re-present its others continually to itself. 2 4 A s peripheral Others outside the international division of labor, peoples of the primitive join the rest of the subjects of the metropolitan identity project described by Gayatri Spivak: "subsistence farmers, unorganized peasant labor, the tribals ...To confront them is not to represent (vertreten) them but to learn to re(-)present (darstellen) ourselves." 2 5 Primitivism works through dichotomous Western ideas of human nature that posit either an essential savage nature or a hierarchical perfectibility. This dichotomy splits into four discursive strands deployed throughout colonial and imperialist metropolitan rhetoric on the inhabitants of the periphery. These discourses have a long history and much has been written on their genealogy in Western geographical 2 2 Torgovnick, M . , Gone primitive: modern intellects, savage minds (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1990), p. 8. 23 Ibid., 192. 2 4 Pratt, M - L . Imperial eyes: travel writing and transculturation (London: Routledge, 1992), p.6. 75 imaginaries. Periodizations of this discursive history are both messy and tendentious. Since this text discusses peoples colonized after all these discursive tactics had emerged and been installed in various imperial imaginations, a brief mapping w i l l suffice. There are four spaces of the primitive at play (see Figure 3-1): noble savage, bloody savage, the heathen, and the native. A s a stereotype, the savage is either above or not yet ready for civilization. Where the essential nature of the noble savage is constructed as "good," "they" have much to teach a metropolitan "us" because they are viri a diis recentes - natural man in an innocent state, prior to corruption by progress. 2 6 Where the nature of the bloody savage is irredeemably bad, the primitive cannot be salvaged by the c iv i l iz ing mission and remains the locus of uncontrolled violence and passion. The idea of perfectibility envisions primitives as heathens who can be modified through religion or education. As Johannes Fabian points out, the pagan is always already marked for salvation. 2 7 Finally, Social Darwinism posits primitives as 'natives' fixed at the bottom of an evolutionary hierarchy. While they may 'develop' or 'progress' as societies, their relative position remains 'underevolved' on the global scale. Figure 3-lFour Spaces of the Primitive noble savages heathens bloody savages natives Spivak, G. "Can the subaltern speak?" in Grossberg, L. and Nelson C , eds., Marxism and the interpretation of culture (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1988; pp. 271-312), p. 288. 2 6 "Men fresh from the gods" - this draws on a much older European discourse on progress and civilization that draws on Latin texts. 2 7 Fabian, J., Time and the other: how anthropology makes its object (New York: Columbia University Press, 1983), p. 26. 76 On the Philippine Cordillera, all these discourses are deployed at cross purposes, at different times and in different texts. Since both colonizers and colonized are culturally complex groups, heterogeneous and held together by relations marked by dissension and jealousy, tensions between factions can be assuaged by the tropes of governance and resistance deployed as the primitive. Together, holding these simultaneous and contradictory ideas of the primitive allows colonial cultures to manipulate the periphery in a ventriloqual fashion and the periphery to displace the intentions of the colonial regime by subverting the performances associated with these categories. Contemporary, progressive forms of primitivism can be found in Green consumption or ideas of special indigenous knowledges. These practices and concepts at once critique colonial prejudice and rely on colonialist tropes and narratives representing authenticity 2 8 Even this kind of primitivism seeks to hold the periphery to a version of tradition authenticated by metropolitan knowledge and power. Contemporary primitivism thus exemplifies a further kind of colonial culture, producing and codifying knowledges that legitimate the subordination of peripheral peoples to metropolitan ends. Identifying the discourses of contemporary colonialism questions the categories and assumptions that underpin metropolitan modernities. The oppressive hierarchy of central selves/peripheral Others has a long and complex history which has relied on particular representations of spaces, both imagined and real. The common feature of these spaces is that they are somehow outside time. Metropolitan imaginaries constructed primitive spaces populated by peoples "contained and disciplined not as socially or geographically different.... thus equally valid, but as temporally different and thus as irrevocably superannuated by history." 2 9 The place of the primitive is a space mistaken for time. This space is represented in contradictory ways that reflect modern anxieties about identity, development, and 2 H Root, D., Cannibal culture: art, appropriation and the commodification of difference (Boulder: Westview Press, 1996.) and Francis, D., The imaginary Indian: the image of the Indian in Canadian culture (Vancouver: Arsenal Pulp Press, 1992.) 2 9 The 'primitive' was clearly constructed in quite different terms from 'the Orient' and it would be interesting to explore how these two constructs overlapped in representations of Asia. The quote is from Anne McClintock, Imperial leather: race, gender and sexuality in the colonial contest (New York: Routledge, 1995), p. 40. 77 progress. In images of the primitive, moderns can see spectacular landscapes and human relics of an age long gone, yet still struggling to survive. Metropolitan viewers can also find a humorous (for them) juxtaposition between modern and primitive, that ironically reassures the viewer that the forces of change have tamed the primitive society. There is a thrilling ambivalence here -the primitive alternates between scaring us with its power and submitting, bewildered to modern discipline. 3 0 Where there is no primitive and no civil ized, there would be no pleasure, no entertainment in representing the violation of the boundary between them. Primitivist discourses are policing tactics that patrol this boundary and purify local hybridities by labeling the component parts as primitive and modern. Both ideas of the relative evolutionary advancement of societies and concepts of racial difference were and remain encoded through gender in particular modes of colonial representation.3 7 This gendering of metropolitan vision works to enframe indigenous women and read relations of debasement from their bodies. 3 2 The more labor performed by women, the lower the society on the evolutionary scale. Nicholas Thomas describes this gendering as based on: "(t)he notion that the women of the more savage societies were distinctly ugly the character of the women internalized the brutality of their social environment (itself sometimes taken as a reflection of .. .rugged natural environment) and made them unappealing to European eyes. 3 3 The production of "the primitive" is usually approached through the study of its presence in tourism, art, and the metropolitan archives of colonial expansion and display. I see both useful aspects and limits to these approaches. Archiva l work continues to silence those represented in the archives by extending a dialogue of the West with itself about Others that demarcates a historical metropolitan space. This 3 0 " very wary of a "postmodern primitivism" which, in an affirmative mode, discovers non-Western travelers ("nomads") with hybrid, syncretic cultures, and in the process project onto their different histories of culture contact, migration and inequality a homogeneous (historically "avant garde") experience." Clifford, J. 1997, 41. 3 1 Thomas, N . 1994, 35. 32 Ibid., 35. 33 Ibid., 102. 78 excludes, yet again, the people who are named as 'primitives' from the conversations that define them. Exploring artistic production likewise separates people from their objects and ritual performances. Out of its originary context, a focus on the artifact can just as easily entrench colonial assumptions of native cultures in decline as it may be interpreted as evidence of modern v i t a l i ty / 4 Tourist practice, on the other hand, appears to offer an opening for dialogue by bringing together peoples from metropolis and local places in a single space. Yet, as Dean McCannel l suggests in his Empty meeting grounds, studies of tourism rarely retrieve metropolitan-local dialogues. ? 5 McCannel l argues that much of the literature on tourism tends to focus on an easily defined and delimited set of events and practices. To begin with tourists themselves and tourist routes and representations risks becoming caught in authenticity politics long before the permeability of local lives to globalized flows and discourses can be established. To study tourism as the consumption of authentic ethnicities would pre-suppose that the object consumed - ethnicity - pre-exists the practice of its consumption, yet people clearly perform ethnicity as a commodity for tour i sm/ 6 It is the movement of the tourists that would become problematized - they are out of place. Meanwhile, the implication is that everyone has a place - is bounded spatially - would go unquestioned. M y goal here is not to investigate tourism, but to demonstrate that, beyond the tourist's experiential purview, other transnational flows - of migrants, discourses and remittances - embodied in local people are constituting the localities and the ethnicities performed. It is these transnational flows of bodies and other representations to and from Cordillera localities that are my focus here. "An ignorance of cultural context seems almost a precondition for artistic appreciation. In this object system a tribal piece is detached from one milieu in order to circulate freely in another, a world of art - of museums, markets and connoiseurship." Clifford, J.,The predicament of culture: twentieth century ethnography, literature and art (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1988), p. 200. 3 5 McCannell, D., Empty meeting grounds: the tourist papers.(London: Routledge, 1992.) 3 6 For examples and discussion, McCannell, op. cit. 79 3.3.1Primitivism at work Differences in the colonial histories are embodied in the distinctions between Igorots and lowlanders. Opposing discursive constructions of the value of Igorot cultures as "authentic" and "uncolonized," or "primitive" and "savage," are contained in the ambivalence in the metropolitan centre as well as produced on the periphery. The discursive construction of the Philippine nation as modern relies on an opposition between a metropolitan culture that is opposed to indigenous - Igorots are not found in the malls of Mani la . Where representations of Igorots enter the imaginary metropolis as figures of potency and mastery, rather than buffoons and beggars, it is as male spiritual specialists, called down to cleanse the modern city of its ghosts. 5 7 Where real-world Igorots appear in Mani la in contemporary, non-ritual guise, it represents evidence of 'postmodernity' and the spread of global labor markets that draw other Filipinos much farther afield. 5 8 The differences between Igorot and mainstream create a hierarchy of development, inscribed on bodies, that sustains an ideology of progress. This is clear in the comments of someone seeing overseas Igorots on Philippine Television: "What struck me was the realization that an Igorot in the States wouldn't appear any different from any Ilocano, Tagalog, or Visayan who is likewise in the same area.. .1 guess the differences (between these Fil ipino ethnic groups- D M ) are more pronounced here but out there the similarities become apparent."5 9 O f course, in a region dissected by mountains, any pan-regional ethnicity is a contentious assertion. The significant problem in the acceptance of Igorot as a regional identity is the perception on the part of lowland Filipinos that Igorots are beggars, are backward, ill-educated, short and dark-skinned. The extent of many a Filipino's knowledge of the Igorots is confined to whatever misleading impressions are gained from short vacations to Baguio City. In years past, at tourist spots like Mines View Park, many encountered Igorots as beggars, banging away at iron gongs for coins flung at them from on-high by amused gaggles of summering lowlanders. Hamilton-Paterson, J., Ghosts of Manila (London: Vintage, 1995.) 5 S Pertierra, R., Philippine localities and global perspectives (Manila: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 1995) p. 7. 3 9 This is a universal phenomenon, most likely, but was reported to me with surprise in correspondence from a Baguio-based friend who had seen video coverage of the Second International Igorot Consultation (Washington D.C., July, 1977) on television. 80 Like the American Indian, the Igorots are a people displaced from their ancestral lands by irresistible waves of a new dispensation. But unlike the American Indian at the hands of white settlers, and quite unbeknownst to many Filipinos, the Igorots never succumbed to either the Cross or the Sword of the white conquistadores of Spain. 4 0 Where Igorots are popularly conceived of as primitives, out of place in a modern world, it is not surprising that people try to distance themselves from the identity. Loca l identities, relating individuals to kin groups in particular communities, prevail at the provincial and municipal levels. The pan-regional identification as Igorot applied by non-Cordillerans and accepted by some mountain communities is problematic for others. In particular, peoples of the provinces of Ifugao, Kal inga and Apayao (see Map 5-3) reject the appellation Igorot for themselves. According to respondents I interviewed in 1996 - 97, this rejection of Igorot identity occurs on two grounds: hereditary enmity and economic marginalization. Historically, the people of Mountain Province (the Bontok) were the traditional enemies of neighboring groups who spoke different languages, a condition that also applies to peoples of Ifugao and Kalinga. Few such disputes over land or slaves still fester. Moreover, many of these disputes flourished between communities in Mountain Province itself, communities who now share a common identity as Igorot. Yet there is, at the local level, a strong trend to defer the difference (us/them) of primitivism beyond the immediate locality and on to some other group who can bear the stigmata of the Other. For instance, in Baguio City, I have been told that beggars from Saklit, Mountain Province, are really not Igorots. The logic being that, because their municipality is closer to Kalinga Province, they are really Kal ingas- and everyone (in the northern Philippines) knows Kalingas do not accept the appellation Igorot. 4 ' However, in the discussions of the mailing list in an instance where Ifugao identity is given positive valuation in the Philippine press, 4 0 Bocobo, D. Philippine Daily Inquirer, 4 1 Afable, P., 1995. 81 people identifying as from across the 'Igorot region' share in the acclaim accorded to 'a fellow Igorot' or kailian.42 Experiences of mainstream prejudice are harrowing. Here are the words of an Igorot who is now living in the United States describing his experiences of these stereotypes within the Fi l ipino community there: How the rest of the Filipino look down on the cities where I had been in contact with different people. What horrified me was their classic perception of Igorots: very dark coloring, kinky hair, wearing a g-string and no shoes at all. They sometimes contradict themselves for they believe that anybody with rosy cheeks is from the mountains and that we have better command of the English language. I had the chance to work in a nursing home [in the States - DM] operated by Filipinos.. .They never considered me as an Igorot (they thought I am Chinese) until I told them where I came from. You should have seen the look in their faces! Then they proceeded to tease me why I do not have any tails [bahag - the "g-string" or loincloth] and why am I fair. One acquaintance was surprised when I told him that I read newspapers ever since I was young. This is his exact question to me: "Ibig mong sabihin, may newspaper na noon sa Bontoc? [Do you mean to say that you got newspapers in Bontoc? DM] Tell me, how can I answer such a stupid question?45 Other questions Igorots are asked include: Hindi ka naman maitim atpandakl (Tagalog: Aren' t you dark and short?) This traps Igorots into a discussion of whether or not they resemble the stereotypes for Aetas, another Philippine ethnic group sometimes called negritos. Some Igorots admit that they do argue that they are as good-looking as other Filipinos and do not resemble "negritos." Then they also recognize that this approach affirms the categorization of human value by skin color. Hindi ba mga Igorots yung mga nagpapalimosl (Tagalog: Aren' t Igorots beggars?) Few Igorots, proportionately, beg, but those that do are highly visible. The most common response is to argue that those begging are not from their place, but of some other ethnicity or community. Such efforts to defer these identifications on to other groups now meet with criticisms in the self-defined Igorot community: " I wish that we Igorots wi l l someday be This is an Ilocano term meaning "from the same village" and was applied to describe the affinity between an Ifugao military cadet who had received a Presidential commendation and other young men from Kankanaey-speaking areas in Mountain Province. 4 3 Posted to Igorot mailing list by Sept 18, 1997. 82 known as people not only proud of our own features and successes but who also, more importantly, are in unity with the disadvantaged." 4 4 It comes as no surprise, then, that quite a number of 'Igorots' make strategic choices not to identify as such in contexts where they feel they wi l l suffer this kind of discrimination. Igorots delight in circulating positive colonial assessments of their ethnic group(s) that undermine the prevalent stereotypes, such as this quote "one Spanish historian said about the Igorots... 'the Igorots are "well-proportioned, big-bodied, athletic, fleet as a deer, and so strong . . . better built and lighter skinned than their lowland brethren . . . 4 5 ' " that appeared on the Igorot E-mail network. This group of Igorots chooses to assert group identity in conditions where advocacy appears possible. Not incidentally, there is significant Ifugao and Kal inga participation on the internet, mostly from U S resident "Igorots" with antecedents in those provinces and ethnic communities. The group members have resolved the debate amongst themselves in the American, outmigrant context. They have decided to gloss their collective identity as "Igorots and related peoples" and proceeded to forge a path of "igorotism." Correcting encyclopaedia definitions of Igorot and critiquing histories of Igorot communities are among the practices of "igorotism" as it is defined in these on-line discussions. Others accept the terms of primitivist discourses when they can demonstrate progress has occurred, claiming that they are "the same with any culture, we have all had 'primitive' roots. Yet, we need to be proud of that too for it demonstrates very clearly how we have grown as a people." 4 6 Igorot ethnicity is very much linked to the different history of colonization on the Cordillera, a fact in which many Igorots take pride. Thus, the following comments were posted to the internet discussions on resisting prejudice from fellow Filipinos in Mani la : Posted to by Pag-et Posted to by Dabudab. Posted to by C N . 83 I studied the Tagalog Language hard. I was able to remove my own "tonong probinsyano" or "punto" or whatchamacallit. I learned that it was useless in a sense. Because I become just one of the "people." I lost one identity. So I gave up, and whenever I talk in Tagalog, I do it harshly, the way Bontocs talk. When the way I talk is noticed, I switch to a devil-may-care attitude, and converse in grammatically correct English Sentences. One thing I can tell you, I really loved every minute of it afterwards, since I know that the person I am conversing with can't really do what I am doing. 4 7 Quite clearly, Igorot ethnicity was constituted - and continues to work - as a negotiable signifier in changing articulations between concepts of geography and nation. In the following sections, it w i l l become clear that this identity is linked to ideas of development and national patrimony. A nostalgic version of Igorot identity is thus important for, and partially defined by, a national resistance to imperialism. Likewise, a contemporary definition of Igorot is desired by those who feel trapped by this nostalgia. Creating a novel definition of Igorot identity is not my project here, it belongs to those so-named and they assert this right to self-definition. "We do not need other people, whether they are professional writers or historians, to define who we are. Only ourselves can define that word [Igorot - DM]."48 What I want to do is point out how these productions of identity are never closed; facts are not already made, but in process. A n d such productions are inherently geographical: where and how one is or is not Igorot is contingent on the place of reception for that statement — on the historical knowledge and understanding of one's audience. The making and unmaking of social worlds relies on concepts of history which are themselves contingent on particular interpretations of events and the frames which support them. These ideas, in turn, can be destabilized. A s part of this destabilization, local people and foreign scholars are rewriting the history of the Cordillera Central, Igorots and Ifugao peoples. M y contribution here a sketch, at the micro-level of the history of Haliap - 'the people from - hurry -up." 4 7 Posted to by DD. 4 8 Posted to by L . 84 3.4 Retrieving local histories The local history of Haliap and Panubtuban is one of displacements and resistances. The name Haliap should not be expected to appear in the Spanish records since it derives from English. This did not deter two older men I interviewed from assuring me that it was in response to the exhortations of a Spanish overseer to "hurry-up, hurry-up" that their place got its name. When I suggested that perhaps it was the Americans, because it was an English-language phrase, they gave me the sanguine reply: "It doesn't matter. They're the same thing.. . A letter needed to be carried to Kiangan and they called to the man they chose to make him go fast. So here we said it was the place of holyap." This cheerful disrespect for colonial periodizations makes their point very clearly: someone has always been pushing us around, and that's why we have named our place this way. This section draws on in-depth interviews on the stories of historical displacement and occupation of the valley of Haliap/Panubtuban (see Map 5-2), as well as gender relations in the colonial encounter. Working with elders in the oral history mode like this is a ritualistic situation. Preceded by presentations of tobacco and alcohol and the gathering of an audience, narrative control is held by the respondent. Ethnographically speaking, you provide the reason for the telling and then minimize your interventions. Afterward, after the gift of the story has been shared, it would be the worst breach of manners to approach another elder and ask, so did Lakai get it right? O f course, people may choose to embellish and correct what they have heard or accidentally retell the same shared tale, but to request specific fact checking would be supremely ungrateful. Thus, my analysis here works between folk histories or oral histories that are not considered as inferior to written records. Instead, I approach these narratives as supplements and correctives to written historical texts, often exceeding their purview and, as my respondents did above, bringing the performance of resistance in the present day. Panubtuban likewise does not appear in the Spanish records, though neighboring communities of Tuwali and Kallahan speakers (see Map 3-1) were described in Spanish texts dating from the late 1890s. 4 9 Local Felix Keesing, The ethnohistory of Northern Luzon (Stanford University Press, 1962), pp. 267-300. 85 respondents explained that Panubtuban was "pioneered" in the "late Spanish time" by Ayangan migrants from Ducligan, an area outside Banaue, located near the Ayangan community of "origin," Adyang. Drawing from the oral histories contained in "pagan" religious rituals, my respondents told the story of people displaced by Spanish incursions along the Magat River (see M a p 3-1 and M a p 5-3) that separates present day Ifugao Province from the neighboring provinces of Isabela and Nueva Viscaya. From Ducligan, a young woman named Bugan passed down the Ibulao River valley, farming rice at Lamut, and then across to Ibong (present day Villaverde, Nueva Viscaya). With her traveled others and, "sailing across the land like a boat on water," they searched for a permanent place along the river, like the space from which the Spanish had dispossessed their fathers and grandfathers. These people were known as I-Adyang or Adyangan to themselves and as Ayangan to their Tuwal i -speaking neighbors. There was never enough land for all the people at Adyang. Many people made habal (shifting cultivation fields) and grew camote (sweet potato) because there was not enough land for rice fields. B y the end of the Spanish period, there was a famine in Adyang and people like Bugan left the settlement in an attempt to return to their old place along the Magat near Ibong. However, when they got to Ibong, their old fields were occupied by missionized Ilocano-speaking Filipinos. Even worse, the missionized communities were infected with disease. The small group who had left Adyang with Bugan retreated up the Ibulao valley, after taking some Ilocano heads as a symbolic "payment" for the land. They sought refuge with distant relatives in the most westerly Ayangan community at Bolog. Over the Santo Domingo Mountain from Bolog, some of them found a suitable valley, "almost empty" which they "pioneered." When they had built their houses and cleared their first habal, they made a ritual where they cursed the Ilocanos so that they, too, would not become i l l . They called their new settlement "place-of-cursing" or panubtuban. Using genealogical reckoning with seven generations reported as the 'oldest' lineage of inhabitants, it appears that this settlement at Panubtuban was made about one hundred and twenty years ago, or approximately 1875. Just how 'empty' this corner of the Antipolo valley actually was when the Adyang 86 group arrived is a matter of dispute. Some respondents claimed that they created all the ricefields themselves, de novo, others said that their ancestors had found empty fields, having frightened away the Kallahan inhabitants with magic and ngayaw (head-taking warfare). Two respondents reported that their ancestors' fields had been purchased from Kallahan speakers with the trade of kalabaw - water buffaloes - stolen from Spanish settlements in the lowlands. This trade of livestock indicates the way in which the Asipulo valley, like the rest of the Cordillera settlements, was linked with the lowlands through complex networks. Trade, political and cultural exchanges crisscrossed the regional terrain long before any ongoing contact with Europeans was established. Trade in livestock stolen from the Spanish frontier settlements resulted in the spread of this draft animal and the plough through communities that had previously tilled their rice terraces with wooden spades. This transformation occurred in a matter of decades and, in most cases, actually pre-dated the arrival of the Spanish themselves. The theft of the animals by raiders from the uplands was constructed by the natives as a form of payment exacted from the Spanish for the use of the land. 5 0 As one Haliap respondent described it: "First, we just killed the carabao and carried the meat. Then we saw that it could be done to lead the carabao back. That was our pride, to k i l l many carabaos for meat when there was a death. That's how we were rich, sharing the meat. Then we saw the plowing and were challenged to try that, too. But that, using the plough, was only after the Japanese war. . ." Curious, I asked elders in a neighboring Kallahan-speaking community of Amduntog where they got their carabaos. "From the Ayangans, through Panubtuban," they replied. The first mention of Panubtuban occurs in the records of the American colonial regime in a report from First Lieutenant Bates to Captain Thompson, senior Inspector of Nueva Viscaya . 5 7 According to this report, three men and two women from "Panitubang" (sic) were en route to Ibong when attacked by 5 0 Father Wilfred Vermuelen, pers. comm., 8 June 1996. 5 1 Bates, C.J. Report to Captain W.E. Thompson, July 28, 1904. Typescript document, Beyer Collection of Filipiniana, Yale University (microfdm), New Haven, Connecticut. As cited by Frank Jenista, The white Apos: American governors on the Cordillera Central (Quezon City: New Day, 1987), p. 42. 87 assailants - "Igorots" (sic) - hiding along the trail. A woman named Imuc was ki l led with spears and her head taken. Her companions returned the body to her relatives in Panubtuban. I could find nobody who knew of this incident or the dead woman, Imuc, in 1996 - 1997, but they did confirm that Americans arrived to end ngayaw in the valley about five years after the Spanish left. The report of the ki l l ing was submitted to Bates by a woman named Dominga Alandada. She was a female 'presidenta' or community leader, who had met with the first American expedition to pacify Ifugao led by Captain Patstone in March of 1903, first at the American headquarters and later in her home community of Dullayan in Ifugao. 5 2 L i k e Imuc, Dominga Alandada could not be traced by my respondents. People noted that Dullayan might be the present day barangay of Cawayan, farther to the south. Dominga is clearly a Christian name, suggesting missionization and Alandada is a Gaddang name, an ethnic group not found in the Antipolo valley today. Bates comments on his task of visiting Panubtuban to begin an investigation of the headtaking by people from Banhitan (sic) are instructive: " . . . i f I succeed in getting the guide I w i l l leave here on the 31 s t . I cannot inform you how long I shall be on the trip, not knowing where the place is, but w i l l stay out until I find it and w i l l try to capture the outfit.. .that committed the murder." The valley is clearly a zone of conflict where people and places are shifting, vanishing and re-emerging along the particular lines of a local place caught up in struggles for land and access to colonial preference. I speculated that Banhitan was likely the present-day sitio of Banetinon, but my hosts were particularly reluctant to comment on this notion. Loca l respondents are well aware of the kind of reputation their warfare acquired under the American regime. They provided me with stories that contradict this stereotype of head-taking mayhem controllable only by American intervention. I was told numerous foundation narratives and origin myths, several of which involve the requisite displacement of a male and a female after interaction with a Capt. L . Patstone, Report of an expedition into the Igorot District of Quiangan, Nueva Viscaya, April 1903. Typescript document, Beyer Collection of Filipiniana, Yale University (microfilm), New Haven, Connecticut. As cited by Frank Jenista, op. cit, 35-36. 88 serpent. Below is one of these stories that emphasizes ethnic compromise, codes of civi l ized conduct, and the role of women as peacemakers through intermarriage.5'' 3.4.1 The story of the deer Pallagattang, a Kallahan man from Amduntog, went to hunt wild animals with his spear and dogs. He went as far as the Panagogaquan forest, between Yukko and the Ibulao River. There, his dogs flushed out a deer and chased it to the Ibulao, closed behind. Unfortunately, the deer fell unaware into the river. Upon hearing the roaring sound of the dogs barking, the Ayangan people of Pula and Caba, already knew that someone was hunting deer so they followed the barking until they came to the place where the deer jumped in to the River. These people caught the deer, butchered the meat, and shared it out among themselves. They left a share and then some for the absent hunter because Pallagattang had not arrived. He was hiding on the way, fearing that he would be killed by those butchering the meat. They spoke no common language. Finally, he prayed to Afunian (God), a prayer called Halupoy to prevent his being cursed with bad luck, and then approached the group. The people gave him his meat and asked him to stay overnight at their settlement. The next morning, those who had eaten the deer gave him mongo beans (a symbol of reconciliation) in payment for the meat. He accepted the gifts and they talked for the day. Since the deer meat was now going to spoil, Pallagattang gave it to his hosts to cook. Then he and Bulahao, an Ayangan, led a group of Pulaan people back to Amduntog. There, at Amduntog, they agreed to stop the war between the Kallahan of Amduntog and the Ayangan of Pula by marrying Pallagattang's daughter to Bulahao's son. Bulahao saw that the valley was wide and fertile, so he migrated to Mayubba, now part of Haliap, passing above Baguinge and Alimit. That is how the Ayangan people came to this valley. The children of that marriage, their descendants live in Haliap today.54 These stories are material practices and are exercised as modes of power. Responding here to 'what anthropologists want,' my interviewee produced a foundational narrative that circumvents the stereotypes of headhunting savages he knows circulate outside the community. It is not evidence of local confusion that I have retrieved several foundational narratives that do not match up, but proof of local innovation. The discussion fails to retrieve the 'authentic' history of Ihaliap both because of the partial nature of stories and because local people are long conversant with these 'Westernized' ideas about them. Thus, the incommensurability of stories reveals that 'authenticity' is part of a regime of truth imposed on local people through the dominant representations circulating in the colonial record and the metropolis. In the search for a modern moral balance that idealizes the primitive, the peoples of the primitive have 5"' The role of intermarried women in inter-community conflicts is explored by June Prill-Brett in her unpublished doctoral dissertation, "Bontok Warfare," University of the Philippines, Diliman, 1982. 5 4 Interview, Lakai G, Mayubba, Haliap, May, 1996. Translation Jeannette D. Mataag. 89 always been more than objects. They actively redirect the colonial or tourist gaze whether as models, guides, informants or respondents. In the reports of American colonial officials, the inaccessibility of these 'remote' settlements emerged as a feature of the natural landscape and evidence of their 'primitive' status. These conceptions of the mountains have entered the national imaginary where, today, Manila-based news columnists write about vanished civilizations and landscapes that create, from this remoteness in space and time, an imagined 'us' and 'them': Even today, in places like Sagada and Bontoc and Ifugao, and less known, remote places along the way that were already Igorot havens perhaps millennia ago.. .one senses the ancient presence of a vanished civilization. Peering at pictures of these mountain peoples taken by anthropologists at the turn of the 19th century, in vistas that rival in physical and natural beauty anything in America or Europe, one cannot but develop a pride and sympathy for the Igorot peoples that make our latent prejudice toward them puzzling, despicable and self-demeaning.55 The pictures that contain these vistas are most likely to be contemporary postcard images, rather than found in historical books. They feature both primitive peoples and spectacular landscapes, in constructions of people and places that date to the American colonial period. American conceptions of this glorious nature are found in surveys and descriptions of the Cordillera, as well photographs. The terrain is represented in a way that evokes emotional connection while emptying it of its contemporary inhabitants. 5 6 Such discourse fills the reports of early colonial officials and features in photo-essays in the National Geographic of the day. This is part of a larger project of imaginative appropriation and remaking of the local landscape which constructs the local people as unappreciative viewers of nature and recalcitrant laborers on the road to modern accessibility. Remoteness was not seen as the result of creating particular places as centre of governance and religious worship. Local people today speak of "far-flung" barangays in the same terms - as i f someone had hurled these communities into being, far from the road, rather than constructed a road that ran along particular 5 5 Bocobo, D. Philippine Daily Inquirer 90 conduits of colonial power. Bui lding roads across the spectacular local landscape was one of the American tasks that created endless frustration on both sides over the contribution of local labor and its timing. It also partitioned the countryside and its populations into units of governance, constituting communities as bounded objects for surveillance, missionization, and measurement. A s the colonizers drew borders at w i l l , inscribing their appropriations on a map, communities were produced through the colonial gaze, local leaders appointed, and boundaries determined. Becoming accessible by road was the first step in rendering a disorderly and irregular past to be disciplined into a 'progressive' and 'modern' present. Quite fittingly, it was carrying messages for Americans along the road that gave the local place its "modern" name. O f course, resistance to this foreign view of civilization proved far more resilient than anticipated, particularly in the area of traditional warfare and dispute resolution - i.e. head-taking. Anecdotal reports suggest that American promises to eradicate headhunting were never really fulfilled anywhere in the valley. However, by the 1930s, the American presence was powerful enough in most places to maintain a semblance of control over the local populations and old conflicts over land-grabbing and resource use had been put aside. The "warring tribes of the Antipolo valley" described by Bates were now pacified and, according to local respondents, the Ayangans of Panubtuban had given up hope of reclaiming lands at Ibong and were using the American transportation network to seek new lands to settle elsewhere in the Upper Cagayan valley. Here, just before the Japanese invaded, the history of occupation ends, and that of outmigration begins. The population movements of the late Spanish era, though distant, continue to underpin local politics. A neighboring community claims part of Panubtuban as their traditional pastureland. Since cattle were introduced by the Spanish, this claim likely originates in a period before the arrival of the Ayangan migrants, but after the first Spanish incursions. Conflicting claims mean that local communities cannot yet apply to the national government for official recognition of their indigenous title - a Certificate of See M . Carino, "Translations in the wilderness," a forthcoming essay on colonial representations of nature. 91 Ancestral Domain. The history of displacement and uncertainty of ancestral domain mean that all sites are conceived of as in some way "temporary" places for an Ayangan "home." The local definition of "home" is a matter of context and political expediency. People wi l l narrate their histories in such as way as to entitle them to the livelihood they are developing. Nobody would concede that Panubtuban is only a temporary home. However, people did use other pre-Hispanic histories to claim rights of residence to areas lying outside of Ifugao province, particularly those outmigration areas currently being "pioneered" by members of the Haliap community in the provinces of Isabela and Quirino. The local, in this case Ihaliap, is forged as a category through colonial history, but not without insertions of native agency in the process. The indigenous authenticity produced by this community is thus negotiated in a historical context not of its own choosing. Current attempts to survey local people as indigenous communities relies on falsely unambiguous definitions for colonial categories such as 'tribe.' However, they conceived of themselves in relation to their relatives, their linguistically different neighbors, and their historical places of settlement, none of my respondents ever mentioned the concept of a "tribe." The category 'tribe' was developed under American law to distinguish settled Indians from roving bands. It distinguished the legitimate natives from the outlaws by placing a premium on localism and rootedness in a particular place and vesting leadership in a particular individual. The need to map the Philippines with the same sort of 'tribal' organization that officials thought they had found among the American Plains Indians created jobs for anthropologists and administrators. Tribalizing the Philippine uplands reflected a preoccupation with the morality of colonial administration that was a direct result of the presumed disappearance of North American Indian culture from the American Great Plains. Describing and classifying the Fil ipino non-Christian "tribes" became linked to the representations of Native Americans, not least, because the same cadres of soldiers and administrators were involved. 5 7 5 7 Paulet, A. , "The only good Indian is a dead Indian: the use of United States Indian policy as a guide for the conquest and occupation of the Philippines, 1898 -1905" unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Rutgers University, 1995. 92 Dealings with the Filipinos were at some point seen as opportunities for white America to redeem itself after the debacle of the Indian Wars. This was true for in-country administrators, who circulated copies of Rudyard Kip l ing ' s poem "The White Man 's Burden" after Dean Worcester declared " K i p l i n g wrote for these men of mine up in the hills without knowing i t . " 5 s It was also true for those remaining in the colonial metropolis. 5 9 This redemption was to occur through careful scientific classification, ethnological study and their product, policies leading to the benign administration of the tribes' affairs. A presidential introduction to a 1905 report to the National Academy of Sciences sets out the colonial mission as follows: The honor of the United States demands that every means be taken to avoid mistakes of ignorance in dealing with the vast and relatively helpless population of these islands. This first attempt of the United States to bring alien races of the Tropics into the fold of Anglo-Saxon civilization should be guided by strictly scientific data and principles. This necessitates, firstly thorough knowledge of the peoples to be assisted, and the measures which accord with their various customs and capabilities. Only a thoroughly scientific anthropological survey can provide the information required or the attainment of enlightenment and humane results.50 Thus Fil ipino natives were classified, categorized and bounded by the colonial regime as part of a distinctively modern and anthropological imagination that mapped the peoples of the Philippines into nation, races, cultures and tribes, however these distinctions might contradict. 6 7 These mappings favored particular local centers and reflected the knowledges of local groups with relatively better access to American administrators and scholars. For example, Banaue became a major center of American administration and thus 'authentic' Ifugao culture. Kiangan, an important pre-colonial trade and cultural center, was comparatively secondary to Banaue within the American discourse on 'authentic Ifugao' that developed over the course of American administration. This redrew pre-existing centers and peripheries Worcester, D., personal correspondence, as quoted in F. Jenista, op. cit., 241. 5 9 See F. Jenista, op. cit., 78. 6 0 Remarks made February 7, 1905, as quoted in Acosta, J., "Loss, emergence and retribalization." Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of Hawaii, 1994, p.53. 6 7 Vergara, B. , Displaying Filipinos: photography and colonialism in early 20th century Philippines. (Quezon City: University of the Philippine Press, 1995.) 93 in new terms, locating the important Ifugao tourist sites, the rice terraces (one should see), in Banaue. Kiangan, by no means terrace-less, is not a tourist destination. These were not simply academic exercises in ethnological description that graced library shelves and intrigued metropolitan students. The studies of American-era anthropologists, geographers, surveyors, and travelers entered colonial policy and the national imaginary in very important ways. Sometimes, the results were quite literally inscribed into the landscape. Figure 3-2 Text of monument at Banaue I F U G A O R I C E T E R R A C E S T H E I F U G A O R I C E T E R R A C E S C O V E R AN A R E A OF N E A R L Y 4 0 0 S Q U A R E K I L O M E T E R S , A N D IF T H E W A L L S W E R E P L A C E D E N D T O E N D , T H E Y W O U L D R E A C H M O R E T H A N H A L F - W A Y A R O U N D T H E E A R T H . T H O S E OF B A N A U E , H A P A O , A N D H U N G D U A N ARE A M O N G T H E O L D E S T IN L U Z O N . A R C H A E O L O G I C A L A N D H I S T O R I C A L S T U D I E S I N D I C A T E T H A T IT T O O K T H E I F U G A O S M O R E T H A N 2 ,000 Y E A R S T O B U I L D T H E M . T H E S T O N E - W A L L E D T E R R A C E S O F I F U G A O ARE T H E H I G H E S T , B E S T B U I L T , A N D M O S T E X T E N S I V E IN T H E W O R L D . A S I N G L E M I G R A T I N G P E O P L E IS B E L I E V E D T O H A V E C A R R I E D T H E T E R R A C E C U L T U R E F R O M S O U T H C H I N A OR I N D O - C H I N A A C R O S S T O L U Z O N A N D S O U T H E R N J A P A N , A N D S O U T H W A R D T O J A V A A N D T H E L E S S E R S U N D A I S L A N D S - W H I C H ARE T H E O N L Y R E G I O N S W H E R E T R U E RICE T E R R A C E S EXIST . R E M A I N S I N D I C A T E T H A T T H E F I R S T M I G R A T I O N W A S P R O B A B L Y IN T H E S E C O N D M I L L E N I U M B.C., A N D C A R R I E D ONLY A M A T E R I A L C U L T U R E OF P O L I S H E D S T O N E , C O P P E R , A N D B R O N Z E ; BUT A S E C O N D M I G R A T I O N IN T H E L A T T E R P R A T OF T H E F IRST M I L L E N I U M B.C. B R O U G H A L S O T H E USE OF I R O N , P O T T E R Y , A N D W O V E N C L O T H . T H E B A N A U E P E O P L E R E P R E S E N T T H E O L D E S T N A T I V E F O L K ; T H O S E OF C E N T R A L I F U G A O A R E T H E T Y P C I A L C A R R I E R S OF T H E T E R R A C E C U L T U R E , A N D T H O S E OF T H E K I A N G A N D I S T R I C T A R E T H E L A T E S T C O M E R S I N T O T H E R E G I O N . In Banaue, Ifugao, distinctions of local authenticity are monumentalized as the text which explains the surrounding rice terraces (see Figure 3-2): "The Banaue people represent the oldest native folk; those of central Ifugao are the typical carriers of the terrace culture; and those of the Kiangan district are the latest comers into the region." Though the Beyer theory of wave migration that this plaque rehearses has been long discredited, its presentation to locals and tourists alike on this official-looking brass confirms that 94 authenticity belongs to Banaue, a major American administrative centre. This monument, apparently erected by the municipality, stands at a major passenger transfer point along the highway system that links Ifugao to Mountain Province and above the Banaue Municipal Market. Spatially, it occupies the town's transportation and commercial hub. Other Ifugao communities, such as those of Kiangan and its environs are 'latecomers' and thus inauthentic, even as their inhabitants pass through Banaue. Tourists, on the other hand, are likely to be reassured by this official sign that they are seeing the "real" Ifugao. Colonial discourses manipulated differences and similarities, refiguring the axes along which identity was understood. For instance, the Spanish had recorded local populations within the same administrative unit as Christian converts and non-Christians or infieles, regardless of whether or not they shared a common language or way of life. Initially, the Americans picked up these distinctions and applied them to entire ethnic groups. Thus, all Igorots were named as "non-Christian tribes," even though there were some groups of Christian converts among them. Since the Spanish regime had never extended any sustained or effective form of colonial administration over the mountains, information on Ygorotes was particularly inaccurate. Beginning their administration by consulting the Spanish classifications, American definitions tended to anticipate and thus produce the existence of the group 'for the records.' Yet, by borrowing the discursive regime of the Spanish colonial era, the American officials suggested that Igorots possessed a perfectibility that could be accessed through conversion and education. This Spanish religious discourse thus insulated the Cordillera from the space of economic calculation, creating a paternalistic attitude on the part of Americans towards picturesque "tribes" who inhabited the remote mountains of a colony that, after all , would never be settled. B y the second decade of American colonization, the Spanish emphasis on faith was abandoned in favor of the 'scientific' classifications of both natural histories and human physiques and their relationship to moral character. These taxonomies were based on the assumption that Others possess distinct and Scott, W., Barangay: sixteenth century Filipino culture and society (Manila: Ateneo de Manila Press, 1994) pp. 10-12. 95 specific characters or "nature" according to their group and locality. Thus Fil ipino groups were hierarchized as physical types and then displayed for metropolitan edification in magazines and fairs. 6 3 These displays of Igorots were accompanied by texts that emphasized their primitive nature. Often the stories reported in the colonial records and the pictures that circulated serve as legitimation devices for colonial control. The American narratives of hyper-masculine headhunting conflict on the Cordillera were part of such spectacular retrievals of primitivism. They appeared in traveler's accounts and magazines of the day as self-evident truths of the primitive. 6 4 Another way this occurred was through the production and circulation of images as commodities themselves - as postcards. Turning to classify the Cordillera provinces in the present, local administrators must deal with the sedimentation of these colonial images and taxonomies in the metropolitan centre — they must speak to Mani la offices in terms that the national bureaucracy has inherited from the American regime and the English-language educational system. Thus, the classification of upland communities as 'tribes' prevails. However, Ihaliap is clearly not much of a name for a 'tribe' that has inhabited the mountains 'since time immemorial. ' I am not arguing that the Haliap case is paradigmatic of the history of all mountain communities. M y point is that this example fractures Said's description of the restoration of a concrete geographical identity as the work of anti-imperialism. The idea of a concrete pre-colonial geographical identity is, itself, part of a colonial geographical imaginary. This background of colonial displacements, the proliferation of categories and representations, is the terrain on which the very possibility of a contemporary community comes into view. Imperialism and colonialism do not destroy the local but incite its production. I have shown that, in this local place, community was not destroyed and recaptured by resistance, but very clearly produced in a mutually constitutive exercise of power between colonized For physical types see Bean, R. The racial anatomy of the Philippine Islanders (New York: J.B. Lippincott, 1910.) A discussion of Igorots at the World's Fair can be found in Rydell, R., All the world's a fair: visions of empire at American International Expositions 1876 - 1916 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984) and Benedict, B. , ed., The anthropology of world's fairs. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983.) 6 4 For a contextualization, see Lutz, C. and J. Collins, Reading National Geographic (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993.) 96 and colonizers. This is how 'the people-from-hurry-up' have chosen their name to enter 'history,' a naming that speaks their resistance to this process. 3.4.2 Embedding local narratives in 'history' In local history interviews, I collected a large number of 'foundation' stories, like the story of the deer. Many of these, unlike the tale of panubtuban as 'place-of-cursing,' did not intersect with the available secondary sources, but recapitulated Tuwali Ifugao folk tales and Christian narratives of Adam and Eve. These stories were fascinating in their cultural detail and told me, allegorically, that the tellers wished to represent intersections and similarities between what they saw as their cultural history and my own. A second source of puzzlement was that the official historians were most often male. Several female respondents claimed to know 'nothing' about local history, other than the details of their own lives. Their life histories were rich and interesting, but did not date as far back as the initial settlement of the community. For those tales, male respondents spoke. Their information came from oral histories shared during 'pagan' religious rituals and passed from mumbakis (native ritual specialists) to their trainees. Such occasions and training are particularly gendered, women having different stories and rituals - of folk heroes and planting magic - shared in different circumstances. During this set of interviews, I often found that, approaching male elders and gatekeepers as a young woman, I was 'interviewed' first to ensure that I actually knew something of the colonial history of the place. This assumed gendering of knowledge produced a tricky dynamic, where I would have to argue with male translators and hangers-on who thought my questions impertinent. Once I was told by a 'translator' who joined our interview to 'help', "I won't like to ask him that question. We have always had carabaosl We' re not backward here!," as an elder, his eyes glinting with suppressed laughter, struggled to formulate a sentence in English to correct the problem: "Kalabaw, came Ayangan side." The listening audience was somewhat shocked to have my supposed outsider's prejudice confirmed as local history. 97 This dynamic struck me as peculiar until I realized just how firmly local self-conceptions within these communities were embedded in their representations in national and global popular culture. Loca l understandings of ethnicity were clearly constituted, not entirely through processes of locally-led self-definition, but by the necessary cultural and economic interactions with "out," whether it is the lowland populations, the Spanish colonizers, the American administrators, or the global media. Sitting in a storefront cafe one day, I heard the following on a radio broadcast, a snippet of opinion floating, it seemed, without context, between songs and news: The ethnic - tobacco, g-strings, betel nut. Now we have Hope, Levi's, Juicy Fruit - the modern Pinoy. The ethnic is now in the far barrios, never seen here in the centre. Fading away... That is the fate of the ethnic."5 Here, blaring out of the omnipresent radios, was ethnicity inscribed on the male body. Non-moderns smoked loose tobacco in pipes, wore the traditional loincloths called 'g-strings' by the American colonial administrators, and chewed the nuts of the betel palm as stimulants. Moderns, who inhabit the progressive and wealthy centre, wear the globalized brand name of Levi 's, chew Juicy Fruit gum, and smoke the popular Fi l ipino cigarette brand of Hope. Moderns are Pinoy - Filipinos - implying that ethnics are not, but remain something other than members of the community of national imagination, stuck somewhere beyond even the edges of the centre. The radio from the nearby marketing town broadcasts this vision of progress as performance with what appears to be some influence. Men , even elders, in my observations, never wore traditional clothes outside ritual occasions while older women would go into market in their 'native uniform' of tapis (woven skirts) and trade beads. If the radio announcer's version of the demise of gendered ethnicity as progress enters local l iving spaces, it may have suggested to his listeners in Ifugao a broader stereotyping of those in ethnic dress as backward and naive. When I asked how she felt about this radio broadcast, my friend the storeowner replied: "That's just... Viscaya, how they see us.. . We don't mind, because we use Lev i ' s anyway." This suggested that this image was not (yet) one that local people were prepared to challenge. Radio D Z N V , broadcasting from Solano, Nueva Viscaya, December 2, 1996. 98 This discourse on indigenous men's dress labels the wanes (Kankanaey) or bahag (Tagalog) as " G -string" or "tails" and feminizes local men. This was evident in the often repeated joke several men told me about either a "lowland" or "kana" woman who 'innocently' asks i f she can see the Igorot man's "tails" for which he is famous - meaning loincloth or, perhaps, vestigial monkey-like stub. The quick-witted Igorot response is, "With respect, madam, only i f we are married first." There are many versions of this joke, in each case resisting the patronizing, feminizing gaze of the foreign woman with a response asserting Igorot virili ty and masculinity. A s suggested by the radio broadcast and the recurring sexual theme of this joke, there appeared to be a popular identification of masculine performance with the progress of 'development' or 'civil ization' and the absorption of the periphery into the narratives of the centre. Perhaps this was the background against which the stories of Imuc and Dominga Alandada, both female protagonists, of a sort, in the American records of 1904, had vanished from oral histories by 1996. In the following chapter, I explore the ways one story of female agency did enter local history. Below, I turn to the visual economy, the set of images which organizes outsider's perceptions of local people and local understandings of being mapped into modernity by the visual.'5'5 Loca l histories are embedded in the processes in which these images are produced, circulated and commodified, thus local narrators must engage with the organizing tropes found in these visual representations in their retellings of their stories. This visual economy is very much inscribed into local social and economic landscapes. It is not simply relegated to distant museums, metropolitan texts, or particular tourist sites, but omnipresent. Seeing 'historic postcards' for sale along the tourist route to Banaue brought home to me the ways that local history was not an academic concern, but a conflicted and vibrant terrain across which local struggles for access to resources and self-definition were waged on a daily basis. 6 6 For elaboration, see Poole, D., Vision, race and modernity: a visual economy of the Andean image world (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997.) 99 3.5 Postcard images We live in an emphatically colonial present. This colonial character is evident in a nostalgia for the visual economy of the imperial era that devalues present day indigenous cultures under the guise of celebrating their past. 6 7 This section argues that these nostalgic images matter in local development because they delimit local and viewers' or tourist identities in particular ways. Postcards of the Cordillera and its peoples date to the early days of the American regime and are part of a spectacular retrieval of the primitive as a cultural commodity. Postcards enjoyed their heyday at the beginning of the American colonial period in the Philippines. In Mani la , they were primarily produced to mark the presence of the colonizer in the colony, circulating as images that "confirm.. . attendance in the presence of the Other and, by certifying the validity of the experience, herald the...successful return from the journey." 6 8 A s all visual images and technologies, picture postcards move across the imagined boundaries that separate cultures and classes. Cultural and racial discourses animated the images for the purchasers. These images also played a role in constituting the imaginations and identities of those portrayed. 6 9 Images function to constitute identity by normalizing and limiting the range of meanings that can be ascribed to the subjects of the image by its viewers: "Travelers and colonists could regard a space and another society, not as a geographic tract, nor an array of practices and relations, but as a thing depicted or described, that was immediately subject to their gaze." 7 0 This process creates a peculiar sense of power in the viewer, the power of policing authenticity, which is, of course, no reflection of actual control over the subjects depicted nor necessary power extended to fix a definition of the space of intersubjective meaning. 6 7 Rosaldo, R., Culture and truth: the remaking of social analysis (Boston: Beacon Press, 1989.) 6 8 Cooper, D., "Portraits of paradise: theme and images of the tourist industry" Southeast Asian Journal of Social Science 22 (1994): 144-60; 144. 6 9 See Poole, D. op. cit., for discussion. 7 0 Thomas, N . 1994, 112. 100 M y interest in postcards began when, walking along a Baguio City street, I saw a book on antique picture postcards in the storefront window of National Bookstore. Inside, I was startled to find that most of the images that had been collected were colorized versions of pictures I had seen in the National Geographic. Even more surprising was the extent to which these images were replicated in the contemporary examples on sale in the chain's racks of postcards. I bought the book, many of the cards on sale, and began collecting more contemporary postcards on my travels. Examining the collection of antique Philippine postcards put together by Jonathan Best in the book, it is clear that many of the images that sold and were mailed back to the United States were distinctively ethnic and gendered. 7 ' I wish to explore these historical images that appeared first in the National Geographic and later as colorized postcards here. M y goal is to use these images to contextualize the contemporary politics of representation of the Cordillera region and its Igorot inhabitants. While it has been argued that exhibitions and the cinema supplanted the postcard as a means of normalizing and managing the periphery in modernity, I argue against this kind of temporal notion of progress in (mis)representations. 7 2 This kind of periodization in the visual economy of the primitive is unhelpful. For those peoples imagined still to lie outside the viewing society, in the 'primitive realms,' such forms of representation persist. I have selected postcard images here to argue that continuity between historical and contemporary postcard images of the Cordillera shows how the colonial categories continue to proliferate and enframe local experiences in distinctly ethnic and gendered terms. Beginning with gender identities, it is evident in the postcard images created by American colonialism that Fi l ipina identity emerged as a commodity fetish. The image of the Fi l ip ina was tied to the incitement to represent colonial experiences in the consumption and staging of the "authentic" Philippines. For instance, in 1908, a Mani l a photo studio was giving away free "nice photos" of Filipinas as souvenirs to 7 7 Best, J., Philippine picture postcards 1900-1920 (Manila: Bookmark, 1994.) The author does not make it clear how he chose his selections for the book. Presumably, they were based on availability and thus reflect, to some extent, the popularity of the images with purchasers of the day. 7 2 Poole, D., op. cit., 13-17. 101 entice customers. 7 3 Somehow, this reproduced image of an unknown woman became tied to colonial efforts to experience the "truth" of the country. In Best's collection, one of the most compelling images is a colorized version of the Fi l ipina as "a Visayan tipe." This is an image that first appeared in the pages of National Geographic (see Plate 3-1). Many postcards are accompanied by textual explanations that overdetermine the interpretation of the image, supposedly repressing all but a single possible meaning. What does 'a type' mean? I suggest that the connection between image and text is actually a productive relation - inciting further representations to connect (or disconnect) the text more firmly to the image. This has produced an ongoing series of Fi l ipina 'types' - as seen in Best's collection and the contemporary postcards on sale at bookstores and tourist kiosks nation-wide. Each is ' typical ' of Fi l ipina beauty and each can also be constructed and commodified as more 'modern' or 'authentic' than the last. Because of the referentiality and intertextuality of this process of representation, texts are often implied, rather than stated, so contemporary postcards in the 'Fi l ip ina babe' genre often have no caption; 'type' is understood. 7 4 The circulation of an image of a nameless woman, identified only as a 'type' representative of a Philippine region as 'truth' of colonial experience clearly demonstrates the intertextuality of colonial representational norms." It would be interesting to assess the extent to which the pictures that sold in that colonial era were of the truly "traditional" Filipinas or the modernized and thus "inauthentic" examples that embodied the inevitability of progress. Perhaps it was the postcard contrasting the "c iv i l ized" Manilena and her "Igorot" sister that sold (see Plate 3-2)? 7 5 Vergara B. , op. cit., 2 6 - 2 7 . 7 4 1 have chosen not to display examples of these images here because I do not wish to further this discursive practice, even through critique. 7 5 The image of the young woman on the right appears in Worcester, D.C. "The non-Christian peoples of the Philippines - with an account of what has been done for them under American Rule" National Geographic 24(11), 1913: 1157-1256, 1185. 102 Plate 3-1 Postcard of a Visayan tipe, taken from National Geographic 103 Plate 3-2 Postcard, titled a Manilena and her uncivilized sister 104 Certainly, during the same period bare-breasted Philippine farm-workers were turning up on the pages of National Geographic as 'types' distinct from that of the hispanicized Visayan women mentioned above. Neither the stereotypical exotic, primitivized ethnographic specimen nor the completely Americanized "modern" woman portrayed in the cards reflected the situations of most women l iv ing in the country under American rule. Nevertheless, these remained powerful demonstrations of how colonialists/imperialists could mould and then manipulate feminine identities and ethnicities. The images I have selected from Best's collection of cards of the 'national minorities' are all colorized versions of the plates from National Geographic of 1911 and 1912. The provenance of the images in the journal is unclear. The photographs of Igorots on the Cordillera may have been taken during the census activities of the American regime in the region or perhaps, produced de novo, in the census style, to illustrate particular articles. The natural history mode of representation favored in the early National Geographic articles on the Philippines abstracted human 'specimens' from their social and ecological context, thus opening the way for restructuring of societies and the management of nature. 7 6 In 1911, an influential American colonial administrator, Dean C . "Non-Christian" Worcester (so-called for his advocacy of ' tribal ' issues on the Cordillera) published a pictorial essay on people of the mountain province - Igorots. These people were already well known to the magazine's American readership from their exhibition in the 1904 World 's Fair where they were literally mapped onto the 'Upper Barbaric' in the great pageant of human evolution laid out for fair-goers. 7 7 From these colonial encounters at St. Louis and in the Philippines, the American public developed a sense of a hierarchy of human development and then the sentiment that current 'types' were the last of a vanishing tribe. This process of sense and sentiment is how the image of the Igorot became important for Americans and for lowland Filipinos. A s an image of the primitive, the photographic Igorot from the World 's Fair reassured the 7 6 Pratt, M. -L . , 1992, 31. 7 7 For details on the World's Fair and the Igorot Exhibition see Robert Rydell, All the world's a fair: visions of empire at American International Expositions 1876 - 1916 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984) and B. Benedict, ed. The anthropology of world's fairs. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983.) 105 viewer that progress was indeed occurring and that they, positioned as viewer rather than spectacle themselves, were ahead of the game.7* This created an ongoing demand for pictures of Fi l ipino peoples, one that was met, apparently, by the production of more postcards from National Geographic images. These picture postcards of Igorots were sold to the American audience and to others, including Filipinos wishing to position themselves beyond the primitive and in the modern world. The production and circulation of such images has had an often unacknowledged impact on how many peoples - including those who became known as Igorots - are perceived and how they experience the world. One author writes that "To hypothesize that the Igorots at St. Louis were profoundly moved by the idea of their own "Late Barbarism" is an interesting proposition that I would argue is a losing one. It was a narrative that ultimately signified most to the universalized outsider-audience it was primarily written for ." 7 9 The popularity of the Igorot display, however, made the Igorots representative of all Filipinos in the American popular understanding.*0 Seeing that the image of the headhunting savage generalized to the entire population would preclude independence, Manila-based Fil ipino nationalists from hispanicized communities tried to distance the metropolitan Philippines from the periphery. Carlos Romulo, later Secretary General of the United Nations, argued that Igorots were a small minority group, different in "racial character from the lowland Christians."*' This idea of a racial distinction incited debate about discourses on race within the Fil ipino popular imaginary, bringing longstanding charges that Romulo argued 'Igorots are not Fil ipinos. ' In the 1960s, militant Igorot students in Baguio City burned Romulo in effigy to protest the impact of this assertion on their lives. Pictures of Igorots sold at St. Louis, they sold copies of National Geographic to its readership, and the same pictures from the Geographic, colorized, sold as postcards to be mailed home to the States. 7* See Robert Rydell, op. cit. 7 9 Cherubim Quizon, "Ethnographic knowledge and the display of Philippine Igorots in the Louisiana Purchase Exposition, 1904," unpublished M A , SUNY Stony Brook 1991, p.82. 8 0 Afable, P., 1995, 16. 106 Jonathan Best explains the mechanics behind the profligate circulation and re-presentation of these images wel l : Copyright laws were either lax or non-existent at the time and a good photograph would be used by various publishers, not only for postcards but also in books, magazines and for souvenir items. Some cards had different colors added, and the backgrounds altered or removed entirely. Captions were commonly deleted or changed over time, which led to many errors, particularly with ethnographic identifications or place names. It is not always possible to accurately date a postcard by the photo alone; old photographs were sometimes used and popular images remained in print for many years."2 On its own, this should not be shocking - the images of the colonial era persisted into the 1920s. Moreover, they are of contemporary interest. A s Best again explains Ironically, some of the cards initially made to project a primitive, backward or uncivilized picture of the country in dire need of America's 'beneficent' administration ... have come to be highly valued. Many of these are now seen as examples of the beauty and charm of the indigenous Filipino... The over abundance of pictures of bare chested Ifugao girls were snickered at in 'civilized' parlors a century ago. Today the textile and jewelry designs they illustrated are respected the world over. Old postcards of the national minorities are highly sought after by collectors and researchers.*3 One such image, taken from the plates accompanying Worcester's National Geographic article of 1911, appears in Plate 3-3. w T h e colorizing and the caption attempt to recreate this image into a picture of a natural innocent or, perhaps, a Fi l ipina beauty. It seems to me, however, that the young woman photographed is an uncomfortable model. She gazes into the distance, dressed for cleaning the fields in a grass skirt. In the profile shot that accompanies this photograph in the National Geographic, she sits with a slumped posture. Her expression seems perhaps dazed, perhaps bored or bewildered and perhaps unwill ing as she sits in front of the photographers white drop-cloth as a physical "specimen," recorded face-on and in profile like the criminals of the day. 8 1 Romulo, C , Mother America: A living story of democracy, (Westport, Ct.: Greenwood Press, 1943), p. 59. 8 2 Best, J. Philippine picture postcards 1900-1920 (Manila: Bookmark, 1994) p. 3. 83 Ibid., 5. 8 4 The image appears in Worcester, D. "Head-hunters of Northern Luzon" National Geographic 23(9), 1912: 833-930,915. 107 Plate 3-3 Bontoc woman, postcard 108 Plate 3-4 Pagan Gaddangs This facial expression, or lack of it, as a signal of discomfort is not an isolated phenomenon. Facial expressions suggesting fear and annoyance appear in several of the postcard, including that of the young Gaddang couple on their wedding day, another image that originally appeared in the 1911 National Geographic (Plate 3-4). These facial expressions are not typical for all photographs of this period. In comparison to the Masferre photos, taken during the same era by a local Igorot-mestizo photographer, it appears that these census subjects may have been sometimes unwill ing participants. Their faces may be registering their resistance through either anger, fear or withdrawal. Nonetheless, and perhaps because of the possible interpretations of resistance incorporated within them, these images circulated as cards of 'savages.' For contrast, I include two photographs of (topless) young women taken by Eduardo Masferre during the 1930s* 5 The first, Plate 3-5 is a studio portrait of a young woman dressed for a formal occasion in a small fortune in trade beads. Her expression is solemn and she does not make eye contact with the camera, yet she smiles slightly and her eyes seem fixed on some focal point beyond both the camera and photographer. She posed for this picture as a personal portrait, likely a keepsake for herself and her family, most probably recording the event of her betrothal or wedding. The second, Plate 3-6 is a photograph of a young woman from Kalinga sitting, un-posed, knees to chest on a rock, watching the photographer, Masferre, who was shooting landscape images of the rice paddies opposite. 5 6 The photographer noted her interest and turned to ask her i f she would also like to have her picture taken. In the resulting image, her face glows with curiosity and she looks to me as i f she may begin to laugh. These images were purchased as postcards in 1997 from the late Eduardo Masferre's studio in Sagada and are reproduced here, for purposes of academic review, with the kind permission of Ms. Nena Masferre. A detailed account of Masferre's work and copies of his photographs can be found in de Villa, G., Garcia-Farr, M . , and G. Jones, eds. Eduardo Masferre: people of the Philippine Cordillera, photographs 1934 - 1956 (Manila: Devcon LP., Inc., 1988.) 8 6 Ms. Nena Masferre, pers. comm., 17 February, 1997. 110 Plate 3-5 Kalinga woman, studio portrait, Eduardo Masferre 111 Plate 3-6 Kalinga girl on rock, Eduardo Masferre 112 Both of these photographs were taken in very different circumstances - a studio and a lone photographer's expedition - than the colonial photographic census that produced the image in the colorized postcard of the young woman in the grass skirt. That this particular image of a woman, with its distant and unengaged expression, became a salacious postcard that established and recirculated stereotypes of the immoral habits of Fil ipino 'tribes' speaks volumes about the gendering of primitive space. This image was produced in 1911 and circulated before the war. A s Best indicates, it is an antique or curiosity today, yet its subject matter and the subject's body position are replicated in the images in other, contemporary postcards that I found for sale on the Cordillera during my field work. In many of these colorized postcards and National Geographic illustrations, women were represented in ways that eroticized and primitivized them while suggesting that their visible musculature was incongruent with civi l ized femininity. Thus, the same bare limbs that made them sexual objects rendered them unappealing. Likewise, indigenous masculinity was represented with ambivalence. Amidst recurrent images of Igorot men as hyper-masculine warriors, I found one card that actually feminized men by representing a man as a woman. Plate 3-7 shows a young man with a backbasket designed to protect the contents from monsoon downpours. It likely contains a lunch to sustain him during a day in the fields. The caption, however, reads: Iggorote maid with head basket, thus combining, into a single image of savagery, the thrill of men's head-taking with the horrid appearance of women. This confusion over sex and gender in the colonial gaze seemed to emphasize the savagery of the people by suggesting that not only were the women heavy-bodied and thus 'ugly, ' both men and women were interchangeably violent." 7 This mis-labeling brings to mind Thomas's comments on the way in which colonialism read debasement from the female native's body and, in this case, even substituted in a male body to fit the image within the discursive frame of primitivism. This mistake of gender was made at the point in which the image was colorized and captioned, then sold. The subject of the photograph is not identified as female in the National Geographic nor is he identified as male - the emphasis is on the local technology represented by the waterproof backbasket. See plates and text in Worcester, D. "Head-hunters of Northern Luzon" National Geographic 23(9), 1912: 833-930. 113 Plate 3-7 Maid with headbasket, postcard What is missing here is the relationship between these antique cards and the ones currently being sold to tourists in National Bookstore, the markets of Baguio Ci ty (primate city of the Cordillera), and the viewpoint at Banaue, the major rural tourist site. This relationship between the historical images and contemporary ones is disturbing because it is one of clear intertextuality and, at times, almost complete reproduction. Because of the intertextuality of the images that circulate as postcards, texts are often implied, rather than stated on contemporary cards. It is, as my Plates w i l l show you, the images themselves that repeat or refer to each other. This intertextuality emerges from the colonial archive and the complexities of colonial relations that are not only forms of political and economic subordination justified by ideologies of race or progress but essentially cultural projects. A s such, colonial relations are also constituted through the imagination of symbols, signs, stories and nation or community. Postcards demonstrate the photographic history of this phenomenon. A single image from the upland Philippines, one of two Kankanaey girls, has perhaps appeared as a postcard for most of this century (Plate 3-8). Originally published in the National Geographic of 1911, it was colorized and circulated through American hands, appearing in a collection of historic postcards published by Jonathan Best . 8 5 In 1996,1 purchased a watercolor version of this image, produced by a Fi l ipina artist, in several branches of National Bookstore in Mani la . What is of interest here is that these images continue to be treated as contemporary, rather than strictly historical, continuing the representational practices of formal colonialism and, through that, the colonial era. In contemporary practices, postcards continue to function as an instrument of confirmation and serve to mark the presence of the tourist or visitor in the appropriate places. A site is not really a destination until it has a range of commodified images that represent its touristic consumption. The Cordillera and its rice terraces form such a complex of destination and image in the contemporary Philippines. A visit to the National Bookstore w i l l net you several images of rice terraces, Igorots and their culture. Best, J. op. cit. 115 Plate 3-8 (A) and (B) Two Kankaney girls 116 There is a clear relation between the postcards of Igorots I collected in 1995 - 1997 and the colonial tropes of representing the primitive and the Igorot, particularly their gendering. These images should not be dismissed as merely representations created for tourism and, as such, limited to a particular discursive realm. These pictures are positioned in an important and disturbing intertextuality of with the representational tropes of the colonial era. Such contemporary images, too, have a political and material impact on mountain people's daily experiences, at home and abroad. It is crucial to keep in mind that these images circulate to a much broader audience than w i l l ever get to the mountains. If and when these people arrive, they w i l l already have these images at hand as reference and guide, for, as tourists, whether visiting nationals, anthropologists or f i lm crews: "We go not to test the image by reality, but to test reality by the image."* 9 This dynamic explained why, on three occasions, I met tourists carrying postcards already purchased in Baguio City, wandering through the streets of Sagada, asking where they might find the 'tribal people.' They found the local reply somewhat startling: " Y o u are looking at them." In the following section, I take apart this touristic practice of representation. 3.5.7 Tourism and the postcard Tourism is constructed around the staging of particular places: "a production of sites which are linked in a time-space itinerary and sights that are organized into a hierarchy of cultural significance." 9 0 Tourists follow routinized paths, each trip in its turn contributing to the layering of imaginative geographies. Tracing these routes produces a sedimentation of representations which shapes the experiences and expectations of subsequent tourists. A key role in this sedimentation of imaginaries and images is played by the material artifact of the postcard because it functions as an instrument of confirmation, marking the presence of the tourist in the appropriate places. Landscapes as sights clearly do not become the sites of Boorstin, D. "From traveler to tourist: the lost art of travel" in his The Image - or what happened to the American Dream.(Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1961), p.123. 9 0 Gregory, D. "Scripting Egypt: Orientalism and the culture of travel" in Duncan, J. and D. Gregory, eds. Writes of passage (London: Routledge, 1999; pp. 114 - 150), p. 116. 117 tourist visits until images are made, circulated and seen. Images of place create signposts for tourist visits to particular sites. Simultaneously, more visits sediment a particular catalogue of acceptable images into an imaginary of place. This happens when tourists recirculate what see on these landscapes as sketches or photographic images they make or acquire. The exchange of images between past visitors and potential travelers thus reinforces the value of a particular place as a destination. For decades, postcards have been the ubiquitous commodity markers of this sedimentary accumulation of images into imaginaries. Tourists are enticed by these imaginaries. Capturing the place for one's self - being there and sending back one's own series of postcards, making one's own photographs - is a performance that constitutes a particularly modern identity. Contemporary postcard images of Igorots and their landscapes are produced by, for and marketed to metropolitan Fil ipino and foreign tourists. Culturally powerful forces encourage those who locate themselves within 'western' or European cultural heritages - that pervasive, imagined 'we ' - to search for authenticity in the Other through the seductive images of tourism. Confronting the primitive Other actually constructs that imaginary 'we' in the experience of the participants. In images of the primitive as indigenous peoples, we can see human relics of an age long gone, struggling to survive. Tourist destinations in 'the primitive' mode survive as remnants of a timeless past and 'we' engage in a form of time travel when we visit them. We find a humorous juxtaposition between modern and primitive that ironically reassures our viewing selves that the forces of change have tamed the primitive society. Simultaneously holding and enacting contradictory ideas of the primitive allows colonial cultures and colonized alike to manipulate each other. In the Cordillera tourist context, this manipulation occurs over performances of 'tribal' authenticity. Within the images of the primitive sold as postcards, we find an interesting journey played out. A s Dave Cooper argues: "Postcard images are not simply a random selection of picturesque views of landscapes or portraits of the local inhabitants in traditional costumes, engaged in ritual or cultural activities. They 118 act as signifiers of verification and authentificiation, testifying to the successful completion of the ritual progressions necessary to traverse 'sacred space.'" 9 2 I argue that this "sacred space" is the place of the primitive. This place and its inhabitants are represented in contradictory ways that reflect modern anxieties about identity, development and progress. I can identify four themes within the cards I have collected: depopulated landscapes, de-contextualized artifacts, naive nostalgia and tribal documentary. Each is worthy of commentary but, here, I choose to follow the politics of one representational theme - that of the Banaue Rice Terraces as depopulated landscapes - into its representation across a broader Philippine mediascape. 9 3 Ifugao people who build and maintain these terraces dispute their identification as Igorots in some venues, but accept it in others. Therefore, this is disputed as an Igorot site, even as Igorots are popularly identified by nationalists as the authentic terrace-builders of a virile pre-Hispanic Fi l ipino past. Thus, colonial distinctions and their reinscriptions thus underlie even local ideas of the periphery, destabilizing the terrain where critical analysis of their effects might be undertaken. Postcard-type images and the tropes they recirculate impact directly on local struggles to control land and development. Since 1992, concerns over the decline of 'traditional' rice agriculture and the Ifugao landscape have emerged in the metropolitan media. 9 4 In 1994, the Philippine government created the Ifugao Terraces Commission to preserve the rice terraces in Central Ifugao as a national treasure. In 1997, U N E S C O designated the terraces a Wor ld Heritage Site. In the media coverage, the Ifugao are presented as an 9 2 Cooper, D. 1994, 159. 9 3 I have selected this image because of its iconic status and colonial history. 9 4 See Far Eastern Economic Review, "Agriculture: Manila tries to save Banaue's crumbling rice terraces," Sept. 15, ,1994, v. 157, n. 37, page 50; Garcellano, R. 1995 "2,000 years and counting: time is running out on Banaue's 'skyways'," Philippine Daily Inquirer, March 19, 1995, page B l 1; Villalon, A. 1995a "Paddied landscape an Asian symbol," Philippine Daily Inquirer, March 4, 1995, page C6; Villalon, A. 1995b "Delicate balance of culture and nature," Philippine Daily Inquirer, March 27, 1995, page D2, for examples of this debate. 119 "authentic, tribal culture" and as the "oldest agricultural community" in the Philippines. They are supposedly untouched by Spanish and American colonialism, disturbed only by their recent integration into the commercial vegetable market. 9 6 With the attention has come a variety of projects and policies aimed and keeping commercial bean farming off the terraces - especially the 'visible ' ones. The drying-out of fields so as to free land for beans or labor for other purposes has destabilized the rice terrace system in Banaue to the extent that some fields are now permanently dry. The deforestation of upslope recharge zones to produce woodcarvings for the tourist market and the water demands of tourist development are no doubt contributing factors. A program of restoration was announced by the Department of Tourism and the Banaue Rice Terraces Commission in September of 1998: " i f we restore the terraces, we ' l l be doing the world a favor." 9 7 The 'authentic tribal' image of Banaue persists despite these local effects of a reputation for pristine culture and dramatic landscape: the Banaue rice terraces drew 25,000 tourists in 1994 and the number is expected to increase yearly. 9* Ifugao culture and landscape are seen as the location of pre-colonial past; they have symbolic and educational value for Philippine society. Contemporary Filipinos thus owe the Ifugao a debt of gratitude for preserving this symbol: "Many of the terraces are being left to decay. Our Cordillera brothers have yet to realize they're custodians of a most precious symbol, and we have yet to thank them for keeping it a l ive." 9 9 The nineteenth century American assumptions which predicted discontinuity and demise for indigenous cultures have been met with evidence of survival and continuity. Yet, admiration of Ifugao agriculture here is tinged with this familiar nostalgia for vanishing peoples and places. The same phenomenon can been seen in the nostalgia for the visual economy in the postcard 9 5 Villalon, A . 1995b "Delicate balance of culture and nature" Philippine Daily Inquirer, March 27, 1995, page D2. 9 6 Garcellano, R. op. cit. 9 7 Philippine Tourism Secretary Gemma Cruz-Araneta, quoted in the Philippine Daily Inquirer, Sept 18, 1998 article circulated on 9 8 Garcellano, R. op. cit.. 9 9 Villalon, A. , 1995b. 120 images of people- a devaluation of present-day indigenous cultures under the guise of celebrating their past - what Renato Rosaldo terms an "imperialist nostalgia." 7 0 0 This nostalgic discourse on the Ifugao rice terraces distinguishes the indigenous Ifugao from other Filipinos and commodifies their culture. Though "brothers," Ifugao local economies are marginal to the symbolic interests of the nation and the potential of tourism development. In this discourse on tribal decline, local people are presented as hapless victims of progress. The Manila-based media do not portray the Ifugao as rational and active agents caught up in global networks. Instead, the Ifugao are represented as in need of the assistance of tourists, journalists, and agricultural and development experts to save their landscape. Such representations of Igorots as hapless indigenes are gendered. M e n are the active agents of valuable tradition and potential for progress; women are passive and backward. Contemporary representations reflect this distinction, showing men as masters of the terraced landscape and women as backward (see Plate 3-9.) While nationalist Filipinos can talk to their (male) "Cordillera brothers" about terrace rehabilitation and further tourism development, indigenous women represent the stagnant aspects of tradition. The article from the Philippine Daily Inquirer that provided the "Cordillera brothers" quote, above, was illustrated with a picture of "an Ifugao tribeswoman" in "traditional" dress waiting for tourists to pay for her photograph. 7 0 7 Postcards of similar images are widely available. In this photograph, the indigenous woman embodies the embarrassing decline of a once-proud 'tribal' heritage. The Inquirer reader was informed that this heritage needed to be saved as a nationalist symbol by assisting the active male 7 0 0 Rosaldo, R. Culture and truth: the remaking of social analysis (Boston: Beacon Press, 1989.) 7 0 7 Villalon, A. , 1995b. 121 Plate 3-9 Contemporary postcard, three Ifugao men on the Banaue terraces 122 cultural aspect/ 0 2 Women and subsistence production are not mentioned, perhaps because the dominant discourse on gender locates women and feminized "tradition" in the realm of the domestic, passive and underdeveloped. It is not surprising that, in this representational context, younger women choose to leave traditional f a r m i n g / 0 3 Many work as artisans for the tourist industry, pursue education and hope to go "abroad." B y absenting themselves from a 'traditional' realm, they become hybrid figures who are no longer essential to reproducing the touristic imaginary that sells the area. They do not appear in postcards and rarely grace tourist brochures, unless in full indigenous costume. The purification of local hybridities to meet tourist expectations has development implications beyond the presence or absence of performing bodies. People I interviewed were proud to be visited, to be a "site" of tourism - "where Igorots live is very much appreciated by peoples of the whole world. I 'm proud to be from here"- but they clearly saw this as a function of landscape, not their presence. This was a message conveyed to them by the performances of tourists themselves. I have heard tourists exclaim more than once, "these people are ruined" within the hearing of their local hosts / 0 4 Such comments reflect the impatience generated in the postcard-educated discerning viewer by the 'ruined' or 'hybrid' masquerading as the rea l . ' 0 5 Local performances of authenticity can only strive to catch up with the tourist imaginary, in order to keep the cash flowing in. One local observer told me: "The government is trying to promote a commercial type of tourism - a tourism that is distorting the indigenous concepts... The economic side is so powerful that it already erases part of their indigenous way of looking, their aesthetic. Somebody says: 'you create these kinds of images' and then the people here say that is right Inquirer readership is national, but the anticipated audience seems to be largely Manila-based. The quote on the availability of newspapers in the mountains coming as a surprise to Manila-focused Filipinos that appears earlier for corroborates this idea. 1 0 3 This politics of representation is one reason among several that will be elaborated in chapters 5 and 6. 7 0 4 Tourists from the U.S., Canada, Germany, Israel, South Korea, Italy and Australia all expressed this, or equivalent, evaluations to me over the course of my research. McCannell, D. op. cit., 28. 123 because it is what those people want to see here, seeing us from outside." Thus, images produced for tourism create a boundary between two distinct categories with specific kinds of mobility, knowledges and particular histories: one is either a buyer (tourist) or a performer ( local) . 7 0 7 The postcard image serves as a common ground or organizing point not only for the touristic encounter but also for the constitution of community, regional and even national identities that rely on this distinction. In the last year alone, I have found articles encouraging visitors to Banaue not only in Swedish travel magazines, but also in Fi l ipino publications aimed at overseas workers. The image of Banaue, as tourist site, has become the organizing allegory for the pre- or uncolonized nation and for nationalistic resistance to the forces of (post)colonial global politics. 3.6 The local, the primitive and the cartographic impulse B y producing place as endangered and peoples as marginalized, the visual economy that connects colonialism to tourism through postcards confirms identities for both tourists and locals. Local people are bound to place, supposedly limited in their spatial experience and living outside of 'modern' time. What they have left to them is history. Ironically, as they defend and enact history in a representational realm, it is precisely the control of a very material present and future place that they then lose. Tourists are place-less nomads, moving through the primitive as i f engaged in time-travel. In their quest to get back to the authentic primitive, they demand the reenaction of authentic pasts drawn from images they have seen before. The touristic ideal of the primitive as a magic well of experience that can be used without possessing or diminishing it is a false dream. Becoming trapped in enacting the past for tourism, locals lose their present/ 0* Because the past they enact is constructed as a shared element of national heritage, it is representationally divorced from contemporary communities and local lands are thus emptied. Notes from an interview with a Cordillera Municipal Officer. 7 0 7 Such identities, of course, cannot remain stable. Locals, gone transnational and then returning for a visit, can take on the identity of tourists. 1 0 8 Specifically, they lose control over their lands and their economic development under government policies of resource extraction and tourism development. 124 What Said calls the "cartographic impulse," the desire to "seek out, map, invent or to discover" an uncolonized nature as the source of an authentic space in which to ground anti-imperialist struggles is at work here. 7 0 9 Deferred from the urban centers to peripheral nature by nationalists, it empties the land, again, of contemporary inhabitants. One Fil ipino poet describes the relation between his world of the metropolitan centre and the peripheral mountains he visits as a tourist in these terms: we have had to live here remembering the mountains remembering to live knowing we must thrive after all survive the well-kempt days wanderers together now prospectors hungering to see a land not claimed by anyone not even by ourselves except by that proprietary wish to be whole again 7 7 0 "Anyone" does not include, it seems, local farmers who are likewise not "ourselves." Thus the cartographic impulse empties the land of in-authentic, contemporary indigenous communities, foregrounding only those indigenes who fit into its romantic views of pristine nature and pure tradition. This becomes the context for performances of indigenous ethnicity for tourism development. The purification of local hybridities to meet tourist expectations of primitive authenticity and pristine landscapes has implications not just for local experiences of tourists but for the trajectories open to local development. In Hungduan, near Banaue, Ifugao, I met several returned overseas workers who had accumulated money to re-roof their houses with galvanized iron sheets. However, they were forbidden from doing so by a political leader. He was interested in promoting Hungduan as the site of authenticity for tourism development. A s the owner of a tourist hostel, his rationale is that the "native" authenticity of the grass roofs w i l l attract more tourists to the area. Clearly, images that structure tourist expectations Said, E., op. cit., 79. 125 have a direct impact on local struggles to control land and development. This discourse does not portray the Ifugao as rational and active agents caught up in global networks that have decided to invest their capital and labor in a commercial crop as part of a small-scale commodity production strategy. If they were not indigenous people in a historic site, they might be recognizable as peasants behaving as rational capitalist actors. A s representatives of the primitive, the Ifugao must remain bound to their land, becoming 'inauthentic' depraved or lost when they depart from 'traditional' farming. Igorot women as beggars are often pictured in the popular press. Writ ing on "Endangered People," journalist Bambi Harper reports: "there are few images as heart-rending as the sight of an old Igorot woman, begging for alms in the polluted, traffic-clogged corners of Mani l a - a symbol of the ruin of her culture."" 7 Note that in this quote, there is a clear separation between the ruined culture of the mountains and that of the putatively 'mainstream' audience the author constructs. Apparently, Igorots are still not expected to read newspapers or purchase postcards but remain the passive recipients of the metropolitan gaze. Likewise, there is no acknowledgement that before the arrival of the Spanish, the groups that are now contemporary uplanders and lowlanders mixed freely and shared many common cultural practices. In tourist sites, local people, dressed in their jeans and T-shirts, smoking Hope and chewing Juicy Fruit, pass by the stalls selling their historicized images daily. They listen to the comments of tourists on their 'decline' knowing, all the while, that their performance of the 'modern' is what w i l l enable them to sell their crops in the national market, educate their children in the national school system, and join the imagined community of Fil ipinos. 3.6.1 From postcard and tourism to cinema The gendered gaze of the metropolis has opened other realms of representation for local people as examples of authentic primitives. Differences in the embodied performance of gender have led to other 1 . 0 Macansantos, F. "Sagada" Jose - the literary quarterly of the Philippines, 1 (3): 1983: 30. 1 . 1 Harper, B . "Endangered people," Philippine Daily Inquirer, June 13, 1995. 126 opportunities emerging from tourist practices. For instance, on the advice of crew members who had seen performers from Banaue enacting Ifugao culture at a Mani la hotel, Francis Ford Coppola cast Ifugao women as the locals in the battle scenes of his 1979 fi lm, Apocalypse Now. Based on Conrad's Heart of Darkness, perhaps the best known internal critique of Western colonialism, Coppola's f i lm re-stages Conrad's tale, taking it up the Mekong, through Vietnam into Cambodia, during the Vietnam war. Crewmembers who had visited Ifugao and seen Ifugao dancers affirmed that, unlike lowland women, Ifugao women did not "walk sexy."" 2 They could then, apparently, withstand the simulated warfare on the f i lm set with a simulacrum of 'realistic' female movement, because they were 'tribal',,women, used to the hardships of mountain life. The distinctive value of Ifugao performances of feminine embodiment led to the presence of a large contingent of Ifugao people, recruited from the major tourist centre at Banaue, on the Apocalypse Now set. Paid forty Philippine pesos per day per person through a small coterie of 'managers,' the group was attempting to garner all the extras it could from the production company. One successful idea was to request a carabao for a ritual slaughter. In Eleanor Coppola's f i lm Hearts of Darkness, a documentary on the making of Apocalypse Now, it is the Ifugao request for a carabao to slaughter that gives Coppola his ingenious solution to the final scene. To this point, we have followed him as genius/filmmaker, up the river into his own dark hour. He is sick, over budget and out of creative inspiration, having no idea what to do for the finale. A s he ponders how to stage the death of Kurtz, his wife calls him to see the ritual slaughter and he becomes inspired. His genius as filmmaker is in the images he incorporates - images taken straight from the authentic primitive of the Ifugao ritual. On screen the Ifugao hack apart a carabao, but Coppola does not know the entire story. This scene replicates the old colonial relations reported in the 1911 National Geographic. There, the American governors staged "canaos" (large redistributive prestige feasts) to make peace between fractious villages and establish colonial hegemony over the redistribution of wealth and justice. They " 2 Interview with Joseph Bias, Banaue, Ifugao, February 1997. 127 used this local idiom of feasting to consolidate power. O f course, the biggest prestige feasts were those in which a carabao or more was slaughtered and the meat would be doled out by precedence - those with the closest kinship ties receiving most. Since the Americans had no relatives, the strongest client relations symbolically went to those who got the most meat. Thus the carabao slaughter was a 'free-for a l l ' that reinforced American ideas of primitive indiscipline and barbarism. The carabao remained a symbol of colonial power and its slaughter the symbolic tax on the Spanish as colonial overlord. Therefore, the prestige and the feast retain an ambivalent quality in the local understanding. Even as the Ifugao accept the gift of meat, they are symbolically assassinating the imperial donor. In the final scene of Apocalypse Now, where Wil lard kills Kurtz against the backdrop of a "Cambodian" festival, Kurtz 's demise is closely paralleled by the ritual slaughter of a carabao. In the actual filming of this scene, the natives are played by extras recruited from Bocos, Banaue, Ifugao Province. Though they "represent Cambodians" in the dance and ritual, they are led by Guimbatan, a respected mumbaki (native ritual specialist) from Banaue, and their performances retain definitive Ifugao elements of expression and gesture.'" Here we have resistance that appears to be primitivism, the stealthy slaughter of imperial power amidst it al l . A s James Clifford describes it, local people have inserted "contestatory expressions from the site of imperial intervention, long ignored in the metropolis; the critique of empire coded ongoingly on the spot, in ceremony, dance, parody, philosophy, counterknowledge and counterhistory, in texts unwitnessed, suppressed, lost or simply overlain with repetition and unreality" into the text of the f i l m / 7 4 Screening Apocalypse Now for my Ihaliap hosts was an interesting experience. To begin, the long, suspense-filled journey up the river into the 'Heart of Darkness' was unfamiliar and sleep-inducing. The 1 1 3 Such Cambodian elements of dress and design that overlay the Ifugao participation in the film were reportedly inspired by George Condominas's We have eaten the forest: the story of a Montagnard village in the central highlands of Vietnam, trans. A. Foulke (New York: Hil l and Wang, 1977.) Having read the book, seen the movie, and interviewed participants, I have failed to establish any connection, except that reference to the ethnography legitimated Coppola's scripting of and re-presenting the Ifugao performances. 1 1 4 Pratt, M - L . Imperial Eyes: travel writing and transculturation (London: Routledge, 1992), p. 2. 128 action scenes were well received because war movies, particularly Rambo, are a familiar genre. The final scene of the carabao slaughter with its burlesque of Ifugao ritual did not elicit comment from the audience that I collected. I asked one friend i f he thought the scene was not a bit wrong: It is a movie... they're supposed to be representing Cambodians, not Ifugaos, so maybe that's why it is different. We do not wear chickens as jewelry...It doesn't look like that. However, to catch his attention to answer this question, I had to interrupt his murmured chant of "the horror, the horror..." He had definitely identified, not with the Ifugao performers or the warrior protagonist but with Marlon Brando's crazy and dissolute Kurtz. Trying to pull his wandering subjectivity back into an Ifugao subject position so he could give me an 'authentic Ifugao' critique of Coppola's use of the performance felt like an act of colonial violence. I let the line of questioning lapse. 3.7 Narratives, histories and gendering These stories of local history, gender and ethnicity matter, as do the tropes and images they deploy. This is why the Igorot Quarterly, a publication of the American outmigrant group that organizes the internet discussions, is planning to publish a revisionist article on Igorot experiences at the St. Louis exhibition. Clearly, the stories of preceding generations influence how they and their inheritors are to be treated and represented in the contemporary world. Narratives are, and always have been, political tactics and this is why the discussion of indigenous identity, which opens this essay, is such a critical exercise. This chapter is not intended to pre-empt or redefine identity debates but to explicate the complex context in which this discussion is situated. If, at the end of this chapter, ethnicities remain unclear - are Ihaliap people Ifugao people and are Ifugao people Igorots - it is because they are performatives overdetermined by contexts. It is clearly not up to the author to decide, but to the members of these communities, the people who share the common experiences and stories, who are forging something anew out of these narratives and thus reimagining themselves and their world. A critical part of the constitution of the local by this community has been the reworking of local gender. From the historical sketches and representations presented here, a particular 129 problem emerges: why, in an area with egalitarian principles when it comes to gender labor and inheritance, were women always relegated to the historical background as the counterpoint figures for masculine progress? If women were not such supporting performers, then how does this come about? 130 Luz Luz was thirty-three and worked in Hong Kong as a domestic helper for seven years. I met Luz at her store along the National Highway. She heard that I was Canadian and asked me to her house for tea. And what tea it was! A perfectly brewed cup of Fortnum and Mason's loose Earl Grey. Tea, she explained, sent to her by her British employer from Hong Kong who had taught her how to brew it properly. "I'm glad you're here, " she said, "nobody here understands tea." So we sat in her living room, over several afternoons, amidst old issues of Canadian Living, and she told me her story. Luz finished a degree in Home Economics at the local college. "And after that, what kind of job do you find? I got married right away." Several months later, her son was born, and she and her husband were still living with his parents and farming. "We had nothing, no lands and no money. So my parents mortgaged their ricefield and I went to Hong Kong. My son was maybe one year, six months... " She wasn't sure what she was getting herself into: "I was really koboy U5then -working in the fields, rough hands, dark skin. I took the Home Economics course, yes, but we never saw appliances. I had been to Manila maybe once, with my friend. Hong Kong was like... I was dismayed." In Hong Kong, her first employer was a Chinese family. The parents were nice and kind to her, though she worked hard. Once, her "male employer" allowed her to have a Filipina friend stay with her while she was looking for work. The wife didn't speak English, so information was relayed to her by the children. This was very hard for Luz, who reported being told: "You're just a maid, you can't do anything here," and, "Mummy says to tell you if you do anything naughty, she will send you back in the Philippines." Luz felt that she could not care for the children properly if they were allowed to be disrespectful, so she began looking for another position through a network of Filipina friends. "It is very important to have barkadas [friends] there. They are the ones who will help you if you must leave your employer. So, I went with the other Filipina girls who worked in the neighborhood and they introduced me to other girls at the malls." When I asked her if she revealed her ethnicity to these women, she explained that she did not. "Nobody asked me, 'do you come from Baguio ?,' like that... So, I just keep quiet. I do not like to say Ifugao, because people have bad impressions already. When they say 'where are you from?,' I say, 'near Solano, Nueva Viscaya.' That's true, I just live Ifugao side. So maybe they think I'm from Viscaya?" (laughs) Through this group of women, Luz was able to find a network of Filipinas working for expatriate European and North American families. "I went with the girls who had good employers - you know, nice clothes and days off and good salaries. They all work for foreigners there in Hong Kong. One girl recommended me for a job with a British family." Luz agreed with me that, like her, the 'girls' seemed to be looking each other over, trying to find friends who would prove to be helpful contacts. Literally, cowboy, implying rough and ready style. 131 After one year with her Chinese employer, Luz spent five with this family. It was, she assessed, on the whole, a good situation. She learned to make tea, something her female employer insisted on immediately. And she also asserted herself: " With foreigners, they like to be fair. So, it's ok. My employer, she asked me to wash the car. And I do not like that, they say 'there is the maid, outside, washing the car'—it's really a work for men. So, I find my contract and I say: 'Mam, it says here that I am responsible for everything in the house. But the car is outside. Maybe you can move it here, so when I fix up the house, it's inside, too?' My employer, she just laughed and laughed. And she said, 'No, Luz, it's an extra. If you do it, we'll give you one hundred dollars each week.' So, I washed the car, but I earned more." Maintaining good relations with the female employer was key to Luz's strategy in managing her work. "You must always go with the woman employer. Even if the man is more sympathetic, you cannot be too close with him. There will be gossip. You must always be with the woman, even if you do not really like her character. You can learn." Luz listed clothes, mannerisms, and language as the things she learned from her female employers. "If the woman likes you, then you have your tea together, you talk about the children and... less work for you. And maybe she gives you things to use — a shoulder bag, a lipstick.... My employer, she liked me to read books. She was always saying: 'Here, Luz. Read this...' and she gave me a dictionary. She liked to see me reading." When I asked, she acknowledged that "Yes, you become like your female employer. They like to see that. After all, it is their home and their children, so they like a good character and appearance." By the time her employers returned to England, Luz was regularly being included in informal social occasions. She still receives an annual Christmas package from the family. Luz's next contract was with an Australian couple, found through the same network of Filipina girls. "I went for the interview and the woman showed me the apartment, the appliances, ok... Then she had no more questions and I said, 'Mam, shall I make tea ?' I brought my tea that they 'd given me before, the British family. So, I bring the tray.... one cup. And she says, 'what about you?' So, it's easier again... I'm not the maid, I'm the housekeeper now. " The Australian couple had no children and both were employed, so Luz secured their permission to take a part-time position with a Canadian family. "It was good for them... I was gone when they were home but the work was done." This part-time work was for a Cathay Pacific Airlines pilot, his wife and two children. After almost a year, they were transferred to Vancouver. The Canadian family wanted her to join them in Canada and began an application for her under the Live-In Caregiver program. Luz was exceptionally close to the wife and children and excited about the chance of getting permanent residency in Canada. She left the Australian employers and, once the Canadians had departed Hong Kong, returned home to the Philippines to apply directly to Canada from Manila. Luz had come home every year on her vacation and remitted money regularly to her household in the Philippines. Her husband, however, did not approve of her plans to move to Canada. He thought it was too far away and that she had been gone far too long, already. He was afraid she would go "forever" and pointed out that the only person looking after their son, now seven, was the kattulong [domestic helper.] So, her husband confiscated her passport. "He is holding my passport. And I must write my Canadian employer and tell her it cannot be....," Luz explained with sadness. "Here it is not the same, nobody understands me, my life in Hong Kong... " 132 Luz's alienation and frustration were palpable, but she has consolidated her household's position within the local elite. Luz's earnings were remitted monthly through bank-to-bank transfers. She sent money to her husband to buy a jeepney and later, the capital to start an auto-repair business. They have invested in a large property along the highway where this business is located and own several jeeps. Luz did not remit all her earnings, though; "I kept some for myself, in case it would be that my husband would scatter it." She has bought 10,000 hectares of riceland in the outmigration site at Cordon, Isabela, and has arranged to have it farmed by tenants from her home barangay. These fields produce three harvests a year of commercial rice. She has also taken a mortgage on land in her barangay that she intends to buy. To 'keep herself busy,' Luz has opened a small store alongside her house — a sari-sari — where she sells imported canned goods, imported clothes, and jewelry. Since her son is now in school most of the day, she tells me she is also planning to have another child. 133 Chapter 4 - Gendered subjectivities, identities and resistance The subaltern cannot speak. There is not virtue in global laundry lists with 'woman' as a pious item. Representation has not withered away. The female intellectual as intellectual has a circumscribed task which she must not disown with a flourish.' This chapter focuses on discourses on gender made visible through the representations of violence on the part of colonized women. Violent acts committed by one individual can be interpreted as somehow representative of all people in that socially relevant category, whether it be ethnicity, class, caste or gender.2 Regardless of a putative criminal's sex, one can distinguish between two contexts for thinking about their gender. One is an enabling way of explaining the gendering of particular acts of violence. The second is the extension of moral tales about the lives of specific individuals to all in that subject position. It is this second context, the extension of moral tales, that I explore here. This chapter presents an analysis of the representations of femininities in the cases of two Fi l ipina murderesses. I select these examples where the lives of individuals exceed the limits specified for femininity. Reading the two cases in tandem, I demonstrate that the identity of "woman" in the post-colonial Philippines differs between the representations of the metropolis and those of the indigenous periphery. Considering the ways in which the violent acts of individual women are framed under both colonial regimes and the conditions of the contemporary diaspora of Fi l ipina migrant workers reveals how the dominant discourse on Fil ipina femininity may be reinforced or contested through the historical record or the official media story. In these cases, the figure of woman is the ground of representation for struggles carried on over her body and in her identity, a position that Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak names as the gendered subaltern. This chapter extends Spivak's theorization of the female subaltern in order to establish the historical and nationalist terrain that the individuals in following chapters must negotiate as they move between local ' Spivak, G. "Can the subaltern speak?" in Grossberg, L . and Nelson C , eds., Marxism and the interpretation of culture (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1988; pp. 271-312), p. 308. 2 Considering gender, Harriet Bird argues that, in representations of crime in the popular Western media, murderesses seem to have come much more easily to symbolize their entire gender, whereas male perpetrators of murder were more likely to be treated as unique individuals. Bird, H. , ed. Moving targets: women murder and representation (London: Virago, 1993.) 134 and global, emphasizing not the universality of gender but the importance of context - the geography of colonialisms and of discourses on gender in a (post)colonial present. M y strategy in approaching the two cases here is to examine the waves of meaning that wash over the spot where the female subaltern vanishes, exploring how they blur the contours of that space. M y interest is not in the individual women themselves but in the forms of speculation and techniques of contestation after the fact. I am intrigued by what is made out of the subaltern after her disappearance. This chapter serves as a contrapuntal introduction to the following chapters. Chapters 5 and 6 present vignettes from the lives of particular women that fracture generalizations about "woman" as a singular position and challenged the idea of the laundry list (above) with woman added. I accomplish this through strategies of representing the flexibilities of the local 'norm' for gendered labor and the telling the stories of women who (choose to) fall outside it. 4.1 Problematic: violence on the part of subaltern women To establish the problematic of female violence and its representation, I want to situate myself, as participant and observer, in a particular moment. / am standing outside a downtown Vancouver theatre with a candle in my hand. It keeps going out, as do the candles held by the circle of Filipina activists around me. On a cold, wet spring afternoon, I have been asked to participate in a vigil for Filipina Overseas Contract Workers (OCWs). The vigil takes place before the Vancouver premiere of Joel Lamangan's movie, "The Flor Contemplacion Story." Flor Contemplacion was a Filipina OCW executed for murder by Singapore. In the film, she is played by the madly popular actress Nora Aunor. Of course, the activists seem to me to be outnumbered by the avid Noranians; it's rumored La Aunor will make a personal appearance for the Vancouver opening. The activists are themselves from the Philippines and many are OCWs. Here, they are trying to draw Canadian public attention to the exploitation of Filipinas, using the film screening as a vehicle. There have been other demos, in the Philippines and around the globe, first trying to gain a stay of execution, and then protesting Flor's death And me, I am here at the invitation of the Philippine Women Centre. My friend Cecelia phoned me up the day before to ask me to come out and join the protest. I had been following the case on the Internet. Perhaps because I am a grad student, I asked her a couple of questions about the case — like, how do we know for sure she's innocent. Cecelia replied in terms of ethnic and gender identities: "you know how Filipinas are — mabain (ashamed), mahinhin (modest) - how could she do that?" I agreed with her; I, too, wanted Flor to be innocent. After I hung up, it struck me that Cecelia hadn 't said "we " - though she identifies as a Filipina, too. 135 Standing on the chilly downtown street clutching a candle, I began to wonder about my easy acceptance of these stereotypes. Do they adequately explain individual lives and behavior? Meanwhile, my Filipina companions chased down indifferent Canadian pedestrians to sign petitions to free Sarah Balabagan, another OCW interned for murder — this time in Saudi Arabia. In the spirit of Spivak's dictum that we must persist in critiquing that which we cannot not want, I started to think the unthinkable. What to do with the Contemplacion case if she could not be proven innocent? IfFlor is guilty, should we all pack up our candles and go away? I left this gathering with an uneasy feeling. It seemed to me that Contemplacion's innocence in the murder for which she was executed was a necessary condition to legitimate protest against her own murder by the state. Her innocence needed to be reasserted against the anxiety of not having the all the "true" details, assuring the protesters of her value as an allegorical figure within their own struggles for Fi l ip ina migrants' rights. Hence, speculations founded on gender categories and assertions based on 'national character' entered the representations of Flor Contemplacion in Vancouver, echoing similar statements circulating in the Philippine media. In what follows, I show that this speculation on Contemplacion relies on a narrative of female subjectivity - a discourse on the Fi l ip ina - that reinforces the exploitation of female migrant workers.' To me, the interpretations attributing various motives and emotional dispositions to Contemplacion situation echoed Spivak's comments on the gendered subaltern: "she is not allowed to speak: everyone speaks for her, so that she is rewritten constantly as the object of patriarchy or of imperialism." 4 4.1.1 The subaltern and the politics of silencing The female subaltern figures a double negation, naming the voice that is not not silent. The subaltern's attempts to represent herself and her intentions are not attended to as intelligible, thus exposing the problematic of coming to voice where resistance cannot speak itself as resistance.5 Bui ld ing on Ranajit Guha's borrowing of "subaltern" from Gramsci to mark the subordination of the resisting peasant classes This narrative results from a complex local/global nexus of colonial relations and resistances which merits intense exploration. My intervention here is only a gesture toward the trajectory such investigations might follow and its limitations, a challenge to further research. 4 Young, R. "Spivak: decolonization, deconstruction" in his White mythologies: writing history and the west (London: Routledge, 1990; 157-175), p. 164. 5 Ibid., 164-165. 136 in Indian history, Spivak redefined the concept of the subaltern to figure the particular problematic of representing women in postcolonial historiography. After deconstructing Guha's Subaltern Studies usage as "no more than an allegorical fiction to entitle the project of reading," Spivak then recreates the term as a potent tool for postcolonial feminism. 6 Developed through a critique of colonial representations of sad (widow burning) which deny the native woman a subjectivity, the subaltern's inability to speak is predicated upon an attempt to speak to which no appropriate response is made. The subaltern thus emerges from the point where Hindu patriarchy and British colonial narratives of native culture converge to silence woman's voice. In the analysis of British colonialism in India, for example, female anti-colonial violence is dismissed as impossible. This is the hegemonic moral tale, revealed, in particular, in the constructions of sati. Gayatri Spivak's reading of sati argues that, in India, the native patriarchy intersected with the British regime to silence women's voices. It was impossible for a woman to resist colonialism because she never acted in the public domain, only the patriarchal domestic realm. Spivak's analysis is supported by the familial and nationalist misreading of Bhuvaneswari Bhaduri's nationalist suicide as yet another case of "il l icit love." 7 Spivak locates the popular reconstruction of this in a "regulative psychobiography" - a discourse that specifies a single subjectivity for a 'woman.' This "regulative psychobiography" of feminine subjectivity derives from local and colonial histories. In the representations of Contemplacion, I w i l l show another version of this "regulative psychobiography" for 'the Fi l ip ina ' is at work and nationalistic moral tales produce a silencing of female voices similar to that effected by colonial discourse on women. For, through her death: "Flor had really ceased to be a person in the (Philippine) public mind. She had become a kind of Fi l ip ino Everywoman." 8 I argue that this "everywoman," the Fil ipina, is embraced out of guilt, even as she is denied through her See Spivak, G., "Subaltern studies: deconstructing historiography" in her In other worlds: essays in cultural politics (New York: Routledge, 1988, 197-221), p. 204. 7 Spivak, G. "Can the subaltern speak?" in Grossberg, L . and Nelson C , eds., Marxism and the interpretation of culture (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1988; pp. 271-312.) 8 "Beyond the rage: lessons from the Contemplacion case" Asiaweek, April 7, 1995, 17-18, 17. 137 refiguring into a more sympathetic protagonist, one unmarked by the very class and ethnic relations that fuel the labor export process. 4.1.2 The Filipina identity In colonial discourses on gender, i f women are not meek and mild, their violence is further proof of the savagery of the people, the backwardness of the culture or is dismissed as 'unnatural' or impossible. 9 To think about the impossibility of Filipinas as potentially violent actors requires a return to the origins of this national(ist) femininity. The term "Fi l ip ina" is itself Spanish in origin but now signifies the national femininity of a post-colonial Asian nation.' 0 How did this come about and what might it mean for the limitations that inhere in the label? Although a complete genealogy is the topic of a separate research project, I can suggest here ways in which gender identities in pre-colonial Philippine societies may have been transformed by the various colonialisms instituted through the archipelago. Imperial power constructed separate subjectivities for men and women. Neither the introduction of commodity production or religious conversion are sufficient explanations for the subordination of women in the colonization of previously gender egalitarian societies such as those of the peoples of the northern Philippines. This transformation as a renegotiation of gender "requires not only a change in the material conditions of production and reproduction of social, economic and cultural life but also a change in what Foucault has called the "power/knowledge nexus." This is an intensive system of disciplined bodies and normalizing gazes possible only under a sustained colonial regime." In the Philippines, as in other colonized spaces, colonial regimes were concentrated in particular nodes and along specific pathways. Experiences of colonial power were uneven across the archipelago, creating a series of local centers and peripheries. Thus, experiences ranged from intense and long-term systems such as convents, schools and haciendas with their churches, to sporadic contacts with administrators, tax collectors and 9 Anderson, K. "As gentle as little lambs: images of Huron and Montagnais-Naskapi women in the writings of the 17th century Jesuits," Canadian Review ofSociology and Anthropology 25(4), 1988: 560-76. 1 0 The genealogy of the Filipina identity will be the topic of a future research project. 138 itinerant missionaries. The hegemonic character of the influence of the Spanish colonial regime the extent of its dominance in more remote and peripheral parts of Philippine society is therefore questionable. Wi th this uneven terrain, struggles to define local traditions of gender are part of a broader process of redefinitions of indigenous ethnicities and nationalism within the post-colonial state. The retrieval of 'tradition' enabled by histories of gender under colonialism functions to undermine or legitimate women's current and future roles. To retrieve such histories poses the problem of gender in the colonial archive where fabrications and exclusions in the writing and the naming of tradition are many. The colonial history of gender is largely undocumented, particularly places and groups not seen as central within contemporary narratives of nation and nationalism. Fi l ipina academics such as Del ia Aguilar and Elizabeth Eviota have begun to explore the impact of colonialism on gender relations in the Phil ippines." Additional work on regional difference, teasing apart generalizations about the entire archipelago into local understandings, is required to reveal the geographies of colonial restructurings of gender. Within this emerging regional literature, Cristina Blanc-Szanton discusses the ideology of femininity imposed on the people of a particular Philippine region by the patriarchal Spanish regime. 1 4 She locates her analysis in the colonial sugar haciendas of the Visayas, contrasting the behavior of the convent-educated native women with the culture of their colonizers. Blanc-Szanton suggests that the version of " Anderson, K. , op. cit., 574. 1 2 Convents, schools and haciendas were the colonial versions of the "complete and austere" institutions Michael Foucault describes for modern Europe. For specific Philippine examples, contrast the role of the school and the hacienda in Vincente Rafael's Contracting colonialism (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1988) with W.H. Scott's The discovery of the Igorots (Manila: New Day, 1974). 1 3 Aguilar, D. "Gender, nation and colonialism: lessons from the Philippines" in Visvanathan, N . , Duggan, L . Nisonoff, L. , and B. Wyss, eds. Women, gender and development (Halifax: Fernwood, 1998; pp. 241 - 258) and Eviota, E. The political economy of gender (London: Zed Books, 1992). 1 4 Blanc-Szanton, C. "Collision of cultures: historical reformulations of gender in the lowland Visayas, Philippines" in Atkinson, J. and Errington, S., eds. Power and difference: gender in Island Southeast Asia (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1990, 345 - 383). 139 femininity developed here can be extended to the area surrounding Mani la . In the femininity that emerged from this colonial nexus, physical weakness suits a woman to lighter tasks such as housework and urban service or clerical occupations, rather than rural work, if, indeed, she must work to support her family. This nexus thus reinscribed a much older European construct of female domesticity into the colony. Accommodating oneself to this femininity is attractive not least because its accoutrements - pale skin, formal education and conspicuous consumption - are themselves Fi l ip ina cultural capital and have been since the Spanish era. Not until the rise of nineteenth century Philippine nationalism were colonized women actually named as "Fi l ip ina ." Under the Spanish, a. filipina was a Spaniard bom in the Philippine islands, rather than peninsular Spain. Perhaps the epitome of this Fi l ipina is found in Mar ia Clara in Jose Rizal ' s novel, Noli me tangere. When 'e/ indio bravo' wrote, he used the imperial Spanish and his use of filipina was opposed to peninsulara in the nineteenth century sense.' 5 Not until after Rizal ' s execution in 1898 did the term come to refer to daughters of the nation, regardless of their ethnic antecedents. Moreover, it is unlikely Riza l intended his Mar ia Clara as a model for the women of the nation he envisioned; he wrote her as a character in a stinging social satire, not a documentary drama. Images of native savagery and backwardness are precisely what Riza l ' s writing is intended to satirize. Rizal shows that the oppression of the indios is unjust because they do meet the requirements for civil ized behavior and have the abilities that ought to command respect from their imperial masters. Hence, they deserve their freedom. In this context, R iza l was mobilizing categories largely over-determined by Spanish ideology. Female violence thus fell outside the strategic forms of local resistance. The exercise of patriarchal imperial power made female violence, even in resistance to that power, over into evidence of nat